*Due to the growing interest in writing we have decided to open a page on our site, David C. Edwards.
Until our budding authors dip their pens in the ink and put words to paper we shall be featuring some of their stories from the book they produced for the millennium entitled
The Time of our Lives.*Please click on the logo below to access the online addition of the
"TIME OF OUR LIVES"
The book was conceived as a Millennium project and is a compilation of personal stories, poems and articles, written and illustrated by members of Caldicot and District branch of the U3A.
Just Another Day
by David C. Edwards"Can I help you, sir?"
The constable looked at the willowy young man before him, hardly old enough to shave.
"Er, I'm the new constable, Bill Saunders," stammered the young man.
"I'm P.C. Viv Davies, standing in for the sergeant," replied the man behind the desk. "Bring your kit into the locker room; I'll find you somewhere to store it," he continued.
"Are you going to have a haircut before you start," asked P.C. Davies, "it looks a bit long, and the sergeant likes everyone to look smart."
"I had one yesterday," replied Bill Saunders.
"What? Well next time you go, ask him to stand a little closer," retorted Viv.
"By the way," continued P.C. Davies, " there are some things you need to know which may not have been covered by your training. First, that piece of wood you have is not a truncheon; it's a staff. You'll find a long narrow pocket for it in your trousers, alongside the hip pocket. If you have to use your staff on someone, aim for their arms and legs; if their heads get in the way, then hard bloody luck. Second, if you wear the cape, fasten it on the button but not the chain - if someone creeps up behind you and pushes the cape over your head, you can break the button, but you won't break the chain. For the same reason, if you wear the helmet with the strap down, don't put it under your chin.
As Viv Davies paused for breath, Bill Saunders asked, "how about a cup of tea? I'm spitting feathers."
"Ah," said Viv, getting his second wind, "that reminds me; the three qualities needed for a good policeman are a sense of authority, a sense of humour, and the ability to drink lots of tea."
Just then they heard the outside door open and close, and a voice shout, "Shop!"
Viv excused himself and made his way to the front office. Bill heard a brief exchange of raised voices, and the outside door slam.
When Viv returned to the locker room, he said, "That was Jack Goodman. He's never worked because of ill-health, but he's got the best garden in the village. For the past two years he's come in here during March with a piece of human bone that he says he's found in his garden. We are then required to dig the surrounding area to find the rest of the body. Two years in succession I've dug that plot, and not found so much as a rotten tooth. This time I've told him to bugger off and dig his own garden."
As Viv paused and reflected, Bill Saunders asked, "How do you put up with such a person?"
Viv smiled and said, "Look upon this station as your own private theatre; as people pass through, applaud the villains for their performances, as well as the heroes. Anyway you cannot hit back. Who was your sergeant during training?"
"Bill Humpherys", replied Bill.
"Did he sometimes victimize people unfairly?" asked Viv knowingly.
"Er, yes," said Bill, "he would pick on someone for a fortnight, and then move on to some other unfortunate."
"Exactly," replied Viv quickly, "he knows that when you get out on the street, people will pick on you without reason, and retaliation will not be an option unless you want a complaint made against you. He was testing you, making sure that you can take it."
Bill mused, "Actually I got to know him better after a few weeks. He asked me to fill coal and cut kindling wood for his elderly mother, and that released me from some of the chores the other lads did."
Bill suddenly asked, "Why are most policemen such jokers?"
"Ah," replied Viv in his philosophical mood, "we deal mostly with criminals and the victims of crime. When they meet us on the street, they are not usually in a mood to talk. However I know that anything I can get them to say then is worth ten times what they say afterwards at the station, and worth a hundred times what they say in court. So if I can get someone to relax and talk to me, it will make my job a lot easier. As well as that, we need strong stomachs and a robust sense of humour to put up with the things we do. Wait until you are the one picking up body parts after a serious road accident."
As Bill grimaced, Viv said, "That reminds me, I must arrange for your first attendance at a post mortem examination. I remember my first P.M. - after he'd cut out the vital organs, the doctor showed me the liver, and indicated the best part to eat. When I got home to lunch my wife put a plate of liver and onions in front of me. It's the only time that I've refused my lunch."
As Bill's face started to lose its colour, Viv changed the subject and asked, "Do you like a few drinks?"
"Yes, of course," said Bill
"Well," said Viv, be careful where you drink. There are some licensees who would love to have a policeman in their bar, especially if he wants to continue drinking after stop tap."
"Is that so bad?" asked Bill.
"Suppose the sergeant opposed the renewal of the license for that particular pub," said Viv, "and the landlord demanded that the copper using his hospitality change the sergeant's mind or risk exposure of his after hours drinking. If it was you, what would you do?"
"Er, I don't know," stammered Bill.
"Exactly so," retorted Viv, "make sure that you never have to make that choice."
KENTISH MAID By June Brown
I came into this world in Royal Tunbridge Wells, Kent in the 1920's in my grandmother's house. Eighteen months later my parents moved to the nearby market town of Tunbridge, where a Norman castle stands in lovely grounds by the River Medway. Many spectacular festivities were held here and, I presume still are.
Tonbridge became a garrison town during the 1939 - 45 war, the children attended school part-time, as we had to share our school with the evacuated children. We had to catch up on our school work at home.
I was in camp with the Girl Guides for days before the war was declared, during which time I developed a very bad cold and was administered quinine (horrible). I think I caught this cold because my liberty bodice went missing!
After leaving school at sixteen I joined the WVS (Women's Voluntary Service), carrying out switchboard duties for the Civil Defence in one of the dungeons below the castle, sounding the siren when enemy aircraft were approaching. Many a time we watched the 'planes "dog fighting", parachutes descending or 'planes coming down.
In the area there were quite a number of farms. Of course, most of the farmhands were called to the Services so help was needed from local population, mostly females and children. In our area, help was needed in the hop gardens. When the RAF and enemy fighters were overhead we would dive into trenches until the fighting was over. We took our own food and cold tea in a bottle, or home made lemonade. As children we had fun playing in and out of bins and hop vines. The best thing I liked about hop picking was the smell of the hops being roasted in the oast house. There was an oast house opposite our house. Folk cannot understand why I love the smell of a brewery when I am in Cardiff, I think it is lovely! (None so odd as folk).
I eventually left school and, after a couple of years, decided to join the WRNS as most of my friends had gone away to do "their bit". I had to report to Wesley College, Headingley, Leeds (which was a Methodist Ministers' Training College) Of course, they were not there, called up I suppose. No cricket at Headingley, we were too busy scrubbing and polishing long corridors, etc. to watch cricket - plenty of sore knees and backs! According to work experience, we were sorted out as to what category of job we were suited. I was seconded to Westfield Colleges, Hampstead, London for a month's Writers' Course and a month later the "Doodle Bug" started to descend on London. I was in sick bay with inoculation fever (very painful) when the siren sounded, having to descend to the cellar until the "All Clear" sounded.
On the day we left London for Portsmouth a Doodle Bug landed on the library at the College, so I reckon we were lucky to have missed it.
On arrival at Portsmouth the scrubbing and polishing was still with us, whilst waiting for our of place of work. Eventually, I went to the Royal Naval Barracks, then to HMS Collingwood at Fareham and finally to HMS Dolphin at Gosport, which was a submarine depot. It was very interesting place of work, watching the submarines travelling to and from the war zones. Whilst there, one of my work experiences was working in the Captain's Office. I attended Court Martial to take notes; the funny thing was that if there was bad language I had to leave the room., so I was more out of the room than in it. As you can imagine, the typed report was quite sparse.
When a submarine was returning from a long run at sea, we stood on the sea wall and cheered the submarine into dock. She would be flying a "Black Roger" flag showing a number of tokens of the enemy ships it had either sunk or damaged, which were very moving moments.
We held Ships Company dances now and again and we had to cross the estuary by Liberty Boat, which was fine going but on the return journey it became foggy and we ended up under Southsea Pier. This was quite scary, as there was a lot of shipping movement around us and it was very dark and cold.
I left the Service in 1946 when I married a submariner, who left the Navy in 1953.
In June 1994, I went to a "D-Day" re-union at HMS Dolphin. It was good to meet colleagues after 50 years to reminisce about the old times, which were both happy and sad.
A poem by Roland C. Edwards of Portskewett
Last post for Reg 'Whittington'Reg was our local postman,
for 28 years or more.Every day you would see him
bringing mail to your door.Everyone loved him
a quiet, friendly man.Always rode a big red bike,
he never drove a van.He brought us post cards,
he brought us bills.Chat about our aches and ills,
bingo cards and tax demands,
voting papers too.
Reg would put them in his bag
and bring them all to you.
Old folk, young folk,
children in prams.
They all loved
our friendly postman.
"Hello nipper" he would say
a birthday card for you today.
A friendly dog would wag its tail,
to see Reg with his bag of mail
Now he's calling it a day,
Putting his bike and bag away.
Up with his feet for a well-earned rest,
God bless you Reg and all the best.
If you wish to browse further afield, why not try an interesting site operated by a Huddersfield U3A member Peter Hinchiffe www.openwriting.com It features a number of regular weekly columnists of all ages. However, one of the prime objectives is to bring Third Age writing from around the world to a wider audience.
Openwriting is updated every day and contains lots and lots of interesting reading. They delight in featuring true-life stories and poetry but they are also prepared to accept some fiction.
They would be delighted to feature the writing of our members in Openwriting. Preferably items for publication should be submitted to: peter@openwriting.com
There will be no financial rewards for authors featured in Openwriting. Just the fun of presenting their work to a wider audience.© Caldicot and District U3A mmvii
