Wrexham Write Now!

Wrexham Write Now!

  An Anthology of Stories and Poems Inspired by Wrexham

  First published in 2016

  Wrexham Writers' Group and Wrexham Carnival of Words

  Copyright ? 2016

  This collection ?Wrexham Writers' Group 2016

  Copyright ? in the name of the individual contributor 2016

  The rights of the individual contributors to be identified as the author of their own portion of this work has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright holder(s).

  Front Cover Design -

  Alan Jones, Wrexham

  www.facebook.com/alanjonesart

  @alanjonesart

  Editor -

  Susan Miller, Flintshire

  www.allwordsmatter.co.uk

  @allwordsmatter

  [email protected]

  Wrexham Write Now!

  An Anthology of Stories and Poems

  Inspired by Wrexham

  Foreword

  In April 2015, Wrexham hosted its first Carnival of Words - a literary festival with a difference, community-based and aimed especially at encouraging reading and writing across our local districts. It was a huge success.

  A full week of stunning events, organised by Wrexham's Library Services, Waterstones, Glynd?r University and a host of volunteers. But among those events, on World Book Night, Wrexham Library hosted a session for any local writers who might be interested in getting together to form a Wrexham Writers' Group. An astonishing thirty-four writers turned out, formed a Facebook group, organised a series of Open Day workshop events and, one year later, it's grown to a group almost ninety strong.

  So, when BBC Cymru Wales, the Arts Council of Wales, and What Next? banded together to celebrate creativity in Wales and encourage local groups to take part in their "Get Creative" initiative, the Writers' Group was keen to make its own contribution.

  The task? To write short stories and poems, all Wrexham-related, to edit them, to publish them online in an anthology and to market them - all in one weekend, 1st - 3rd April 2016. The following stories and poems are the result - and we hope you enjoy them!

  Thank you to all the contributors of stories and poems. A special thank you to Rosalie Marsh and Ann McCall who assisted with the editing process. And, to Sandra Gardner of Gwersyllt Community Resource Centre for the venue.

  Dave McCall and Susan Miller

  Wrexham Writers' Group

  www.facebook.com/groups/cofw.writersgroup

  www.wrexhamcarnivalofwords.com

  Table of Contents

  The Ix-Mups Log 101 - by Carol Wainwright

  Darbi - by David Subacchi

  The Little Box of Big Things - by Jude Lennon

  Timeshift - by Anne Cook

  Iron Mad Wilkinson - by Imelda Summerton

  Ten Minutes - by David Ebsworth

  Shopping with my Mother - by Rhian Waller

  Finding Happiness - by Lynda Holmes-Kelly

  Another Door Opens by Vivien Smith

  Rainbow Over Wrexham - by David Subacchi

  Dydd of the Living Dead - by Alec Sillifant

  Tonnau Tir - by Les Barker

  Slow and Steady Wins the Race - by Yvonne Matthews

  The Wrexham Dragon - by Jude Lennon

  NoDim the Friendly Dragon - by Phil Burrows

  What's in a Name? - by Rhian Waller

  The Steel Man - by Viv Griffiths

  Tidy, La! - by Susan Miller

  Chocolate Empowerment - by Denise Oliver

  A Trip to the Rugby - by Kieran Moon

  Caged Bird - by J M Moore

 

  IX-MUPS LOG 101: MISSION: I'M A WISHIN

  DESTINATION EARTH: WREXHAM!

  CAPTAIN'S WARNING?.

  (Don't ride your bike without a saddle while exploring)

  From The Universe of The Cutlery Drawer,

  in a land called Planet 2,

  other worldly creatures strange,

  found Wrexham un-restrained.

  "I've never heard of THE IX-MUPS.

  Pray tell me who they are.

  Should I work my brain up,

  for words that are bizarre?"

  An IX-MUPS very different

  no doubt you will adore,

  the starry skies' itinerants,

  who drift from shore to shore.

  When their Starship landed in Wrexham,

  they'd lost all sense of direction.

  So turning to their leaders,

  they were issued with tested procedures.

  Mop Head Mick, THE IX-MUP wise,

  smiled with knowing, kindly eyes.

  "We've sliced us up the best sliced spam,

  and found a gem in Wrexham."

  Heading off to the Aqueduct,

  for a boat we shall deduct.

  "It's over there!" wrung Dish-Cloth Dan,

  while wringing two hands in a fan.

  "But that's a pink plastic basket!"

  spat a splattered Prying-Fran.

  Oh don't go blowing a gasket dear,

  and be rid of that flea in your ear!

  `Tis only Captain Fish-Slice there

  to take us places fair.

  He's sailed the mighty roaring seas,

  for a thousand years with ease.

  He's on a quest for hidden keys

  to open secret doors.

  While gathering tales of high degrees,

  with minstrels and troubadours.

  Prying-Fran was reassured,

  her transport safe and sound.

  Ready to fill an IX-MUP head,

  so Wrexham, let's go round.

  First though, park the Star-ship,

  while sniffing a salty chip.

  `Tis just the thing to energise,

  is a Wrexham chippy surprise.

  Wet-Wipe Wally's found a slot

  for parking and a shop.

  Waterworld's the place it seems,

  just right for rockets with beams.

  Let's Wrexham go explore they say,

  we've only got a day!

  Where to go and where to start,

  we'd best just follow our heart.

  Let's begin our day with a chin-tea,

  "And toast!" said Earl Grey Flea.

  "I spied a caf?, I thinks for snakes.

  Do you think they'll bake us some cakes?"

  So it was off to Cleopatra's quick,

  for a lunch, a munch and a swig.

  They sipped a two of tasty drink,

  while having an IX-MUP think.

  When throats were quenched,

  no snakes had benched.

  Perhaps it was the strong smell of geranium?

  Too late, they're off to the stadium.

  The IX-MUPS thought most strangely,

  "Do horses play ball, ungainly?"

  It might be a new kind of crawl,

  for this game they couldn't re-call.

  In came the players, to THE IX-MUPS' surprise,

  not horses but men, of a very large size.

  Today they heard, was a most special match,

  where football meets rugby, and with feet you may catch.

  They took a stroll through Bellevue Park,

  to the strains of music till dark.

  Then a flying visit, 'cos they can,

  to Erddig Hall and Peter Pan.

  A nightcap in The Alyn,

  gazing at the stars.

  In the
morning maybe an aspirin,

  for suppin' too many fine jars!

  'Twas an awesome day in Wrexham,

  the IX-MUPS reflect with affection.

  Wrexham rocks, they do lament,

  a star-trekkers' day?royally spent!

  By Carol Wainwright (aka Mad Mother Turtle)

  Merseyside

  www.mocandjoc.co.uk

  @madmotherturtle

  DARBI

  Doeddwn i ddim yn mynd

  Ond arogl sglodion

  Fy ngwthio i'r Cae Ras

  Anodd i esbonio, ond

  Wrecsam yn erbyn Caer

  Yn rhywbeth arbennig.

  Prynais becyn un bunt

  Gyda llawer o finegr

  A cherddais heibio

  Plismyn o ddwy ochr

  Y ffin genedlaethol

  Yn cuddio mewn corneli.

  Am ryw reswm

  Dechreuodd y Darbi

  Am ddau o'r gloch

  Rhy hwyr am docyn

  Ysgyrnygodd c?n heddlu

  Ochneidiodd y stiward.

  A chwythodd wynt

  Trwy'r hen Kop wag

  Yn llawn ysbrydion

  Ac yn aros

  Yn amyneddgar

  Am ddyddiau gwell.

  Dychwelais i ganol

  Y dref lwyd

  Hanner wag

  Prynais becyn arall

  Gyda phastai hefyd

  A pheint o'r stwff lleol.

  gan David Subacchi

  Wrecsam

  www.facebook.com/david.subacchi

  The Little Box of Big Things

  Rhian was staying with her Granny who lived in a beautiful little house in Wrexham. Rhian loved Granny. She had lots of interesting objects in her house. One of these objects was a beautiful little wooden box.

  The box had two doors with tiny handles. When the doors were open, they revealed two little shelves and a small drawer at the bottom. Rhian loved this box but she wasn't allowed to touch it.

  Granny normally kept the box in her bedroom but this time the box was on the little table next to Rhian's bed. She was very excited and couldn't wait to peep inside.

  On Monday, Rhian slowly opened the little drawer and.... a tiny mouse jumped out and scurried away to St. Giles' church.

  "How funny!" said Rhian. "That drawer didn't look big enough for a mouse."

  On Tuesday, Rhian slowly opened the little drawer and... a rabbit jumped out and hopped away to Bellevue Park.

  "How strange!" said Rhian. "That drawer really didn't look big enough for a rabbit."

  On Wednesday, Rhian slowly opened the little drawer and... a cat jumped out and slunk away to Erddig Hall.

  "How odd!" said Rhian. "That drawer certainly didn't look big enough for a cat."

  On Thursday, Rhian slowly opened the little drawer and... a dog jumped out and bounded off to Alyn Waters.

  "How weird!" said Rhian. "That drawer definitely didn't look big enough for a dog."

  On Friday, Rhian slowly opened the little drawer and...a horse jumped out and galloped off to the Racecourse.

  "How peculiar!" said Rhian. "That drawer was NOT big enough for a horse."

  On Saturday, Rhian was just about to open the drawer when she heard something worrying. As she bent her head towards the drawer, she heard the roaring of a dinosaur. The people of Wrexham were very pleased that Rhian left the drawer shut!

  The End

  By Jude Lennon

  Merseyside

  www.littlelambpublishing.co.uk

  facebook.com/JudeLennonAuthor

  @JudeLennonBooks

  TIMESHIFT

  Part 1

  St. David's High School visit to St Giles' Church - Christmas 1985

  The liquid icy rays of a winter sun shone coldly on the bustling town. Restless and rowdy, the pupils of St David's School worried and tormented the stressed staff to release them from the shackles of the classroom. My Year Ten were particularly restive.

  'When can we go home, Miss?'

  'After the service in the church.'

  'Why do we have to go to the church? Why can't we just go home?'

  'We always go to the church at Christmas before breaking up. It will be lovely...' My voice faltered, unconvinced. Would it be lovely?

  So the annual ritual commenced. A bell sounded and then each class was called in turn to line up outside. In the ensuing chaos it was inevitable that some pupils would 'disappear', doubtless going straight home - or not! An unnatural snake-like monster soon formed outside the school and began weaving its uneven way towards the town. Its edges undulated unevenly as pupils pushed each other or tried to run or hop or shout or otherwise force the teachers' reluctant attention upon them. It was an exercise like running the gauntlet or an Odyssean Scylla and Charybdis experience as we tried to journey unscathed from the school to the church through the town. And the dangers were many. At Down Park Avenue we lumbered, trying to control our lurching boa-constrictor.

  Watch out! The first test! There were a number of Bromfield pupils peering through the science block windows making vulgar gestures which bore no resemblance to the precepts of the festive season. Presumably their teachers either couldn't, or wouldn't, notice this behaviour!

  Bromfield was the former Grove Park Girls' Grammar School. Coincidentally, I had taught in both schools and vividly remembered conducting classes in the science block myself. By this Christmas time, Bromfield School and St David's had become bitter enemies. Our pupils reacted in kind to the Bromfield insults and began gesturing back, but we managed to divert them and direct them to the underpass tunnel. This gradually began to swallow them up as they headed towards the Royal Welch Fusiliers War Memorial. They quickly charged past with youthful indifference, being eager to reach the shops. They had all completely ignored the monstrous ugly edifice which was the new police station.

  Almost tangibly, the girls' behaviour changed. They had already dressed in their smartest clothes which could acceptably be classed as 'uniform' but now they huddled together to 'secretly' repair their make-up and to adjust their skirts to make themselves look more alluring. Who they were hoping to impress, I never discovered. We walked past the Old Library and the Indoor Market whose entrance was on Lambpit Sreet. You could see bright posters advertising films currently being shown at the nearby Hippodrome.

  So far, so good but then came the real challenge! As we came into Hope Street we had to prevent rogue pupils from dodging up towards Regent Street where there was a large Woolworths. Already shopkeepers were positioned outside their premises to block any would-be pilferers from darting in and stealing pocketfuls of their goods. To be fair, few pupils would have done this but it had been known to happen so we had to keep alert at all times. At last we turned the straggling serpent to the left past Marks and Spencer and Littlewoods and across the road to the hallowed ground of St Giles.

  The reluctant pupils trailed through the porch into the gloomy entrails of the church. At the entrance the vicar, Canon Barry Morgan, greeted us together with our headmaster, Mr Emlyn Jones. I and my Year Ten were directed to pews at the south side of the church. As we sat down I mumbled, 'The church's tower is one of the Seven Wonders of Wales', but no-one was listening to me. They were too busy fidgeting and looking around to see who was sitting near them.

  I was then at comparative leisure to study the church myself, despite the restless waves of pupils still being seated. The church was graciously and triumphantly beautiful. There had been a church on this site since the C11th and so many generations of people had passed through its portals in life - and in death. With its exquisite wooden roof and elegant arcades of arches decorated with sixteen angels playing instruments, it was considered to have the finest ecclesiastical architecture found in Wales, or so the guidebook said. All this was lost on the pupils who were busy grinning and gesturing at each other. It was lost on me too on this particular day. The ethereal beauty seemed hollow and meaningless and the sun's
rays shining through the Burne Jones stained glass window mingled discordantly with the muted lights of the Christmas church to create a surreal atmosphere.

  Silence was gradually imposed upon the excited pupils and the service began. At this point everything became an unsettling blur of music, words and colour. The reverential atmosphere in conjunction with the purity of the singing of the Madrigal Choir reduced my spirits, already low, to the depths of despair. I gulped and fought back the tears which were welling up in my eyes. Concentrate, concentrate on the Nativity reading being given by the Head Girl from the famed brass eagle lectern.

  'Where is he who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East.'

  Suddenly, my attention was caught by an ornate white marble plaque on the wall nearby. It was inlaid with black letters and it read:

  This monument

  the pious tribute

  of her disconsolate husband

  was erected

  to the memory of

  ANN WILKINSON

  late wife of Mr John Wilkinson

  Iron master

  She died Nov.br 17th 1756

  Aged 26

  My curiosity was aroused and my personal misery eased as I began to empathise with the bereaved husband and his tragic wife who died so young.

  Who were they? What happened to them?

  Part 2

  John 'Iron Mad' Wilkinson's visit to St Giles' Church , Christmas 1757.

  Yes, it's there in pride of place on the wall. I have come from Bradley in the Black Country where I have just set up the first furnace to produce coke-smelted iron. It seems my reputation is growing but, at this moment, I care little about that. I have come once more to this over-elaborate church to make sure that my instructions have been carried out to the letter and that Ann's memorial plaque does her justice. She deserves only the best. Memories flood back.

  When we first met in Westmorland, I knew my family was far inferior to hers and I knew that my hope was to impress her and to marry her in order to gain funding for our iron industry ambitions.

  In the event, the reality was not like that at all. Her family, the Maudsleys, took against me and my low-born family. They particularly objected to the fact that we were Dissenters and tried to prevent our marriage. However, despite that, Ann and I loved each other deeply and I adored her. She was slightly built and very delicate with an ethereal beauty and such a sweet disposition. Defying her parents, we arranged for our marriage to take place in Kirkby Lonsdale church in June 1755. This was Ann's wish and I respected that but no family members from either side witnessed our wedding. Grudgingly, her family did capitulate and they advanced me enough money to invest in the iron business which was being set up by my father, Isaac, in Bersham, Wrexham. Great was our joy when we discovered that Ann was pregnant and our little girl, Mary, was born and baptised in Kirkby Lonsdale church in 1756.