A M T
MURDER IN MIND
An extremely boring entity sent me an email just as I was settling down to an evening of quite music and a good book as was my way. An invitation to a murder mystery party in fact, I was on the point of deleting it unanswered when I had an idea. What if…..I arrived by car at the appointed time and day. The house was built in the early sixties with the usual wooden windows and doors. A garden surrounded on all four sides by virtue of the fact that it was the last to be built and was on the builder’s rubbish tip. By this coincidence it was detached unlike the rest of the area which was made up of semis.
My word, what an abomination. My hostess had transformed it into a pseudo- Georgian monstrosity. Fake Georgian windows and an entrance that would not look out of place in a barn. I smiled inwardly.
She was tall, slim and dressed in the most outlandish outfit which reminded of the old-time films of the decadent twenties. Unfortunately, she was in her fifties. Her husband was already two parts to the windward and slumped in the armchair of the mock Tudor style. The rest of the guests were as expected; parish councillors, bank manager, lots of professional classes and their wives.
I was tempted to develop a toothache and escape homeward. In the Lounge area, actually the ground floor room was the usual open plan of the era, was the buffet, courtesy of Morrisons not Fortum and Mason.
Suddenly the light went out, a scream, light on and no body. Opps. A singularly red-faced golf club secretary was trying unsuccessfully to put the drama school dagger in his pocket. Confusion reigned.
From upstairs a young servant, actually a local kid from the amateur dramatic forum announced, “ Oh he’s dead ”, totally obvious to the fact that he, namely the husband of the host was in fact snoring rather loudly from his chair. He was going to be the victim, but someone changed the arrangements.
In the general oohing and aahing, Our hostess stood rock like in the middle space between the stairs and the buffet declaring that the police must be summoned. Well, after all, the show must go on, Lord help us. Our local Headmaster, masquerading as the Inspector went to examine the body which unluckily for him let go a very stinky and wholesome fart. I thought my ribs would crack as I held in my laughter. After this people began to remember they needed to be somewhere else. The young actors of course were helping themselves to their hosts’ drinks while the little sausages with their cocktail sticks made a sticky mess of themselves.
Once outside everyone was saying how much fun they had, and it might take her down a peg or two. I meandered home recreating the crime.
Was there a Murder: Of course.
Quis: Who was the victim?
Quad: What was the weapon?
Ubi: Where did it happen?
Cur: Why?
Quomodo: How was it done?
Quando: When?
I suspect dear readers you know by know but let us return to that abode shall we?
I was annoyed by the invite; I have a local reputation for writing short playlets for the am dram and she was always nagging me to write a crime mystery for her. The invite was a set up. Either I was to be the Inspector or the witness. Three days before the event, at a time I knew all to be out, I gained access to the house. Now, don’t go asking how, the answer would shock you. I found all the details and changed them. I also asked the hubby to join me for a little pick me up before the event in the local and after a few for the road got him into a taxi home..
I arrived as stated and watched the fruit of my labours. He didn’t let me down as he is known for not being able to hold his pop. The solution therefore is; In the lounge, on that evening, with a little thought and the quibus auxilius, the unwitting help of her husband.
The victim was Snobbery and the culprit Me!
by A M T
LEGO
If I were a piece of Lego I would be a window as then I could see everything.FIRST MEMORIES OF LEGO
When my brother and I were young we had a huge box made up of lots of Lego sets. I loved playing with it and built lots of houses for my doll and teddy.
My brother is older than me and he used to build cars and boats. We sailed them on the local stream.
I think today that with the advent of made-up kits, for example Pirates, the youngsters are missing out on using their own imagination and therefore are not experiencing the same opportunities to problem solve as we had.
I won a grown-up Lego set in a raffle. It is still in its box. It is a Plum Blossom in a pot. I haven’t tried doing it yet.
by A M T
FLYING MACHINES
What would it be like to invent a flying machine? I pondered this question as I walked by the River Avon in Malmesbury. Bloody dangerous came the reply to my mind!One thinks of the Greek legend of Icarus the son of the famous inventor Daedalus who powered by wax and feathers flew to close to the sun.
Or perhaps Richard Trevithick who let the boiler run dry on his engine while they were in the pub. It exploded leaving Stevenson to develop the locomotive.
I once witnessed a very bumpy landing by an air balloon at Barbury Castle in Wiltshire. One minute all serene and the next pop and it plunged down into the middle of the castle. All I could see were human ants crawling out from underneath the crestfallen canopy. I swiftly removed that particular mode of
transport from my bucket list.
As I was in Malmesbury, my late husband’s hometown my thoughts turned to the abbey. Between Henry V111 and Cromwell only the nave remains but it was a vast Benedictine Monastery. Many years ago, I had read of the story of Eilmer while incidentally enjoying a pint in the aptly named Flying Monk, alas now a Co-op. The pub sign survives in the Wiltshire Museum in Devizes.
Recounting any tale from over a thousand years previously must be viewed with a tiny bit of reserve as stories change when passed from mouth to mouth over the passage of time. However, Eilmer was believed to have been born about 984 AD. He wrote about witnessing Hailey’s comet which was visible from England in 989 AD. He would have been five or six years old then. He was always fascinated by
space and flight.
As a young novice monk, he decided to try flying himself by tying a wooden wing like structure over which was stretched a linen or flax sheet to his arms and tying the fabric to his legs. Now you place your money and take your choice. Either he took off from the top of the Abbey roof and crashed after a
flight or glide of some 15secs, covering 200 metres to Daniels well on the opposite bank of the Avon from the abbey or he launched himself from the large hill to the South of the town, soaring over the town before crashing into the abbey’s gardens. Either way it did not end well. Malmesbury is not called the Queen of the hilltop towns for nothing.
He did survive well into old age for then cared for by his brothers. He blamed the lack of a tail for his misfortune. Ha also wrote many theses on astrology. They were still in circulation during the 16 th century. It is said that he foretold the Norman invasion of 1066. His exact age and date of his death was lost as a result of Henry’s dissolution of the monasteries.
I ended my pondering and made my way to the Cross Keys after deciding to leave flying to the birds…
by A M T
Trigger warning this next piece contains a description of disaster and loss of life.
Travelling on Concorde
It was with mounting excitement that we walked down the gangway to board our aircraft. Not any old aircraft but the brand new sleek, white, bird. This is the Concorde, The newest and fastest jet in the world and I would be on her, flying over 60,000 feet above the ground at Mag 2, over 1,300 mph. I had worked as a secretary in the design office and now thanks to a free ticket I was going to N.Y.We rounded the corner of the terminal building and there she was, photographs didn’t do her justice, she was beautiful. Inside was cozy. After we had taken our seats I heard the engine gain revs and my heart raced along with it. Slowly we taxied then our speed increased, with a burst of excitement we were away, faster and faster down the runway until with gasps from us she soared into the blue London sky. Rising evermore she reached the clouds and before we knew it she passed over her home at Filton, then out over the Irish sea to cross southern Ireland and into the wide expanse of the Atlantic. We started the countdown as the speed clock reached Mag 1, Mag 1.5 and then to loud cheering and clapping the magical Mag 2. The cabin crew began to get ready to serve our meal and drinks.
I awoke feeling like I was in a dream, all around me I heard moans and crying, opening my eyes I looked on in horror as I saw the sky, a pale blue, I felt both hot and cold and realized it was a breeze I felt. I could hear the sound of surf, of waves crashing against land. I removed my belt and wanted to get up but my legs wouldn’t respond. I did finally manage to get out of my aisle seat. My lovely bird was lying to one side, her fuselage open to the elements. Her roof had disappeared. I struggled forward to where the cockpit was but it was gone, as was the crew. Looking outside I could see a sandy beach, a line of trees in the middle distance.
I got out somewhat shakily and saw a few of my fellow passengers all wandering, trying to make sense of what had happened. Turning back I recoiled in horror as only the midsection of the craft had survived the catastrophe that had struck us. But what?
Two of the men, retired forces by their looks began to take charge, I felt reassured and my fellows listened as they organized the care of the walking wounded and the search for survivors. I didn’t want to return to the craft as I knew it contained many dead.
I got out somewhat shakily and saw a few of my fellow passengers all wandering, trying to make sense of what had happened. Turning back I recoiled in horror as only the midsection of the craft had survived the catastrophe that had struck us. But what?
Two of the men, retired forces by their looks began to take charge, I felt reassured and my fellows listened as they organized the care of the walking wounded and the search for survivors. I didn’t want to return to the craft as I knew it contained many dead.
We formed a line to try and salvage tools, water and food as well as the first aid kits. We divided into teams, some found driftwood to lit fires and others to dig holes away from the shore to use as toilets. As we went about our tasks it seemed that a quiet serenity seemed to come over us. No one panicked, argued or fussed, just everyone focusing on the task in hand.
As evening came and the sun started to go down we made our way into a clearing the men found behind the tree line. Here they had place branches and what clothing and seats they could retrieve from the plane. We tried to settle down and started to discuss for the first time what had happened. I could remember Mag 2 then nothing. The men concluded that a failure of the nose cone caused us to dive suddenly down, fortunately it rendered us unconscious.
Sitting there it came to me that we hadn’t heard the sound of aircraft or indeed anything bar the rhythmic sound of the waves. Where were the people? Were they looking for us? I tried to sleep as darkness fell but a creeping dread started to spread over me, we had lit fires around the campsite, but their shadows only served to increase my anxiety. Suddenly we heard sounds, shapes began to appear from amongst the trees, I ran for cover and kept going with my lungs bursting for air, I tripped over tree roots and cut myself on branches. Eventually
I had to stop and lay panting and shivering on the bracken. Sweat blurred my vision, my throat was dry and sore, as I lay, I kept fearing that they would find me.
As dawn’s light broke, I awakened and tried to gather my thoughts. I needed food and water, I must head back to the clearing, to the beach I reasoned. If there were search parties they would be looking from the air and sea. Yes, I must return. When I got to our overnight stop the fires were dead and no one was to be seen. I went to the shore where water bottles and dry biscuits were on a blanket. I sat there gratefully eating and drinking worrying about what had happened to my companions when I saw a boat coming towards the shore, I yelled as loud as I could and before too long the crew had come ashore, taken me back on board and wrapped me in warm blankets.
I woke in the sickbay, warm, safe and cared for but what of the others?
They were found well fed and look after in a small village in the centre of the island. The people I fled from in my panic had heard the crash and were coming to rescue us. I felt shame and embarrassment at my actions and with the passage of time, I still do….
As evening came and the sun started to go down we made our way into a clearing the men found behind the tree line. Here they had place branches and what clothing and seats they could retrieve from the plane. We tried to settle down and started to discuss for the first time what had happened. I could remember Mag 2 then nothing. The men concluded that a failure of the nose cone caused us to dive suddenly down, fortunately it rendered us unconscious.
Sitting there it came to me that we hadn’t heard the sound of aircraft or indeed anything bar the rhythmic sound of the waves. Where were the people? Were they looking for us? I tried to sleep as darkness fell but a creeping dread started to spread over me, we had lit fires around the campsite, but their shadows only served to increase my anxiety. Suddenly we heard sounds, shapes began to appear from amongst the trees, I ran for cover and kept going with my lungs bursting for air, I tripped over tree roots and cut myself on branches. Eventually
I had to stop and lay panting and shivering on the bracken. Sweat blurred my vision, my throat was dry and sore, as I lay, I kept fearing that they would find me.
As dawn’s light broke, I awakened and tried to gather my thoughts. I needed food and water, I must head back to the clearing, to the beach I reasoned. If there were search parties they would be looking from the air and sea. Yes, I must return. When I got to our overnight stop the fires were dead and no one was to be seen. I went to the shore where water bottles and dry biscuits were on a blanket. I sat there gratefully eating and drinking worrying about what had happened to my companions when I saw a boat coming towards the shore, I yelled as loud as I could and before too long the crew had come ashore, taken me back on board and wrapped me in warm blankets.
I woke in the sickbay, warm, safe and cared for but what of the others?
They were found well fed and look after in a small village in the centre of the island. The people I fled from in my panic had heard the crash and were coming to rescue us. I felt shame and embarrassment at my actions and with the passage of time, I still do….
