Anton's Ideas

Anton Wills-Eve on world news & random ideas
Quote | 10/02/2015

THE BRIDGE


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”

THE BRIDGE

“Stop! Stop!” But it didn’t hear me. At the age of only just five I didn’t know that big, red, double decker London buses couldn’t hear, but they could abduct your mother and sister and drive off with them leaving you on your own without another soul in sight. It was so terrifying I was too scared even to cry.

Think what it must have been like. The bus stop was on the Surrey side of the Thames at the start of Hammersmith bridge with its never ending open air tunnel of iron arches. I knew I couldn’t swim, so I couldn’t step onto the bridge in case I fell off and was drowned. I turned round to put the bridge behind me but that was worse. A mile long, so it seemed, dead straight road of private houses on both sides. We weren’t allowed to go into strangers’ houses.

I was trapped! I wanted to wait for the next bus, but I had no money. If you tried to dodge paying the fare you went to jail. They locked you up and left you alone to starve. I was begining to shake and then felt I needed to go to the toilet. But if you took your willey out in public horrible perverted men would jump out of the bushes and do dreadful things to you  At least there were no bushes by the bridge, but no toilets either!

I was really worried now and finally had to edge back to the bridge and pee up against the iron stanchion. As I went on looking at the huge bridge I could not understand how people could cross it on foot. I must have been on the point of full blown panic when a bus pulled up on the other side of the road and my mother and sister rushed over to make sure I was okay. On seeing I was alright they treated the whole episode as a very good joke.

A few days later my mother had one of her posh friends round to tea. I heard her say, “Dorothy, we’ve always made a point of making sure the children understand why they should behave correctly, especially in public. The last thing either of them would do is appear rude, afraid or upset in front of other people.”

That was sixty seven years ago and on really bad days I can still barely cross the road outside my house. As for bridges I have still never walked across one anywhere in my life. Just the sight of one brings on a panic attack. But I could never tell anybody like a neighbour or doctor this at that age. They might think me very odd and try to do something about it.

Anton Wills-Eve

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09/02/2015

THE GREAT ESCAPE


Take a quote from your favorite movie — there’s the title of your post. Now, write

I’ve used the title instead.

a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/silver-screen/">Silver Screen</a>

                        The Great Escape


I remember the helicopter being hit,

Forcing us downwards in a spin.

Six of us on board, all scared to death,

Each one feeling his fear begin

To take control of heart and mind,

About to discover who was brave or yellow

Or just a normal, petrified young man,

Voice barely heard above the engines’ bellow.

Jim, the pilot, gave in to his panic first

As we brushed the jungle trees below.

He screamed “ I can’t, I can’t just let me out’,

Undid his harness and jumped. I’ll never know

Whether he lived or died because all I cared

Was whether I could fly the chopper in his place.

The others pushed me into Jim’s empty seat

As I tried to focus on the controls before my face.

Fred, the comic of our little band,

Then lost the plot as he deliberately blew

His brains out and slumped across his gun.

Willy tipped his body out continuing to chew

Relentlessly on his soft, cool mint gum.

Somehow I kept us flying straight, though now

It was more by luck that we made it to a clearing

With room to land. “Someone, please tell me how!”

Side to side we swayed among the branches

Then Jeff screamed “Fire. Look, at the back.”

A burning stench took the breath from all of us.

Tony and I, in front, saw the oncoming attack,

Shells shattered our windscreen, blinded, Tony fell

Sideways into the jungle. My best buddy. Dead.

In hell I ceased to care about the guns or fire,

Save the others! But I ran out of time instead.

The chopper lurched smashing, side-on, into a tree;

Sheared in half, the rear exploded leaving me alone

Swinging from a branch by only my parachute cord.

I Looked down, the ground was miles away and a bone

Stuck crookedly out of my lower leg. “God take me,”

I remember praying out loud. Agonising pain and fear

Accompanied me, sliding downwards through the jungle.

The earth rushed up, and the ground was deathly near.

Vision blurred,

The last sound I heard,

Maybe the last word,

Was, “Nurse. Absurd!

“Not even a bird

Could survive that fall”.

But I did. After all,

All the dead can recall

Is a flag for a pall

And a lone bugle call.

Anton Wills-Eve

_____________

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Quote | 08/02/2015

THE INFERNAL MACHINE


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Proud.”

I have always had a tendancy to dislike being confined or in a small space, but not full blown claustrophobia. So when the specialist said I needed an MRI scan I must admit I was scared.

My wife and I attended a long explanatory session with the radiologist who showed me the long, narrow tube in which I would be confined, motionless for about an hour. At least there was no ban on alcohol and they promised me some tranquilisers. But come the day I was shaking like mad.

They wanted to examine my chest and my lower stomach so I was totally trapped in the ghastly magnetic resonance imaging machine. As it started the whole thing made a terrible noise and I was petrified not knowing how I was going to last an hour in it.

When it was all over and I was restored to the real world, my darling wife hugged me and said,

“How on earth did you manage it, I’m so proud of you!” How was I going to tell her the machine broke down and we had to go back the following week!

Anton Wills-Eve

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08/02/2015

HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?


The world seems awfully preoccupied nowadays with the whole subject of legally terminating peoples’ lives. The oddest thing about this to me is that the various reasons for legalising capital punishment seem to upset its opponents far more than the way in which the death sentence is carried out.

Currently the extreme followers of Islam get the worst press because their ‘legal’ defence for what they do is that they are upholding a religious law.But that’s been going on for some five thousand years and long, long before Mohammed reached his beliefs. I believe there is a campaign going on at the moment against the Sultan of Brunei in Borneo for suporting the stoning to death of people who are not heterosexual. The imortant point here, surely, is that nobody should ever stone anyone to death.Why the mock, shock horror just because of their sexual orientation? Execution by stoning is inhuman and a crime in itself.That is what protesters should be opposing most vehemently.

Texas is a great examle of the other side of the coin. There the authorities actually boast that they kill criminals in the most acceptable way. Is incarcerating someone for twenty years, never knowing if tomorrow is the day they are going to die, even slightly human? No, it’s far worse than stoning. At least that isn’t preceded by years of mental torture!

All premeditated taking of human life is murder in my book no matter what the reason. For if you plan to kill someone it follows that you also do not have to do it.The best definition of murder I know.

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07/02/2015

Not Tonight Josephine


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Bone of Contention.”

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/bone-of-contention/”>Bone of Contention</a>

couldn’t resist this chance to write another acrostic poem. It’s not so much about a bone of contention as a ‘Bone- Apart’.  🙂

Not Tonight Josephine

(an acrostic poem)

Napoleon was the ruler of the whole of France,

Oh to his tune how everybody did dance,

Thinking him without any doubt to be

The greatest soldier in the French army.

Only his pretty girlfriend, Josephine,

Now an empress but never a queen,

Invites him regularly for an evening of fun,

Generally after a day of playing with his gun.

Hence his reluctance, so we’ve been told,

To accept her advances, no matter how bold.

«Josephine, pas ce soir, cherie, je t’en prie

Oof, how much your loving takes it out of me!

Soldiering is such a very strenuous thing,

Even so, though, I do love our occasional fling.

Perhaps, Ma Petite, you’re so greatly to be desired,

How about tomorrow evening if I’m not too tired?

Indeed I adore you, Ma Cherie, mon amour.

Nothing turns me on like approaching your door.

Eh bien, Josephine, ce soir let’s try it encore!”.

Anton Wills-Eve

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07/02/2015

More Must Save Items


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/burnt/”>Burnt</a&gt;

my second five items  in order of regret. following the top five items I saved from the house on fire yesterday.

                                            More Must Save Items

This is easy.

6. My Tablet

7. The second tablet I take to make the first one work.

8. The doctor’s emergency phone number because that second tablet didn’t look the right colour.

9. The clouds I usually float on after tablets 1 and 2.

10. Oh and of course tablet number three for my memory loss problems. You know, the one I usually Forget!

Anton Wills-Eve

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07/02/2015

Now listen to this!


Take a complicated subject you know more about than most people, and explain it to a friend who knows nothing about it at all.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/daily-prompt-2/”>(Your Thing) for Dummies</a>

 

NOW LISTEN TO THIS!

 

“That was a very good meal, Wally, beautifully done steak and the wine was superb.  You comfy Mate? Good; this brandy’s not bad either. What were we talking about?

“Cricket, are you sure I could have sworn it was magnetic resonance imaging, or MRI for short. You ever been in a tube, Wal? No not the underground the radio active x-ray thingy that rips all the metal off you to show up the bits of you that aren’t working properly. Sure you’ve never had one?”Here have another glass of this Armagnac , Wally, great little drop of stuff, ole, boy just the ticket after a meal like that. But you were telling me about your radio active television set. You weren’t? Oh no I’m the one who’s having one tomorrow, you’re playing baseball. Right?

“Cricket? Really, didn’t know they played it in Australia, Wal. You any good? You are. How interesting, but I was saying about this NM, that’s nuclear medicine to the thickies like you mate, or you can have a CT scan if you’re in the mood. Which would you prefer?

“Another of these Army knackered  drinks? Well why not, good drop of stuff. Always said the Poms knew their gin. I mean Aussies knew their brandy. Well, anyway Wal, you must hear this one. Stop me if you’ve heard it, as Bennet Cerf used to say. Cerf, ole man, Yankee story teller! Well they all are aren’t they? Ha ha ha. Well there was this scantily clad nurse, no nurse clad to do a scan, of an unclear medicine bottle full of iron magnets. Got the picture? You haven’t? Well look, just wake up a little and have another of these throat burners, and you’ll learn a thing or two about Cat Scans.

“No not pussey cats, these are radio active kittens scanning each other for bits that have gone wrong with the TV or the radio or something? Got the picture? Well the nurse hadn’t, she was still twiddling with the dials when the patient in the tube sat up and asked if we’d passed Piccadily yet, and I told him it was twelve o’clock which set him off a bit I can tell you.

“I say look, wake up old Wally, or you’ll miss the best bit where the scanner has another glass of some French drink or other and  … Wake up Wally.

“I say, where’s the fellow gone? Infernally rude to walk off like that in the middle of a match. I think I’ll just have another small one before the nuclear explosion tomorrow.”

Anton Wills-Eve

 

 

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06/02/2015

Solo Con Te


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Pens and Pencils.”                            

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/pens-and-pencils/”>Pens and Pencils</a>

 Solo Con Te  

It was several months since I last wrote anything of any importance by hand, but recently a strange necessity arose to make me do so. Edgardo, the youngest of my three sons and four daughters,  just five years old at the time, had been asked to reply to a birthday party invitation and the card even had a reply form attached with  a lined space for a child of his age to write on. But it was beyond him.

“Eh, Papa, non possedo ecrire in questo language. Mio caligrafico es crap!”

When I was his age I would have received a clip round the ear for that reply but it’s illegal nowadays. Okay he was born in America and had been brought up in France, Switzerland and Italy by an English/Australian father and an Italian/Austrian mother, but that was no excuse. I knew where his deliberate bad language came from. His nine year old sister Lucia, one of twins, delighted in telling him how to really annoy me and pretend it was because he was linguistically over challenged. So I played along and tried to understand his difficulties.

“Mio bambino caro, this exercise will be all in English, capisce?”

“Capisce is no English. You liar, Papa. God will punish you”

A voice from the doorway did not help either,

“Si, and quoting from an Italian opera ain’t gonna teach the kid much English either, in it?” You know those moments when the woman you love most in the world suddenly changes from ‘my wife’ to ‘his mother’? Well this was one of them. I lost my patience with her.

“Francesca. I’m trying to teach Eddie polite English. Give me a break, please!”

She roared with laughter and said our two months in London wasn’t improving the children’s English or the family’s bonding. That was when I realised Edgardo had wandered off to play elsewhere so I just scrawled ‘thank you. I’d love to come. Eddie’ on the invitation, sealed it and addressed it to the daughter of the Australian High Commissioner. Francesca posted it that afternoon.

The farce concluded two days later when our eldest child, twelve year old Maria, came rushing up to me and said “Daddy, Daddy  is Eddie going to that girl’s party? Her brother’s just texted me to ask because they couldn’t read the handwriting on his reply.”

Anton Wills-Eve

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06/02/2015

CASCIA


Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not?

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/no-thanks/”>No, Thanks</a>

                                                   CASCIA

In 1944 when I was two, my father jokingly said to my mother, on getting a free weekend at our family home on the Thames in Buckinghamshire, “Well, with all our bombing of mainland Germany hotting up at least I will never have to visit Berlin. I can think of nowhere in the world I would hate visiting more!” Mum merely smiled. Two weeks later the news organisation for which he worked as a war correspondent told him that he was to join the invasion forces on D-Day.

Yes, you’ve guessed it, by the following late Spring dad was one of the first journalists to enter bombed out Berlin where he found it as close to hell as he expected. My mother merely chuckled and remarked that her superstitions should  be taken more seriously.

It got worse. Dad hated everything to do with racial discrimination and swore he would never cover any stories which involved him having to obey discriminatory regimes. So of course March 1960 found him in deepest South Africa covering the Sharpeville massacre and its aftermath and not being allowed to publicly oppose apartheid!  I can well remember my own dislike of all aridly dry  countries and how I could not get out of my first free-lance assignment. During the university vacation I found myself covering the Franco Algerian war in North Africa for my father. I had to go, the money was too good.

And so it went on . I moved from the Sorbonne to follow in dad’s footsteps which saw me in Vietnam for three years after swearing I would never set foot in the place. The fighting in Northern Ireland really upset me mentally. As an English Catholic I literally prayed I would never be asked to see the Emerald Isle only from the bloody viewpoint of bigotry and bloodshed. My three years in Belfast were probably the worst of the lot. I started to wonder if I had inherited my mother’s superstitious premonitionary accuracy. A happy marriage and family of my own led me to change to writing about European politics from 1985 onwards and I started to work in places I quite liked. But I was very careful not to promise I would never visit places I really did not think I would like.

All my life I have had a favourite saint who has stood by me, protected me, loved me and helped me retain my faith through some of the most awful places on God’s earth. St.Rita, the patron saint of hopeless causes, we really get on well together. She’s great and has never let me down in my life. I am currently fighting my third cancer in the last five years which is why my sister queried me, wide eyed with astonishment, when she heard me telling a friend I hoped I would never be asked to visit Cascia. It is in Umbria, central Italy, and is the city where St.Rita lived in the middle ages and is entombed.  “But I thought you loved her?” my sister said.

The train tickets I showed her, from Rome to Perugia and on to Cascia, were all the reply I needed.

Anton Wills-Eve

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04/02/2015

“WHO DO YOU LOVE, BABY?”


Here’s the title of your post: “An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse.”

Set a timer for ten minutes, and write it. Go!

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/race-the-clock/”>Race the Clock</a>

 

   WHO DO YOU LOVE BABY?

 

Old Dr. Faustus was nearing that age  when his love for Margarita was not so much seen as a Romeo and Juliet affair, you know where little Miss J turns it on so hot for gallant Master R that he cannot resist her tempting eyes and Marylin Monroe figure, but more as a simple dirty old man with throbbing lusting loins ogling a pretty young  wench.

This is where the booming voice from the skies makes him an offer he cannot refuse.

“Lovely isn’t she? You really want her, don’t you? ‘Course you do! Well I’ll make an offer you can’t refuse. You’ve been offered seven years with her, haven’t you, as long as you agree to go to hades afterwards. Right?

Faustus nodded.

“Well, here’s my offer.Forget the troloppe and you can spend  eternity in paradise with me and all my lovely angels and saints. What do you think?”

“Wow, God, you sure know how to get your man. Yippee! Heaven here I come. And as for you Maggie, you can go to the devil!”

Anton Wills-Eve

5 minutes 53 seconds writing and 1 minute 28 seconds editing.

 

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02/02/2015

ME


You have three hundred words to justify the existence of your favorite person, place, or thing. Failure to convince will result in it vanishing without a trace. Go! <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/do-or-die/”>Do or Die</a>

                                                  ME

Now be honest! Look at me. Handsome, humerous, cheerful always there to help a friend and always  willing to give money to the poor. Have you ever seen my equal?

And I really am the epitome of everything a beautiful young girl could want. Rich, generous, honest and happy to stand by her in any sort of crisis.  Oh, and those smiling, come to bed green eyes with ‘I love you’ written all over them. Go on, admit it ! I’m irresistible aren’t I?

But above all I treasure the smiling, holy spirit that God blessed me with when he created my soul. How did He get so much goodness, charity and kindness into one human being? It beggars belief, it really does. There are times when I can hardly believe it myself and can barely keep my hands off the mirror as my gorgeous image stares back at me.

Strewth,  the rest of you are so lucky being able to see such a gay – no not in that sense! – swashbuckling hero as me. And even more wonderful is the way I can prove I am everything I claim about myself.

If I’ve failed to convince you all of the truth about  wonderful ME then I must have vanished without a trace. You’ve said  as much yourself, have you not? So I just went out into the garden and pinched myself and to my great joy, though not surprise, I discovered that I’m still here. The best proof you could have of my veracity. And I agree!

Anton Wills-Eve

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Quote | 31/01/2015

WHAT IS A SONG?


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Playlist of the Week.”     <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/playlist-of-the-week/”>Playlist of the Week</a>                                                                          What is a song?

According to i-tunes it’s anything that make a noise and you can download. At the other end of the scale, it’s a story put to music and performed by the human voice.

If this is correct, well roughly correct, in my last seven days, that is what is meant by a week isn’t it? I cannot  think of anything that occurred to me, for me, by me or with me that could be summed up by or related to any songs I have ever heard.

Ergo I can only say that as I have six critical illnesses, no ambitions of furthering my influence on mankind, womankind maybe but not mankind, and am totally uninterested in any current news stories, I really have nothing of interest to blogulate on this topic. Sorry:)

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31/01/2015

Digital healthcare – the innovation debate


The most important barrier in the way forward in the field of digital medicine, for use of a better term, is the personality clash amongst the top rung of helth specialists in all departments of treating and curing the sick. Too many specialists put their own medical disciplne and its importance before the needs of patients from those with appendicitis to those with terminal cancer. While the age of the surgeon as ‘god of all’ in the medical world should have disappeared some forty years ago, unfortunately it hasn’t and ego-centric magicians with scalpels instead of wands are still far too prevalent in the NHS. Yet how to replace them while waiting for the digital age to become established and do a meaningful job? At the moment the whole public perception of the health care system in this country is so low that I have to agree with Ben and say that nothing can be expected to be achieved as long as nurses are dreadfully underpaid and cleaners and porters are better off than those who actually have responsibility for keeping very sick people alive. Just think of what I have said so far and then ask yourself if there is even a risk factor attached to digital utopia in health care? There are all light years away from seeing the light of day let alone night!

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30/01/2015

More Must Save Items


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/burnt/”>Burnt</a&gt;

my second five items  in order of regret. following the top five items I saved from the house on fire yesterday.

                                            More Must Save Items

This is easy.

6. My Tablet

7. The second tablet I take to make the first one work.

8. The doctor’s emergency phone number because that second tablet didn’t look the right colour.

9. The clouds I usually float on after tablets 1 and 2.

10. Oh and of course tablet number three for my memory loss problems. You know, the one I usually Forget!

Anton Wills-Eve

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29/01/2015

“You Don’t Need That!”


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/burning-down-the-house/”>Burning Down the House</a>

rather like the British ‘Desert Island Discs’ idea of saving what you most treasure, wordpress today wants us to grab five  items to save if the house catches fire.

 “You Don’t Need That!”

The children really entered into the spirit of the challenge. “Hey, this is great Mum,” cried Roger pulling a drawer out of her dressing table and emptying the contents all over the bedroom floor. “You haven’t worn that old blouse for years.”

My wife went puce. “Roger, stop! This game will cease now unless we all behave sensibly. Anyway how would a 12 year old boy know what his 36 year old mother wore  and how often? Now put everything back at once.” Then she turned to me. “And Tony, this is the last time you introduce one of your stupid  Word Press prompts  into this house. The children are just throwing things all over the place!” I was about to agree when I found a necklace Michele had not worn for three years at least.

“Hey! I wondered where this had got to. Do you remember that day I bought it for you when we’d had a rather liquid  lunch and you said you had coveted it for months?  You told me how it would turn you on, and then missed your drunken footing on a kerb stone and grabbed hold of my arm pulling two buttons off the cuff of my jacket? Come to think of it you haven’t worn it since have you?”

“Oh that’s unfair, dad,” butted in ten year old Anne. You had a flaming row about the cost of the only top mum could find that would match it! That’s why it’s never been worn. But twin brother Phil did not quite remember things that way. His version was,

“The dog ate it and  you were mortified, mum, remember? Then you used the housekeeping money to replace it so dad would not find out and be upset. I can remember it well. We didn’t have chocolates for a month!”

I was shocked.”Oh darling, is that true? How sweet of you. Of course I would have understood if you’d told me. You really are an angel.” And just as I hugged her and gave her a kiss the youngest of our progeny, seven year old Trevor, suggested we play the game properly.

“Let’s each make a list of five things and the items that get named most are saved. If we have a tie then Mum decides as she’s the one who moans most if we can’t find things in this house!”

“I don’t moan, Trevor, don’t be so rude. But it is a good idea.”  Well, it could have been, but have you ever tried to find seven clean sheets of paper and seven pencils in our house?  Have a go. It took twenty minutes before we all settled down round the kitchen table. The five kids, Roger,  Phil, Anne,  Mary and Trevor with  their two parents, behaved exactly like you would expect seven semi-bored children to behave. It was the silly questions that started the rot.

Mary raised her hand, God knows why, and asked, “Is there any limit on size? I’d have to take my new electronically controlled,  imitation show jumping horse.  We couldn’t afford to leave it behind could we dad?” I just looked at her with a threatening glare.  Roger had the worst problem though, well the most insane. 

“Dad does a pair of football boots count as two things or one?” I was about to lose my patience when Anne suggested

“You keep a size six right foot boot for Phil and he could keep a left foot for you. Then You could keep a cosmetic set for me.”

It was all getting too much for  Michele who got up from the table and said ,”Mummy  is going to make dinner  while the rest of you finish your insane Word Press inspired  game.” She stormed out of the room and we carried on boring ourselves rigid. I think it was Phil who first drew our attention to an odd smell coming from the kitchen about an hour later,

“Oh No! Dad, mum’s unconscious on the kitchen floor and the room is on fire!” Genuinely terrified, the children were helped from the smoke filled house as the fire brigade and ambulances came for us all.  While we were were gathered together in the accident and emergency ward of the hospital, checking no one was badly hurt, I suddenly realised  Michele was missing. I panicked and told the senior policeman with us,

” My wife, officer, my wife. She must be still back at the house. Tell the firemen.” But I calmed down almost at once when Michele’s voice whispered in my ear from behind the curtain by my bed,

“Darling, I’m so sorry, but it  was the only way I could stop you playing that dreadful load of on line rubbish you found!”

Anton Wills-Eve

2 Comments
28/01/2015

Etymology


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/play-lexicographer/”>Play Lexicographer</a>

WordPress wants me to invent a new word and explain its meaning and etymology.

                                            Etymology

“Hugh, what does etymology mean? It’s a word I’ve never heard of before?” I smiled  at her helpless lack of vocabulary but still found it incredible she could talk as well as she could. We were  in the same hospital ward being treated for brain damage, she from a dreadful illness with which she had been born and I from the mental confusion caused by a car crash. We had been together for nearly three weeks now and were both struggling to overcome our disabilities.

“Heavens, Glen, that’s a tricky one. Oddly, it’s the study of the origin of words, which is a very apt subject for both of us. Let me give you an example. The etymology of the word ‘holiday’ is the contraction of two other words, holy and day. In The early years of Christianity a Holy Day was a special day like the feast of a saint, or Easter when Jesus was crucified and rose again from the dead. Such days were so important workers were often given the day off to go to church and then pleasantly enjoy themselves. You see over the centuries Holy and Day were gradually joined together and meant a day off work or, as we now say, a holiday. That’s an example of etymology. Understand?”

“Hugh, what do contraction and crucified mean?” We both laughed out loud and then I got a total mental block. I hadn’t a clue what we were talking about. I had to ask her, much to my embarrassment, and she said ,”Oh Hugh I can’t remember. You were explaining something to me as usual but I don’t know what. It couldn’t have been all that important.”  But by this stage in the conversation I could note a very definite sadness in her tone and almost a sense of despair that she would never be able to communicate like ordinary people. She was probably thinking that I would eventually get better, but she had been stuck with her illness for thirty seven years already and with no real prospect of it improving very much if at all. But our situations were not as different as might at first have appeared. I had lost my wife in a car crash and, although married for ten years, we had never had children. In truth I was very lonely  and not being able to remember what Renee had even looked like made me wonder if I was ever going to picture her again. I was nearly forty myself and my career in journalism had taken a serious blow with my injuries. I was covered by a good insurance policy for another three years but then the future was really bleak if I did not pick up and return to being able to write. We were both sitting idly not trying to do anything constructive at all that afternoon when Glenda jumped up and blurted out,

“I know what it was. I didn’t know what etymology meant and you tried to tell me. But I can’t remember what you said, but I do recall that I didn’t understand some of the words. But I don’t know which.” As you can imagine exchanges like that were depressing in the extreme and a couple of days later I remember finding Glen sitting on the seat in the hospital garden crying her eyes out. She desperately tried to stop me finding her like that  but I was too quick.

“Hey, Sunshine. Cheer up. It may be hell at the moment but we’ll pull through. And I sat beside her and held her hand tightly. You’ll see Glen. Something will turn up.” But she floored me with her next remark.

“Oh, Hugh it has. It’s you. You’re clever, cheerful even when you look like death you act like somebody who is still trying to get better. But look at me. I’ve given up Hugh, I really have. If  I can’t have a normal life with you I just want to curl up and die.”

And then the thunderbolt hit me and I smiled and grinned at Glen all at the same time. “Tell me, Glen, seriously, what does ‘monplushioned’  mean?”

She could see I hadn’t been drinking and wondered if I was alright. “What did you say? Hugh say that word again,” I repeated it,

“Monplushioned.What do you think it means?” She hadn’t a clue. She thought I was taking the Mickey and trying to make fun of her, but still the whole diversion intrigued her. I said it again very clearly and slowly, “Mon plush ion ed. What does that mean to you  Glen? Not to me, or anybody else, but to you? Make up an answer if you don’t know, but give it a meaning. Please, just for me.”

A flicker of hope that I thought I could help her flitted across her face and she replied,”Okay Hugh , it means ‘scrancloonging’, but only at low tide when the moon’s out and the wind’s in the West North East.”

I nodded. “Almost, but more towards daybreak and before sunset. The etymology is from the Venusian  words , karr and smynthing, from which we also get ‘golhumptying.'”

“Hugh, what does etymology mean?”

That week we discharged ourselves from the hospital together for ever.

Anton Wills-Eve

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27/01/2015

Bayern Munich Four Barcelona Nil


a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/embrace-the-ick/”>Embrace the Ick</a>

praising that which I hate. as we all have sports teams we can’t stand I had to write one about a team I DON’T support winning a key game in the European soccer cup. But to add ginger and pep to this I did two things. One I wrote it as a poem and two I wrote it as an acrostic of the actual result , which was 

” Bayern Munich four Barcelona nil.”

(written 15 minutes after the game)

Before the start,the German crowd,
Already singing and chanting out loud,
Yelled Spanish obscenities at the foe
Encouraging their own lads to have a go.
Remembering last season’s surprise defeat,
Not prepared to settle for a repeat,
Made most soccer writers think they’d win
Until the ref blew the whistle to begin.
Never had Barcelona played so well
Iniesta and Xavi cast a dazzling spell
Changing wings and making Munich stand tall
Hanging on in defence, only just clearing the ball.
Finally, though, against the run of play
On the far post Thomas Muller found a way
Up in the air he met a cross with his head
Rattling the ball into the net, his team now led.
Back came the Spaniards with Messi away
Alas he was flagged offside. Not his day.
Really, one – nil at half time made them inspired
Completely outplaying Barcelona as first Gomez fired
Easily into the goal for their second that night
Literally draining the Spaniards of spirit or fight.
Once Robben had scored number three it was clear
Now the fans and the crowd had nothing to fear.
A fourth goal, the best, from Muller again,
Nothing could stop Bayern as they piled on the pain.
In Spain next week this means Barcelona need five.
Little chance of them keeping their Cup hopes alive!

 

Anton Wills-Eve

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Quote | 27/01/2015

OVER OUR RUBICON?


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Free Association.”

                           Over Our  Rubicon

It was the coldest, whitest day of the year. Okay, we had been warned about blizzards and heavy snowfalls but not on this scale. Penny gripped my hand really tightly as we half slid, half skated our way to school, half a mile across the field and another mile down the country lane into the village and a few more yards to the school. She looked up at me shyly and asked,

“Are you afraid the blizzard will get worse, Jim, and maybe leave us stuck here all day?” I honestly was not at all certain but could see the tight lipped, determined little girl did not want to appear frightened of the weather even though she obviously was. I suppose at the age of nine, holding onto a fourteen year old boy who had been both a neighbour and a hero all her life, made her more determined than ever not to seem scared. I felt I had to cheer her up so said, half jokingly,

“The snow won’t beat us, Penn. We’ll make the road easily before it gets much deeper. See the willow trees by the stream where we join the lane? Well once we cross the narrow water we’ll have no more difficulties from there to the village. Believe me, I’ve often done this walk in the winter. Anyway, when I drop you off at school, I’ll get the college bus for the rest of my journey so we’ll both be fine.” She smiled confidently up at me and tightened her grip as her foot slid sideways slightly. I grinned back encouragingly as the snow clouds thickened ominously overhead and the sky darkened noticeably. But somehow we reached the willow trees without mishap. Then, to my dismay, I realised the stream had not frozen solid as I expected and I could see we were going to have to try to jump across.

“Penn, I can do this but it may be a bit wide for you. If I go first could you throw me your school bag and then hold on to the overhanging willow branch and try swinging over the water. I’ll catch you easily half way, but your snow boots might get soaked. It’s our best chance as the stream is not deep at all.” She slung her bag much too far, which made us both laugh, but it was the last time we did because, as the branch hardly propelled her at all, I had to lunge forward to stop her landing in the icy water. A loud crack followed by an excruciating pain, told me I had twisted or broken my ankle and I hit the water first.

“Jim, Jim.” Penny shouted as she landed on top of me, my legs and waist in the water and the rest of me on the snow covered bank. I could not speak because of the pain in my ankle but Penny could. As she scrambled up the bank, retrieving her woollen beret on the way, she looked down on me almost in tears and asked, “How am I going to get you out? You’re much bigger than I am and you’ve hurt your foot badly, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I think I have, Penn, could you reach the lane and shout for help?” This was all I could think of, but I had reckoned without my little companion. No way was she leaving me half in and half out of the freezing stream. She told me she had an idea. Despite my protests, and as I could only move from the knees up, she took off the green belt that kept her overcoat fully shut round her, and tied it to my ankles. To this day I have no idea how I remained concious it hurt so much, but her grim little face was enough to make me let her help me.

It took Penny twenty minutes to roll my legs up the bank as I helped by clawing my upper body well clear of the water. We both just collapsed with total exhaustion. “Oh thank you Penn.Thank you. I’d have died of cold if I’d stayed there. Could you get to the lane and try to get help or you’ll die of cold too?” But she insisted on one more thing first.

“I’ll find my bag and get my lunch box. We can’t have you starving to death after saving you from drowning.” It took another three hours of to-ing and fro-ing from me to the lane, as the snow got heavier and we admitted to each other just how worried we were. But Penny did her best to remain cheerful for my sake until rescue arrived in the shape of a passing farmer who knew us well.

It was as we were being driven to hospital in the ambulance that had been called for us that I thanked Penny and said I didn’t know how she managed to do so much for me. All she did was blush crimson, kiss me on the cheek and whisper, “Well, Jim, you see, I’m going to marry you!”

My problem is that that was only two weeks ago!

Anton Wills-Eve

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Quote | 20/01/2015

OUR VICTORY


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Re-springing Your Step.”

               OUR VICTORY

I left my dying fiancee’s bed

I wandered lost down lanes that led

To moments of unimaginable dread

That all I loved would soon be dead.

God use my loss as to You she sped,

Please hold her soul in hands that bled

So every tear she had ever shed

And every prayer she had ever said

Would lead her finally to be wed

To our holy victory in Your Godhead!

Anton Wills-Eve

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19/01/2015

Anne


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