THE LOST LAND

 

A short slide show, inc video of me reading `The Lost land.` An impressionistic memory.

My dad had a factory that delivered eggs, chickens, cheese and much more to hospitals, shops and factories. The photo is of my dad in his place of work.

Both my dad, and the factory is no longer here.

AND THEY DANCED TO KEEP WARM--A SHORT STORY

 Previously published in Southlight Magazine and in Biscuit International Competition Prizewinners anthology.  Set in an imagined future. 

Currently writing a play version.

The day after tomorrow!

 She watched it turn blue and she knew their lives were over.  Sandy would say different of course.   Sandy the optimist, the champion looker on bright sides.  

No, not this time.  Especially Sandy.  He would know this couldn’t be fixed with a joke and a waltz around their living room to the music inside their heads. She smiled at the time he’d been made redundant at the factory and they’d danced, and she’d asked him.  ‘Sing the song.’

‘ You to.’ He’d said.  ‘Ready? One two…’

They’d both starting singing, badly,   Stuck In The Middle With You.

Not this time though. This time they had made the one mistake they couldn’t make.  The one thing that wasn’t allowed with Sandy being Sandy.  If they found out…What was she on about?  If.  They would and…Michelle choked and grabbed tightly at the sink…Would they even get to say goodbye?

She washed her face and stared at herself in the mirror.  How could they be so stupid? One mistake and everything changes forever.  At last they’d found a half decent place.  By their standards anyway.   Okay the cottage was damp and looking its age—the farmer had told them it was going on fifty years.  Michelle reckoned you could double that.

She didn’t mind though.  It was theirs.  And she was slow but sure getting the place like she wanted.  She had to work on Sandy of course.  He would have lived in the barn if she’d let him.  But he always came round and she loved travelling, picking up bits and pieces of furniture here and there from second, or more likely third hand shops.  They had painted and sort of decorated most of the cottage.  Their bedroom was the last to be done.  The paint for it was sitting in the hall. 

What was she going to do with all that paint?

The farmer had even put in newish windows in the living room.  A gale still blew through the cracked brick work on either sides but they wore jumpers and scarves and laughed.

And they danced to keep warm

The farmer liked them.  He’d told them.  Glad of good reliable tenants after that last lot, that’s what he was forever telling them.  She had asked but never got a proper answer why ‘that last lot’ were so bad.  Maybe they had made the same mistake as them?

A gale still blew through the cracked brick work on either sides but they wore jumpers and scarves and laughed.

And they danced to keep warm

A gentle knock came at the bathroom door.

‘Michelle.’

She stared at the blue.  ‘ Nothing yet.’

She heard him lean against the door.

One silly, stupid, bloody mistake. 

She thought about that April night. The both of them curled up, fully clothed, in bed, the heating gone again, and the farmer promising to get there before the country chill set in but never making it.

They were warm though.  They were together.  And she had said it.

‘I think we’re going to be okay.’

Stupid bitch that she was for saying something like that.  Tempting bloody fate.

They had made love that night without a thought and…now it was July.  Outside she knew the sun would be weaving patterns across the gathered haystacks.  Outside everything literally was coming up roses.

Another knock at the bathroom door.

A hesitant voice.  ‘Michelle.’

She could lie of course. 

No, she couldn’t.  They lived enough of a lie without lying to each other. 

The bathroom squeaked open. 

‘Michelle.’

Staring in the mirror she saw his eyes searching her reflection for any clue.

He found it.

‘You’re pregnant.’

She didn’t nod, or say anything. 

No need.

 

They’d never stopped talking in the three years they’d been together since that late night at the bookshop, Michelle taking Frank Kafka’s ‘Metamorphosis’ from him, and asking.  ‘ Do you ever read anything else?’

He had been coming into the shop every day for a week.  He had bought nothing but Kafka.

‘I don’t read.’ He told her.  She’d waited.  He said. ‘I thought it might impress you.’

She laughed and that was that.  He walked her home every night when she finished work.  Occasionally they would go to a café and talk.

She told him all about studying Law, and now not being sure, how she was thinking of giving it up, but she only had a year to go.

He persuaded her to carry on.

He told her he wasn’t allowed to go to University. He’d told her why.  He’d watched her when he’d said that.  She didn’t hesitate.  ‘ Like I said not all it’s cracked up to be.’

She’d got her degree but never practised.  She couldn’t after they were married and she knew that.  Sandy had wanted them to live together.  Then the world would never have known. 

‘ But I want to get married.’ She’d said.

‘ But…’

‘I know.’ She said.  ‘Will you marry me?’

Now the silence between them. 

For three days they had tried test after test and all with the same result.  The blue stayed blue no matter how many times they closed their eyes and prayed together quietly for a miracle.  For three days they lay quietly together in their high ceiling bedroom, eyes gazing through the skylight, numb to the stars gathering and fading into the blue of the morning. 

During the day Sandy worked on the farm. She typed in the estate agents.  Sandy baled hay with an energy the farmer wondered about.  She cried in the toilets with love for the dream that was their cottage.   For three days they never talked about the one thing they had to talk about.

What were they going to do?

As it turned out they didn’t need to.  For there were plenty of other people who could talk for them, or more particularly about them.   The lady at the Chemists for instance.  When the knock came at the door Michelle knew at once who had told.  After all there was money to be had for telling.   That first time Carol from the office had bought the kit for her.  But you can only say false alarm once.  After that she had shut off thoughts of getting caught and gone to chemists herself.  She had to be sure. She had hid the kit of under aspirins and shampoo of course but she couldn’t hide it from the lady behind the counter.

One swipe of her card and it would have flashed up. 

An illegal purchase.  There they would be on the system.

Mr and Mrs Sandy Williams.

One phone call from the lady in the chemists and she would be in the money. She would say she had no choice but to report them of course.  Sandy had a criminal record.  It was an offence for someone like Sandy to father a child.   The lady in the chemist was acting for the good of society.

For the briefest of moments thoughts crept up from Michelle’s belly and gathered like bile in her throat. They threatened to spill over the policeman taking notes from her third hand green baize couch.

She had done her best with the cushions but the springs in the couch had long ago hardened like ancient arteries.  The policeman shifted every few seconds and she was glad.

No she wasn’t.  For he was young and embarrassed to be asking the questions he had to ask.  They could have least sent a woman.

All the time the questions were getting asked Sandy paced around upstairs in their bedroom.  The first thing the policeman had said was that Sandy wasn’t allowed in the room. A wave of anger had passed over his face.  Michelle had never seen that before. She had urged him with a look to do as he was told.

Eventually he had.

Once the pacing had turned into silence and the boy policeman had glanced upwards and he had changed into law enforcement man before her eyes.

She had to say.  ‘He’s upset.  But he won’t do anything.  That’s all in the past.’

‘So you know all about his past?’ The policeman said.

‘ He was a wee boy at the time.’ She said.

‘Sixteen.’

‘Yes, a wee boy.’ Said Michelle.

The boy policeman was gone for good now and law enforcement man glared across at her.  And Michelle hated him for her having to apologise, to explain her own husband.

My God but was he right?

No, no, no.

The policeman handed her the blue appointment card.

And with that he was gone with a parting glance at Sandy who now stood at the top of the hallway stairs.

‘When?’  He asked.

His voice was angry.

She hesitated. ‘ Tomorrow.’ She said.  ‘ There’s still a chance.  There is Sandy.  We’ve got to believe that.’  She saw the anger leak out of him and he shrunk with it.  He swayed and for a terrible moment she thought he was going to crash down the stairs. 

She said.  ‘Those tests are not always right.  I’ll go myself.’

He turned back into the bedroom and closed the door. 

She patted her stomach. 

 

They went together to the hospital.  At reception Sandy got the look up and down, and Michelle the sneering, you stupid little madam, look.   They took their seats amongst the other mother and fathers to be.  The walls were covered with help and advice and this phone number and that if you wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about anything.

A box of colour and well worn toys stood in the corner. Smiling faces smiled up at them from magazines scattered on tables.   

Then the unsmiling face of the receptionist was looking down at them.

‘Not here. Blue tickets are down the other end of the corridor.’

Heads snapped up.  Eyes met theirs. Heads were buried in magazines.

They got up and hand in hand walked the long bare corridor.  Behind them murmurs and mumblings grew.

They were the only ones at their end of the corridor but it was an hour before the doctor appeared and led Michelle into the small examination room.  Sandy stared at the bare walls for another half an hour.

When Michelle returned still in her blue hospital gown she sat down without a word.  She stared at the wall.

Two hours later the doctor ushered them into his small but cosy looking office.  Plaques on the wall told you he was a proper doctor.  Photos on his desk told you he was an upright citizen—three children, two boys and a girl grinned up at them.

Michelle so wanted to lay the photo flat on the desk.  To throw it against the wall.

Two printers sat on a table behind the doctor.  One with blue paper, one with white. 

The doctor was writing notes, and then he looked up at Sandy.

‘ What was it then?’

‘Sorry.’ Said Sandy.

The doctor waved the blue ticket. ‘ These tickets never tell you anything.  Just being curious. Hope you don’t mind.  Nothing violent I hope.  I have got a panic button here you know.’

And all with a smile and the writing of note after note.

Sandy never said a word.

‘ Okay then.’ Said the doctor.  ‘ It’s just I had a shoplifter in here not so long ago. She just blurted it out.  Couldn’t get her to shut up.  Some people.  ’ He looked up from his notes. ‘ The thing that gets me is I can never tell.  Five years doing this you’d think…I mean, you look so normal.’

‘I am normal.’ Said Sandy.

Michelle squeezed his hand, she could feel it pulse.  She thought again how she had never seen him angry.

‘Did she keep her baby?’ Asked Michelle. 

The doctor almost laughed as if it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

‘Course not.’ He said.

He said it like a doctor.  He said it as a printer buzzed into life behind him. It spewed out their future in blue paper.

The doctor told them in that matter of fact doctor way that they didn’t have any. 

‘ Confirmed.  You are pregnant Mrs Williams.  It is my duty to inform you that it is an offence to be impregnated by a criminal.’

‘ I was sixteen.’  Said Sandy.

‘Sit down Mr Williams. We have security.’

Sandy sat down slowly.

‘ Now.’ The doctor went on.  ‘  You know the choices you have to make.’ 

She knew.  Abort or the baby taken into state care. 

‘ Now?’ Asked Michelle. ‘ I have to decide…’

‘ No, no. Don’t worry Mrs Williams.  It used to be like that but…We’re not barbarians are we?  No.  I understand that this is a traumatic experience for you.’  Sandy’s hand squeezed hers to breaking.  She glanced at him. He eased his grip.  ‘You go home.  You decide.’

‘And tomorrow you force us to separate?’ Sandy said.

‘ It’s not me Mr Williams.  It’s the law. ’ 

‘ What happens to the babies when they’re taken into care?’ She asked.

‘ They are regularly tested for any criminal tendencies that more than likely have been passed on.’  Michelle felt sick.  ‘ If they have such tendencies then…the state takes care of them.’

‘ What does that mean?’ Said Sandy.

‘ It means the state takes care of them Mr Williams.’ The doctor closed the file.  ‘ But that is not your concern.’

‘It’s our child.’ Said Sandy.

The doctor sniffed loudly.  ‘You have made your wife a criminal that’s what you should be thinking off.’

Sandy stood up quickly. Michelle grabbed his arm as the door behind them opened. Two security men stood there.

‘ Goodbye.’ Said the doctor.

It was raining as they were escorted to their car.  Passing the chemist on the way home Michelle had an urge to turn the car and smash right through the counter.  If she was a criminal now anyway.

But she didn’t.  Instead she turned the car like the good official person she no longer was into the lane that led towards their cottage.

They hadn’t spoken all the way home.

That night they lay and cuddled, and as the night turned to day she said.

‘ I’m going to keep it.’

‘ You can’t.’ Said Sandy. 

‘ It’s my…our baby.’

‘We can’t even be together anymore.’ Said Sandy. His voice was shaky and quiet. 

She turned to face him.  ‘ It’s my fault.’

He kissed her.  ‘ Mine.’

She said.  ‘We could make a run for it.  We could have the baby and…’

He kissed her. 

‘  We could still meet.  In secret.’ She said. 

‘ Maybe.’ He said.

They kissed.  

‘ I love this cottage.’ She said.

 They fell asleep as the sun hit the skylight.

They woke to harsh knock at their front door.

 

 

RANDOM THOUGHTS OF A WRITER.

 I used to dream of an artist community where the everyday were relegated to what needed to be done to give space to the work.  Instead of the work attemting to find space in the everyday.

Don`t go there now.  Always a romantic dream really, and in reality I think I`m too anti-social to make it work for me.  

I wish there could be more discussions about the work, not whether like to dislike, but the work process and thought process, and listen not to agree or disagree but to think about and take out of the discusson what you need for your own work.   A serious discussion without the need to lighten it with a joke.  

Drama not explosions or action really, but the internal contradictions of character.  For instance a play about war.  Everyone knows its a bad thing, and people suffer but it keeps on happening.  And has done since the beginning of time.  

Drama look beyond the today and blaming those in power, and media for all our ills but look internally at character and then express externally.  

Writing a play just now on this subject called `How Wars Start.`  It`s set in an ordinary office!

DEVIL GATE DRIVE-- A NEW PLAY.

 `Come alive. Come alive. Down at Devil Gate, down at Devil Gate, down at Devil Gate…Drive. `

My play about Glam Rock coming to a Zoom near you soon.

Date to be announced shortly. Watch this space.

Devil Gate Drive is our characters safe place. An unreal reality more real to them than the so called real world around them.

As a taster feast your eyes and let your ears dance to the music

on this fab poster!

Image design - Patrina Finch,

Devil Gate Drive
Written by Nicky Chinn & Mike Chapman
Musical arrangement by Mark McClelland
Vocals by Kirsten McClelland.

Mark is a founder member of the band Snow Patrol.

THE LAST--A PLAY.

The opening to a work in progress play below 

'The Last' is a drama that examines life of 'An Archaic.'  The last of his kind, a people who gathered all the knowledge of the world like a human library.  They wear a featureless mask called the Archaic because they believe the voice tells their truth.  The face distracts.   

They have been hunted to destroy the knowledge they know which might vary from what the powers at be wish to be known.  Also because they are different and choose to wear the archaic. This disconcerts people who need to see the face.  The Archaic is on trial for his knowledge which has been called fraudulent.  He can go free if he will volunteer to remove the Archaic.

The Archaic don`t have names either and when they take of the archaic they are given names.

The do not look on others faces either but listen to their voices.

 

ACT ONE

ONE

Rural.  Tower.  Evening.

A very spare room.  Table and two chairs.  Kitchen to stage left and at the back of the stage.  Door stage left wall leading to stairs to outside door.

An old grate open fireplace stage right.

Window at the rear which we can glimpse the hills outside. There is telescope at the window.

MAN enters.  He wears a FEATURLESS MASK CALLED AN ARCHAIC.  He is carrying kindle for the fire which he lays in the fire place.  A letter pokes out from one of his pockets.

He is mumbling to himself as he enters, trying to remember something—Where the poet Shelley was born.  We hear fragments of it as he crosses the room. He walks with difficulty and in obvious pain. This is evident in all his movements—not exaggerated as he tries to hide it even when no-one is there.

 

MAN-- August.  August.  14^th?  No. Field Place.  Yes.  Broad…Broad. (He lays the kindling in the fireplace and still mumbling to himself takes out two pieces of stone and tries to spark the fire.  It doesn’t work.)  Too cold and damp.  But the forest was much worse. Have I forgotten how to make a fire? (Remembers re Shelley.) Broadbridge Heath.  He was born in Field Place.  Broadbridge Heath. 4^th August.  (It looks as if the fire might spark for a second but it dies.  He throws down the stones. Regretting his fit of temper he gathers the stones and lays them beside the fireplace. He stands staring at the un lit fire again trying to remember. He half remembers and recites the opening to Shelley’s Ozymandias. He recites hesitantly as if struggling to remember the words.)

 ‘I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things.’

(Own words.)

And the rest which…Which I can remember if I want.   

(Glimpses of lights and the rumble of approaching vehicles.)

(He goes up to the telescope and ignoring the approaching vehicles looks up at the stars. Then he lowers the telescope to look towards the approaching vehicles. He sits down. The lights and sounds of the vehicles grow as they get closer.)

MAN—(Recites poem.)

‘Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
 Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things.’

(Man stops, can’t remember. Vehicles stopping lights flood the room, angry voices are heard.)

(Shouts are heard.  ‘Freak.’  ‘Monster.’ ‘Death to Archaics.  Also sounds as if they are trying to break in the outside door.  Rocks hit the side of the tower.)

MAN—(Remembers, recites poem louder as the noise from outside increases.)

‘The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’

(A rock is thrown through the window.  More continue to hit the outside of the tower.) 

MAN—(Trying to ignore it, reciting fragments of the poem.)

‘The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:’

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.^[
(He stops when a rock hits the telescope. He checks it while the rocks and insults continue to hit the tower.  The telescope is damaged, the lens, but he can still see the stars though they are fragmented with the damaged lens.  

He speaks to the mob being careful to keep safe and not to look directly down--rocks continue to hit the tower as he as he speaks.)

MAN-- Look up.  Can’t you see the stars?  Right there is Saturn.  Isn’t it beautiful? I don’t need a telescope.  You do.  It is in my mind.  (Recites.) ‘Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.’  (Own words.) It is no longer in your mind John. JOHN-- (off stage.) I am looking up.  At a freak.   

MAN-- Enjoying your name? 

JOHN— (off stage.) Shelley.  Keats.  They had names. All you have to do is…

MAN-- I will never do what you have done.

(A rock hits close to the window, shrapnel hits the Man on the face. It cracks the Archaic slightly. He bleeds. He wipes it away and slouches down his back to the wall as the insults and rocks intensify.)

(Another vehicle approaching, screeches to a stop.)

MARY— (off stage.)  Morons.  Get away home with you. You think I don’t recognise you under those scarves? I recognize your smells.  Just try it.  Go on then. And you John.  I know it’s you.  He’s family for Christ sake. Get your hands off me.

MAN— Leave her alone.  I’ll call the police.

(Laughter from outside.)

 (Man picks up a rock and thinks about throwing it back then a hail of stones and rocks hit the building.  The Man tries to protect himself.)

(Sound of a vehicle screeching outside as Mary drives at the men. Sound of angry frightened men scattering.  Sound of vehicles driven away. The Man sits and listens.)

(It gradually goes quiet outside. One vehicle only can be heard, its lights.  Engine stops, lights out. The sound of outside door being opened and closed. )

(The Man gets up and goes to the fire and tries to light it again.  He is shaking.)

(Mary enters. Man does not look at her directly. Mary carries a bag.  She stops, turns her back on the Man and puts on a homemade Archaic. She puts the bag on a table. )

MARY—I brought you some things.  Food.

MAN— Did they hurt you?

MARY— I’d like to see them try. Bunch of hooligans. No need to worry about me.

MAN—I do. 

MARY-- Are you okay? 

(She can see that he isn’t.)

MAN— You get used to it.  You shouldn’t have done that.  Did you bring lighting?

MARY—What did I do?

MAN— Your voice!  I can tell from your voice remember.  The excitement.  And the fear.

MARY—For you.

(He struggles to get up, she helps him. He hides the cracks in the Archaic and the blood.)

MAN—You enjoyed…

MARY— Driving at the thugs?  Yes. Guilty as charged professor.   (She helps him to sit down.) Call the police?!  It’s good that you’ve still got a sense of humour. You know half of them are the police. And led by your ex cousin. Where you trying to provoke them?

MAN—No.

MARY-- You can look.  I should have put it on. (The Archaic.)  Before I came in. I’m sorry.

MAN—You had distractions. (He turns to face her.) You wear it.  I’m thankful.  Even though you shouldn’t. (She puts the food away in cupboards.) It is so cold here.  Especially at night.  I should be used to the cold.

MARY—I forgot the lighting.  Sorry.

MAN-- You bring food.

MARY—My job.

MAN— At this time of night? 

MARY-- I saw them gathering in town. I know what I said about the police but…You’ve got to report it.  For the record.  Eventually they’ll at least go through the motions. It’ll put some of them off.   And you never know one of these days they might actually send help. 

MAN—I know.

MARY-- I can’t keep scaring them off. You’re bleeding!

MAN-- Its nothing.

 (She gets a cloth and begins to wipe the blood from the Archaic. He is not comfortable but lets her. He goes to say something. )

MARY—(Re the Archaic.) I’m being careful. When did you eat last?  Don’t answer that. You’ll tell me anything to shut me up.  Always with the fine words and forgetting to eat.  No excuse now.  The cupboard is full.

MAN-- Am I such a bad man?

MARY-- (The Archaic.) It’s damaged.  (She looks away.) I’m sorry I can see a part of your face.  I didn’t mean… Can you fix it?  I didn’t mean to.

MAN— It’s okay.

MARY—But I saw your face.

MAN—(He touches at the Archaic.) It’s not my face. Do you think this is so thin that a rock can reveal it?  The Archaic has layers. The Archaic will repair itself.

MARY— That is true?

MAN—Yes.  It is one of the tales they tell about me that is actually correct.    

MARY— You bleed?

MAN—I am human no matter what they say.    

MARY—(She puts the cloth in her bag.) I’ll wash it and get it back to you. 

MAN—Does the Prosecutor know you wear an archaic for me?

MARY—What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him..

MAN-- I’ve been looking at Saturn.  .

MARY— And what’s Saturn got to do with eating? You need more than brain food.  Promise you’ll eat something.

MAN-- The telescope.  They damaged it.  Can you ask the Prosecutor if I can have another?

MARY-- I’d better get home.  My father worries.

MAN— He doesn’t like you helping me.

MARY—I tell him it’s a job.   

MAN— Just don’t listen to the freak.

MARY—Remember and eat.

MAN-- Promise.  I can manage that. Thank you.

MARY-- I don’t know how you survived on the run all that time.