In Memory Of

 Hi! Happy new Year! I got the inspiration for this story off of a website full of story ideas there is hundreds of these on the web that really help when your trying to think up a plot. Hope you like it!

In Memory Of

L.M Owens

 Her foot slipped and she started to fall. She was hurtling down through eternal darkness and as she plummeted, she remembered the good times and the bad times, the fights and the friendships. As the flood of memories washed over her, she found it harder and harder to withstand them.

Kathleen sat on the hard wooden pew. She wore a plain black dress and a veil. Her eyes were wet with tears. As she listened to the priest claiming how good a man he had been, she stared at a stained glass window depicting God showing mercy and forgiveness. And Kathleen wondered for the first time in her life if it was worth it. “But God didn’t show mercy for my husband. God’s love didn’t stop him crashing his car. So why should all my praying and devotion to God save me? All my life I have prayed for the love of God and thanked him for what I have. And what good has it done? Maybe it’s time I lived my own life.” Their children sat around her, consoling each other. Kathleen would have liked them to visit her more often but they were all adults now with families of their own. Almost the whole village had arrived to commemorate him. Mr. Robson had been a good man, always friendly, a generous father-a loving husband. She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing deep down she could never love anyone else.

 

“Mum, are you sure about this?” It was a month after Mr Robson’s funeral and Kathleen Robson was packing a suitcase while her eldest child Maria stood over her. “You could go on a nice camping trip instead but you can’t climb a mountain! Especially alone.” Maria pleaded with her. Kathleen took a deep breath, staring at her daughter. “Life’s too short Maria, look at your father. Who’s telling when it’ll be my time. I want to enjoy it as much as possible. It was always your fathers wish that we could climb Ben Nevis together. I’m not letting anything stop me.” She felt that this final act in memory of her husband would soothe her far more than the priest’s words. She was determined to carry out his final wishes. “But-” Maria began. “There’s a caravan site nearby, I can stay there” Kathleen interrupted. “I wouldn’t worry. I’ll only be away for the weekend; I’ll be back before you know it.” she assured her. Kathleen picked up her rucksack, waved goodbye and marched out of the house. She had waited all winter for this moment and as soon the first burst of spring sun shone through the murky grey clouds, she was off!

 

It was time. Ben Nevis loomed in front of her, its peak blanketed with impenetrable grey mist. “Easy” she said, though her stomach fluttered with anxiety. Heaving her rucksack off her back she detached her walking poles. “And these are for… oh well I’m sure I’m fit enough to manage without them.” And she threw them into the boot of her car before setting off. Without her husband, Kathleen was an inexperienced climber, not that she would admit it.

 

Looking up onto the mountain she saw four small specs descending the path. Hikers. Scanning the area, she discovered an obvious trail leading to the peak. So that was where to start. She began to climb the slope. After fifteen minutes of walking, Kathleen met the hikers she had seen in the distance. “You sure you want to go up today?” One of them said. “The bad weathers coming in fast.” “I’m sure I’ll be fine I’ll watch out.” she said confidently. They continued on their way. Despite waiting for spring to arrive, her fingers were soon numb with cold and her breath condensed in the crisp air. After an hour of nonstop walking, Kathleen’s feet felt like lead. She sat down on a rock and massaged her blistering toes.

 

Before she knew what had happened, grey fog suddenly impeded her vision, rain hammered down like bullets and the rocks became slippery and wet. Trying with all her might she attempted to gaze through the fog. Thinking it would be best to continue, she got to her feet. But Kathleen couldn’t see a thing and without realising, she strayed right off the path. All around her the dense air reminded her of her childhood days in London and the yellow pea souper fogs. Scratchy branches tore at her hands and she knew must have walked off the trail. In an effort to find her way back, Kathleen pushed branches aside, desperately feeling her way through nothingness. Just as she was sure she would soon be back on the path, the ground disappeared. Kathleen fell, plummeting like a brick. A long drawn out scream escaped her lips as the hard rocky ground materialised out of the gloom and she lost consciousness.

 

Kathleen surfaced from her death like slumber as soft footsteps approached her. Slowly, she opened her bleary eyes. She lay in a warmly lit room. Gold shimmers sparkled on the walls and ceiling. The floor was covered in a crystal white carpet which was light and bouncy to the touch. Looking down at herself, Kathleen noticed that her waterproofs and dirty tattered old hiking boots had been replaced by a gentle white gown, not unlike the one she had worn on her wedding day that fell to her ankles. Her hair was smooth and silky, set in bouncy blonde curls like it had been in her youth. Her skin almost glowed and as she stood, she felt as light as air.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Kathleen spun around - hardly daring to believe the voice that she heard. He was just as she remembered him – tall, handsome, his chestnut locks falling casually over his eyes. “Peter?” she whispered staring at her husband. He gave a wide smile and took her into his arms. Behind Peter stood a crowd of people. Noticing her gaze, Peter added, “They’ve been waiting too.” Staring into the crowd she picked out her mother, father, aunties, uncles. They were all there. “Oh, Peter I feel so happy as though I’m in heaven!” she said beaming at him. “My wonderful dearest Kathleen,” he replied stroking her hair, “You are.”

THE END

Struggles

 Struggles

L.M Owens

The sun shone through our grimy window, sending a fiery glow across my Ma and siblings who were still sleeping on our mattress. The sheep that woke me up baaed louder than usual and I prayed for its silence so it would not awaken poor Ma, who needed all the rest she could get. Thankfully, my plea was answered. There was no point trying to go back to sleep so I lay in my itchy blanket, thinking. I was positive that today would have no misery. None at all. All of those days I wished I was invisible were over. All those days of scorn and ridicule were out the window.  No more gossip and rumours about the stability of our family, no more lies about my father’s morality and whether he would ever send for us. Today it was finally happening. I was heading for a better life.

Silently, I tiptoed past my family and crouched by the fireplace. I glanced at Ma’s watch as I crept past her, 6:00am. I sat on the hard stone floor, staring into the blackened chars from last night and shivered. The outside door had no lock and it swung open with a little creak. A small stack of twigs lay by the door collected by my twin brothers Sean and Patrick.  I picked up the little bundle and as I made to step back inside, I glanced hopefully at yet another patch of freshly dug ground. Green leaves sprouted from the earth. I ran forwards landing on my knees beside our priti patch and began to scramble at the soil with my fingernails. I pulled out a newly grown priti  but as I gazed at it triumphantly, I noticed the incriminating brown marks on it. The land had been cruel to us and I would not be sorry to see the back of it. Turning my back on our 6^th priti patch and feeling as though a lead weight was being dropped into my stomach, I made my way back into our blackhouse.

I threw the dry sticks into the grate and struck a match. The timber ignited immediately and the cold room was filled with warmth. I spent the next couple of hours on the cobbled floor staring into the dancing flames of the fire, imagining America – the land of the free, streets paved with gold, friendly new faces alongside sorely missed relatives. 7:00am, 8:00am, I thought it was time to wake the others. This had been Lana’s job since Pa left but I knew she would be exhausted from working extra hours to make sure everything was ready before our departure, so the responsibility had fallen to me.

“Ma?” I shook her gently and she woke with a start. “We don’t want to miss the boat to ‘merica Ma.” I said helping her up. She nodded and smiled, patting my arm.  The next hour was a frantic rush of trying to collect the few belongings we would be taking with us.

As per usual, Sean and Patrick were racing to see who could pack their things the fastest. Sean and Patrick were identical twins. Patrick was older by 5 minutes so everything in life was a race. Who can eat the fastest? Who can clean the house the fastest? Blah Blah Blah. Reaching their tenth birthdays soon, they are the youngest living siblings in the family. Their bright ginger hair gives the impression that their head is on fire and their piercing blue eyes are like shards of shimmering ice. The spitting image of my father (though without the beard.) I missed my father so much. He had left to find us a farm in America two years ago and we were now following him. Lana is my oldest sibling (and the most responsible). Her fourteenth birthday was last week. She seems to have taken over from Pa and spends most of her time helping Ma. She has electric blue eyes (like Pa) but her long wavy blonde hair is identical to Ma’s. Although Sean and Patrick have not realised it, I know that Lana, like me, has realised that Ma’s racking cough is not harmless and has been trying to do everything to help her.

 

As we left the blackhouse, we all knelt beside the two crosses erected in the hard ground adjacent to our home and said goodbye for the final time to our younger siblings who never made it through the harsh winter.

With only small sacks slung over our backs we began the long walk to Queensland port. Within thirty minutes my crumpled feet were scratched and painful due to the hole that had worn away at the sole. After hours of what felt like pointless meandering we reached the dock with a few minutes to spare. We had been told that the ship was big – the biggest there is, but nothing prepared us for this. A great beast of a liner loomed in front of us, blocking out all sunlight. My mouth fell open and I gawped at the marvel like a fish out of water. Every inch of it was under my scrutiny but when my eyes rolled over the poop deck, I froze.

 A beautiful girl, about the same age as Lana, stood on the deck - her long periwinkle blue dress and blonde ringlets so regal I was sure she must have been a princess. Our eyes met. She raised an eyebrow and took in my dirty hair and frayed clothes looking disgusted. I stared at my feet and she turned imperiously away from me. “Never be ashamed o’ who ye are, my children.” Said Ma who had clearly noticed the girl too, before she began to cough and splutter once more. I stumbled to the gangway with my family. My mind was swirling with angry thoughts. I could not help being poor. I could not help that all I had was a sack slung over my shoulder. She obviously had never known real hunger, never stopped to think that some people can’t afford maids or porters.

When I reached the gangway, I was pulled out of my reverie by a uniformed man yanking my hair back, none too gently. I looked up, annoyed, but then understood. Ma had explained that as we were 3^rd class passengers, we would have to consent to a health check so I kept quiet. The man looked as though he would rather be anywhere else than in my hair. I couldn’t blame him. Even though Lana had helped us all to wash earlier in the week, my auburn hair still looked dishevelled and unkempt compared to those looking down on us from high above.

Once I had been deemed healthy enough, I looked up, ready to take in the beauty of the ship again. With a jolt, I saw the same girl staring back at me. She stood beside a
large potbellied man – who could only be her father. Both were looking at me as though I was a disgusting sea-slug. I did not want to see the looks of disdain on both faces and quickly examined an insect that had also been journeying up the gangway. But then I reminded myself of my thoughts from earlier that morning. I was positive that today would have no misery. None at all. Gone are the days of wishing I was invisible. No more scorn or ridicule. Head held high, I stared with excitement as we entered the biggest ship in the world. We were aboard the magnificent Titanic.

  

The Race

 The Race

She sped around the corner, the crowd’s cheers ringing through the stadium. Fourth place, third place second place! Her steed’s nose was inches behind the horse in first. The lead jockey kicked out, attempting to unseat her, but she was too fast for him. Like a bolt of lightning, her trusty mare galloped onward leaving the competition far behind. She flicked hair out of her eyes and gritted her teeth. The final turn, the finish line was in her sights. She could see herself holding the trophy - it felt as though she had already won. One last hurdle remained between her and victory. Easy. She dug in her heals and her steed obediently galloped faster than any other. The crowds roared their approval, jumping up and down in their seats. She leant forward in the saddle preparing to leap over the final jump. Suddenly the ground was coming up to meet her… CRASH! Back to reality. She was lying on the arena floor staring up at her pony’s face, the ground free of stampeding horses or roaring crowds. She rolled over and clambered to her feet, brushing sand from her jodhpurs. “Lily!?” called Laura the riding instructor. “Are you hurt?” “No, I’m fine. Just daydreaming again.” “Congratulations! That’s you a real horse rider now!” she said, clapping Lily on the back. Lily grinned sheepishly and hauled herself back into the saddle, ready to try again.

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

Vote for Basil

  I'm so sorry I haven't uploaded for so long! I really wanted to write a new Basil story so... here we are! Anyway, this story is about the upcoming election and I thought this would be funny. I'm currently reading Animal Farm by George Orwell so I took inspiration from that. Enjoy! 😀

Comrades,

I care about Nithsdale more than anywhere else (apart from the treat cupboard.) It’s where I was born and has been my home ever since. More importantly, I care about the welfare of pets and all animals. Which is why, as a member of the Society Of Dogs party (S.O.D) I encourage you to elect me as your representative in the Scottish Parliament, on 6^th of May 2021.

All animals are equal (but some are more equal than others, in the case of cats.)  Personally, I think Old Major had the right idea. Animals are not the slaves of humans and we can think for ourselves. It is now time, comrades, that we take our place as equal members of society.

I have a dream comrades. I have a dream that one day my four legged friends will not be judged by the colour of their fur but by the content of their character. And I hope, comrades, that you will support me so that this dream can become reality.

 Through uniting the animals, I will revolutionise Scotland and fill every Scottish animal’s life with fairness and unity and always put my constituents before myself. These are some of my pledges:

If your pet is under 6yrs of age you will be able to apply for the Scottish Pet Payment (S.P.P) Anyone can apply for this as long as the animal you register is not a cat. No cats allowed. Food, the burning of leads, dental care, toys, blankets, beds or even family outings can all be funded by S.P.P. Every two weeks, £10 will be transferred to your bank account to help look after your dog, rabbit, bird, snake, or polar bear, but not cats. If S.P.P appeals to you, vote Basil, the pooch who is proud to support Scottish pets, but not not cats, those demons of the underworld.

Every pet owner has the legal obligation to look after their furry friends. The Animal Health and Welfare (Scotland) Act 2006 was approved so that every owner has a legal responsibility for their animals.  In the Welfare of Dogs: Code of Practice it states that your dog should be well trained and have enough exercise. But I pledge to extend this list to include that all animals should have a reasonable education. It is a human right that every person must receive an education, so why not animals? Wouldn’t you like your pet to be able to multiply like a calculator, whenever you can’t be bothered to figure a sum out yourself? Or be better behaved at the dinner than even Queen Elizabark? I will build new schools for all animals. Even cats, just as long as they bark. If you want your pet to be as edyoo educated as me, vote Basil, the best of them all.

Yours Sincerely,

Basil Owens

Founding member of the S.O.D party

Tweets

 I got the inspiration for this story from the story called Songbirds by Nayanika Basu in the book Stay at Home! To read this story visit: https://indd.adobe.com/view/0f834b3c-c44c-439d-be0d-2fb7de5d6caf

I hope you enjoy it! 😀

Tweets

Blue Tit: Hi Robin, strange year.

Robin: Aye, the big beardie yin’s still workin frae his nest – starin at the pecking machine.

Blue Tit: Ken, it’s coz the cock o’ the walk’s telt them a’ tae stay at hame.

Robin: Whit?

Blue Tit: Whaur ye been? I’m talkin aboot their heid gaffer, the yin on the telly! Ye ken? The yin that bobs her heed feathers aboot like yin ae us!

Robin: Oh aye! D’ye ken whit I saw yisterday at nummer 12?

Blue Tit: Whit?

Robin: See the weans? The wee’est yin’s been puttin that stripey tie roon his neck and donnerin aff with his schull bag oan his back.

Blue Tit: Ah huvney seen him.

Robin: Aye, weel he gets up early and disnae come back tae the efternoon. Yer ey late tae the feeders.

Blue Tit: Tee tee! Weel his maw’s forgoat tae put maer sunfloor seed oot, so I’m no in a hurry! Wis he wearin yin o’ them daft coupen coverings?

Robin: Aye, and a fat loat o’ help it’ll dae him! He’s ey munchin oan snacks and has tae take it aff every 5 meenits! The biggest wean’s still at hame. She’s starin at the wee screen that’s ey stuck tae her haun!

Blue Tit:  Ken! And their Maw’s a bit obsessed – cleanin doorknobs and the like, ken?

Robin: But they dinnae hink o’ us dae they?!

Blue Tit: Whit ye oan aboot?

Robin: Weel, ye see her cleanin ivryhing – but huv they ever cleaned oor feeders? Naw!

Blue Tit: Fair point! But huv ye heard the lassie singin?  

Robin: Whit lassie?

Blue Tit: The fair haired yin! She’s singin aw the time noo. Nae mare rock songs – braw ballads – lovely!

Robin: Ah hink ah kin hear her.

Blue Tit: Aye, that’s her! Noo wheesht and listen!

Who Dunnit?

 Hi! Happy New Year! It's been so cold and snowy the last few weeks so I thought: a cold and snowy story! My friends and I have been sledging and making snowmen all week and that was the inspiration for this story. Hope you enjoy!😀

Who Dunnit?

One, two three, HEAVE! The four friends put the final head on the fourth snowman. Panting, they gazed proudly at the motionless white statues. Sparkling snowflakes floated through the air, to land softly in the garden of Crawick Cottage. The cold white figures stood in a line, facing the snow covered hedge, twig arms poking absurdly from the ball in the middle. Laughing at an uncanny likeness, Katie pointed at one of the recently created snowmen, “That one has a cheeky face, just like Matthew!” Matthew ran inside and returned seconds later carrying his Harry Potter hat and scarf. He placed them on the snowman with the mischievous grin. Amilia stared lovingly at the the snowman with the widest smile. “This one looks pretty.” With a gloved hand she placed her scarf around its neck. “Just like you,” said Katie rolling her eyes at Lily. Lily picked a tall thin snowman to decorate and fashioned it with her Sanquhar pattern hat and scarf while Katie chose a smart, sneaky looking one with a jolly grin to wear her stripy scarf and furry hat.

 Stepping back to admire their work, it was as if they were staring into a mirror - at alternate versions of themselves. “Oh!” said Katie “The wind makes it look like this snowman is waving!” Everyone laughed heartily but Matthew scrunched up his face and said seriously, “I think it did move its arm.” Lost in their own thoughts the children started when Lily and Matthew’s mum called them in for dinner and the group dispersed. Katie shouted back, “Meet for sledging tomorrow if it snows again tonight in the field across from the Lawyers Brae sign!” Lily gave her the thumbs up signal and stepped inside.

 The cockerel crowed as the sun broke through the angry sky. Matthew and Lily looked out of the window to see a deep carpet of snow three inches deep. There had been a mini blizzard the previous night but even the power cut couldn’t dampen their spirits. The merciless cold stung their faces as they stepped outside. The wind was beating a violent tattoo on Lily’s and Matthew’s jackets making them shiver. They climbed the dry stone dyke and, over the wind, they heard what sounded like birds squawking in the distance. Wait-that wasn’t birds… Lily looked at Matthew, he had heard it too. They rushed along the road, slipping on the ice, and tripping over stones blanketed in snow. Rounding a corner, Lily and Matthew almost crashed into Katie and Amilia who were also trying to discover the source of the noise. Together, the foursome slid to a halt. A bundle of skirts seemed to be twisting and turning on the ground.

 Wilma, our old neighbour from down the hill, was sprawled on the ice, trying to untangle herself. The children hurried over. “Are you hurt?!” shouted Lily, helping Wilma sit up straight and gazing concernedly at her. Neighbours were running as fast as they could on the icy ground towards Wilma - who seemed unharmed apart from the embarrassment. “I’m fine! Quite fine!” said Wilma consolingly, “Now watch this ice! It’s treacherous!” “What happened?!” someone shouted. And Wilma said, “I think that someone is playing a rather crude joke. It seems that they stretched a wire at the top of the hill. But really!” said Wilma “No need to fuss, I’m fine!” Wilma was helped to her feet and led back to her house. Lily, Katie and Amilia stared at Matthew. This sounded like something he usually found funny but… “It wasn’t me!” he said incredulously.

Crawick was total chaos. Zach ran up the street shouting angrily. “Right!” he scowled, storming towards them. “Who nicked my bike?” “No one!” Said Matthew defensively. “Well, it’s gone and you’re the only person, Matthew, that’s ever said he wished he could have my bike!” “No, I didn’t!” Matthew yelled, pushing past Zach who glared suspiciously after him. The whole street was madness. Zach’s big dog Ollie came bounding out, covered in pink spray paint. Flowers that the villagers loved and cared for were upside down. Katie and Amilia’s swings were hanging from lampposts and Lily and Matthew’s mum was storming towards them.

“Matthew!? Lily!?” Matthew and Lily gulped. “Firstly,” she said, and the children wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks fly out of her nostrils, “I want to know who stole Dad’s cans of cider from the back door. Go on, own up!” Her glare was so ferocious that it was a wonder that Lily and Matthew didn’t back away. No one had taken Dad’s cider and they were getting blamed for it. “Well, if nobody’s admitting to that theft then may I ask, WHY is our washing line stretched across the top of Miller’s Brae?” She hadn’t heard about Wilma yet and the children were glad that she was still ignorant. Nobody knew what to say. “Right, well I think it’s time to come home if neither of you know anything about it.” Lily managed a wave at Katie and Amilia before she and Matthew were marched home.

That night Lily lay in bed thinking. “Something very strange has happened here and it wasn’t me, Matthew, Katie or Amilia because we love the people of Crawick. Perhaps it’s someone from Sanquhar? It just didn’t make sense to her and soon Lily was fast asleep.

Keep your eyes peeled for Part 2!

Who Dunnit Part 2

 

Two nights ago, strange events happened in Crawick and four local children were being blamed for them. Determined to prove their innocence, they turned into detectives to unravel the mystery…

 Who Dunnit Part 2

Next morning, four children slipped out of two houses, unbeknown to their parents who had grounded them for their potential involvement in the pranks and vandalism that had mysteriously occurred around Crawick two nights ago. Lily, Matthew, Katie and Amilia met in secret, half-way up Millers Brae to discuss a plan for proving their innocence to their parents and the villagers.

“Ok,” whispered Lily, “Me and Amilia will interview the suspects and victims, and you two,” she pointed at Matthew and Katie, “can check out where the trip wire was hidden.” Everyone nodded silently and Lily added, “Meet back here in half an hour.”

 Matthew and Katie continued up the icy hill while Amilia and Lily slipped down – taking care not to land on their bottoms. When Katie and Matthew finally reached the top of the hill, Katie knelt in the snow, pointing to a thin line where the soft snow had been parted. “This is where your mum’s washing line was stretched across the road.” Matthew gasped and said, “Incriminating evidence! Look at those weird footprints! It looks like someone’s been wearing tub lids on their feet!” Katie clapped her hands excitedly. “Well done Matthew!” And she quickly snapped a shot on her phone of the strange, curved rectangular shapes that were scattered around the offending area.

The next half hour passed fairly quickly and the children were feeling rather proud of themselves as they met again. “Well, we have found out a good amount.” said Lily, puffing out her chest. “We know that Bob, Wilma’s next door neighbour, went for a walk at 6:30pm to the Dumping Stone and back and his snowy footprints corroborate this.  There didn’t appear to be any other shoe marks on the road which would suggest that he was the last walker until 9:30am, next day, when Wilma tripped and fell - considering that it stopped snowing at 6:00pm last night. So, either Bob nicked our washing line and used it as a trip wire or someone sneaked along when it was dark and everyone was in bed. It was placed between 6:30pm at night and 9:30am in the morning. Still no leads on the upturned flowerpots or the swings dangling from the lampposts.”

Katie sniffed disapprovingly and began accusing everyone and anyone that she could think of who may have stolen her swings, before crossing her arms so tightly that it looked unlikely that she would ever unravel them again. They still hadn’t retrieved their swings and the kindest thing to say was that Katie was cracking up. To sail the conversation out of these dangerous waters, Lily piped up that she and Amilia had also interviewed Zach who was able to shine some light on the case. Apparently, when he went to bed, 10:30pm, his big dog Ollie was white and when he woke up, 7:30am, Ollie had been spray painted pink (Zach whole heartedly blamed Amilia for this, as pink was her favourite colour and she does love to paint!) “So that narrows it down even further.” said Lily. “If we’re assuming it’s the same pranksters behind everything, then the events must have happened between 10:30pm and 7:30am next morning. But we can only see Bob’s footprints from last night, so who else could have been around?” “Well,” chipped in Matthew, “we saw really funny shapes in the snow beside the trip wire, and it looked like it could have been someone wearing tubs on their feet – perhaps to throw anyone off the scent.” “So, does this mean that we can rule out Bob then?” asked Lily. “Yeah, Bob’s not a suspect.” agreed Katie. “We can also discount Wilma, of course.” “Free again tomorrow?” asked Lily. “Yup.” replied Katie.

Lily and Matthew scurried up the hill while Katie and Amilia slipped down towards their house. Thankfully, neither parents noticed their children’s absence and they were able to sneak back inside undetected as dusk wrapped its thick blanket over the confused hamlet of Crawick.  Lying in bed that night, Lily was sure that she heard someone laughing at her as though mocking her. But the net was closing in.

                                                     

Who Dunnit Part 3

Who Dunnit? Part 3

L.M Owens

 

12 o’clock chimed, bringing with it another inch of snow. Lily and Matthew were thankful that Katie had photographed the weird marks from yesterday as most snow would have covered any trace of evidence. They told their parents that they were going sledging, which wasn’t exactly a lie as they were likely to do this at some point. Running into their play hut, they spied out of the windows and waited for Katie and Amilia. Eventually, they arrived ten minutes late and with so many layers on, they looked like giant teddy bears. When they saw Lily and Matthew peering out of the window, they scurried up and joined them in the hut. “Sorry we’re late!” said Katie hurriedly, “I told my mum we were going out in the snow and she made sure we wore every piece of winter clothing we owned! “That’s ok,” said Lily, “Now, let’s get down to business. Does anyone have anything to report? Any new leads?

“Yes!” said Amilia breathlessly. “Someone let a cockerel in our house at 4:00am and it crowed all morning, Mum’s sure it was Katie! Remember those funny shapes in the snow surrounding the trip wire? We also found them in our back garden when the cockerel woke us up.  They led up to our backdoor, and that was the only day we forgot to lock it!  In fact, we noticed them everywhere around Crawick! Thankfully, Katie snuck out and took all of these pictures, (she showed them on the phone) because this new layer of snow has almost erased any trace.  Ohh if only there hadn’t been a blooming power cut, then we could have checked the CCTV cameras and it would be clear for everyone to see who was behind all this mischief!” Lily rubbed her arm soothingly. “Don’t worry Amilia, we’ll prove to everyone in Crawick that it wasn’t us. Let’s go down and sledge for a bit to cheer us up.”

They were just about to file out of the play hut when Lily yelped. “Oh my! What the…?” The others followed her shaky finger and their hands leaped to their mouths. Four cans of cider lay in the corner of their hut. “Dad’s cider.” She stared aghast at the crumpled, empty cans. “Should we tell?” said Matthew worriedly. “And be throttled half to death? No thanks!” cried Lily scathingly. “They’ll all think it was us!” Nodding her head and smiling grimly, Katie twitched a blanket from the pile in the corner over the cans. “Just in case any nosey parker comes peeking through the window. We’ll deal with this later. C’mon, may as well sledge for a while.”

The day was full of fun and laughter as the children momentarily forgot their worries as they careered wildly down the hill on their sledges until their hands became numb and their feet ice blocks. On the road home, they chatted animatedly until they noticed a figure walking towards them. As he came closer, he tutted disapprovingly. “You’ll be the four troublemakers then.” He was an old, stooped man with a walking stick grasped in his brown aged spotted hand. “Poor Wilma.” He shook his head. “What do you mean?” asked Katie anxiously. “I thought she was ok!” “Yeah well she was rushed to hospital last night with a suspected hip fracture! But I suppose it was worth it for your little moment of fun?” he glared at them. “But we didn’t…” began Matthew heatedly. But the old man interrupted him. “Don’t think no one saw you the other night. I look out of my window across the river and what do I see? Four kids carrying a cockerel! You’re not fooling anybody.” And with that, he shuffled away glancing back and throwing them contemptuous looks.

The children stared at each other. Matthew gnawed at his stubby nails. Amilia bit her lip so hard it would soon draw blood. Katie shuffled her feet and stared at the ground. Lily, who had been chewing her hair, looked up nervously. “Hello Zach.” Everyone else’s heads snapped up to watch as a second figure approached them. Zach ignored her. Instead, he held up a piece of paper in his hand, shoving it under Amilia’s nose who stepped back in alarm. “That’s the bill. We’ve got to pay the vet £200 for what you’ve done. Ollie had an allergic reaction to that paint!” he scowled, without looking at her. As he turned to leave, he glared at Matthew. “And I’d appreciate it if I could have my bike back. And I swear Matthew, if I get it back in pieces, you’ll be buying me a new one!” The four stared miserably at each other. “You know, I don’t even blame Zach for being angry with us. All the evidence does point to us. And if this had happened to our dog, and my bike, I’d feel exactly the same.” said Matthew.

They all nodded and ran up the hill. As they reached the play hut, Matthew remembered that Dad had borrowed their seats for his own hut so they hurried towards Dad’s shed to retrieve them.  The shed door was conveniently open. Even before the contents inside came into their line of vision, the children knew that something wasn’t right. The air was thick with a deep feeling of foreboding that made them instantly wary. Matthew, who was the first to the door, gave a low moan when he saw what was sitting in the shed. A mangled piece of blue metal, two flat tyres and a squashed bell lay in a heap on the floor. Zach’s bike. Above it stood dad, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “Explain.” he said through a lipless mouth. And the children launched into speech. After a quarter of an hour of coherent explanation, Dad was forced to accept that the foursome was indeed innocent. “So, you think someone might be stealing the garments off your snowmen as a disguise, to frame you?” Dad asked, his brow furrowed. They all agreed with bated breath. “Well,” began Dad. “If you want to find out who’s stealing your stuff and causing all this trouble, you could set up my wildlife camera and catch the thief in action.” Dad glanced out of his shed window at the descending darkness. “It’s getting late, you should probably go home now. I’ll set up the camera.” They all trooped outside and Katie and Amilia waved as they reached the driveway, before trotting down the hill. “I wonder who we’ll catch!” said Matthew excitedly. As the siblings walked inside, Dad fixed the camera to a tree opposite the snowmen, covered it in leaves and pressed record.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Katie and Amilia hammered on Lily and Matthew’s door. Matthew opened it quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning from ear to ear. “Have you got the footage?” asked Katie, frantically unravelling a scarf from around her neck. Lily appeared in the doorway, holding up the wildlife camera and smiling. “Come on, we can watch it in my room.” she said. The children trooped upstairs and sat on Lily’s bed, staring at the camera expectantly. Lily propped it up on a stack of pillows and with trembling fingers, pressed play.

A figure stirred in the shadows and began to make its way forward. It’s arms were so thin and spindly they looked as though they could be blown away with a single gust of wind. Who was it? It’s body was as round as a plum. It’s bright orange nose was at least five inches long and it’s feet were curved and rectangular. Three more figures joined the first. They looked identical.  The first rascal skipped off towards the washing line and began to pull it down. Two more ran at the bird feeders and stole the fat balls from within- starting a game of tennis with rackets that had been left on the ground. Suddenly, the last of the intruders pointed straight at the camera, pulled a chunk of their own flesh from their stomach, and hurled it at the lens – covering it in white, wet splodges.

They all sat staring at the blank screen. Their faces resembled those who had been recently hit over the head with clubs. Finally, Amilia broke the silence. “The snowmen!” She stared at them all, her face a mask of shock. “How will we prove it? No one will believe us!” “Your dad does. I think I might have an idea…” said Katie thoughtfully. “Does he use Facebook?” “Yes.” the siblings replied.

After writing a careful and thorough explanation of the strange happenings in Crawick, Lily and Matthew’s dad uploaded their comments along with the video footage, to “The Town of Sanquhar” Facebook page, asking everyone to share and spread the news and evidence of their innocence in a bit to restore their tattered reputations. Hopefully this does the trick, said Amilia, crossing her fingers.

“What about the snowmen though?” asked Matthew. “It’s time to put an end to their skulduggery!” replied Lily firmly. They marched outside; heads held high. But when they reached the garden, all that was left were four hats and scarves and four carrot noses amidst diminishing blobs of snow. Seeing as they could no longer have the confrontation that they wished for, they enjoyed the last of the bodies with a snowball fight. “Take that, you abominable snowmen!” as the remainder of their bodies were scattered all over the garden.

When they arrived back inside, news and messages of support from Facebook were already flooding in. Dad was in the process of fixing Zach’s bike and Zach couldn’t stop apologising for ever suspecting them. The five of them set about tidying up the street and best of all, Wilma was returning that afternoon from hospital, fit as a fiddle. “Well done kids, you could be detectives some day!” said Dad, clapping them on the back. The four friends grinned and took a bow.

THE END

                                                      

It's A Dog's Life

This story is based on when i tried to watch the Great British Bake Off. 😂 Seeing as it's nearing Christmas i thought- lets make it a bit more 'Christmassy.' Hope you like it! 

It's a Dog's Life

Snow is beginning to gather on the window ledge and the screaming of the wind rushes down the chimney making the flames quiver. This heat is stifling. I’m panting like a hippo running in a marathon. I stretch out on the chair bearing my bottom to the world as a gust of wind whirls and whistles outside.

Lifting my weary head to look through the doorway, I see Mummy entering with a large rectangular box on legs. Instantly, I leap off the armchair to have a good look at it to see if it’s friendly. What is it? Mummy props it up against the wall and clicks a button on top of the mysterious box. I jump back in fright as blurry pictures appear on the wall opposite. I realise it’s the Great British Bake Off Christmas Special. The picture comes into focus and I stare in awe.

Specky, Wriggly and Bunnet Boy enter the room gripping mugs of cocoa in their hands. Wriggly sits next to Mummy but then she darts to me… and then she’s on the ground. Finally, she resumes her seat by Mummy and only grudgingly stops wriggling about! Once everyone is snuggled on the couch, Mummy presses the play button and moving images begin to play on the wall. A beautiful Victoria Sponge cake with tempting frosting piped neatly around the edges dazzles my eyes. Transfixed, I watch as more cakes are brought to the front of the screen. I stand on the red couch and try to eat the goodies that have magically glued themselves to the wall. I screw up my face in disgust. Those cakes taste like plaster and emulsion. No wonder the beardy man tasting it doesn’t seem too happy.

Mummy pauses the images and walks into the kitchen. Great! My dinner at last! But she doesn’t get my dinner. Instead, she pulls out a tray of mince pies. I let out a low growl. How could she!? I’m watching food I can’t eat, and now she’s making food I can’t eat! Even worse, I haven’t had a reply from the letter I sent the other day – pleading to be allowed to eat human food. Something must be done…

They’re all getting up. Now’s my chance! A big drink of water and a shake of my beard – the trap has been set. All is going to plan. They are still heating up custard to pour over the pies. I should probably lie under the table now to avoid suspicion.  Specky, Wriggly and Bunnet Boy take their mince pies into the living room. Urgh! It didn’t work. Maybe Mummy will fall for the trap. When she’s finished taking her bowl through, Wriggly darts up again towards the bathroom shouting, “Don’t start without me!” Perfect! I lie in wait. As she comes skipping back through the kitchen, she slips on the tiled floor that I cleverly dripped water onto and smacks her head on a sharp corner of the wall, falling to the ground. Everyone rushes towards her. Oh oh! I peer at her head, slightly concerned. Her hair is stained red with blood. I didn’t mean to hurt Wriggly. Just cause a distraction. Maybe I went a bit too far… Oh well, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Wriggly often overreacts. At least I can guzzle a pie without anyone noticing.

Wriggly is helped into a chair and is howling her head off. Bunnet Boy stands beside her, mortified. His face is deathly pale and looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Specky’s doing her best to help – holding iced peppers to Wriggly’s head. Although, I don’t understand why she’s decided that now’s the best time for a Harry Potter quiz. In fact, she’s acting as if she’s John Humphreys from Mastermind, insistent that she answers each question that’s fired at her. Ahh yes – classic Specky, always taking her role seriously. Mummy’s reassuring Wriggly and tells Specky to continue quizzing her to try and keep her mind off things – but I think Specky just really wants a quiz. Mummy’s not helping much now. She’s disappeared behind the baby gate upstairs, talking into the rectangular pink thing that she holds to her ear. I must play my part convincingly. I lick Wriggly’s cheek. She fondles my ears lovingly, but really I’m just licking the frozen pepper juice that is now dripping down her face.

Mummy is coming downstairs, wearing her waterproof. A walk!? A bit late, but okay!  She pushes me down as I try and jump up on her. Now she’s up close I can see that she’s carrying Wriggly’s jacket too. Something isn’t right. Mummy walks into the kitchen and over to Wriggly who is helped into the jacket. I follow. What is going on? Mummy and Wriggly walk to the door. A few peppers fall out of the bag and I bound forward like a small child presented with a bag of sweets. I gobble it up but spit them out quickly. The juice tastes much nicer than the real thing. Eww! I hear the front door slam. All is silent. The tension is broken by Bunnet Boy who begins to cry. In an attempt to make him feel better, Specky puts Alvin and the Chipmunks on the wall and they cuddle on the couch.

Unsurprisingly, Bunnet Boy asks for a chocolate. I sniff. There he is asking for sweets and I haven’t even had my dinner yet! I must take action.

Slipping into the kitchen, whilst Bunnet Boy and Specky lounge on the couch, I spot my goal. The mince pies are sitting unsupervised on the counter where Mummy left them.  I jump up and my front two paws land neatly on the surface. Quick as a flash, I gobble every last morsal. Nom nom nom! On my way out, I see that the cupboard that hides away the rubbish is slightly ajar. I tiptoe over and push my nose into the bin, but before I can scoff many dustbin delights, I’m caught red nosed and interrogated for a whole two minutes by Specky. “What did you do with the mince pies? Why were you in the bin?” before I was pushed unceremoniously into the infamous Baby Dan Jail. Was it really worth it? Yes. I think so. I lick the tasty remains of the dustbin delights out of my beard.

I awaken with a start. Looking around, it’s clear that I’m still imprisoned in Baby Dan Jail. How long have I been in here? I let out a piercing whine. “Oh Basil!” shouts Specky from the living room. She had evidently forgotten me. “Are you a sorry boy?” I stick out my tongue to show her I am sorry. Apparently, she understands because she unlocks the gate, and at this point Mummy and Wriggly return. I jump for joy. Mummy! Wriggly! The pepper juice has solidified, leaving a sticky residue on Wriggly’s hair and face. It tastes even better a few hours later! I give Mummy a lick too, just in case she has any juice on her, but no luck, so instead I continue to lick Wriggly. My tongue never gets bored.

Hang on. This is Christmas Eve. Don’t they put food out tonight for the big fat guy in the red suit?

Based on a true story.

Basil's starving!

 By Matthew 

 

Dear Daddy, Mummy, Molly, Lily and Matthew,

 

I am writing for one reason only. I, a cuddly Airedale terrier, am writing this letter because you do not let me eat human food. Would you like to be locked out of your own kitchen? Do you lock me out on purpose? Well that’s what’s happening to ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I personally think you should let me eat the scraps off your plate because your food is delicious. You get to eat cracking carrots, terrific turkey, marvellous mash and finally beautiful beef. You also get lovely chicken and tatties while I get minging stuff. Honestly, my food tastes like brains and rotting guts but you are the royal people of the house and yours is 9 ZILLION times better than mine!!  

 

It would be brilliant if I could sit at the table with my own knife and fork. If you let me I would be more polite than Queen Elizabark. I wouldn’t slurp, or burp, or make doggy noises, or jump on the table like a MAD CHICKEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

So please, please, please, please let me share your terrific breakfast, lunch, and dinner!!!

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Basil

Poppy

Poppy

P lacidly growing from the churned up mud, in Flanders Field you grew a sea

O f beautiful red admirals each pattern unique lulling Dorothy gently to sleep… your scarlet

P etals as thin as paper and

P erfume as sweet as Jasmine, Poppy,

Y ou are exquisite

Persuasive Letter To Mum

 

Dear Mummy,

Do you remember the song that you sing to me in the mornings? Mummy’s best doggy? Cuddles on the couch, licks in the kitchen, and walks in the forest. Aren’t we the best of pals? Although I know you love me, you have currently banned me from upstairs. Why? This has to change. Four cosy beds, and furry duvets - upstairs has it all, but you just take it for granted. Why can’t I enjoy these these comforts too?

Do you ever think about me when your upstairs? Your adorable Airedale? Or how I hate that gate? Every time you leave me downstairs, I hear the gentle turning of pages as you snuggle in bed reading a book. Every time I stare through the gate, up the spiralling staircase a pang of sadness wells up inside me. I wish I could be up there, enjoying myself, comforting you at sad parts of the book and laughing with you at happy parts. If I were allowed upstairs, we could have had even more adventures with a new venue and I wouldn’t be as lonely at night.

Often you call me big bad Baz, but have I ever done anything to deserve that nickname? Well, apart from occasionally stealing bacon from the grill or having a nibble at Granny’s sandwich, or chasing a horse up the hill… But why am I never called terrifically tidy terrier? See those those wee humans that run about all over the house? If I was allowed, I could tidy their rooms for them! No more hoovering needed! Why are you so determined to keep me from enjoying the fun of upstairs with you? If you were to relent on this, then your bedrooms would never be cleaner! I could make those skirting boards shine! Licky Mc’Lickerson to the rescue!

If the wee humans woke up in the night, I could act like a nanny, gently soothing them back to sleep by licking their faces and ears. This would mean you wouldn’t have to get up during the night, which I’m sure would be a delight! Extra hours of sleep!

All I ask is that I be allowed to enjoy the delights of upstairs. Why is it so hard to let your favourite doggy upstairs to snuggle in bed with everyone? Please, this is all I ask, just to be allowed to visit your paradise. I know you are bit allergic to me, so if if it would help, I wouldn’t even have to stay in your room when you start sneezing!

Please think about it,

Lots of licks,

Basil Xxx    

 Nettle

L.M Owens

After reading a book called The Lost Words, a book about acrostic poems I decided to write my own acrostic poem. It is about a common garden pest the Nettle. I'm sure most people will have been stung by a nettle at least once in their lifetime. Hope you enjoy!😀

 

N	ettle, you’re a sly green devil lurking at roadsides amongst the overgrown verge for an unsuspecting victim to cross your path
E	very innocent that hops past receives the same treatment. Red hot spikes prick the casualty, causing stinging irritation a
T	ingling sensation. Mass infuriation
T	otal condemnation! Yet you stand tall as white bumps rise.
L	aughing in the long grass, beneath large bushes, growing from the
E	arth along the forest path. But take note Nettle, one of these days I’ll make you into soup!

The Journey

A couple of week ago, while out riding my bike, I noticed a fish jumping out of the Euchan River, trying to get up the waterfall that blocked its path. I stopped and watched its attempts. More fish attempted the jumps. My brother and I could not believe our eyes and started cheering them all on. I investigated about the fish and discovered the incredible journey that Atlantic Salmon make every year. Hope you enjoy! 😁

Watercolour Atlantic salmon by Matthew, age 7

The Journey

Hello!  I’m Finn, an Atlantic salmon. I’m also one of the few that made it to the ocean. I had to face perilous waterfalls, hungry birds and slimy seals (honestly have you seen how fat those guys are?!) Anyway, less of the past more of the future! The waters around Greenland are abundant with food that tastes terrific! My few years in the ocean are coming to an end. Soon I will have to journey back to my birthplace- the beauteous Euchan river that joins the Nith at Sanquhar. Quite a few salmon seem wary of the journey ahead. Personally, I don’t see what they’re fussing about. The return home seems quite exciting to me so I’m not going to brood over it. Onwards and upwards!

Well that’s me. I’m on my way to the river I was born in. I’m so excited. The school of fish I am traveling with suddenly stop. I’m just about to ask my neighbour why we have halted in our convoy when I see something utterly terrible.

Ghastly gulls gather above the grey ocean hoping to catch a well-fed Atlantic Salmon. A trawler must be…

Suddenly, I’m writhing and squirming in a trawlerman’s net, along with some other unfortunate companions. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll be a fisherman’s dinner! With a loud rip, the bottom of the net tears on a jagged rock cutting a large hole in the netting.  I dart out and hurry to catch up with the rest of my school, who managed to avoid capture.

I’ve just entered the Solway Firth. The noisy chatter of salmon is deafening. We swim as close to the mouth of the Nith as we dare until the mix of salt and freshwater taste begins to taste odd and stings my gills. Maybe I’d better stay here for a while until I’m used to this brackish water.

Hundreds of salmon crowd deep in the seabed. In this estuary there are lot of predators. Occasionally, a brave salmon will swim up to the surface to check if the coast is clear- and they won’t come back down. The tide is going out. This is my last chance. I should go now… My heartbeat quickens. There is only one thing for it. I must go, I must go, I must go. I close my eyes and will luck to be on my side, as I propel myself upwards. Shouts of “Come back!” and “Don’t try it!” ring in my ears. But I ignore them. Cormorants sit in a nearby tree drying their wings out in the sun. I swim slowly past them and, thankfully, they do not stir. I am approaching the mouth of the Nith. I can see weaker creatures being pulled back into the Solway Firth, as the ferocity of the current overpowers them.  Jings crivens, help ma fishes, I better brace myself. I’ve just entered the most dangerous part of my journey known to salmon kind.

I have been fighting the current for hours. I’m so tired, yet I know if I stop, I will be washed back down to the Solway by the rushing water. I think I’m about halfway there. I’m almost at Dumfries so it shouldn’t be too long. That’s me at the Whitesands now. The water rushes down, pulling me with it! I am stuck at a literal brick wall. My journey is at an end. Or so I think. I see a couple of salmon swim over to the right-hand side of the Nith. I follow. A ladder! I jump up each step. When I reach the top, I look around, there was almost no current at all! This was going to be easy. But as I swam further up the Nith the current returned. I’m starting to get hungry. Glancing to my left, I see a fly floating on the surface. Don’t snap at the fly, don’t make a sound, don’t draw attention to yourself.  My comrade does just that. He swallows the fly and is dragged out of the water. He doesn’t come back down. Horrified, I scurry on.

I’ve just swam into the Euchan river. The current is fierce and I’m having to battle my way upstream. My nostrils tell me I’m nearing home. Just round this cor… Oh no.

This cannot be happening. A gigantic waterfall blocks my path. Once again, my nostrils direct me. My destination is beyond the top of that waterfall. How in the name of all the salmon in the sea, am I supposed to get up there? It’s about ten metres tall! I ponder in the deep pool at the bottom of the cascade of water. If I don’t get up this mountain, my whole journey will be in vain. I must overcome the problem. I push up from the ground and shoot up in the air, tail and fins flapping madly. I fall, battered, back into the river. A few pied wagtails twitter mockingly at my failed attempts. “I’d like to see you try.” I snap at them. They fly up over the waterfall proving that they actually can. Cursing at them under my breath, I continue to jump out the water. Frustrated, I swim back down the bottom of the pool. I groan. Why couldn’t I do it!? I’ve tried for so long and so hard yet all I gain is bumps and bruises! Though it feels as if I’ll never make it, I try again. Maybe I just had to remember that it was my optimism that got me this far. With these thoughts in my head, I leap and land, slightly painfully, at the top of the waterfall. I’ve done it!  Though I am exhausted, and my body is bleeding and aching, I speed on, practically jumping for joy. Until I stop, I shake with all different types of emotions. I am home.

This is probably the last time you will ever hear of me. Thank you, you’ve all been great listeners. Wish your fishy friend luck with his spawning! If you ever find yourself swimming upstream, in the face of difficulty, remember nothing is impossible.