Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

There was a funny smell in the long room; a meaty warm smell, like gravy. “Mummy, I’ve got tummy ache.” “It’s just butterflies. They’ll go away in a little while, when you settle in.” It didn’t feel like anything as pretty as butterflies. I felt as though my stomach was full of snakes, writhing in a great tangle and threatening to escape up my throat. I sat on my mother’s knee, waiting.   I looked down at my new shoes, brown and shiny like a conker. I had been desperate to wear them for weeks, but they had to be kept “for starting school”. Now the day had come. I smoothed my blue pinafore over my knees, and bit my lip. “Look! There’s Lizzie!” My mother stood up, waving to catch their attention. Lizzie and her mother joined us at our table on low plastic chairs.   I smiled at Lizzie, and she smiled back, but she looked as though she had the snakes too, and she had been crying. “We are going to be in the same class, aren’t we, Lizzie?” I said. ...

I love the autumn days, when leaves turn gold and burnished orange, 'ere their beauty wanes. They float from trees with grace, as days grow cold and softly land on streets, in parks, on lanes. I love the smell of smoke and burning fires, as folk withdraw inside their homes, with dreams of snowy days to come, in towns and shires, of cosy winter nights and frozen streams. And yet I long for spring, when winter's done, when flowers peep through the earth, the sky to reach. I also yearn for summer days and sun. Bare toes emerge to scrunch on sandy beach. 'Tis good to live in lands where seasons change, where nature shares all treasures from her range.

Although the band has finished playing, the thumping base and drums are still reverberating around my head. Time for a wander through ‘Mindful Village’, stalls, tents, gazebos, marquees, young very attractive women, guys covered in tats and rings and an old feller wearing a pin-stripe suit and a trilby, all trying to outdo each other in purveying their various outlandish wares. World-love elixir, every type of massage you can imagine and some you can’t, yoga experienced in twenty different ways and what exactly is skull therapy? A purple and green striped tent catches my eye. I’m sure it wasn’t there yesterday. The only person inside is a bleach-blond guy with a smile locked onto his face and a pair of purple and green headphones straddling his head. Nice colour co-ordination!     “Hey man” he says without removing the phones. “What can I do you for?”     “I’m looking for something a little different,” I say “you know, something that jumps out and ...

Men shifted nervously in the night, finding little comfort in their campfires and bomas erected in a desperate attempt to keep their demons at bay. “Quiet,” Lt. Col. Patterson hissed. The Indian workers eyed the white man with distaste – he had no idea what he was dealing with. Patterson took no notice of the superstitious fools, his sight fixed down his rifle. There was no warning when they struck. Suddenly silence gave way to screaming, stillness to chaos. A man lay dying, blood pumping out of his savaged shoulder and the ruins of his leg. Unable to believe the beasts had crept past his defences, Patterson wheeled around towards the sound of the commotion, squeezing off a shot on reflex. The bullet brought instant death to the fleeing worker. Patterson cursed and scanned the camp for the targets that kept eluding him. There! In a flash of movement it pounced on its second victim, and Patterson shot again. The bullet thudded into its flank but it did not go down as expected. T...