The figures in the landscape saw the light reach up to where they all met. Their Creators had said “One day you will see the light, again.” and now daylight emerged from the keyhole and illuminated the edges of their landscape. The prophecy was fulfilling. Each knew much work had to be achieved in a short period of time.
Finally the key turned in the lock. The door in the floor opened and their saviour stepped into their world. She was dressed differently from their Creators, had no wrinkles. They heard a click, and a whirr and the voice of one of their Creators
Hello Kurston. It’s your mam and dad. You’ve heard our Will. Welcome to ‘The Pentateuch.’
It’s a loft, dad!
It’s just a loft to you. To us it’s our marriage. Our life.
She could tell he was reading. His voice forced and unnatural. Her mother spoke.
Hi ya, Kurston. Close the door. Take 25 days off work, if you’re curious. There is a bed for you.
A light highlighted a bed against one wall. Explain to your boyfriend.
A light highlighted a phone on the bed.
If you’re curious?
That word again. She’d been brought up to that word. Why should I bother with all this nonsense? What were they ever to me?
I understand your anger with us, Kurston. Leave now, and no more need be said.
There was a pause. Her mother knew her too well. She knew asked to leave by her parents she’d stay. Her eyes began to water. She was determined. The grief over her parents death would be an ordered process. She needed time by herself. She would stay. She sat on the bed and said
This is for me not you.
And as soon as she put her weight on the bed a light flicked on the opposite wall. It revealed a painting so big it covered the wall. She gasped. Out of the darkness, to get colour bouncing out of the dark.
Who? What?
Surprised!
Her fathers voice seemed distant. We thought you would be.
Her mother voice seemed closer.
We call it “Out of the Woods”. Your father thought of the title. Being the clever so and so he is. Do you like it? Don’t be afraid. Get up and have a look. It wont bite.
Slowly she got up. Her legs felt weak and unsteady. The picture was a landscape that inclined like a dormer ceiling up to the single point of the roof ,where she could faintly discern that the other walls were similarly covered with landscapes. However, the other paintings faded into the darkness while the illuminated one shone out its predominant colour of green.
She thought it a forest at first. A primordial wood.
Peering more closely she began to discern a building or two. Then everything was not what it had seemed. She saw a picture of Barnsley: a town hall of white blossom. The football ground at Oakwell was made of Oak trunks.
Looking more closely she could see small Bunnies hopping around a forest path down a rhodedendron Arcade towards a Market Hill full of fruit trees extending from Graham’s Orchard that lined a stream running from Whinny Nook at Pogmoor, down Summer Lane described in Cherry trees, down Peel Street lined with Beech to the bottom of Market Hill and a little stone bridge. In fact this was the only piece of stone in the picture.
She thought she recognised some of the bunnies for they had human faces. Yes, two of the bunnies hopping together were her dead parents.
Why bunnies?
Does it ask questions of you Kurston? Her father was trying to sound portentous and she wasn’t about to talk to a piece of magnetic tape.
Year: 2014
The Glassmakers Secret
It is said a Madonna LiIy keeps ghosts from the door and will only grow for a good woman. My names is Abigail. I grow this flower in my garden but it can never keep me from being haunted.
I have two suitors, Peter and John, after the death of my first husband William.
To Peter, I said
You’re gentle with me. William. My last husband followed his affection by grabbing me between the legs. I will consider your proposal.
I see through my windows the Winter sun gleam off the lilies in the garden as Peter leaves my house. The garden is well ordered, unlike my mind.
William was a prosperous yeoman farmer. He fell from his horse, and died.
Brothers Peter and John Pilmey are third generation Huguenot immigrant glassmakers.
I tend the Madonna lilies in my garden in memory of William. His farm is prospering. I can afford table cloths and knives, But I have no heir. I look about and see the brothers recently removed to Silkstone from Lancashire.
I hear from Jonas, the packman, that Yorkshire and, Lancashire suffer devastation due to the Civil War and that there will be need for glass to repair the damage,
Glassmaking is kept secret and passes down only through marriage into gIassmaking families. If you know the secret you know you belong. Well, I thought, there will be a future in this enterprise.
I confide in Jonas when I deliver my letters to him at ‘The Packhorse Inn’:
Peter has bound himself to revealing the secret of glassmaking to me if I become his wife.
Does he think so highly of his family that he would give the secret away so easily.
Jonas clears his pint of brown ale and shouts for another.
He is not the strongest man I have known. I could achieve my aim easier with him.
What of John?
He wishes to meet with me tomorrow. He decided upon the place and time.
By his reputation with the Quarter Sessions he is often bound to keep the peace. Closer to William in his manner,
He has a certain strength.
On the following day I meet John, at his designated spot. I have to rearrange the making of the house Cheese to accommodate him. I reach the meeting place on foot.
It is on the top of a hill where the Iocals dig for coal. The earth is black as a funeral shroud. Before he arrives I observe Silkstone in Its pleasant wooded Valley. I see the glassworks by the water mill in the shadow of the medieval church. The growing number of industries in the hamlet include a nailmakers forge and the oldwater mill crushes bones for livestock. The place has a future. The wind across the moor tops is strong as John rides up on his mare and speaks to me
Be it known lass I’ll not give you the secret till I know you can be trusted.
How do I know you can be trusted to tell me?
Don’t speak to me of trust. I know you confide in Jonas, the packman, in an inn where no decent woman would be found dead.
I leave knowing John will be the harder work, but that at least I know my place and can fight for a better, With Peter his sympathy for my situation can be difficult when it comes to business. Every time we meet I will have to deal with the emotions. I am not used to this. I know I will be the stronger. At home I know the white of the Madonna lily the garden will be a perpetual reminder of my decision.
I marry John who in turn tumbles from his horse and dies. I inherit the business and give it to my son by him also called John. But now there is no Civil War and canals and good roads do not reach Silkstone
so the glassmaking died, Peter remains unmarried.
I have the secret to glassmaking but there are more improved ways to make it of which I cannot afford. Madonna lilies glow white in the garden.
Objects
He With Eyes Like Crystal looked at the object. A hard square of fabric with hieroglyphics on its surface. Traced the dusty glyphs with his delicate fingers:
S.E.A.M.
Somewhere recognition. He knew this sign.
Gust blew at his back. He shut the heavy metal doors. The short day would soon be gone. Luckily. he had foraged for Isso motor oil earlier. His eyes brightened to compensate for the dark.
The square of fabric was like the door to his cave. He opened it. Inside were more flimsy squares with more hieroglvohics written in carbon. Perhaps the Translator would know what they were. Closing the fabric door. he decided to visit it tomorrow.
The Translators metal door. the heaviest and biggest. could not close because of the Line Up of Foragers. Ah. once he had presented a long strand of fibre to the Translator who had told a story about the intertwining of lives. The Translator had said the object was like the seam of people lining up at his door. Ah. he had a clue to the object he carried.
When he became First in the Line. he presented his latest find.
The Translator no longer had eyes to forage. He depended upon his sense of touch to tell the story of an object. The hearing of He With Eyes Like Crystal sharpened to compensate for the noise of the Line.
“This is the story of the object.” said the Translator.
“Once there were some people who lived on a planet they called the same as we call the floor we walk upon. They dug holes in the ground. And when they had laid their digger to one side. they would say:
‘This is mine. ‘
These mines could be very dangerous. like when the roof of our caves falls in. One day this happened to some of the people. The rest were outside and saw the cave in. The hole had filled itself as if the planet had said:
‘They are no longer yours.’
Because the people were theirs. and the hole in the ground was theirs. they tried to dig them out. They dug three days and three nights. until they found the lost people. But none of the lost people breathed anymore. They no longer belonged to the others who had dug them out.
So the people came here to dig new holes. They no longer said:
‘This is mine.’
but
‘This is home.’
This is the story of the object.”
The telling finished the Translator put the object on one of his many shelves.
He With Eyes Like Crystal returned through the harsh gust and short day to his cave.
He would forage for another object tomorrow. As he lay on his bed he saw the glyph
S.E.A.M.
in his head and heard the Translator say it and knew what it meant. And remembered he had not foraged for Isso motor oil.
9. Consideration
I said to Friend Peaudane, as we walked Dearne Flats by the serpentine river that he has more than proved his worth as a husband. I would gladly accept him in such a position and be willing to bear him children to cement our association. He answered that it is only a beginning and we must both strive for the ends I described to him at the beginning, extravagance in our generosity towards others, both personally and publicly. It is now Friend Peaudane, that wishes me to call him Richard as he shall call me Sarah and that we should wait a time yet till we are married. He has his duty to Joseph and family to fulfill.
Yesterday he was present when Susannah, Joseph’s wife gave birth to their second son. Joseph and his brother James who is now living there too pacing up and down, wanting to drown his sorrows, while Richard soothed his furrowed brow with optimistic expressions. But, upon the reception of the child after its sojourn with Susannah, Joseph was all Pray god children are ugly when there but bairns. Richard saw the pride in Joseph’s eyes. Richard wishes to prove his worth to me as a wife as soon as Joseph and Susannah have found a cottage at a place called Old Mill. Here Joseph will raise kine and have a loom. His brother James is to
lodge with Mrs Jackson at the King’s Head. I shall move in with Richard promptly.
The Gift of Fire
THE GIFT OF FIRE
Their sheets were silk like mine were linen. Their mattress soft like mine was hard. They had room for two but I had only one. Theirs was the blue quilt all sharp and ironed and clean. All fluffed up like it was green hills that at any moment the yellow sun would rise over. Not a flat grey sheet that breathed in the frost except where dust and paper gathered, like a deserted street blown away by a harsh wind.
It had begun when I least expected it. Snug in the City of Cardboard that stretched for miles, I was made homeless. The Officials came to take your box away and never said why. I wandered up and down the grey streets and looked through cardboard windows and watched families enjoy their food, while the biting wind whipped around my body. Meals of honeycomb and ale, while mine was any insect crawling the streets. Soft cushions to· sit on, while my arse bruised against concrete. The stippled concrete stretched for miles. I had grown up on its surface. Lingering scabs on my flesh. My friends used to compete as to who could have the worst. I’d never been outside the ci ty. I always had a cardboard box. But since the Officals came even my best friends didn’t want to know. They said ‘You’ve no box. It makes you a Traveller. We don’t talk to Travellers. was always said that when you became a Traveller you could see what boxfolk had.
My feet were all I had left, so I walked. All I could see were rows and rows of cardboard boxes. And when I looked up I saw the endless grey that legends told to me as a child was as solid and unforgiving as the ground.
As I walked and walked and walked my cardboard shoes tore to shreds. My eyes became heavy. My limbs even heavier. And still there were more boxes to pass. I thought about what they had done to me.
As I walked and walked I got hungrier. I began to fall and my scabs took longer to heal. Still there were more boxes to pass. I decided to take my revenge.
And I walked till I began to see honeycomb and ale on little tables with a family beckoning for me to sit and eat with them. Till I began to see my own box every time I passed cardboard. And suddenly there was all this whiteness about me. It made me feel warm and blinded.
A figure came out of the Whiteness. It said ‘I am a Traveller too ..’ and I no longer felt alone. The Traveller took me to one side and said:
You have come home. Your eyes will get used to the blue sky and the green grass. Here eat this bread. Here drink this milk. And I no longer felt heavy. The whiteness resolved itself into the blue above and the green below. I saw how the fire kept the Traveller warm and how it hurt when you put your hand in it. The Traveller said’ Stay. ‘
But I had got used to walking. When my feet had healed, my stomach was full, and I had enough of company I walked and walked and walked because there is no home for a Traveller: I will take this fire that burns as a gift to my boxfolk. They have treated me so well.
The Brandished Knife
A Filey Clairvoyant
You will meet the Right Man and know it in two years time.
His name begins with,
I can’t quite distinguish
a P or B or R.’
Well, I’d had- a Bernard and Paul.
I feel sorry for Ray
tells me his fat
girlfriend just sits
around house
no housework.
He prepares all meals.
She just sits
reading Mills and Boon.
drinks and sleeps
Never together when out.
She with her friends, he with his.
He goes out,
returns she’s brandishing a knife,
interrogates him
where he’s been.
He is a designer
witty with it.
Manager at my workplace
he sends me a picture
of an American Indian
with palm up
and five statements on how
we should get together.
I ask
Why haven’t you moved out?
He says
When my last marriage broke up
my wife got house and everything
and my girlfriend won’t move out.
He makes sense.
I want a boyfriend with either
motorbike or a landrover.
He’s just sold his bike.
Landrover is soft topped.
Takes me and Ben out walking
to Dark Peak.
We enjoy pictures rather than words.
He makes meals for the family.
My friends said if my last husband turns up
Ray
would not hesitate to lay him out.
We spend evenings planning places
things we can do, together.
He smokes
socially when he drinks, like me.
Suddenly,
Christmas he moves in.
On way out to a Parents evening
Ben’s school I tell him
We’ll talk when I return
On return I find all drink gone
him crashed out drunk in my bed.
In morning he says
Please forgive me.
Over the next month we go out
hold hands, and are gentle
down by the bridge while Ben plays
ahead with our dog.
Over next month he fills my wardrobes
with his clothes
my shelves with his CD’s.
Then I notice
him going to pub straight after work,
returns home crashes out to sleep.
he works drinks sleeps
Comes from work after pub
says he’s tired, sleeps rest of night
I wait for him downstairs.
I sit alone in house on an evening
or when he is in
he gawps at TV in bedroom.
He does not let me to go
out with my friends.
We go out again after I have words.
Two weeks later he is back
drunk and sleeping again.
On few occasions we go out
he leaves me on my own
he spends evening talking to a biker
or someone at bar.
I talk to his fat girlfriend Sophie.
She’d been holding a knife because she
was cutting veg, as she always did
preparing meals for him while he went
Out and got drunk.
He catches me talking to her
says
‘Don’t believe her, she’s a liar. She’ll say
anything to get me back with her.’
Tells me all the girls at work
are after him.
I talk to them.
They wouldn’t touch him.
He promises me I’ll not go drinking
starts excuses when I smell it on his breath
told him so.
I say
I’ll go to a counselling session with you
He’s having none of it.
his tears when I phone him at local pub and tell him
Your stuffs in the driveway.
Down on his knees he is, tears and moans, begging me to reconsider. Says
Your right in everything you say. I’m at fault and I’ll change.
He is really suffering. I nearly break
but people never change.
I meet him a month or two later while out with my mates.
He comes in pub.
Sends one of his mates over to mr
Ray wants a private word
I say
Whatever Ray has to say he can say while my mates are present.
Anyway he comes over.
I aske
Hows Sophie?
he tells me
Eff off.
I feel nothing.
Mark is the man for me, but he is married and she is kind. I have known the family for ten years now. It is only recently I admit to myself I love Mark. I would not hurt their kids . I have seen them settle down round meal table of an evening. I come home, collapse on sofa and cry for I know we would be good together. want to settle down. For a time with Ray I forget about Mark. Ray never knew about him. I see Mark less. I will not move from this cul de sac because I feel safe with Mark down the road and the fabulous view of the moors. Perhaps because I love Mark I find it difficult to love anyone else. I’ll keep looking.
The Home of Breath
Her breathing place
is at home sometimes.
familiar furniture,
pot plants, pictures.
Her conversation easier.
No annoying silences.
Her stomach chums,
especially when someone knocks
on door
phone rings
Especially when she recalls
his threats on her
childs life
echoes off walls
she wants
cannot afford to paper.
Front room window-frame crumbles
one day pane will fall out
her house open itself
to wind
here family is close
friends minutes away.
None Has Stayed
She brings men up
She can see whats in them.
Then they leave her.
None has stayed.
She swore never
get hurt again.
Takes me
in her arms
says ‘I’ve got a child already.
I don’t need another.’
‘I will not carry you.’
She curves my wet dreams.
Denies herself for her child,
others
‘My son is more mature than you.’
Makes each man she chooses
Then they leave her.
None has stayed.
She sees strength
behind their eyes,
in their arms,
Tells them it needs bringing out.
Every man has left his mark.
She asked them to leave.
None has stayed .
Tret
It’s how she treats people
how she feels she must be tret:
Soeaks
to Mike,
libido disabled by drugs;
wound up on a Saturday night in the pub by wisos dropping their keks ;
avoided
a Ieper
by people on the bus
she sits by him
aware that he’s tempted
but
subdued.
Old man returns to his lonely house
she wishes could go back with him,
give him company.
Has her own family chats to him
in supermarket
longer
than she should.
Says she’s old-fashioned.
Likes a bloke to buy her drinks.
Treat her right.
I’m used to lasses
‘I’ll buy me own thanks.’
I feel it’s better if we share the price. You’ve no money so it makes sense.’
Old-fashioned is new to me.
She’s never made love to gentle.
I called it sex
Didn’t know any better.
She’s never been tret like this before.
The Reasons For Her Leaving (novel extract)
ONE: THE HOSPITAL
It was how he tret Ben, my bairn not his, decided it for me.
Ben couldn’t walk. I took him into hospital.
I wanted to stay with him, to get out of the house and away from my husband. He said it was my duty to stay with Ben. He would have nothing else.
I decided to stay with Ben over night. They had no beds so I had to sleep on an armchair.
Husband visited in the morning. I lifted up my head to say ‘Hi.’ and he
marched back out the ward. He came back a few minutes later and told me ‘I want to see you outside – now!’ Ben was worried all over his face with what had
been happening at the house, what he was going to do to me.
Anyroad my husband outside the ward tells me I ignored him! I should have thrown my arms around him and kissed him. He was shouting and bawling. Shaking his fist underneath my nose. He said I should take an afternoon off. Spend more time with him not Ben.
I wanted to spend as much time as I could away from him not with him. Ben even tried to persuade the hospital to let me and him stay in the hospital a little
longer.
My husband used to sit on the window le4ge and half look at me and say , You
don’t know what power I have do you?’ He’d say ‘Come over here. And he’d point to the stars and say it was he that wrote the book. He’d been here a long time. His power was from God to do evil or good.
It was his eyes that got me.
TWO: THE CRACK
Ben wanted to be with his dad. His real dad. I told him he could.
Then I told my husband downstairs, who screamed ‘I’ve had enough. I’ll kill
your child.’
I decided to move away, again.
He lay awake. ~ perceptive as me. I got up at 7. Quietly got Ben up. Told him not to make a noise.
I didn’t know where I Was going.
.. Anyway he woke up didn’t he and said, ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m leaving you.
and he replied
‘Where shall we take the children today?’
Up till then he’d never taken them anywhere. He said,
‘I’m not being dictated to by your ex-husband or these soft, undisciplined brats.
Bitch. He was upstairs shouting from the landing ‘Bitch.’ at me in the hallway. ‘Go and put your fist in the ear of that nine year old brat.
He was like that.
He’d give me a crack.
I’d give a crack back like,\ but it’s not the same is it?
I can’t suss him out.
One day he calls me beautiful and stunning. Next day I’m an ugly bitch,
a whore, a tart.
We’ve always understood one another more than ourselves.
We always rub each other up the wrong way.
I caught him once
or twice with my friends. Touching them up
in the kitchen
at a house party we had.
He said he was comforting them. I looked at him for at least five minutes moving up against her before I said anything.
He always had an eye for women.
Once I banged one of these friends
up agin a wall and told her straight hands off or I’d crack her one.
They were all after him. Handsome bastard.
He used professional techniques, trying to . ..
brainwash me and the kids, cut us off from family and friends. I was having none of this.
Anyway I moved him out.
The Wombwell Rainbow 