Through My Own Fault – a version of this was read on Radio 4 & it appears in Mrs Rochester’s Attic – anthology

Pausing, only in his mind, to squeeze Sister Mary Bartholomew to his chest and whisper, ‘Who luvs ya baby?’ Father Michael Devine made his way to the confessional. Equipped with his stole, breviary, vacuum flask, and digestive biscuits he was … Continue reading Through My Own Fault – a version of this was read on Radio 4 & it appears in Mrs Rochester’s Attic – anthology

Hinterland – a memoir of childhood

I was born in 1954 and grew up in the bandit country on the north-west frontier… of Wolverhampton. The Luftwaffe hadn’t taken the lead in town planning, not like in Coventry and Birmingham, so the council had to be responsible for their own devastation. In front of the town hall they replaced a market square, surrounded by ornate Victorian facades and walkways, with a Civic Centre whose design seemed to have been out-sourced behind the Iron Curtain. A large hole sat in the heart of town for a few years and when the builders eventually filled it up with plate … Continue reading Hinterland – a memoir of childhood

Poems based on phonic patterns

Please click to open, so you can see where the line-breaks come. Gym club hubbub Roll, stroll, shrug and spread. Sprint, squat, stand on your head. Straddle, stride, twirl, whirl, whizz. Don’t shake your rucksack. You’ll make your pop fizz.   Swinging flasks, sprinkle, squirt, spray. You’re wetting the floor! Put your pop away.   Tumble, rumble, stumble, fall. Spring back up. No bumps at all. Scream on a beam Screech so shrill. Get told off, But it’s still a thrill.   Floor flies up. Slip, thrash, splat. Stretch into splits and Miss the mat.   Didn’t listen. Throb, strain, … Continue reading Poems based on phonic patterns

An aging teacher in a modern world

At 61, and having nearly 40 years of teaching behind me, I have observed names over the years. They go in waves, each new semi-decade bringing a boy’s name who you know ranks high on the probability scale of trouble. Television is a great equaliser. Beyond the naming after soap stars, it allows the underclass to latch onto the well- heeled, so that soon the nursery sand tray is crowded with names from a Knightsbridge prep school or a Cotswolds gymkhana. An aging teacher in a modern classroom “It’s Kee – ah,” the girl corrected, every time I pronounced the … Continue reading An aging teacher in a modern world