Coventry Poetry

.... and in the beginning ..... Taxes higher Godiva's ire Naked ride Taxes died All inside But Tom spied How unwise Now no eyes!!!!

Always check your facts Always check your facts, my boy, always check your facts! That’s what the veteran writer said amongst her final acts. She wrote so many thrillers – the Mousetrap was her best, And I was so inspired by her – you could say quite obsessed! I’d dabbled in short stories, but I wanted something more. A murder mystery with a twist’s what I was looking for. I looked in vain for many months but then I got a call “A Phantom sighted in the grounds of old Fillongley Hall”. My friend – the caller – found this heading in the local news, And posted me some clippings which I avidly perused. The Hall’s quite near – I knew it well - I had to check it out! And most of all, to see what all this phantom stuff’s about. The papers told of annual sightings down the lanes at night And villagers from all around described their dread and fright. The Phantom glided by while making not a single sound, Save for a weird ticking which set off the local hounds. Encouraged by these press reports, I spent time buying beers, And in the Weavers Arms I found so many volunteers. I only had to buy a round and they would tell their tales. Amazing how our memories improve with good strong ales! The other pubs – the Cottage Inn, the Bulls Head and the Bear – Provided confirmation of events that happened there. The ghostly spectre, ticking sound, and strangely glowing lights, All pointed to Fillongley Hall - the focus of their frights. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I had to go and see This scary place – Fillongley Hall – if they would talk to me. To my surprise, my phone call then achieved that modest aim. “A novelist, are you? Please do come. Are you a famous name?” The Hall, of stunning limestone, in the neo-classic style, Is accessed by a driveway that extends about a mile. And then you see the portico, Greek columns either side. The home of Baron Norton, which was built with obvious pride. I’m taken through the Entrance Hall, with inlaid timber floor, And massive marble pillars – are they Doric? I’m not sure! And surely that’s a Rembrandt up there hanging on the wall? “I’m Lady Norton – Lizzie please – you’re welcome to our Hall!” “My husband’s out but won’t be long. A guided tour comes first! A glass of wine? Of course, you will – to slake that writer’s thirst”. She showed me through the dining hall, the snooker room, the rest. As a setting for a murder – well, this surely was the best! I asked about the Phantom, but she smilingly demurred. “My husband knows the truth of it – in spite of what you’ve heard”. So, in due course, Lord Norton came and joined our little chat. “A great place for a murder then? I like the sound of that!” “Has Lizzie shown you ‘round the place, or only the indoors? Well, come with me - you’ve got to see the woodlands and the moors! As the setting for a murder, our home has got the lot. It’s up to you, dear novelist, to come up with the plot!” So, as we walked around the grounds, I’m aching to find out The story of the Phantom, and how it came about! My patience was rewarded, and his Lordship gave a smile, “I wondered if you’d heard of that – I’ll show you in a while!” We walked back past the cricket pitch as it was getting dark, Towards a red-brick outhouse, on the edges of the park. “It all goes back to grandad’s days, when I was just a lad. He died – some say was poisoned – leaving everything he had”. “He must have been tormented by the timing of his death, And threatened that he’d haunt us with his very dying breath!” And as he spoke, he turned the key and opened up the door. “Voila!” he said, “Magnificent! This what you’re looking for?” I peered inside and there I saw the Phantom, there’s no doubt! A 1920s Rolls Royce car, the family runabout! “Grandad bought it just before he ‘bought it’ as they say, And he never got to drive it, to his very dying day!” “But what about the apparitions, can they be disproved? The weird lights, the ticking, and the silent way it moved? “Just take a seat”, the Baron said, ‘we’ll take it for a drive, And I think you’ll see just how these myths could possibly derive!” He turned the key – the giant headlights gave a ghostly glow. He asked me “tell me what you hear – I think I prob’ly know!” “Don’t hear a thing”, I had to say – still suffering from shock! “Ah yes I do – that ticking noise is coming from the clock!” “That’s quite correct”, the Baron said, “Rolls Royce’s pride and joy. No engine noise at all, but all that ticking can annoy! So, what’s left now of your well-thought-out phantom-murder plot?” I nearly killed him there and then but thought I’d better not! So always check your facts, my boy, always check your facts! Don’t put your faith in beer-bribed folk – always check your facts! Dispirited by all of this, I went straight home to bed, And vowed to spend my time in writing travelogues instead!

It's been a while since anyone posted to this thread. I always enjoyed members' poetry. I recently won a prize for this one. It was submitted to the (Aussie) Mid North Coast Writers' Centre's monthly "Flash Fiction Friday" competition - you have 48 hours to write a story, with conditions. The story has to take place in a specified setting and include some specified words and phrases. This month - Your story must be 500 WORDS, take place at the theatre, must include the words, DRAMA QUEEN, LAUGH (can be plural), SERIOUSLY, and must include the phrase "Keep the noise down...' The story is (very!) loosely based on a panto put on by the British Embassy in Vienna when I was working there about 15 years ago, with a mainly-Expat British audience, so it actually proceeded as "normally" as pommy pantos usually do. My wife and I had become great friends with the Deputy Mayor of Vienna and his wife, so we took them along. Our friends - not the "stuffy Viennese" stereotypes at all - took it all in great spirit! A Very British Show Vienna is renowned for its culture and its style, and to get a posting there is such a treat. The history of the city, the opera, the arts; the food and wine and people that you meet! So I was overjoyed on the news of my appointment, as a diplomatic officer trainee. To represent Great Britain and experience all of this - well, I'd have to say I'd do it all for free! Amid my more mundane tasks was quite important stuff, and projecting British culture was a must. The Embassy would host, for instance, British shows and bands, and I was there when these things were discussed. With Christmas soon approaching, the committee asked for views as to how the Embassy could contribute. I'd suggested, p'raps, a play - maybe Shakespeare sort-of stuff, its Britishness could not be in dispute. But all the Shakespeare companies were fully booked for years, so we had to come up with a new Plan B. And I suggested, half in jest, (I SO regret it now!) what fun a Pantomime would surely be! And here we are, the Cast, with the theatre lights now dimmed, the stage is now as silent as a tomb. Our Cinderella, handsome Prince, her ugly sisters too, and both halves of the horse sit in the gloom. Not merely a disaster - a catastrophe perhaps! A clash of cultures certainly! A flop! We'd invited all the Diplomats, the Ministers, the Mayor - in fact the people at the very top. And they came in all their finery, in top hats and in tails, the ladies with their diamonds head to toe. But this audience, accustomed to Puccini, Brahms and Liszt, just never understood our Panto show. Polite applause was offered as the actors took the stage, and the panto horse raised something of a laugh. But they took the ugly sisters - those villainous drama queens - for real, and too seriously by half. They gasped as Cinderella's Fairy God-ma came on stage, noting she was just a dressed-up bloke, And when the evil witch came out to scare poor Cinderella, the audience didn't understand the joke! My colleagues in the audience tried to save the situation - "Boo! Hiss! Look out behind you!" cried out loud! And this, of course, would quite conform to Pantomime tradition - understood by every normal British crowd. But in Vienna it's just not done to interrupt a play - the Mayor felt he had to intervene! "Will you kindly keep the noise down! We're trying to understand the twists and turns of every single scene!" So the play went on in silence, despite the actors' pleas, and all the hamming up went on in vain. It's a very British humour, full of slapstick and bad jokes. I suppose it's just a little too arcane And when poor Cinderella had finally won her Prince, the crowd filed out, bewildered, to their cars. But the cast members, deflated by the lack of audience response, could only drown their sorrows in the bars!