The Jungle Way

This story is set in late 1800, when a few ships were sent to South America mainly to trade. It is not based on any particular ship, or anywhere in particular in South America. I hope you like it!

Chapter 1

The jungle had existed undisturbed for so long. Undisturbed, until now. With a crash of waves, three bodies were swept onto the shore of a beach, the jungle just metres away. The boy looked up. Henry was 15, and the oldest child of his family. He gazed up at the sky, blinking as though he had been born again. Next, the older girl coughed and spluttered as she got the water out of her. Florence was 12, and believed herself to be the most resourceful and clever. Henry saw her get up and wobble around, before she sat down again, sand flying out from under her. Finally, the small curly-haired girl sat up with a jump, breathing heavily. Emily was 8, and the baby of the group. She was rather shy and quiet, but could cook a feast in an hour. Emily looked at the beach and the sand she was sitting on, and started to cry.
"We are in a fix," Henry remarked, as Florence crawled over to Emily and put an arm over her shoulder. "That boat... I didn't dream it, did I? It really sank... And where is everyone else?"
"Hush, Ems," Florence soothed, "Yes, Henry. It certainly sank, and here's the proof." Florence leant over and picked up a large wooden plank with half of the ship's name painted on one side.
It was like a gunshot.
Henry sat staring at the wood, unable to comprehend what had happened. The boat had been designed to hold many more passengers, and cargo, but had still sunk. They appeared to be the only survivors, too. No-one else had noticed that the boat was creaking with built-up exhaustion. No-one else had seen the rocks beneath the waves. But no-one would believe the tales of three children, would they? The crew had laughed, and told them to continue playing their fairy tale games. And now they were... gone. 
Henry stood up as best he could. He still felt sick with salty water, and as tired as though he had run a mile. He stood over his siblings, hands on his hips.
"Well, we're stuck here," he said firmly. "Mother and Father won't find out for ages. The boat will only be noticed as missing when it doesn't dock in a few days. And it'll take weeks for the message to get home, anyway."
"Well, what do you propose we do?" Florence said impatiently. 
"We're just going to have to make the most of it," Henry explained, "It we collect the flotsam that washes up, we could try to build a house. Fruit and meat for meals, I can hunt just as well here as at home. Emily can cook well enough, you can keep the house, Flo. I'll protect us from savages." 
Emily brightened up at the suggestion of cooking, and got up. She wandered over to Henry, and took his hand. 
"Come on, Flo!" she shouted happily over her shoulder, "We're going to live in a secret house and eat what we want!"
"It'll take a while to get settled in," Henry said with a small smile, "But it'll be worth it. I promise."
 

Nature Poetry

Nature is such a beautiful thing. I was walking my dog through a woodland the other day and I just thought how people had been admiring and appreciating these simple pleasures for millennia. I also thought how inspirational it is, so I wrote these poems.




Trees
Waiting and waiting, but not ever to reach -
Never rushed but steadily, quietly existing.
Roughly carved by the world's kind hands,
Painted and re-painted by the seasons.
  Green by Spring, for new fresh life
  Deeper for Summer's ripe days
  Autumn prefers a sleepy brown
  But Winter can never decide.
Here they stand, present as guards
But not nearly as attentive.
Just whispering idle gossip
Just watching the years float gently by.  

A Suspended Silver Coin
The moon, it hangs there so serenely
Never to be disturbed, just to delight.
It smiles as it watches the earth, and 
Casts a pale glow over the rapt faces.

Worth so much, to see the beauty
of a million stars in clear, pearly moonlight.
Still, sultry nights for simply gazing
In wonder, at the heavens. 

Never has a coin, dropped by the Dark, been so elegant.

Autumn Leaves
Daubs of paint, swirling gently
Onto thick, mulched paper.
Dancing majestically in the last warm rays of sun.
The lights of summer are dimmed,
Stored away for next year.

Bronzed and gilded, laced with holes -
Gold and green and brown.
Maroon, chestnut and oh! I could go on
With all the seasonal palette. 
Goodbye to the rich sunshine, and 
Welcome to the gentle warmth of Autumn's open fires. 



Dawn Light 
Welcoming the new, fresh day
Giving a firework display of colours
An empty sky, watercolour paints merging 
Into a delightful blend. Stripes of pale pink and lilac - 
the faintest blue and a border of deepest indigo.
Silhouettes of the land, reminder of the short life
These delicate scenes have.

Every morning as special and different as the last.
 
 

 

Death By Die

('Die', in this case, is a singular dice) Following a poll, I have attempted to write a short murder mystery. It is set in an American casino in the early 1900s, but reflects no particular area. I'll continue it over the next fortnight or so until it's finished. I hope you like it!

The stakes had been high, they'd all known that. But no-one had realized just how high. It had been an average night - I'd been collecting the beer bottles and wiping down the bar... And the men in the far corner were getting more and more agitated. They were certain that one or more members of the group had fixed the roulette. 
There was Jack, who everyone knew was in the black market for medicines; Hank who paid gangs to hold hostages; Brad, the drug dealer; Arnie, who would do anything for a bit of easy cash; and finally Arran, who just liked the thrill of gambling. All five were certain their neighbour was up to something, and were doing their best to find out who.
Finally, the last bet of the night was placed. And Arnie scooped up more than 20 easy dollars. The others were furious; it was their weekly wages collected that Arnie now had. But it wasn't until the following morning when Arnie realised his mistake; his fatal, final mistake.

He was discovered at 7am when I went in to his hotel room, to check he hadn't left any empty glasses lying around. I knocked twice, but with no answer. So I pushed the door open, and saw his body on the bed with two dice in his right hand and a small dark bottle nearby on the floor. I picked up the bottle and sniffed it; it was bitter and sharp. Almost definitely poisoned. 

Descriptive Writing

I have written a few short pieces of text about food, and I have tried to be as descriptive as possible. Warning: Lots of descriptions of yumminess to follow - may cause severe hunger and cravings for sweet chocolatey food (it happened to me, and I'm the one who wrote them)!


Chocolate Cake 

A large, gooey cake with swirls of glossy ganache, sandwiched together with chocolate cream, soft and squidgy. The sponge cake is moist and dark, still slightly warm from the oven, the outside coated with more chocolate cream, smoothed on and covered with little crumbly pieces of chocolate biscuit. In one delicious bite, you get a small amount of bitterness from the chocolate, along with the cool creamy texture of the filling, and the ganache melting in your mouth. What heaven!



Lemon Drizzle Cake

Soft, moist and refreshing cake. Lemon zest running through it in bursts of citrus flavour, complemented by a crunchy lemon sugar topping that dissolves slowly on the tongue, in hits of both sweet and sharpness. Pale icing piped across the top gives a look of simple beauty, inviting you to help yourself to a generous slice. The sponge is moist, but not soggy, and is wonderfully squidgy. One of  your 5-a-day in a cake!



Marshmallows

Soft pillows of white deliciousness. A small squidgy cloud with an icing sugar coating, leaving lightly crispy edges. Slightly sticky, and with a guarantee for a great time munching. Toasted marshmallows still have a little bit of solidness in the centre when they are perfect, but have strings of gooey sweetness leading from stick to mouth. Golden brown and set, with the crust on top sticking to your teeth as you bite in, this is a must for a perfect night camping out!

Here are some cakes that I've made:

Plain iced fairy cakes that I made for a friend's Bonfire party - all the children loved them!

Chocolate and blackberry muffins, with blackberry icing. We had millions of blackberries at my house, and I found this recipe to use them up. They were delicious!

Lemon traybake with a lemon water icing, which I made yesterday. Very simple, but they are so tasty there are only 5 left already!

World War 1 Poetry

To mark the centenary of the First World War, I have written a few pieces of poetry. I read several poems by Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen and Robert Graves, and was so moved I wanted to follow in their footsteps. The Patchwork Quilt is one of my favourites, and you can see it by clicking on the link.


The Candle

In Flander's Fields the poppies grow...

The wailing voice of the bugles
Calling us to die at the guns.
Sad prayers mingle
With the shrill rattle of shells.

The tenderness of the flowers,
Mockeries of the anger.
The demented shine 
In the eyes of mere boys.

But in the stuttering speed,
A lone candle glimmers.
Men slow
Lower their rifles
Mourning
In the failing light of hope. 

Hope

Hope is held holy

In the scarred minds of soldiers

A light in the dark 

What happened?

The man raises his head.

It hurts.

He feels the blood rush in his ears.

It hurts.

Looking around, he sees mud.

So empty.

Nothing else, him the only live creature.

So empty.

Shrapnel and bodies litter the trench.

All dead.

No-one else survived the shell bombardment.

All dead.

The soldier sits there, with not a friend left alive.

Alone.

He wishes he could die, save himself from the memories

Of friends that he once had.

Alone.

Crowding Around

The cheers and screams echo around
Marching feet thump the ground -
Bloodied men stagger on past
Women swoon and blow kisses, at last.

The other men stand apart, nervous and afraid.
Clutching white feathers, faces an equal shade -
Laughed at and mocked, humiliated and jeered
Because of what they believed, not feared.

The injured now rest in hospitals, white
While other young men join up, to win the fight.
What they don't know is across the sea green,
Are others dying for that right to be seen. 

Below Flanders Fields

Below Flanders Fields the soldiers weep -
Not even begrudged their eternal sleep.
Still waiting for the day to come,
When they can live again, like some
Dead people, not killed for hate so deep.

They were alive. A centenary ago
They lived, laughed, joked, loved and so
Now they wait for the change they deserve,
Below Flanders Fields

Can we learn from the deaths and the hate?
Maybe, but only if we wipe a clean slate
And begin to accept and love all the same;
No matter all previous destruction and shame,
But stay quiet. And remember those dead men, so great
Below Flanders Fields.