Micky’s Auction Teapot
Fran parked in the Industrial estate and we made a run for it through the downpour of rain into Micky Mc. Menamin’s Auction Centre on the Ballycolman Road in Strabane.
Going into Micky’s big shed was like going back in time to when we used to get the 7.30 Ulster bus in Strabane Square to Belfast. Part of the day trip was spent in Smithfield Market where, like Micky’s auction they sold everythingMicky’s
Micky’s auction room was like a treasure trove. I never knew what I would find there
The Drinking habits of the Regular
Jack, the Regular, skirted skilfully around the bar stool and gratefully climbed aboard. The air escaping from the red leather seat sighed its welcome. Gingerly, with shaking legs he search around and wound his trembling limbs around its familiar stool allowing his tense body to slump into its familiar relaxed position…
Stay-At-Home-Vacation
The key slid smoothly into the lock. I stepped into a small porch and then into a long hall. The door to my left was ajar. I stretched out and pushed. It swung inwards to reveal a large living room decorated tastefully in pale greens and reds and furnished with lamps and a wine coloured large comfortable looking leather suite. A stack of well thumbed books stood piled on a low oval table close to the head of the sofa; obviously a favourite spot for the house owner to rest
Troy the Lonely Boy
Story 5-5 Troy the Lonely Boy
A poisoned chalice, Troy thought as his hand gripped the handle of the chipped cup. He swirled the golden liquid the man with the Seville Row shoes thrust at him in the kitchen of the derelict house before putting it to his lips and throwing it back with a self assurance he didn’t feel. It burned his throat making him cough.
Story 4-5 TROY THE LONELY BOY
The smell of rising damp and mould hit Troy as Blossom pushed open the door of her granny’s house. “It smells likes shit in here. Your granny stayin’ the old folk’s balmy place, then, “he asked. Making no comment Blossom pushed past him. In the confines of the narrow hall leading to the stairs her breasts pushed against his chest. Her cheap perfume cloyed at his
Story 3-5 TROY THE LONELY BOY
Troy stiffened as from behind the big bird’s cage he was cleaning out he saw a man leap over the counter and stick a gun into the pet shop owner’s belly. “Fill the bag unless ya want brains splattered all over the fuckin’ floor,” he roared into the old man’s ashen face.
Story 2-5 Troy The Lonely Boy
Troy slurped his cereal. His mother turned towards the table as he knew she would. “Stop that. You’re not a dog.”
“Fuck you,” her son mouthed letting the dregs of his spoon fall on to his already stained jumper.
TROY THE LONELY BOY
An excited shout of “Mum, mum, come and see,” made Elizabeth frown. She knew without looking that ten year old Troy was on the re-homing site for stray dogs. She looked over his shoulder at the half grown black and white collie dog staring into the camera a dejected look on its face. “That kind of dog belongs on a farm – not in a block of flats,” she said flatly.
Story 8 0f 8 Bringing Thomas Home
Clutching Mary Catherine to her Mary’s eyes fixated on every step, every jolt, as the crude wooden crate holding Thomas’s broken body was brought from the bowels of the ship and unloaded along with the rest of the cargo on Derry’s Docks.
Story 7 of 8 Clyde Street 1890
Thomas gently caressed the swelling mound of Mary’s belly. He was going to be a father again. He felt the heat of Mary Ellen’s small body tucked into the curve of his back. “Sleep side you, Daddy,” she demanded every night clamouring over her mother to get to him from her makeshift bed on the floor of the single end one room tenement they lived in. “The face of an angel and the temper of our Cassie,” Mary scolded. It was from her teeth out. She
loved their wee daughter with an intensity that worried him sometimes.
Story 6 of 8 Taking The Boat
The Guildhall clock struck six. Thomas shifted irritably. “It’ll be another while before we set foot on her,” he muttered watching the cattle being herded on board. Mary’s back and feet ached. She wished she’d worn her battered old work boots. It felts like days not hours since they walked 3 miles to Strabane to catch the train. The wait in Strabane had been long too. There were cattle on the line at Newtonstewart.
Story 5 of 8 May 1884
“Your Uncle John is coming up the lane to the house. And he has Cassie with him,” Bell, Thomas’s mother announced. Tight lipped she turned away from the half door where she had been throwing bits of scraps to the hens.
4 of 8 Mary
Mary lay still under the heavy patchwork quilt. It was her wedding day. She took in the room she had slept in since she was small. In the dark gloom of the November dawn she didn’t need to see the stout wardrobe and the tall chest of drawere with its mirror blackened with damp around its edges to know they were there. Every corner and everything in it was as familiar to her as her hands and her feet. Cautiously, she slipped to the edge of the feather mattress and slipped silently out of bed careful not to disturb Cassie. She didn’t want the lash of her sister’s sharp tongue on her today.
THOMAS (part 3 of 8)
Thomas stood on the edge of the town square. It was good to be home. The smell of horse mature assailed his nostrils. But he wasn’t thinking about the smell or the clatter of horses hoofs on the cobbled street. His eye was caught by a girl walking with an elderly farmer. Her bright head of auburn hair shining like a bright sun as it fanned out on her shoulders. Thomas’s heart leaped. Mary Gallaher. She hadn’t changed in the years since he has last seen her.
Story 2 of 8 Patrick:
Patrick puckered his lips and whistled softly to the horse as he drew it to a stop at the stables opposite the Chapel. He looked around to check if Maggie, the priest housekeeper was within earshot. Maggie maintained that whistling offended Mary, the Mother of God. He wanted to say for the love of god woman isn’t music a form of praying and the old horse has no objections. She liked it. She flicks her ears and steps out smartly when I whistled Danny Boy.
The heavy timber door shut with a shudder plunging the interior of old chapel into near darkness despite the early hour. Sarah tightened her grip on the small bundle in her arms. He wasn’t heavy but the five mile walk from the back of Argery against the cold wind of the winter’s day made her arms ache with cramp. She glanced around the chapel. It smelled of wet clothes and wax candles. The Master at Cloughfin School had told them it was built when Lord Erin found parishioners’ gathered to pray in the open. Johnny, the other person who was standing for the baby nudged her.
Mothering Sunday
Since tomorrow is Mothering Sunday I thought I might share this strange thing…
I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt I went back to the house when I was brought up in Ballindrait, Co Donegal. My mother and one of my brothers was there. I think it might have been Joe. I was wearing 1960s clothes: a ‘drindle’ skirt and a white blouse with deep turned back lapels. And my hair was long and wavy as it would have been then. I heard myself say out loud, “I am glad to be home.”
My mother went into the kitchen and returned with a large birthday card. On it was written how much she loved me. The card itself was covered in red roses.
Walking the Road to Murlog School
At the age of four after a breakfast of porridge and with my lunch – two thick slices of my mother’s homemade scone bread (wrapped in the Evening Press newspaper) my father had read the night before in my schoolbag I was packed off, rain, hail or snow, to walk the mile with my brothers and sisters from our home in Ballindrait to St Patrick’s National School Murlog.
The Child I Was Keeps Coming Out Of Corners
Author Fr. Colm Kilcoyne
Christmas time is memory time. For these few days the graves are open. Bushes whisper our history at us. When Cliff Richard and Johnny Mathis sing their Christmas songs we float back in time.
The child I was keeps coming out of corners; holds my hand and leads me back.
The Egg and Spoon Race
The hens hadn’t laid any eggs all week. A sly old fox prowling around their coop had put them off their laying. From her bedroom Ellen could hear their frantic fearful cackling. “No doubt wondering which of them he’d get tonight, she thought, pulling on her dressing gown and picking up the farm shotgun which she didn’t really know how to use properly.
The Wedding invitation
The rattle of the letterbox started the dogs yapping madly. Going to investigate through the glass panes of the door Lola noticed the postman, mailbag slung across his back beat a hasty retreat down the driveway.
Dis –Grace -Fool
Gracie heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside. That was good, she thought. It was doing what it was supposed to do – giving her warning of someone approaching the house. There was a momentary lapse of sound then a brusque rapping began on the door. Her house slippers made slapping noises as she shuffled out into the hall
That Girl Failure or Success?
Cattia held the cheque in her hands mentally counted off the zeros and wondered if she had failed or succeeded. She looked around her plush office. It was a far cry from the small back bedroom in her parent’s terraced house that had been built for millworkers years before. But that had been where her first dress design had been imagined and the pattern cut out on her father’s evening paper left in their outdoor lavvy as toilet roll.
The Train Set
The bathroom door behind Jim opened and there stood a small boy holding the carriage of a toy train. “You fix things. Can you fix my train,” he asked. Jim noticed the boy had a quiver in his voice as if asking for help was discouraged. “Where’s the rest of it,” he asked getting to his feet.
“I keep it hidden in my bedroom wardrobe.”
Jim’s hand which had started to reach out towards the boy stopped in mid-air. What was a toy train doing at the back of a wardrobe in his bedroom? Now that would cause a problem. “Did you get it for Christmas,” he asked letting his hand fall to his side..
Part 2 The Tailor’s Folly Part 2
The tailor stepped back. He could kill two birds with one stone; bed her quickly and relieve her of her gold before the card players got here, he thought. He rubbed his hands together in glee. It was turning out to be a good night after all.
Nickoa swept past him into the dimly lit room. For a moment, the tailor thought the swishing of her heavy cloak sounded like the hissing of snakes. Momentarily, he remembered what the local women had said about his house. Laughing at his own foolish thoughts he turned his face towards her.
The Tailor’s Folly
The tailor drew the blind and lit the Tilly lamp against the fallen dusk. Filling his tankard he sat down in front of his slumbering fire .A spiral of grey smoke weaved it way like a dancing sensuous woman up the open chimney. He studied the curve of her body. It had been a while since a maiden had danced so provocatively for him. Lifting his brimming glass of illicit whiskey – smuggled across the Clady border, he saluted her. Then throwing back his head he downed the whiskey. It burned his throat and set a fire burning in his belly
NO CREDIT
Above her head the bell made a clanging noise as Mary Scanlan stepped into the village’s general store and was immediately confronted by a notice in bold writing that baldly stated, ‘No Credit.’
That doesn’t apply to me, she thought smugly. Not this time. Yet, it was mortifying to have to ask the shopkeeper for credit again.
Jimmy Timoney set his face like flint and stared pointedly at the notice.
“Don’t I always pay you?”
Joel’s Island
Joel’s eyes widened in astonishment as the soft sandy beach he had stumbled upon on his random walk across the cliffs began to disappear beneath his feet. Within seconds, it seemed, water had crept over his feet and was sweeping towards his waist. Hastily, he waded towards the entrance to rocky cave he had just been exploring. As he watched in disbelief the cove disappeared beneath the rapidly rising water.
A Prayer’s Answer
Gradually, the card players gathered in and took a seat around the peat fire. The fire burned brightly in the grate but to Paddy the room still felt cold. “It’s the cold of death that’s on you,” Annie had joked earlier on in the day. Anxious to get the game of card started and over with Paddy urged the card players to sit down at the table.
Shuffling the deck of cards he concentrated on dealing them out. Somewhere to his right he heard a snuffling sound. It sounded like old Rover pushing his nose into the gap under the door where Paddy had stuffed an old winter coat to stop the draught from creeping in under the door and around their feet. “The dog must have got out when you came in,” he said to nobody in particular.
The Passing of a Sister
We held your hand and talked of places you had lived
Lifford, Dongloe, Burtonport and Raphoe
And Strabane when you needed family around
We gave you sips of your favourite tipple:
Diet coke straight from the bottle
Silent Footfall Part 4
Gina inhaled the damp atmosphere as she stepped into the hall of the old house. It had an unlived, neglected feeling. Her throat dried She gagged. It smelled as cat piss. Looking in from the front hall she sees the room she had seen through the window. The middle of the floor had a bare white square as if a large carpet had been there at one time. Where the white grimy square ended a wide band of patchy stained floor board marched around the room. The house was quiet but she had a sense of expectation as if it was waiting
Silent Footfall Part 3
Silent footfall Part 3 (20.08.14)
An icy finger stroked Gina’s spine. Even after twenty years that voice still had the power to turn her blood to ice. She turned slowly to face him. Grey haired and stooped now he fixed his mismatched eyes on her.
“Every year I waited but you never came.” The voice was soft but she heard the reprimand behind the quietly spoken words. Fear squeezed her heart making it difficult to breathe. “I only came…for water…for Chalkie…my dog…”
Silent Footfall Part 4
SILENT FOOTFALL PART 4
Gina inhaled the damp atmosphere as she stepped into the hall of the old house. It had an unlived, neglected feeling. Her throat dried She gagged. It smelled as cat piss. Looking in from the front hall she sees the room she had seen through the window. The middle of the floor had a bare white square as if a large carpet had been there at one time. Where the white grimy square ended a wide band of patchy stained floor board marched around the room. The house was quiet but she had a sense of expectation as if it was waiting.
Part One of Eight
13.08.2014
SILENT FOOTFALL Part I
Gina heard the sharp cracking as a twig snapped. Her gut tightened. She glanced at her dog, Chalkie. Unperturbed he continued to sniffed the grass around the edge of the narrow road It couldn’t be much if the dog didn’t hear it, she thought stepping further into the shadowy glade. Overhead, the tall trees met in the middle to form a canopy of green that shivered and sighed in a light June wind.
Silent Footfall (part 2)
Galvanized by fear, her manic screams sending the nesting birds out of the trees into flight, she pelted down the track dragging Chalkie after her.
She couldn’t be sure but she thought the forest path followed a loop back on to the main road. Idiotic thoughts pumped through her mind. Had she remembered to take her medication this morning? Max usually brought it in to her with a cup of coffee before he went to work “But Max is in Belfast and you are in a forest in Tyrone,” she screamed out as she fell headlong over a stump of a tree.” He can’t help you now,” she sobbed. The smell of dry leaves and the taste of earth assailed her senses.
The Hidden Sanctuary Part 3
Drawing her casket of powered herbs from her coat Agatha stepped from the shadows of the old grey stone hospital. In the distance she heard the dull sound of the Town clock strike midnight.
It was time.
Time to dress the wounds of the deer; time to show the good doctor the consequences of what Mabel had done.
She sighed. What a shame she had to obliterate the good doctor in order to destroy Mabel. She would miss his friendship, and the white powdery contents of his leather pouch. But there was no room in their acquaintance for Mabel. Mabel was evil. She feasted on the terror that seeped from the bloodstained bricks walls of the room. It energised her. Gave her powers far beyond what the doctor could control. The room was where she had the most influence over him.
Agatha smirked. She deserved to die. It was fitting she should be wiped out in the place where she got her power
The Hidden Sanctuary Part 3
Drawing her casket of powered herbs from her coat Agatha stepped from the shadows of the old grey stone hospital. In the distance she heard the dull sound of the Town clock strike midnight.
It was time.
Time to dress the wounds of the deer; time to show the good doctor the consequences of what Mabel had done.
She sighed. What a shame she had to obliterate the good doctor in order to destroy Mabel. She would miss his friendship, and the white powdery contents of his leather pouch. But there was no room in their acquaintance for Mabel. Mabel was evil. She feasted on the terror that seeped from the bloodstained bricks walls of the room. It energised her. Gave her powers far beyond what the doctor could control. The room was where she had the most influence over him.
Agatha smirked. She deserved to die. It was fitting she should be wiped out in the place where she got her power
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 