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Re: Another Time, Another Place (34262 Albi)

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  • wings081
    Hi Albi You ask for my reminiscences about cars. Let me start by telling you a true story about a very good friend of mine who died around 18months ago. Gordon
    Message 1 of 16 , Sep 2 3:03 PM
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      Hi Albi

      You ask for my reminiscences about cars.
      Let me start by telling you a true story about a very good friend of
      mine who died around 18months ago.
      Gordon was his name and I had known him for a number of years.Long
      enough to class him as a close family friend who often dined at my
      table.

      Before I begin I should warn you, if you are deeply religious, you
      may find this disturbing, but if like me, you keep an open mind on
      other than that which can be proven beyond a shadow of doubt, then
      read on. Do not however, be inclined to take what I write here as a
      figment of a fertile imagination for you would grossly displease me
      if you insult the memory of a man for whom I had the greatest respect.

      Gordon was driving his car down a road in the St.Austell area of
      Cornwall and as he approached a crossroads, a car shot straight
      across his path, wrecking Gordon's car and throwing him out onto the
      road.

      He related to me afterwards the whole incident. Paramedics tried to
      survive him, for he was unconscious. They thought he was a goner as
      there was no apparent pulse but Gordon told me:
      "I found myself floating feet above the scene of the accident,
      looking down on all the efforts of the paramedics. I saw one pumping
      my chest and another giving me mouth to mouth respiration. Next I saw
      a brilliant white light leading up a hill, at the top of which a
      person in white was beckoning to me to approach. I resisted and said;
      No, please no, not now, I have my children to care for"
      He drifted back into his body and survived.

      I found this quite plausible because when I was about eleven years of
      age, a neighbour, named Mrs Pereira, a staunch Catholic, two doors
      from where we lived at that time, collapsed in her home and the
      doctor pronounced her dead, only to be proved wrong a few minutes
      later, when she sat up and told of seeing a brilliant white light and
      angels dressed in white.
      On another occasion, when my sister-in law was dying, she asked to
      see me and when I visited her, she told me she had been to the other
      side and now had no fear of dying.
      She lived long enough to attend her daughter's wedding although to
      alleviate the pain of terminal cancer she had a device fitted to her
      abdomen feeding morphine into her system. A few weeks later I
      attended her funeral. I should tell you here that she was a dedicated
      Christian as is my brother, her widower, who is now a lay preacher in
      Melbourne Australia.

      To complete the story about Gordon: He was so impressed with his
      spiritual experience that he became a very successful spirit healer
      and I persuaded another friend of mine who had never even heard of
      Gordon, to visit him, as Phil, my other friend, considered his
      working life was over because he couldn't clench his hands. Hands
      that were essential to his job as an excavator driver.
      Within the hour, Phil had full use of his hands and was back at work
      the following week.
      That is one of those cases where you hear about it but take it with a
      pinch of salt unless, like me, you witness the healing from start to
      finish.
      When Gordon died, his sons asked me to compose and read a eulogy for
      him.
      I said I would be most proud,indeed honoured and when the day of the
      funeral came I stood in the pulpit vacated by the priest and gave a
      long reading, ending with the following:

      Gordon, my friend, my mentor, my ray of light in the darkness, you
      have left a gap in our lives which we will find impossible to fill.
      Goodbye old boy, We're all going to miss you, but it is time to
      break your ties with this world, to come out of limbo, leave the
      darkness and "Go to the light"
      Farewell my friend. Bon Voyage.

      ---------------------
      Sorry to go on so Albi but when you asked for a car story, I
      immediately thought of the true tale above.

      As always

      Wings






      --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, albiaicehouse <no_reply@...>
      wrote:
      >
      > Wings,
      >
      > I think your carbon footprint is much smaller than mine, and I don't
      > think you have any worries relative the median footprint in the
      > industrialized world.
      >
      > But what I was hoping to invite was some good stories about cars or
      > your experiences in cars to show that readers shouldn't fear public
      > transport more than being transported by a car. I'm sure a writer
      of
      > your distinguished caliber has a yarn or two about car trips or the
      > social interaction that such trips provoke. I for one would be
      > grateful to read/hear something from your fertile mind pertaining to
      > cars, highways, etc.
      >
      > albi
      >
      >
      > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@> wrote:
      > >
      > > Hi Albi
      > >
      > > As I live down in the sticks and one mile from the nearest bus
      stop,I
      > > must own up to the fact I never venture far from home without my
      > > sturdy steed of a mere sixteen horsepower.
      > > However, with fuel costing £1 per litre I now tend to limit my
      > > excursions to the supermarket to three times per week which
      totals
      > > approximately only twenty four miles in a car averaging 35 miles
      per
      > > gallon.
      > > Should I be inclined to walk the mile to the bus stop, I would
      > > undoubtedly arrive there to witness the back of the bus
      disappearing
      > > out of hailing distance.
      > > Besides which I hate to be told when I should stand about waiting
      for
      > > transport when all I have to do is walk outside my back
      > > door,according to my own time-table, jump in the driver's seat,
      belt
      > > up and turn the ignition key.
      > > So, if it's all the same to you, I'll stick with what pleases me
      most.
      > > (I was going to write 'what I'm used to'but with so many scholars
      > > ready to jump on me for ending a sentence with a preposition I
      decide
      > > aginst it).
      > >
      > > Thank you for your interest in my mode of transportation.
      > >
      > > As always
      > >
      > > Wings
      > >
      > >
      > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, albiaicehouse <no_reply@>
      > > wrote:
      > > >
      > > > Sir Wings,
      > > >
      > > > Nothwest London?
      > > >
      > > > The following is the observation/postulate of an amateur, but
      have
      > > you
      > > > noticed that these extraordinary things happen when you take
      public
      > > > transit? You know, the encounters with parallel worlds and
      recently
      > > > anointed murderesses? They could all be avoided if you cease
      this
      > > > practice of hanging about bus stops.
      > > >
      > > > Now, my good fellow, I recall that you are strongly in support
      of
      > > > efforts to combat global warming. Don't you think you should
      show
      > > the
      > > > even more shocking horrors that await those who elect to take a
      > > > greenhouse gas spewing private transport vehicle eleven miles
      to
      > > pick
      > > > up a quart of milk? I fear without a competing disincentive,
      you
      > > have
      > > > inadvertently pushed legions, or at least scores, of readers to
      shun
      > > > highly efficient, gentler to the planet, forms of artificial
      human
      > > > locomotion represented by these buses.
      > > >
      > > > Yours in fact and in spirit,
      > > > albi
      > > >
      > > >
      > > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@>
      wrote:
      > > > >
      > > > > Another time another place
      > > > >
      > > > > I accept the possibility of a parallel world. Heaven, Hell,
      > > > > Valhalla, the Puranus of Hindu mythology have all been
      chronicled
      > > > > over the ages.
      > > > > Even children's stories fail to escape from the possibility
      of an
      > > > > alternative universe.
      > > > > Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, writing under the nom de plume
      Lewis
      > > > > Carroll kept readers spellbound with his tales of Alice in
      > > Wonderland.
      > > > > Dodgson was a mathematics lecturer of some repute and I
      suspect,
      > > > > besides his Theory of Infinitesimals, also had an
      interpretation
      > > of
      > > > > Quantum Mechanics, that branch of science which provides
      > > descriptions
      > > > > for many unexplained phenomena, including those associated
      with
      > > > > electro magnetism.
      > > > > However none of this has anything to do with what I am about
      to
      > > > > reveal, apart that is from my acceptance of the possibility
      of a
      > > > > parallel world.
      > > > >
      > > > > I had the misfortune to be domiciled for a while in the North
      > > West of
      > > > > London, almost three hundred miles from my Cornish roots.
      > > > > In those days, public transport was the primary mode of
      moving
      > > around
      > > > > if one wanted a change from shanks's pony or the push bike.
      > > Petrol
      > > > > was severely rationed and only available for vehicles on
      > > essential
      > > > > duties. The horse had come into it's own again for house
      > > deliveries
      > > > > of milk and bread etc. for world war two was at it's height
      in
      > > > > Britain.
      > > > >
      > > > > Standing at a bus stop, I was quietly minding my own
      business,
      > > > > wondering how much longer I would have to wait for the bus,
      when
      > > a
      > > > > woman spoke to me, saying:
      > > > > "Hello John, haven't seen you since our Beryl's wedding,
      how's
      > > your
      > > > > mum?"
      > > > > Now, as you know, my name is not John so I assumed she had me
      > > mixed
      > > > > with
      > > > > another person of similar appearance. Not wishing to appear
      rude
      > > I
      > > > > replied: "I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. Do we
      know
      > > each
      > > > > other?"
      > > > > Her expression was one of deep hurt as she said: "Don't be
      silly
      > > > > John. It's Margery,
      > > > > Beryl's mum, are you feeling alright?"
      > > > > That was my opportunity to escape from the situation.
      > > > > "No," I lied, "I think I've got a touch of the flu coming on.
      I
      > > would
      > > > > advise you not to come too close because when I get a cold
      > > everyone I
      > > > > meet catches the virus. I'll tell Mother you asked after
      her. "
      > > > >
      > > > > She moved away a pace just as a cyclist pedalled past,
      raising a
      > > hand
      > > > > in my direction shouting "Whatyer Jack" before he sped on his
      way.
      > > > > Jack? John? .I know everyone is supposed to have a double but
      > > this is
      > > > > too much of a coincidence I thought.
      > > > > The bus arrived with a squeal of brakes and the strange lady
      > > climbed
      > > > > aboard.
      > > > > I didn't follow as I saw another bus approaching less then a
      > > hundred
      > > > > yards away.
      > > > > There is an old saying about London Transport:
      > > > > `You wait ages for a bus and then two come together.'
      > > > > Before my transport arrived I checked my surroundings. Yes,
      the
      > > red
      > > > > pillar box where I usually posted my mail was over the road
      in
      > > front
      > > > > of the Catholic Church but looking behind I was disturbed to
      see
      > > a
      > > > > pair of semi-detached houses where there should have been a
      > > parade
      > > > > ground and wooden building where sea scouts mustered at
      weekends.
      > > > > A sign proclaiming the side road was Shrewsbury Avenue. Well
      that
      > > > > confirms I'm not losing my mind.
      > > > >
      > > > > Returning later that day, I was riding on the top deck of the
      bus
      > > and
      > > > > as we reached the area of the stop of that morning's strange
      > > > > occurrence, across the road I saw, not a pair of houses but a
      > > parade
      > > > > ground and the now familiar wooden hut.
      > > > > I never saw the woman or cyclist again but often, at that
      same
      > > bus
      > > > > stop, the sea scouts building had been replaced with a pair
      of
      > > houses.
      > > > > Determined to solve the mystery, I decided to walk along
      > > Shrewsbury
      > > > > Avenue to discover what lay behind these houses.
      > > > > An air raid warning had been sounded, but with as many as
      eight a
      > > day
      > > > > one got used to ignoring them and proceeding with the day's
      > > routine
      > > > > with the attitude: " If it's got my name on it there's
      nothing I
      > > can
      > > > > do anyway"
      > > > > The screaming whistle of a projectile in the last part of
      it's
      > > > > trajectory, made all waiting passengers drop to the floor and
      > > cover
      > > > > their heads..
      > > > > The ensuing roar of the explosion momentarily deafened me. I
      > > > > attempted to raise my head and was hit in the face with an
      arm
      > > which
      > > > > had been torn off at the elbow, splattering me with blood and
      > > warm
      > > > > flesh.
      > > > > I appeared to be otherwise unharmed although there was little
      I
      > > could
      > > > > do to prevent two men lifting me onto a stretcher and placing
      me
      > > in
      > > > > an ambulance.
      > > > > In my semi-dazed state, I remember a nurse in a crisp white
      > > starched
      > > > > uniform saying, as she dabbed at the blood on my face with a
      > > piece of
      > > > > lint:
      > > > > "I doubt if this one will make it poor man"
      > > > > Suddenly, as if in a dream, I was standing again at the bus
      stop.
      > > The
      > > > > houses had gone and the sea scouts hut was as it had always
      been.
      > > > > I caught the next bus and in future never used that bus stop
      > > again.
      > > > > My theory being: that bus stop was the entry port to a
      parallel
      > > world
      > > > > and if I ever was tempted to
      > > > > visit that other world; I may no longer be a whole person,
      but a
      > > > > rotting corpse in
      > > > > a nearby churchyard.
      > > > > I don't intend to push my luck and you will never find me in
      that
      > > > > part of North West London again. My place for the future is
      south
      > > > > west of the river Tamar, that ribbon of water dividing
      Cornwall
      > > from
      > > > > the rest of humanity.
      > > > >
      > > > > As always
      > > > > Wings
      > > > >
      > > >
      > >
      >
    • albiaicehouse
      Wings, There is a small coincidence in the story that you relate. When I was composing my last message to you, the one you were responding to, I very nearly
      Message 2 of 16 , Sep 2 7:05 PM
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        Wings,

        There is a small coincidence in the story that you relate.

        When I was composing my last message to you, the one you were
        responding to, I very nearly referred to you as "old boy". I even
        typed it, but then I thought it might be too familiar coming from
        someone you barely know (me) and, you being so young at heart, you
        might not find the first half the phrase complimentary.

        So it is such a small coincidence on the face of it, but very
        interesting to me that you used this phrase in eulogizing your dear
        friend.

        Small though it is, it feels like a combination of a flag and a key.
        A flag to draw my attention to your tale and a key that might unlock
        its significance.

        At a minimum, I can see that an "old boy" is a wonderful fella.
        Someone with the wisdom that comes with age, while preserving the
        freshness of perspective naturally born from youth. As your stories
        illustrate, the old boys and old girls of the world are open to all
        the messages of the universe, not just those that fall neatly into
        preconceived boxes.

        That's a start. I'm sure I'll think of other things about it, in time.

        Cead mile failte romhat!

        albi

        --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@...> wrote:
        >
        > Hi Albi
        >
        > You ask for my reminiscences about cars.
        > Let me start by telling you a true story about a very good friend of
        > mine who died around 18months ago.
        > Gordon was his name and I had known him for a number of years.Long
        > enough to class him as a close family friend who often dined at my
        > table.
        >
        > Before I begin I should warn you, if you are deeply religious, you
        > may find this disturbing, but if like me, you keep an open mind on
        > other than that which can be proven beyond a shadow of doubt, then
        > read on. Do not however, be inclined to take what I write here as a
        > figment of a fertile imagination for you would grossly displease me
        > if you insult the memory of a man for whom I had the greatest respect.
        >
        > Gordon was driving his car down a road in the St.Austell area of
        > Cornwall and as he approached a crossroads, a car shot straight
        > across his path, wrecking Gordon's car and throwing him out onto the
        > road.
        >
        > He related to me afterwards the whole incident. Paramedics tried to
        > survive him, for he was unconscious. They thought he was a goner as
        > there was no apparent pulse but Gordon told me:
        > "I found myself floating feet above the scene of the accident,
        > looking down on all the efforts of the paramedics. I saw one pumping
        > my chest and another giving me mouth to mouth respiration. Next I saw
        > a brilliant white light leading up a hill, at the top of which a
        > person in white was beckoning to me to approach. I resisted and said;
        > No, please no, not now, I have my children to care for"
        > He drifted back into his body and survived.
        >
        > I found this quite plausible because when I was about eleven years of
        > age, a neighbour, named Mrs Pereira, a staunch Catholic, two doors
        > from where we lived at that time, collapsed in her home and the
        > doctor pronounced her dead, only to be proved wrong a few minutes
        > later, when she sat up and told of seeing a brilliant white light and
        > angels dressed in white.
        > On another occasion, when my sister-in law was dying, she asked to
        > see me and when I visited her, she told me she had been to the other
        > side and now had no fear of dying.
        > She lived long enough to attend her daughter's wedding although to
        > alleviate the pain of terminal cancer she had a device fitted to her
        > abdomen feeding morphine into her system. A few weeks later I
        > attended her funeral. I should tell you here that she was a dedicated
        > Christian as is my brother, her widower, who is now a lay preacher in
        > Melbourne Australia.
        >
        > To complete the story about Gordon: He was so impressed with his
        > spiritual experience that he became a very successful spirit healer
        > and I persuaded another friend of mine who had never even heard of
        > Gordon, to visit him, as Phil, my other friend, considered his
        > working life was over because he couldn't clench his hands. Hands
        > that were essential to his job as an excavator driver.
        > Within the hour, Phil had full use of his hands and was back at work
        > the following week.
        > That is one of those cases where you hear about it but take it with a
        > pinch of salt unless, like me, you witness the healing from start to
        > finish.
        > When Gordon died, his sons asked me to compose and read a eulogy for
        > him.
        > I said I would be most proud,indeed honoured and when the day of the
        > funeral came I stood in the pulpit vacated by the priest and gave a
        > long reading, ending with the following:
        >
        > Gordon, my friend, my mentor, my ray of light in the darkness, you
        > have left a gap in our lives which we will find impossible to fill.
        > Goodbye old boy, We're all going to miss you, but it is time to
        > break your ties with this world, to come out of limbo, leave the
        > darkness and "Go to the light"
        > Farewell my friend. Bon Voyage.
        >
        > ---------------------
        > Sorry to go on so Albi but when you asked for a car story, I
        > immediately thought of the true tale above.
        >
        > As always
        >
        > Wings
        >
        >
        >
        >
        >
        >
        > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, albiaicehouse <no_reply@>
        > wrote:
        > >
        > > Wings,
        > >
        > > I think your carbon footprint is much smaller than mine, and I don't
        > > think you have any worries relative the median footprint in the
        > > industrialized world.
        > >
        > > But what I was hoping to invite was some good stories about cars or
        > > your experiences in cars to show that readers shouldn't fear public
        > > transport more than being transported by a car. I'm sure a writer
        > of
        > > your distinguished caliber has a yarn or two about car trips or the
        > > social interaction that such trips provoke. I for one would be
        > > grateful to read/hear something from your fertile mind pertaining to
        > > cars, highways, etc.
        > >
        > > albi
        > >
        > >
        > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@> wrote:
        > > >
        > > > Hi Albi
        > > >
        > > > As I live down in the sticks and one mile from the nearest bus
        > stop,I
        > > > must own up to the fact I never venture far from home without my
        > > > sturdy steed of a mere sixteen horsepower.
        > > > However, with fuel costing £1 per litre I now tend to limit my
        > > > excursions to the supermarket to three times per week which
        > totals
        > > > approximately only twenty four miles in a car averaging 35 miles
        > per
        > > > gallon.
        > > > Should I be inclined to walk the mile to the bus stop, I would
        > > > undoubtedly arrive there to witness the back of the bus
        > disappearing
        > > > out of hailing distance.
        > > > Besides which I hate to be told when I should stand about waiting
        > for
        > > > transport when all I have to do is walk outside my back
        > > > door,according to my own time-table, jump in the driver's seat,
        > belt
        > > > up and turn the ignition key.
        > > > So, if it's all the same to you, I'll stick with what pleases me
        > most.
        > > > (I was going to write 'what I'm used to'but with so many scholars
        > > > ready to jump on me for ending a sentence with a preposition I
        > decide
        > > > aginst it).
        > > >
        > > > Thank you for your interest in my mode of transportation.
        > > >
        > > > As always
        > > >
        > > > Wings
        > > >
        > > >
        > > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, albiaicehouse <no_reply@>
        > > > wrote:
        > > > >
        > > > > Sir Wings,
        > > > >
        > > > > Nothwest London?
        > > > >
        > > > > The following is the observation/postulate of an amateur, but
        > have
        > > > you
        > > > > noticed that these extraordinary things happen when you take
        > public
        > > > > transit? You know, the encounters with parallel worlds and
        > recently
        > > > > anointed murderesses? They could all be avoided if you cease
        > this
        > > > > practice of hanging about bus stops.
        > > > >
        > > > > Now, my good fellow, I recall that you are strongly in support
        > of
        > > > > efforts to combat global warming. Don't you think you should
        > show
        > > > the
        > > > > even more shocking horrors that await those who elect to take a
        > > > > greenhouse gas spewing private transport vehicle eleven miles
        > to
        > > > pick
        > > > > up a quart of milk? I fear without a competing disincentive,
        > you
        > > > have
        > > > > inadvertently pushed legions, or at least scores, of readers to
        > shun
        > > > > highly efficient, gentler to the planet, forms of artificial
        > human
        > > > > locomotion represented by these buses.
        > > > >
        > > > > Yours in fact and in spirit,
        > > > > albi
        > > > >
        > > > >
        > > > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "wings081" <wings081@>
        > wrote:
        > > > > >
        > > > > > Another time another place
        > > > > >
        > > > > > I accept the possibility of a parallel world. Heaven, Hell,
        > > > > > Valhalla, the Puranus of Hindu mythology have all been
        > chronicled
        > > > > > over the ages.
        > > > > > Even children's stories fail to escape from the possibility
        > of an
        > > > > > alternative universe.
        > > > > > Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, writing under the nom de plume
        > Lewis
        > > > > > Carroll kept readers spellbound with his tales of Alice in
        > > > Wonderland.
        > > > > > Dodgson was a mathematics lecturer of some repute and I
        > suspect,
        > > > > > besides his Theory of Infinitesimals, also had an
        > interpretation
        > > > of
        > > > > > Quantum Mechanics, that branch of science which provides
        > > > descriptions
        > > > > > for many unexplained phenomena, including those associated
        > with
        > > > > > electro magnetism.
        > > > > > However none of this has anything to do with what I am about
        > to
        > > > > > reveal, apart that is from my acceptance of the possibility
        > of a
        > > > > > parallel world.
        > > > > >
        > > > > > I had the misfortune to be domiciled for a while in the North
        > > > West of
        > > > > > London, almost three hundred miles from my Cornish roots.
        > > > > > In those days, public transport was the primary mode of
        > moving
        > > > around
        > > > > > if one wanted a change from shanks's pony or the push bike.
        > > > Petrol
        > > > > > was severely rationed and only available for vehicles on
        > > > essential
        > > > > > duties. The horse had come into it's own again for house
        > > > deliveries
        > > > > > of milk and bread etc. for world war two was at it's height
        > in
        > > > > > Britain.
        > > > > >
        > > > > > Standing at a bus stop, I was quietly minding my own
        > business,
        > > > > > wondering how much longer I would have to wait for the bus,
        > when
        > > > a
        > > > > > woman spoke to me, saying:
        > > > > > "Hello John, haven't seen you since our Beryl's wedding,
        > how's
        > > > your
        > > > > > mum?"
        > > > > > Now, as you know, my name is not John so I assumed she had me
        > > > mixed
        > > > > > with
        > > > > > another person of similar appearance. Not wishing to appear
        > rude
        > > > I
        > > > > > replied: "I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. Do we
        > know
        > > > each
        > > > > > other?"
        > > > > > Her expression was one of deep hurt as she said: "Don't be
        > silly
        > > > > > John. It's Margery,
        > > > > > Beryl's mum, are you feeling alright?"
        > > > > > That was my opportunity to escape from the situation.
        > > > > > "No," I lied, "I think I've got a touch of the flu coming on.
        > I
        > > > would
        > > > > > advise you not to come too close because when I get a cold
        > > > everyone I
        > > > > > meet catches the virus. I'll tell Mother you asked after
        > her. "
        > > > > >
        > > > > > She moved away a pace just as a cyclist pedalled past,
        > raising a
        > > > hand
        > > > > > in my direction shouting "Whatyer Jack" before he sped on his
        > way.
        > > > > > Jack? John? .I know everyone is supposed to have a double but
        > > > this is
        > > > > > too much of a coincidence I thought.
        > > > > > The bus arrived with a squeal of brakes and the strange lady
        > > > climbed
        > > > > > aboard.
        > > > > > I didn't follow as I saw another bus approaching less then a
        > > > hundred
        > > > > > yards away.
        > > > > > There is an old saying about London Transport:
        > > > > > `You wait ages for a bus and then two come together.'
        > > > > > Before my transport arrived I checked my surroundings. Yes,
        > the
        > > > red
        > > > > > pillar box where I usually posted my mail was over the road
        > in
        > > > front
        > > > > > of the Catholic Church but looking behind I was disturbed to
        > see
        > > > a
        > > > > > pair of semi-detached houses where there should have been a
        > > > parade
        > > > > > ground and wooden building where sea scouts mustered at
        > weekends.
        > > > > > A sign proclaiming the side road was Shrewsbury Avenue. Well
        > that
        > > > > > confirms I'm not losing my mind.
        > > > > >
        > > > > > Returning later that day, I was riding on the top deck of the
        > bus
        > > > and
        > > > > > as we reached the area of the stop of that morning's strange
        > > > > > occurrence, across the road I saw, not a pair of houses but a
        > > > parade
        > > > > > ground and the now familiar wooden hut.
        > > > > > I never saw the woman or cyclist again but often, at that
        > same
        > > > bus
        > > > > > stop, the sea scouts building had been replaced with a pair
        > of
        > > > houses.
        > > > > > Determined to solve the mystery, I decided to walk along
        > > > Shrewsbury
        > > > > > Avenue to discover what lay behind these houses.
        > > > > > An air raid warning had been sounded, but with as many as
        > eight a
        > > > day
        > > > > > one got used to ignoring them and proceeding with the day's
        > > > routine
        > > > > > with the attitude: " If it's got my name on it there's
        > nothing I
        > > > can
        > > > > > do anyway"
        > > > > > The screaming whistle of a projectile in the last part of
        > it's
        > > > > > trajectory, made all waiting passengers drop to the floor and
        > > > cover
        > > > > > their heads..
        > > > > > The ensuing roar of the explosion momentarily deafened me. I
        > > > > > attempted to raise my head and was hit in the face with an
        > arm
        > > > which
        > > > > > had been torn off at the elbow, splattering me with blood and
        > > > warm
        > > > > > flesh.
        > > > > > I appeared to be otherwise unharmed although there was little
        > I
        > > > could
        > > > > > do to prevent two men lifting me onto a stretcher and placing
        > me
        > > > in
        > > > > > an ambulance.
        > > > > > In my semi-dazed state, I remember a nurse in a crisp white
        > > > starched
        > > > > > uniform saying, as she dabbed at the blood on my face with a
        > > > piece of
        > > > > > lint:
        > > > > > "I doubt if this one will make it poor man"
        > > > > > Suddenly, as if in a dream, I was standing again at the bus
        > stop.
        > > > The
        > > > > > houses had gone and the sea scouts hut was as it had always
        > been.
        > > > > > I caught the next bus and in future never used that bus stop
        > > > again.
        > > > > > My theory being: that bus stop was the entry port to a
        > parallel
        > > > world
        > > > > > and if I ever was tempted to
        > > > > > visit that other world; I may no longer be a whole person,
        > but a
        > > > > > rotting corpse in
        > > > > > a nearby churchyard.
        > > > > > I don't intend to push my luck and you will never find me in
        > that
        > > > > > part of North West London again. My place for the future is
        > south
        > > > > > west of the river Tamar, that ribbon of water dividing
        > Cornwall
        > > > from
        > > > > > the rest of humanity.
        > > > > >
        > > > > > As always
        > > > > > Wings
        > > > > >
        > > > >
        > > >
        > >
        >
      • Susan Donahue
        Why is it that everytime I read a message from Jynter, I think I have encountered a charm school dropout? Oh, well...another one bites the dust. Into the
        Message 3 of 16 , Sep 3 3:59 PM
        • 0 Attachment
          Why is it that everytime I read a message from Jynter, I think I have
          encountered a charm school dropout?

          Oh, well...another one bites the dust. Into the banned bin with you,
          Jynter!

          Suzianne (My wand is in working order, thank heavens)


          --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "jynter" <jynter@...> wrote:
          >
          > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, jack lewis <xjack_lewisx@>
          > wrote:
          > >
          > > A Nighttime Wish
          > > (C) Jack Lewis 2006
          > >
          >
          > Good spelling and punctuation.
          >
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