Thursday, 22 August 2013

The Parchment - Fantasy Story

Thursday 22nd august 2013

The Parchment.

Everything Changes.
chapter 1
GAA/c 
Today the rain is pouring down, but just moving my rocking chair along the porch a little way I could stay dry. I am a person who could sit for many a long hour just watching and listening to the rain. Being hypnotised and drawn into another world. Just like I am about to do for you, draw you into a story, a prompt and I hope that you enjoy.

It happen one day many moons ago, while walking the forest path to my usual haunt, a large bridge and picnic area. But it was an Autumn day, the foliage on trees and moor land were changing colour, and the visions were out of this world.  I often walked to this place with my guitar slung over my back, sit on the riverbank and give nature a free concert. I found it frees the mind and the animals, rabbits, deer and squirrels enjoyed themselves. Some even started to bring friends. Each time I played more and more turned up to listen and maybe dance.  This one particular day while walking the small gravel path, I could an elderly couple walking in front of me, approximately 100 paces ahead. The speed they were walking I knew I would be up with them shortly.  I decided to slow a little, not sure why, but did so all the same. As the bend was turned that brought the bridge into view, the female seemed to drop something, a paper by the way it floated to the ground. They disappeared around the bend, I came to and picked up the paper. An old looking piece of paper, maybe a parchment. Unfolding it I read the words that were written on it.  Written in old English, and slightly browned with age, but the words were readable. Deciding that this was valuable and meaningful to the couple I made an effort to catch them and hand it back. Not being a healthy person I just upped my walking pace, knowing there was nowhere these people could go. They were and elderly stooping couple, the man with a walking stick, so how hard could it be.
As I turned the bend, expecting to see them, imagine my shock when they were not visible. There was nowhere for them to hide. If I forget the fact that they were elderly and not being able to run or fly or whatever other way, could they vanish. The moor was flat, with a few distant bushes and small crab apple trees, the path I was on led straight to the bridge, which I could now see. Turning round and round, tripping as I did so, they could  not be seen. Checking behind a few gorse bushes along side the path, but all in vain. I was confusing myself now trying to work out what had happened. I continued to the bridge, and found what I expected on my setting out this morning, I was alone.
After an hour or two looking around for the elderly couple, not finding them, I decided to give up. I sat down on the river bank, dangling my legs over the bank and brushing my feet along the waters surface.  Playing my guitar, and within a short while all my usual audience appeared. Rabbits on the far bank, birds in the trees, and some ducks paddling near my feet. Squirrels came bobbing tails, and nervous movements, eventually sitting at a safe distance.  I continued playing, fully engrossed, absorbed within my music, the sounds travelling out and enveloping all that was nearby. The more I played the deeper in thought I went. The magic of the sounds, echoing and bouncing off the trees and returning with the sound of nature. What seemed like hours, and my fingers beginning to burn I looked up and stopped playing. The animals and birds were everywhere, deer and horses side by side, birds on every branch in the trees surrounding me. Rabbits and squirrels, badgers and hares on both river banks, all hypnotised with the sounds that were still echoing through the woodland.  I pulled out the parchment and re-read it.                          "I pray your music will be heard by the floating dream reaching the seeker. Bringing them and the seeker together in harmony. For the creatures of the earth will listen and unite. They will, seek the music, and enrich the chosen life, YOU."  





Follow their Smell

Chapter 2.
The parchment, I read several times, and still did not really understand it. Yes there were a large amount of creatures surrounding me and listening to my music. But how was this working and why? After an hour of continuous play I had decided to take a break, my fingers were aching and I was entrancing myself along with the creatures.  As soon as I stopped, the animals and birds slowly moved away into the forest and disappeared. With in a few minutes I was alone.  I needed to quench my thirst, I walked to the shingle bank,  bent down and scooped a cupped handful of water. Lovely clear fresh sweet tasting water. As I sipped my second handful a vision caught my eye, I quickly jumped back, startled, the glowing small white deer standing on the opposite bank watching me. Not moving, statue like, with a light glow surrounding him.  I stood quickly, surprised at what I was looking at, staring back at him, both hypnotized with each other. I had not noticed him before, was he a magical creature of the forest, hardly ever seen but the stories are rife.
Breaking the entrancing stare I turned and headed back to my guitar and my small part of the river bank. I sat down and looked again, he was still there looking and not moving. Now accepting the deer and the sight I decided to rethink about how I was to find the elderly couple.  For some unknown reason I got up and wandered about the area. I passed the bridge, and walked over the track to other side,  nothing apart from a few ducks in the water and the noise of the flowing current. The plush green grassy bank, some blackberry bushes and gorse, further back the beech trees with gorse and fern around their base. Still nothing, I wandered into the wood and weaved between the trees and avoided the prickly gorse, turning to walk parallel to the river and came out just up the bank from where my guitar was laying. Starting to walk back, two foxes appeared and stood next to the guitar. I approached slowly, not sure if it was because I did not want to scare them, or because I was the one that was scared.  Closer, they stood their ground, almost able to touch them and still they remained. All the time their eyes were fixed on me.

“If you want to find the Lord and Lady of the Forest then follow us. We have their smell, their aroma, and they have gone this way. They will be at the Forest Village, but will only be found if they wish it”  I could not believe what I just heard. Then another voice spoke, a more feminine sound, “We must move now while the scent is still fresh, come Sir G follow now.” the other fox spoke. I was so stunned and as if  under a spell I picked up my guitar and followed the two foxes. I noticed that the glowing deer was ambling slowly along on the opposite river bank.  The foxes padding faster, and I was struggling to keep up. “We must not lose the smell of the Lord and Lady of the Forest, so keep close.”




Saturday, 13 July 2013

The Ghost Party

13th July 2013

Restawyle222
The Ghost Party…

This story has many variations from many countries. the basics remaining the same. My story although it was attached to the Isle of Wight, I could easily have adapted it to a place in my old home village of Brockenhurst. There is at least two places I can think of.
Way back in 1821, George Maurice Bisset, the owner of the most grandest mansions to be seen, in a fit of temper he set fire to it and burnt it to the ground. This was because he did not want his daughter to inherit. This was because she had the temerity to marry a clergyman without her fathers consent. All that was left of the mansion now are two gateposts standing at the end of the long drive.
A hundred years later in the 1920s me as a young man was walking the road enjoying the scene, and making notes for my blogging stories. It was very cold night, and it was getting late. and I thought it time to try and find a room for the night.  As I went I came upon two gateposts with heraldic beasts on top of them. I was so impressed, and, given it being New Years Eve, I wondered if I could a nights shelter here.
          I walked down the drive, and saw that there were lights ablaze in every window of the mansion, and sounds of gaiety and laughter: there was a great party going on. It was obviously a  fancy dress, because of the men wore powdered wigs and women were resplendent in their Georgian dresses.
I banged on the front door and on the windows, but could not get any attention. After a period I gave up: but I was half way up the drive when I thought I would go back and try again. As I turned, a black carriage pulled by four black horses came thundering down the drive from the house towards me: I flung myself into a ditch to avoid being trampled beneath the hooves. I was so shaken, bruised and very angry, that I decided not to return.
 cr-05-02
          I later found a room in the village in a small, quaint lodging house. When I was talking to the landlady about my experience, she told me that the house was long gone: it had been knocked down in her great – grannies time.
The next day I decided to go back, and found nothing but an overgrown drive with two old gateposts at the entrance. There were no heraldic beasts on the gateposts, no house. All he could see was a field, a tumbledown barn an old orchard, and a tangle of weeds. If you have nothing better to do on a New Years eve, then pop along to this party.
Courtesy of Folk Tales by Michael O’leary
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Look out for my forth coming post ‘Apple Tree #2′……….

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Red Flag of Destruction

Wednesday 11th July 2012

Loved and Forgotten (Red Flag of Destruction)





Hope you all listen and enjoy the show,, hopefully will be doing some more in the near future.
This song was written by myself, John Dunkinson, and Richie Butler. Back in the time of many protest songs and anti-war songs, we like other musicians thought we would include our piece. The song was written and recorded at TW Studios London back in middle 70's, Although the recording was ok at time my versions is a product of re-recording and making it digital. Any way I hope the quality is good enough to enjoy. My other site has given good  reviews.

Gerry A /C 2012

Thursday, 23 February 2012


23rd february 2012
 

D  o  w  N!

 This view is from the castle Keep, it was quite a trek to get to it, and as you can see it is a hell of a trek back down all those small slippery stone steps. Where is 'Health and Safety' or a 'Lift' / 'Elevator' (to my American friends) when you want one.
 
Now to go back Down
 D  O  W  N  !       Cliff Rail lift, apparently it is said to be the shortest rail way in the world. This actually travels directly up a cliff side, and on the top a very nice cafe greets you where you can enjoy a nice sandwich. The view is quite spectacular, looking out across the sea.
 
Now to go Back Down 2
                                                       
All the above is of my own work, Please enjoy and express your views...

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Weekly Challenge Jan 13th 2012 #2


Peaceful, 13/01/ 2012

My idea of peace is---
New Forest Ponies
Forest Stream
One beautiful sunny day, my wife and I went for a walk through the nearby New Forest. We eventually came upon this peaceful scene, and luckily I had my camera. The results are as you can see. Others were taken but I think these pictures represent the theme well. But they also have a memory within as well, which makes it doubly good.

So to all that view, please enjoy and comment.

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Lymington Folk Club - (Bar Room Blues) Update!


http://www.unique-photography.co.uk/folk/index.html logo
http://www.jdrobertsband.com/  


The  4th January 2012 and the Lymington Folk Club, both the date and place will be set in 
my mind for a very long time. Why you ask, well, I met up with some old friends from my 
teenage years and my dearest friend and longest known friend John Dunkinson played a 
small set, by himself and a couple of tunes accompanied with Pete Strong and Pete Jones. 


     His music was uplifting and the icing on the cake for me. But I am pretty sure the rest of 
the club also enjoyed his songs, judging by the applause and the after effect.  John who 
lives in Seattle, USA means I and his other UK friends do not see him very often, and 
because of this it made it doubly good for me.  But must not forget the other artists that 
performed this night, because once again the Folk club produced tunes to the highest of 
standards. 

A very big THANK YOU for this alone. 


Apart from my regular visit and enjoyment of the music at this Folk Club, by the way is 
every 1st and 3rd Wednesday of the month, it had turned into a re-union of old friends, the 
only thing that remains to be seen is whether or not we will all keep to our departing 
words, 'keep in touch, I'll give you text or call, check you out on Facebook, don't leave it 
another thirty years' you know what I mean. We have all done it at some time in our lives, 
people get separated with life's paths, and then meet up again further down the paths of 
fate. We had a good night talking of the past and of today. This is a sign of good friends, 
you can talk to each other easily, no stopping and faltering and wondering what to say.


John Dunkinson sang some songs in remembrance of a local  character, poet and singer 
songwriter from the area. He has recorded his songs and put them onto a CD called 
'Gypsy'  and subtitled 'In Memory of Rod Legge' Very high quality recording and very 
high standard of music. So I suggest you have a listen to them by visiting the web site on the following link  http://www.jdrobertsband.com/   and if possible support the local characters. 


       Without these people, your villages and towns would be like any other, boring. These 
characters can be like an attraction and a very valuable asset. Look after them while alive 
and if not then at least give them life in their death with some form of acknowledgement. 
Please visit and website and help. THANK YOU, for this.


http://www.jdrobertsband.com/  = for the CD 'Gypsy'

http://www.unique-photography.co.uk/folk/index.html = for the Lymington Folk Club. If in the area

remember to visit. 1st and 3 rd Wednesday of each and every month



Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Oh, Little Bridge. - A Poem by Gerald Ainger/Cobb


Oh little bridge may I cross?
Where to go I am at a loss,
Back from where I came, Oh no!
It’s your direction I must go,
Oh little bridge you are in my way,
I must pass on this winters day,
Your railings are in need of some paint,
As they are looking a little faint,
Oh little bridge you are a star,
To cross you I’ve traveled far,
Looking across to the other side,
I see secrets you have tried to hide,
Oh little bridge spanning the stream,
To tread your boards is my dream,
Trickling waters bubbling over stones,
Soak my feet, ease my aching bones,
Oh little bridge I’ve changed my mind,
Another route I shall find,
My decision, not one that was rash,
I’ve decide to paddle through the water-splash.


 Dedicated to the village bridge
 in Brockenhurst, UK.
 I spent many a summer evening sitting on it’s railings
 playing the guitar.  July 1997.