"Life of Pi."

Richard Parker keeps Pi at bay.

Some time ago I mentioned a favourite novel of mine – "Life of Pi," - a Booker prize-winner by Yann Martell.

It has now been made into a film and yesterday I saw that film and loved the story even more.  For two hours I was mesmerised by the Indian boy, Pi and a Bengal tiger called Richard Parker.

The film’s gentle beginning has beautiful scenes of India and the family’s zoological gardens, but these are soon overtaken by the noise and chaos of a storm at sea with the tragedy of a shipwreck and Pi’s struggle for survival against both the sea and the tiger.

Suffice it to say that if you enjoy adventure; daring and bravery as well as the most beautiful photography and seascapes, then this is the film for you. It even has a surprise ending.

I strongly recommend it.

Christmas Cul-de-Sac

The Lights of Christmas
by Marjorie Morrison 
The twinkling lights of emerald green
And brilliant blue and white
Are piercing darkness, all enshrouded
In the black of night.

The cul-de-sac where I’ve lived for more than ten years is friendly, well-ordered and peaceful.  Dogs are controlled and the only children nowadays are visiting ones. Yet from the beginning of December each year, it is transformed into a sparkling wonderland. Lights of every colour decorate bushes and outline doors and windows.  Tall Christmas trees stand in rooms purposefully left with curtains open.

The next cul-de-sac is equally bright; their lights changing from one colour to another, making weird shapes and patterns over plants and bushes.

This is the first place I’ve lived where such enthusiasm is shown.  Long may it last.

Wear Valley Writers

Wear Valley Writers meet in the Town Hall library on Wednesday evenings, but last week we were a very small group, because of torrential rain.

Instead of the planned programme, we had an impromptu one. The titles of ten novels were chosen at random from the shelves:-

“Muddy Boots and Silk Stockings.”                 “Sisters.”

“A Friend of the Family.”                                 “Past Remembering.”

“Full Circle.”                                                     “Star Light.”

“Going Places.”                                                “Emma.”

“Falling.”                                                          “The Price of Coal.”

The remit was to write for forty minutes and produce work that included at least five of these titles. As usual, it produced a variety of poetry and prose of a high standard.

I included 9 of the titles.

Parallel Lives.

       Emma was a friend of the family.  She’d known the sisters since school days when they’d skipped happily along the lanes together whatever the weather.  In summer they’d dawdled, tempted by the blackberries in the hedges or the cowslips in the meadow; picking bunches of flowers to present to the teacher as an excuse for their lateness.

     The girls had drunk the milk Emma hated so much – a third of a pint in a clumsy glass bottle – in return she’d whispered the answers to their hardest sums.

      Now she was past remembering the price of coal or understanding that few homes used it any more. She lived in the cottage where she was born and refused to move away.  She had a tortoiseshell cat and she kept a cow, although still she didn't drink its milk. Her chickens scratched at the bottom of the garden and when they laid an egg Emma boiled it for breakfast – three minutes exactly while she toasted her bread on a brass toasting fork at the open fire where her mother had cooked for so many years.

The sisters, on the other hand, had been ambitious and adventurous.  They were going places; each tired of being a clone of the other.  Mary moved to the city, becoming a buyer in Ladies Fashion at the most prestigious department store.  Margaret, very daringly, had travelled, finding employment on the great liners; wallowing in the richness of the food and the luxury of the furnishings.  But now life had come full circle and they were back in the village. They’d bought a four-bed roomed house with a landscaped garden and employed a man to care for it.

Emma was invited to visit but she wasn't comfortable there, so the sisters trudged down to the cottage in all weathers, occasionally even wearing muddy boots and silk stockings, but always pleased to see her. She walked them home, sometimes in star light, enjoying the same scents they’d known so long ago. 

Happy to be together where they belonged.

"Room to Write."

Last Saturday ten avid readers met at Whitworth Hall Hotel for the last Reading Group of the year. This group was formed by the “Room to Write” team – Wendy Robertson; Avril Joy and Gillian Wales – and has been a welcome addition to the writing.

Meeting alternate months in the warm and elegant surroundings of the conservatory; served with coffee in silver cafeterias or cool drinks in tall glasses, we often glimpsed brides and bridesmaids and all the paraphernalia of weddings, going on outside.
We agreed and disagreed on plots and dialogue and characters and every aspect of the authors’ work.

Originally the novels were from the 20^th century and known as “Reading down the Decades,” including such authors as William Trevor, John le Carre, Ruth Jhabvala and Toni Morrison. At the beginning of this year it was agreed that each member should present a favourite book of their own, resulting in a diverse selection.

• March        “The Road” by C McCarthy
•                   “Honesty’s Daughter” by Wendy Robertson

• May            “Suite Francaise” by I. Nemirovsky
•                    “The Summer Book” by T Jansson

• July              "The Secret Life of Bees” by S Monk Kidd
•                     “Restoration” by R Tremain.

• September.  “The Elegance of the Hedgehog” by M Barberry
•                    “Daphne DuMaurier’s Short Stories.”   

• November.   “Letters to Ilio” by Barbara Laurie.
•                     “Spies.” by Michael Frayn.

It has been a stimulating year with people who might never have met, but for their over-riding interest in literature.

Many thanks to the Team and happy reading to you all.

Introduction to Theatre

At a Food Festival in the stately grounds of Raby Castle a few weeks ago, I was surprised to hear children shrieking with laughter and shouting at the tops of their voices. When I turned a corner I discovered that the cause of the excitement was a Punch and Judy Show.

Mr. Punch at Raby Castle Food Fair.

In this age of Computers and High Tech equipment it was surprising to think that this old-established show could still hold their attention.  According to the date on the front of the booth, the show originated in 1662. Research shows that originally Punch did not have a wife and when she did appear in the 18^th century her name was Joan, not Judy.

Ever since then it has been performed all over the country - in village fairs and city streets and even before open windows of graceful Georgian houses where Papas had arranged it.

Punch and Judy has often been a child’s first introduction into the world of theatre. The more violent it is, the more the audiences love it. Punch slaps characters over the head with his club; hits the policeman and hangs people; he even hangs the hangman with his own noose and when the crocodile takes a bite at Punch’s nose the children scream louder than ever.

It is timeless humour.  Long may it continue.

      What do you think of Punch and Judy?         

                 Do you love it or hate it?

Creative Writing Walk

Autumn Colours

by J R Cooper

On the High Plains; Bishop's Park

Autumn colours fill my eyes
Set the scene for winter skies
Longer nights and shorter days
Catching evanescent rays.

Experts tell us that the unusual weather conditions over the summer months have produced exceptionally good Autumn colours this year.  I can vouch for that!

On Sunday, on a Creative Writing Walk in the Bishop’s Park- here at Bishop Auckland - the colours of the leaves were absolutely stunning, beating any I’d seen in other locations.The walk was organised by Durham County Council, led by Chris Robinson who invited us to base our writing on Lewis Carroll and The White Rabbit and let our imaginations run riot along the 3 mile route. As I tried to imagine lollipops growing in fields; a talking animal and a toy-town train, the colours of the leaves were quite a distraction..

Across the High Plains and round the Deer House, the trees were breath-taking and glorious – but then they  have been in all the years I've walked there!

Redcar, Cleveland.

Work in Progress on the Vertical Pier

Have you visited Redcar lately?

If you have, you’ll have seen this strange new building on the promenade.  Is it a Helter-Skelter?  Is it a small Lighthouse? No – it’s a Vertical Pier and in the future the only way to see that wonderful sea-weedy beach and shimmering sea, will be from the top of it.

In recent years the town had become less popular as a holiday resort, but the good thing was still the view of the beach and the sea and the easy access to it.  Now all that has gone; hidden by a sea-wall that must have been needed to prevent flooding, but did it have to be such an ugly one? Presumably it’s meant to be the colour of the sand; the promenade is raised in places to allow a view over the top and a few fishing cobles still stand where they've  always done, so there must be access to the beach for them, but Redcar has changed out of all recognition.

Fishing Cobles on the sea-front.

The bucket-and-spade holidays; the pony-trekking by the water’s edge and the long dog walks on that firm, flat beach are all memories now.  But I’ll treasure them as I look out from this Vertical Pier along the miles of sand and I'll hope to see the sun making a golden pathway across the water as I’ve done so many times before.