THE
KIRKHAM COMMUNITY FICTION ANTHOLOGY
VOLUME 1
Copyright 2013 the individual authors herein
All rights reserved
Published 2013
CONTENTS
Foreword
Greetings by Siobhan Mckinney
Anniversary by Steve Wilson
Dearest Ida by Dawn Keeley Caunce
Kirkham Prison by Alan Hardaker
Winter Friendship by George Beet
Tales of Ancient Wesham by Brownyn P Horne
The Kirkham Archipelago by Ken Metcalf
Day’s End by Kevin Devine
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Welcome to the first anthology of fiction written by the Kirkham community. Many of the writers whose work is included here attended writing workshops at Kirkham Library in the autumn of 2012 and while these were a great success and enjoyed by everyone involved, they also underscored two things that might often go unnoticed. Firstly, how vital and unique libraries are in enabling a community to meet and talk and secondly how writing can genuinely dissolve social barriers.
When we write and share that writing with others it becomes clear that human experience is much the same for everyone. Recognising that can only bring a community closer together.
Andrew Hurley
Kirkham Library, January 2013
Back to the top
Greetings
By Siobhan Mckinney
Nothing worse than a bad kisser,
liver-lipped and slobbery,
delivery falling short of expectation.
But in Kirkham, they’re continental,
kirk, or kirche, as Germans might say
and ham, their shared Anglo-Saxon.
These Lancastrians can roll their Rs
for a French kiss with their foreign twins in Ancenis
or buss their buddies in Kissingen
where they ask them not to pucker up now
but mouth instead, Bad Brückenau
creating a pout like an opening flower,
a rose crowned Queen for the coming year.
Back to the top
Anniversary
By Steve Wilson
‘We’re going to be very early, dear,’ said Anita. ‘Hazel won’t be there yet, and the lights probably won’t be switched on for another hour or more.’
John said nothing as they continued on its journey towards Blackpool, while his wife looked towards the back seat and smiled at their six-year old twins Roberta and Thomas, noting the anticipation that was etched into their features. It had been a long trip from their home in Coventry and the children were being very good; she would have expected them to have become restless by now.
Anita’s sister, Hazel, had told her that the Blackpool Centenary Illuminations were due to be tested this week, in readiness for the grand opening at the end of August. She had also said that Thursday night was an ideal time to take the children as the traffic wouldn’t be anything like as bad as it was during the Illuminations season.
They had arranged to meet Hazel and her family at the northern end of the lights in Bispham, and would be staying at Hazel’s town centre guest house for the next few nights; but Hazel wouldn’t be able to get to Red Bank Road before eight-thirty. It was only just after seven, despite John taking the long coastal route into Blackpool instead of the more direct approach down the M55.
‘Are we nearly there, Mummy?’ asked Roberta.
‘We’re not far off, darling.’
‘Muuuuum,’ asked Thomas. ‘Why are we going to see the lights today when it said on TV they aren’t being switched on till next week?’
‘I’ve already explained this, dear. Auntie Hazel told me that they switch them on this week to test them out. You know, to make sure that all of the bulbs and displays are working properly.’
‘Dad,’ said Thomas. ‘The man said people from the Olympics are switching them on. Will we see them?’
‘No, son. They’ll only be there next week. Don’t look so disappointed,’ he added, spotting the quivering bottom lip in the driver’s mirror.
‘Where are we now, dear?’ asked Anita. ‘Perhaps we could take a break for a few minutes.’
‘We’re just coming into Freckleton,’ said John. ‘We’re probably about three quarters of an hour away from Bispham. This looks a bit different,’ he added, as he approached the roundabout leading to the village. ‘That wasn’t there last time I came.’
‘It’s hardly surprising it’s changed. You haven’t been this way for more than twenty years.’
He turned left at the lights and pulled into one of the parking bays across from the Pearl of Freckleton Chinese restaurant.
‘Who’s for something to eat?’ he asked, turning to the back seat where he knew he would receive the greatest support. ‘That’s three in favour,’ he said, smiling at Anita, ‘so I guess you’re outvoted.’
Ten minutes later, they left the takeaway with four bags of assorted dishes.
‘Don’t take them back to the car, dear, or else we’ll be stuck with the smell all the way to Blackpool.’
‘Well, alright,’ said John. ‘It’s a nice enough evening. Why don’t we eat them outside?’
He walked the twenty or so yards over to the posts at the junction of the pavement and the road and leant against one. Anita joined him at the next post while Thomas and Roberta ran and hung their matching jumpers over the edges of the Trinity Close street sign before sitting cross-legged on the pavement, leaning against the hedge.
‘Here you are,’ said Anita, handing Thomas the bag of prawn crackers. ‘You can have them with your Special Fried Rice. Remember, you’ve to share these as well. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ he said quietly.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence. John and Anita had chosen the set meal for two, and between them had finished the chicken and sweetcorn soup dish. John opened the King Prawn Char Sau and Mushroom and offered it to Anita, before opening his own favourite, Sweet and Sour Chicken. After a few more minutes contented eating, they heard the children whispering.
‘You ask them.’
‘No, you ask.
‘It’s always me, isn’t it?
‘Go on.’
‘Alright, I will.’
‘Can we have some more prawn crackers, mum?’ asked Thomas.
‘What? Have you finished them already?’
‘I haven’t finished them. I gave them to the other boys and girls. You said I had to share them.’
Anita looked round. There was nobody else in sight.
‘What other boys and girls?’
‘These,’ said Roberta, standing up and pointing towards the hedge.
‘There’s nobody there,’ said John and Anita in unison.
‘Course there is,’ echoed the children.
John looked at Anita. The children occasionally played pretend games, but they looked in earnest this time.
‘Tell me who you are talking to,’ said Anita in her best coaxing voice.
‘This is Kenneth, here’s Peter, over there is Beryl, and that one is June.’ Thomas leaned closer and whispered. ‘They’re wearing funny clothes, aren’t they mum? Look how long their short trousers are, and have you ever seen anything like those silly caps? They’re alright really, though.’
Anita looked at Roberta, who was nodding in agreement with Thomas, then at John. The children really seemed to believe what they were saying.
‘We can’t see anybody,’ said John slowly. ‘So come on, what did you really do with all those prawn crackers? I want the truth now. Did you drop them?’
The children stood,
slack-jawed as they listened to their father. Roberta began to cry, and Thomas said, defiantly, ‘We did tell the truth. We shared them with our friends. If you say you can’t see them, then you’re lying. You’re frightening Roberta and our friends don’t like it either.’
John was beginning to lose his patience.
‘This has gone on long enough,' he said, 'if you don’t tell the truth right now then we’re going to get in the car and I’m going to drive right back ho…'
He stopped mid-sentence as the temperature suddenly plummeted. He looked across at his wife; she had a startled expression on her face.
‘Come on,’ said Anita quietly, grabbing the children’s hands. ‘I think it’s time we headed off to Blackpool. We don’t want to keep Auntie Hazel waiting, do we?’
‘We can’t go, mummy. We haven’t said goodbye yet,’ wailed Roberta.
‘Enough!’ shouted John. ‘Get in the car, both of you. Now!’
‘Our jumpers are still over there,’ pointed Thomas.
Anita looked and saw them hanging from the street sign. ‘Go and get them, dear, while I strap the children in,’ she said in a shaky voice.
John looked across, chided himself for being foolish, then walked over to the street sign and picked up the garments. What had just happened? Had they both experienced the same thing? Anita hadn’t actually said she felt anything, had she? Her expression could
The Kirkham Community Fiction Anthology Page 1