Tag Archives: aspholessaria

serial, short story, stories

Finding Family: The Journey of Emily the Orphan. (Goldie and the Beare Family: Part 6)

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Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She went to heaven. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

His wife sat on the bed with an arm around the little girl. She turned to her. “What’s your name?”

“Mr Smith calls me Goldie.”

“But what did your mother call you? Can you remember?”

 Mrs Beare had to lean forward to hear the whisper.

“Emily.”

“Well, Emily, tell me what you did for Mr Smith.”

“Begged. He said I’m pretty so people’ll feel sorry for me and give me more.”

“Emily, I will not let you go to either Mr Smith, or the orphanage. I have an idea, but I need to talk to my husband about it.” She stood. “Stay here. Harold, come along with us. Bring a toy to play with, but leave Jacob with Emily.”

“But, mother…”

Mrs Beare frowned. “Don’t argue, Harold. Do as you are told.”

He handed his rabbit to Emily with a sullen look, and followed his parents. “What if she runs away with him?”

“We will be outside the room. She will not be able to leave without us seeing her. Go and take your train into the sitting room until we call you.”

Mr Beare stood, head cocked to one side. “What is it, Grace? What’s going on in that head of yours?” He laughed. “I can’t see what alternative there is to the orphanage.”

“Oh, but there is, Albert. You know how I…we…wanted more children, but none came after Harold? Remember our prayers, asking God to help us? We thought that He had decided we should have no more children.”

Mr Beare nodded.

“Well, I think He has answered our prayers after all.”

“You mean… .” He looked at the bedroom door.

His wife nodded, a smile covering her face. “Yes. Emily. I think that God has sent her to us, both in answer to our prayers and to help her, too. I think we should adopt her.”

Mr Beare frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Grace. Adopting a street child? She’s a thief. She entered our house and took things.” He gazed at his wife. 

“She took an opportunity that presented itself. She only did it from fear of this Mr Smith. She’s a beggar, not a thief.”

“It’s a big risk, Grace. Suppose Mr Smith still has some influence over her?”

Mrs Beare sighed. “If she’s living here with us I do not see how Mr Smith, whoever he is, can get to her.” She held onto her husband’s arm and gazed into his eyes. “Please, Albert. You know how I long for another child, especially a little girl. And here God has provided us with one. Are you going to reject God’s gift?” She opened her eyes wide and smiled at him through her eyelashes.

“You know I can’t deny you, especially when you look at me like that.” He bent and kissed her. “I won’t reject God’s gift, either.”

If it had not been unladylike, Mrs Beare would have jumped up and down.

“You realise we’ll have a difficult job getting her civilised?”

She grinned. “Yes, but I like a challenge.”

On entering the room, Emily was huddled in a corner of the bed, holding Jacob the rabbit tightly. She stared at Mrs Beare with wide open eyes.

Mrs Beare sat next to the little girl. “How would you like to live here with us, Emily?”

Emily frowned. “You want me to be a maid here?”

“No, no. I…we want you to be our little girl. Our daughter. We want to adopt you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will live here with us. We will give you clothes and food. You will go to school. You will have toys. You will have everything our son, Harold, has. He will be your brother.”

“Not go back to Mr Smith?”

“No.”

“And have a rabbit to cuddle, like Jacob?”

“Yes. And other toys, too.”

Mr Beare entered, looking severe. “You’ll have to be good, though. No more stealing.”

Emily put her hand in her pocket and drew out the brooch she had taken from Mrs Beare’s jewellery box. 

She held them towards Mrs Beare. “Sorry. Mr Smith would beat me if I had nothing to give him.” She hung her head as tears filled her eyes.

“You will call me ‘mother’, or mamma, if you prefer, and Mr Beare you will call ‘father’ or ‘papa’. But first we must get you clean and see to those wounds.”

Mrs Beare called Jane and told her to prepare a bath. When the hot water had been poured into the metal bath set before the fire, Mrs Beare washed Emily’s hair and gently sponged her back. Her clothes she gave to Jane with instructions to wash them, and to dry them as quickly as possible before the range. She then plastered a salve on the raw switch marks.

“What are we going to dress you in? You can’t walk around naked. It is indecent.” Mrs Beare thought for a minute. “Wait here, Emily, I won’t be long.” She left the room and sought her husband.

As she crossed the hallway, Jane rushed up the stairs.

“Ma’am, Mrs White says the dinner is ready, and will be spoiling.”

“Oh, Jane, tell Mrs White I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be too much longer. Try to keep it hot, please.”

Jane dropped a curtsey and went back down the stairs. 

Mrs Beare entered the dining room. “Albert, we can’t have Christmas dinner with Emily with no clothes. The vicar has a little girl about the same size as Emily. I’m sure his wife will not mind lending us an old dress of hers.”

Mr Beare rose and tapped his pipe on the side of the fireplace, where a fire blazed. “And you want me to go and ask.”

“Yes, please. She can’t put her old clothes back. Not only are they ragged, but they were filthy, so I had Jane burn them.”

“And I suppose I’ll have to ask for some underwear, too. All right. I’ll go straight away.”

Mrs Beare reached up and kissed him on the cheek, then returned to the sitting room and Emily.

If you would like to read more of my writing, you can click on the books in the sidebar. You will be taken to a page where you can choose your favourite on-line book store.

christmas, Holidays, Poetry

The Littlest Christmas Tree. A Poem

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This is from the second book in my 2 book series of poems, ‘One Poem a Day.’ The first one is called ‘From January to June’ and the second ‘From July to December.

This poem is from Book 2 and is today’s poem.

Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI

December 16th.

As it gets nearer to Christmas, Christmas trees are going up everywhere. Yes, I know some have been up since November! Here’s a poem about one.

The Littlest Christmas Tree.

The other trees looked oh, so tall
To him, who was so very small.
And now it is the time of year
When everyone is filled with cheer.

Some men came for the tallest tree.
They took him with them, full of glee.
He was going into town.
In Market Square he’d wear a crown.

The littlest tree watched on as folk
Bought others. He was full of hope
That soon he would be picked to go
To a home to put on a show.

But people passed him by and said,
“That one’s too small. That one instead.”
His branches drooped. He felt so sad,
Until a man came, with a lad.

Most other trees had long been sold.
The little tree stood in the cold.
“Look, there’s a small one,” said the lad
As he turned towards his dad.

“It will just fit in our hall.
We can’t have one that is too tall.”
And so they came with spade and dug
Around his roots, all in the mud.

The littlest tree went home with them.
The lights and baubles gleamed like a gem.
He was so happy in that home
With all the love around him shown.

But Christmas passes soon away.
Then there came that dreaded day.
They took away the lights and balls.
“What happens now?” was all his thoughts.

He saw the tall trees passing by
On lorries, going off to die.
Their needles withering and brown
On their proud branches, drooping down.

Fear now filled the littlest tree.
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”
But then the Dad came with a spade.
“I’ll not throw that for which we’ve paid.”

He dug a deep hole for the roots
And tamped it down with his big boots.
“We’ll let him grow, and then next year
We’ll bring him in again. Don’t fear.

And so the littlest tree was glad
That he’d been bought by this kind dad.
For now he has nothing to fear.
He’s decorated every year.

If you enjoyed this poem, and would like to read more, you can buy from the online store of your choice by clicking the cover below or in the side bar.

The books are available as ebook, hard back or paperback.

Here is the blurb for book 1

Take a lyrical journey through the first half of the year with V.M. Sang’s FROM JANUARY TO JUNE.

This anthology captures the essence of everyday life, nature, and the world around us through the versatile medium of poetry. From haiku to narrative poems, and the humor found in limericks, From January To June is a diverse collection of poetry.

A calendar in creativity, a diary in verse; this collection is the perfect companion for daily reflection and inspiration, providing a poem for each day that resonates with the diverse experiences of life.

And the blurb for book 2

The second book of poetry in V.M. Sang’s One Poem A Day Series takes us through summer to midwinter.

Each day there is a poem to read. These poems are often related to the season, for example, Harvest, or the first flight by the Montgolfier brothers, and of course, Christmas.

The poems are varied in type and length. There are haiku, haibun and tanka, limericks, sonnets, odes and narrative poems among the collection. Some poems are comments on serious subjects, while others are amusing and entertaining.

Many of the poems in this collection are in the traditional vein, so if you enjoy this type of poetry, this book is for you.

serial, short story, stories

The Story of Goldie: A Journey Through Poverty Part 2

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Artwork by me and Bing AI

“Come on.” Jack dragged her out of the door, pinching her arm as he did so.

“Ow!” Goldie shook him off as they descended the stairs. “What’ll happen to Peter?”

“Get switched. Prob’ly have a meal stopped, too. Shouldna ’ave kept money back. Mr Smith likes switchin’ ’e does. Don’t give ’im any chance to switch you. Do as ’e says, right and proper, and you’ll be a’right.” 

Goldie looked around. “What’s this place? Who lives in these rooms?”

Jack shrugged. “Mr Smith lives in one. Annie in another. The rest are Mary and her girls.”

“Mary said she wants me for one of her girls when I’m grown. What do her girls do?”

Jack paused on the stairs. “They’re whores. Know what them is?”

“I think so. A whore lived near us, before mamma died.” She sniffed and ran a hand across her face leaving a dirty smudge. “Lots and lots of men visited her. Mamma said she sold her body to them.” She screwed her face up. “I didn’t understand what she meant.”

They reached the door and Jack led her into the street. Rubbish blew past them, and the wind whipped Goldie’s hair into her eyes. A scrawny cat jumped onto a wall opposite.

Jack turned right along the street. Tall tenement blocks of houses rose on either side, cutting out the sunlight and making a corridor for the wind.

Goldie pulled her threadbare cardigan closely around her as she followed Jack along the familiar streets. As they passed one house, she paused, snuffling back tears. She turned to the boy. “I used to live there.” She pointed at the house. “We lived in a room at the back.”

“Did you have brothers an’ sisters?” Jack took her arm and pulled her away.

Goldie shook her head. “Papa went to heaven when I was very little. Mamma worked in a mill. She said I’d work there soon.” She sniffed. “I don’t want to work in a mill. Some of my friends got hurt real bad. They had to go under the machines to get bits of cotton. They call them sca…scave…scavengers.”

“Did you run away?” Jack asked.

Goldie nodded. “Mamma got poorly. She was being sick all the time and pooing. Our room smelled real bad. Then Mamma went to be with Papa in heaven.” She began to cry.

“Then Annie found me. I was very hungry and cold and she promised me somewhere to sleep and food to eat if I worked for Mr Smith.” Working for Mr Smith would be better than the mill.

Even if Mr Smith were a hard man, and it seemed he was, if she were a good girl and did as she was told, she would not get the cane.

Jack continued to lead her through the streets of the town.

Following, she found herself in a part of the town she did not know. The children sat on the ground opposite a church. 

Bells rang from the steeple calling the people to worship. 

Goldie noticed the gravestones surrounding the building. Her mother would not have the luxury of such. Goldie did not know what happened to her mother’s body. People came and took it away. 

A woman arrived to take her to the orphanage. The little girl had a fear of that place. Her mother had often threatened to send her there when she was angry.

Goldie looked around. This was where the ‘posh’ people lived.

The street was clean. Goldie looked at the houses. Most were tall with three stories above road level, and some had steps leading to a basement. Doors opened and people dressed in their best clothes flocked towards the church.

The men wore black or dark brown suits with white shirts and colourful cravats. High black hats were the height of fashion and every man sported one, removing it before entering the building.They shepherded their wives dressed in more colourful attire, although still fairly sober for church. Most of the dresses had bustles, but a few of the older women still wore the wide, hooped crinolines. Like the men, all wore hats.

They hustled their children into the church, barely looking at the two ragged children sitting opposite.

Goldie’s face fell. “What will happen if we don’t take anything back to Mr Smith? Will he switch us?”

Jack patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, Goldie. When they come out, they’ll feel they should do something for charity and then they’ll give us money. I ain’t never been here on a church day when I got nothing.”

The few passersby sniffed as they walked past, and one or two crossed the road. A couple dropped a few small coins in the children’s hats, but it was a  pitifully small amount. Then the church doors opened. The people spilled onto the road. A carriage drawn by a bay horse drew up and a family climbed inside.  The carriage trotted away.

People chattered outside the church. Goldie noticed the congregation beginning to disperse and was about to give up hope of anyone giving them alms. 

It was then that Jack stood. “Please spare a coin. Me and me sister is ’ungry. We ain’t ’ad nuffin to eat since yesterday morning.” He reached out a hand as a couple passed.

The woman searched in her bag and tossed a penny to the pair.

A little girl looked at Goldie. “Mamma, we can’t let such a pretty little girl starve. Give her something.”

The mother puckered her brow. “How do we know they will spend it on food? You know what these beggars are like.”

The girl looked shocked. “Mamma! You heard what the vicar said. ‘Jesus said when you feed one of these poor people, you are feeding me.’ And he said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ Jesus would not have left them begging without giving them something.”

The girl’s father came up to them. “She’s right, you know.” He felt in his pocket and dropped a coin into the hat. Then he shepherded them away.

Jack looked into the hat on the floor. His eyes opened wide. “A shilling! He gave us a whole shilling!”

During the next few hours several more people gave them money, and when the daylight began to fade, they made their way back to the house where Mr Smith lived.

When he saw how much they had gathered, his face almost split with his grin. “I knew you would be good as a beggar, Goldie. Now go and get something to eat.”

I hope you are enjoying this serialisation of my story inspired by Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

I love hearing from you. Please leave your comments in the comments box.

If you would like to read some more of my writing, click on the book cover in the side bar to take you to a page where you can buy from the retailer of your choice.

Halloween, Holidays, Poetry

Celebrating Halloween with Poetic Fun

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Image by ApplesPC from Pixabay

As it’s Halloween today, I thought I’d write a little poem to celebrate it. We don’t do as much for Halloween in the U.K. as the people of the US do, but it’s beginning to creep in here. This year I’ve noticed a few people have decorated their houses.

Halloween

Witches gather their broomsticks
Putting on pointy hats.
Devils creep out from hell
As spiders build their webs.
Ghosts walk the streets
And skeletons leave their graves
Jack O’Lanterns grin
With fiery eyes that glow   

A cold wind blows the leaves
As we shiver in our homes.
The darkness seems to creep
Beneath the gap below the door.
Ghostly sounds are heard.
And the doorbell rings
We huddle together in fear.
What horrors await outside?

We creep towards the door
And open it with care.
The ghosts and skeletons jump
Towards us with a screech.
The witches cackle loudly,
Jack O’Lantern held up high.
Then come the words we know


Image by Nisse Andersson from Pixabay

This is a new poem, but if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. simply click on the image in the side bar.

Currently, Next Chapter, my publisher, has discounts for people who buy 2 or more books in a series from Google Play Store

  • 2 books: 20% discount
  • 3 books: 30% discount
  • 4 or more books: 40% discount

No coupon code is needed for these discounts: all customers who find Next Chapter books in the Google Play Store are able to use these discounts (as long as they buy 2 or more books in any one series at the same time).

Here’s a link to my One Poem a Day series if you are interested.

Click to buy.

Poetry

Woodland Inspiration: A Free Verse Poem

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Rebecca Cunningham has challenged us to write a poem about a favourite place with alliteration.

It is to be free verse and no more than 50 words. So here’s my offering.

Woodland ways
Wend past flowers.
Winding paths walked
Without worry.
Wind whispers to willows
Waving branches.
White wood anemones 
Water at the heart of the wood
With wavelets kissing the shore.
Woodpecker, willow warbler
Wing through trees.
Wonderful. 

And here’s a link to Rebecca’s website so you can view the other poems.

Click here

book reviews, novel, relationships, romance

Review of Devilfire Book 1 of American Hauntings by Simone Baudelaire

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Overview.

This exciting paranormal romance is set in Texas in 1886. Quite a page turner. There is some explicit sex, but not too much. 

I am pleased to see that it is book 1. That means I can spend more time with these characters, and see how they continue their development, and if Gavin can come to terms with his own unacknowledged talent.

Although I don’t usually enjoy graphic sex scenes, there wasn’t too much in this book and it didn’t bother me. What I can’t stand is what seems to be a story simply to carry the sex scenes.

And I love the cover.

It is an excellent read.

Blurb

Texas, 1885

In the aftermath of a deadly fire, Dr. Gavin Morris, on hand to render aid to the few survivors, runs into someone he does not expect. Medium Annabelle Smith has arrived to help the dead cross over. Despite the grim work, the two find themselves immediately drawn to one another.

But this one chance encounter does not end their unexpected connection. Time and again, fate draws them to scenes of destruction, until they can no longer pretend that the fires are natural…and cannot deny that their connection also transcends the ordinary.

But Annabelle is not all she appears. One of her many secrets may be what saves them… or what ultimately leads to their deaths. Are Gavin and Annabelle doomed to burn with more than passion?

This western historical/paranormal contains strong religious themes and graphic sex scenes.

Story.

A mysterious fire breaks out in the southern states of the US destroying a complete village and killing most of the inhabitants.

Doctor Gavin Morris is trying his best to help the dying and injured when he meets Annabelle Smith. She appears to be speaking to the ghosts of the dead.

Gavin does not believe her, but she explains how she has been called here to help the dead on their way. She is emaciated and obviously poor, so Gavin feels sorry for her and wishes to help.

Not to give too much away, there are more inexplicable fires, and the pair decide to investigate. During their investigations they grow closer. 

They find themselves in a terrifying situation, being stalked by an entity far more frightening and dangerous than the ghosts.

Characters 

I liked the main characters. They had their struggles with both the paranormal and the romantic feelings developing between them. 

They developed nicely throughout the novel, with Gavin reluctantly accepting Annabelle’s work, and the fact of the ghosts.

Secondary characters were also well developed, including the ghosts, some of which had to be told they had died. They also kept their worldly characters, especially one rather unpleasant woman.

Writing

I thought that Ms Beaudelaire gave us a clear feeling of both time and place. I had a clear picture in my head of every setting, and believed in the characters.

No grammatical mistakes, nor typos.

I give this book 5*

  My ranking of books. In order to get a particular number of stars, it is not necessary to meet all the criteria. This is a guide only.

5* Exceptional. Wonderful story. Setting well drawn, and characters believable–not perfect, but with flaws. Will keep you up all night. No typos or grammatical errors.

4* A thoroughly enjoyable read. Great and original story. Believable setting and characters. Very few grammatical errors or typos.

3* I enjoyed it. Good story. Characters need some development. Some typos or grammatical errors.

2* Not for me. Story not very strong. Unbelievable and flat characters. Setting not clearly defined. Many typos or grammatical errors.

1* I hated it. Story almost non-existent. Setting poor. Possibly couldn’t finish it.

Have you read any of Simone Baudelaire’s books? This is the first one I’ve read of hers, but will certainly be looking out for more.

history

Memories. Washing Day

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Image by David Grimshaw from Pixabay

I was putting my washing on the other day and suddenly thought about how washing clothes has changed since my grandmother’s day.

This wasn’t in the 1900s, but the 1950s that I remember.

My grandma had what she called a ‘dolly tub’. This was a metal barrel with an open top. I don’t really know what it was made of, but probably galvanised zinc. At least, that’s what it looked like.

First she would boil some water, then pour it into the tub. This would take several pans as she didn’t have a boiler.

Earlier we’d grated soap. There was no such thing as washing powder, which, of course, is a detergent, not a soap. The soap was allowed to dissolve in the hot water before the clothes were added.

She then used a ‘posser’ to pound the clothes. This was hard work. Her posser was copper, but earlier ones were wood. These wooden ones looked a bit like a three-legged stool (but with more legs) on a long handle. Grandma’s was like an upturned bowl with a lid and holes drilled in it to allow water to escape.

If clothes were particularly dirty or stained, she would rub them on a washboard with more soap and perhaps a scrubbing brush.

After the clothes had been pounded clean, they were put through the mangle. This had to be turned by hand, and it squeezed the excess water out.

Then the dolly tub was emptied and clean water added. The clothes were put back and once more possed to rinse the soap out. They had to be rinsed at least twice, preferably more. Once again passed through the mangle. 

When all this was finished, grandma put out the clothes line and hung the washing on it. Pushing it up with a clothes prop, which was a long piece of wood with a v cut out at the top.

Washing day was a strenuous day in those days.

Then she got a washing machine.

Unlike those of today, it loaded at the top and had a paddle to churn the clothes. No more strenuous possing. It still had a mangle on the top, but it was run by electricity and not by hand turning a wheel. Clothes still had to be hung out in the garden to dry though, or hung on a clothes horse around the open fire if the weather was wet..

Washing took a whole day. No wonder women in those days stayed at home and didn’t go out to work. No labour saving devices!

fantasy, novel

Jovinda’s Court Presentation at Aspirilla: A Noble’s Exciting Experience

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I asked Jovinda to tell us about her visit to Aspirilla, the captial of Grosmer, when she went to be presented at court. Here is what she told me.

Me: Hello, Jovinda. I hear you recently went to court and met the king, queen and Crown Prince Gerim.

Jovinda: Oh yes! It was so exciting. I’d recently celebrated my sixteenth birthday and so I was now of age. When girls of the nobility, or from other important families, come of age, they usually get presented at court.

Father received a letter with the Royal Seal on it. He wouldn’t say what it was and took it to his study to read. I was jumping up and down, wanting to know what it said, but he made me and Mother wait until dinner time to tell us.

When he read it out, my stomach turned over. I was included in the guest list! I could hardly eat my dinner for excitement.

The next day, we went to see Madame Frimb, the best dressmaker in Bluehaven. She made a wonderful dress in green velvet. It set off my auburn hair perfectly.

The dress had a high neckline with small pearl buttons sewn around it. The buttons ran down the centre of the bodice and the sleeves stopped at my elbow with pearl buttons around the cuffs. The skirt flared from my waist to give my feet room to move during the dancing. And it had more pearl buttons around the hem.

I was so excited I hardly slept that night. Nor the others before the banquet. I was dreaming of dancing with the prince. I thought I would look so beautiful that he would fall in love with me at first sight.

That didn’t happen, of course, but something even more wonderful did. I met my true love, Nolimissalloran, know as Noli. He was an elf, and so beautiful.

But that’s another story. If you want to learn about what happened, you need to read Jovinda and Noli.

It’s available in all formats by clicking the link on the name, or the book cover in the side-bar.

Here is a short extract from the book:

Jovinda and her parents stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the reception room in the Palace. Jovinda scanned the room looking for Prince Gerim. The prince was not quite sixteen, but would be at such an important banquet as the heir to the throne. She frowned slightly as she noticed a young elf watching her as she descended the stairs.

Ellire had decided the best style for her dress for the banquet would be, not like the elaborate dresses they saw hanging in Madame Frimb’s workroom, but a simple style.

Jovinda saw the green velvet fabric and fell in love with the colour. Ellire agreed it would look good on her, and then went to discuss a style with Madame Frimb. The dress she now wore had a high neckline with small pearl buttons sewn around it. The buttons continued down the centre of the otherwise plain bodice with sleeves that stopped at her elbow. They also had pearl buttons around the cuffs. The skirt flared from her waist giving room for her feet to move when dancing, and more pearl buttons graced the hem. She wore small pearl drops in her ears and a white orchid in her hair.

The family walked down the stairs as a butler announced them. Jovinda stared around. The stairs descended from the balcony where they had entered, and flared out towards the bottom. A red carpet ran down the centre. Large floor to ceiling windows to her right opened onto the palace gardens, and doors carved with vines and fruits stood open on the opposite side. Torches in sconces lit the room, and glinted on the gold-leaf that covered the cornice. More gold covered a few chairs scattered around for those unable to stand for long, and at the opposite end of the room was a dais with two thrones, again, covered in gold leaf.

A waiter brought a tray of drinks.

Jovinda took a glass of Perimo, a sparkling wine from the islands, as she chatted with many of her parents’ friends and acquaintances, feeling very grown up.

Suddenly, a horn sounded. Everyone stopped talking and looked towards the stairs. The Royal Family entered and made their way through the crowd to the dais.

As they passed, people bowed their heads or curtseyed.

Once the king and queen settled onto their thrones, the butler announced the first of the young people to be presented.

As it was her first social occasion, Jovinda was one of those young people. When the butler called her name, she looked at her father who mouthed “Go on, Jo”.

Her mother gave her a little push to start her on her way.

She took a deep breath to try to calm her racing heart, and ascended the dais where she curtseyed to the king and queen.

The king smiled and his eyes twinkled. “We are delighted to meet you, Jovinda. Enjoy the occasion. There’s nothing quite like your first ball.” 

Then she moved on. Prince Gerim smiled at her and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Jovinda.”

Jovinda curtseyed. He’s quite good-looking. I wonder if I can attract his attention? He may even ask me to dance. I wonder what kind of girls he likes?

If you decide to buy and read this book, I would be grateful for an honest review.

Warning: It contains adult themes that some might find upsetting.

plants

Trees

26 Comments

I love trees, the older and gnarlier (I have a squiggly red line saying this isn’t a word. Well it is now!) the better. Here are some pictures of trees I’ve come across.

ASCI

This was an oak tree behind our house in December, as you can see by the date. It was still green!

I had some other photos of trees that I wanted to add, but can’t find them. Still, these are all lovely.

What do you think about trees? They are important, but also beautiful, but too many can be a nuisance and block the sun. There is a poplar behind out garden that cuts the summer sun to our garden. Every few years, the council pollards it, and what a difference it makes to us and our plants!

grammar, Grammar Help

Slack Use of Language

17 Comments

First of all, apologies for no post last week, but I had visitors and didn’t manage to find the time.

I have noticed a decline in the use of the English language for a while now. It is especially concerning in people who should have an excellent knowledge of the language. People such as Radio and TV correspondents, journalists and well-educated experts.

On Sunday there was a news item on Radio 4 about another eruption of the Icelandic volcano that’s currently active. I was on my way out of the kitchen when I heard the ‘expert’ say a word that made me turn back and ask, “Did she just say ‘vigourent’?”

My nephew, who was staying with us, said, “Yes, she did.”

Vigourent!

From an ‘expert’.

I looked it up, thinking it might be a word I don’t know, but it doesn’t appear to be.

This morning, on Sky’s scrolling news, it said, “The Princess of Wales has been seen in public for the first time after her operation at a Windsor farm shop.”

It would have been slightly better with a comma after ‘operation’, I think, but not much.

What’s wrong with, “The Princess of Wales has been seen at a Windsor farm shop for the first time since her operation”?

Syntax has gone. The latter happens all the time. Ambiguous statements.

As to making up words–yes, I know Shakespeare did it–it confuses the issue. When The Bard made up a word, it was obvious what he meant from the context. And he was William Shakespeare! An expert in the use of words.

Finally, there’s a confusion amongst some people as to when to use the past participle. (This is often amongst sports reporters). I hear , ” He has went,” or “She has ran,” and other similar things all the time.

Grrr!

How do you feel about the slack use of language? Let us know in the comments box.

Thank you for reading.