by Pat Ritter
stuff running down my leg, others teased me. This teasing continued until something else happened in the school grounds to take the attention away from what happened to me.
Flatulence is common. Everyone does it from time to time. I continue to this day to have flatulence a craft handed down by my grandmother who used to say, ‘where ever you are – where ever you be, let your wind blow free.’
Word count: 325
Writing exercise for this week: to tell a story from two photographs. First photograph depicts a family of three adults and three children dressed in their Sunday best. The other photograph depicts same three children standing beside a modern motor vehicle for that era 1950.
Good Ole Days
Our family returned from church. Grandfather wanted to have our photograph taken whilst we were still clean.
‘Come on everyone, stand together, Noel you drop on your haunches so you’re level with the children. Smile everyone.’ Grandfather snapped our photograph with his box brownie camera which he carried everywhere to take a photograph when he needed to.
‘Is that all Dad? We’ve got to start Sunday lunch. We know how you want a baked dinner cooked each Sunday with all of the trimmings.’ Gladys told her father.
‘Okay – you girls go and start lunch. I’ll take a photograph of the children beside the car. Shouldn’t be long,’ he finished, ‘come on children one last photograph before we wash up for lunch.’
Grandfather’s photography commenced after he received a box brownie camera on his tenth birthday. Cost of film became a problem because he could only take twenty photographs to one roll of film. After each photograph developed, some wouldn’t turn out to his satisfaction whilst others were priceless. He’d place the good ones into a photo album and leave many loose.
I’m pleased he didn’t want to take any more photographs because I didn’t like having my picture taken. Not only did I have buck teeth which stuck out, I didn’t want everyone gawking at photographs saying, ‘who’s the kid with the buck teeth.’ I felt embarrassed.
On this occasion I closed my mouth, placed both arms around my sisters’ shoulders, looked solemn and waited for grandfather to complete the shot. Relief ran through my veins after I heard the click of the shudder to complete the photograph.
My grandfather meant well, in his mind I was a beautiful child, even though I’m his grandchild. Whenever he had the opportunity to show off his grandchildren, he would show us off with delight.
Now I study these photographs, fifty years on, a tear trickles down my cheek to the memory of having my grandfather present on the day he took these photographs. I miss him and his box brownie camera. Imagine how Grandfather would react today with a digital camera. He’d go crazy.
Word count: 403
Hit & Run
‘Where’s my husband?’ The farmer’s wife muttered when she prepared dinner for her husband. ‘It’s been a couple of hours since he went to put the calf away – it’s getting dark.’ She told herself.
Taking her apron off and hanging it on the back of a chair she opened the screen door and shouted to her husband to come inside. She heard no reply. Their property joined two country roads, not often used only by local farmers like themselves.
Darkness gathered, she returned to the kitchen to obtain a torch and go to the cow yard to look for her husband if he had put away the calf for the night, so they’d have sufficient milk from the cow next morning.
No sign of her husband and the calf still with the cow. She became alarmed and again called in a loud voice for her husband. Still no reply, slowly she made her way to the side fence and opened a gate to the roadway.
Light from the torch she noticed a body lying on the roadway spreadeagled with its arms and legs wide as if nailed to a cross. She hurried to the body - her husband dead. How did this happen? She thought rushing to the still body, kneeling down to discover her husband’s lifeless body.
Screams came from low in her chest, her body quivered – how did this happen? She contained herself, stood and walked slowly back to the kitchen. She telephoned her neighbour to tell him her husband’s death on the road outside of their property would he contact the police and come over as soon as possible.
Police arrived to investigate the death - first thought a hit and run. Unable to discover the type of vehicle involved, preliminary investigations showed a vehicle may be coloured blue and by the state of injuries sustained to the deceased probably a utility.
Top state forensic scientist arrived to assist. His findings startled the authorities as to how the farmer met his death. Final outcome showed the farmer spoke to a neighbour who transported cattle into the sale yards earlier that evening. The driver stopped and spoke with the farmer at an intersection and asked the farmer if he needed a lift to the cow yard which the farmer declined.
When the driver left, the farmer changed his mind and without the knowledge of the driver jumped onto a tow ball positioned on the bottom of the cattle crate to hitch a ride for a couple of hundred metres. The vehicle gained speed and when the farmer jumped from the truck; his leg struck the road with such force to throw his body again the rear portion of the cattle crate thus causing his death.
The farmer died before he hit the road where his wife found him - a simple accident.
Word count: 479
Knotty Lace & Fleshly Flow
On the first Tuesday of November each year in Australia the nation stops to watch or listen to the Melbourne Cup.
This year’s race no different to any other, amongst the twenty-four horses in the field two horses stand out most – Knotty Lace & Fleshly Flow. Which one will win and beat the other in this marvellous race.
Punters depend on form. In other words where did their horse run in their last few starts in racing? Knotty Lace won the McKinnon Stake, a form line to the Melbourne Cup run a few days later.
Fleshly Flow, trained by King Of Melbourne Cups, Bart Cummings, who trains in partnership with his grandson hopes Fleshly Flow wins to give Bart thirteen Melbourne Cup wins, a record for any racehorse trainer in Australia and the World for winning the most Melbourne Cups in one’s lifetime.
I remember attending Corinda State High School in Sub-Junior, aged thirteen years, with a hand held radio transistor glued to my ear listening to the Melbourne Cup during class. My mind focused on the race rather than on class. Around the bend, the announcer spruiked, Light Fingers ridden by Roy Higgins raced to the front crossing the line a length in front of the second horse. This was Bart Cummings first Melbourne cup win.
Some years later during my apprenticeship Bart won another Melbourne Cup with a horse named Light Fingers.
I remember standing on the floor of the factory when all machinery and workers stopped to listen to the Melbourne Cup which was broadcasted over the loud speaker system for all to listen.
Twenty years later Saintly ridden by Darren Beadman crossed the winning post first to give Bart Cummings another Melbourne Cup. This important Australian race belonged to Bart Cummings.
In his final years, he’s now eight-five years old and aging; this may be his last hope of ever winning another Melbourne Cup to make the number lucky thirteen.
No doubt his grandson will continue in the sport and who knows may win more Melbourne Cups than his grandfather has. If Freshly Flow wins next Tuesday, this will be a miracle in itself.
Here’s hoping Bart Cummings receives his lucky thirteenth Melbourne Cup on the first Tuesday of November 2013. This would indeed be a blessing to a marvellous Australian icon.
Word count: 394
Legend Of Gretna Green
‘We’re here to be married.’ Joe said to his partner of eight years, ‘we’ve travelled across the globe to be here, so now’s the time to try the knot.’
‘What about our children?’ Laura asked holding onto Joe’s hand, looked into his eyes, ‘they wanted to be at my wedding. They’ll be upset.’
‘We won’t tell them. We’ve been living in sin for the past eight years; I
love you more than anything else in the world, so let’s marry here at Gretna Green.’ Joe held Laura’s hand, kissed her full on the lips.
‘If you want to, I love you more than you’ll ever realise.’ Laura smiled and held onto Joe’s hand tighter never to let him go.
Laura and Joe meet eight years before and fell in love. They decided not to marry but live together as partners sharing their lives with their children from different marriages. They’d each lost their partners before they met. Their meeting was meant to happen to bring their lives together.
Weekly Joe played ‘lotto’ at each game per week hoping to one day see his numbers drawn. One night his numbers did fall in the correct order giving Laura and him instant wealth beyond their dreams.
After sharing their spoils with their children they saved enough to travel the world and ended up in Scotland at Gretna Green.
Both stood over the famous old Blacksmith’s Anvil joined hands whilst the Blacksmith performed the ancient tradition of ‘handfasting’ ceremony. This ceremony had been practiced for over 200 years.
Joe’s face cracked into a wide grin, his heart almost jumped from his chest to know he and Laura were a married couples even though their marriage ceremony held in Scotland. The ceremony sealed with a kiss on the sound of the Blacksmith bringing down his hammer. The ringing sound heard throughout the village signified their marriage joined.
Joe and