MULTIPLY Writing Promp #6: Visual

“Mrs. Jones we would like to thank you for partaking in this interview. We are sure our magazine readers would be interested to read your war time memories.”
Frieda Jones was only ten years old when the Second World War broke out. She lived in part of London near the docks and knew what it meant when the planes flew over. Leave your house and look for the nearest shelter. It was dangerous to stay in a house when it might tumble down around your ears after being bombed. She was asked by a national magazine to tell her story of the time, as they were running a series of London war time memories.
“Go ahead mum” said Frieda’s daughter “I am sure you have a lot to tell and your memories should be preserved for the future.”
Frieda was now eighty years old, but she remembered the war days as if it were yesterday. The first question soon came “What is your most vivid memory?”
Without hesitating Frieda answered “The evening when our house was hit; I was lucky to have survived. My mother was out that evening at the local cinema with her sister and when the first warning came she had left the cinema and taken shelter in the local underground station. Unfortunately it was our local station and on that evening there was an accident. The first warning was only a mistake but in the panic a few people stumbled at the bottom of the stairs and there were many lives lost in the crush that followed.” Her mother’s body had never been identified, but this happened to many in this accident. So the questions went on and Frieda told the story they wanted to hear and the story she told since that fateful day, but the truth was something different.

Frieda’s father, John, was already enlisted in the British army. He had not yet been sent to fight in other countries and was training in the Scottish highlands. The area was hilly and wild and the British found it to be an ideal place to be used as a training ground. This left Frieda’s mother, Lily, alone to look after her daughter. Lily was never a stay-at-home type and liked to enjoy life. She decided that although her husband was away, that was no reason to stop having fun. Soon Frieda got to know her Uncle Joe. Now Uncle Joe was not a real uncle, but in the war time there were many uncles that suddenly appeared. Most of these uncles spoke English with an American accent and Frieda’s new uncle was no exception. He was a GI stationed in London. It was at this time that John was eventually told by the British army that he could take two days leave at home before being transferred to Italy. John decided to waste no time and travel down to London to spend those days with his wife before being sent abroad to fight for his country.

It was one of those foggy London evenings when John arrived at his house. He turned his key in the door and entered.
“Lily, I’m home” he called, but there was no answer.
Frieda was immediately awake after hearing her father’s voice. She climbed out of her bed and walked into the corridor where her dad was standing. He took her in his arms.
“Frieda, you should go back to bed, we will see each other in the morning. Where’s your mum?”
“She’s upstairs in her bedroom” was the answer and before Frieda could tell her father that she had a visit from Uncle Joe, John was up the stairs two by two hurrying to see Lily and being sure she was pleased to see him. The sight that met John’s eyes was not exactly the ideal homecoming. Lily was lying on the bed and Uncle Joe was on top of her, his GI uniform trousers around his ankles. Now Joe was actually the quiet type, but when his temper was aroused, he could be a fury and this was now the case. Uncle Joe seemed to be quite a fit person as his trousers were pulled around his waist in no time and Frieda’s last look at Uncle Joe was as he passed her flying down the stairs and through the street door. In the meanwhile Frieda heard her father shouting at Lily in the bedroom. He was using words that Frieda had never heard her father use before and when she walked into the bedroom she saw that John had put his hands on Lily’s shoulders and was shaking her and shouting at her. It was then John pushed Lily away and Lily slipped, hitting her head on the corner of the bed as she fell. Lily was silent, just lay there with a blank look in her eyes.
“Mum, mum” said Frieda, but there was no answer. It was then that John seemed to have come to his senses and wanted to take Frieda in his arms to soothe her. Frieda was so shocked that she ran down the stairs again into her own bedroom. Frieda dived under the bed and John followed her. This reaction probably saved their lives. At that moment a bomb hit the house. The top floors were immediately destroyed and the house just collapsed into itself. When the rescue teams arrived they heard sounds beneath some rubble and soon pulled Frieda out of the ruins together with her father. When John was asked if anyone else was in the house, he said that he had not seen his wife that evening and she was probably out on civil defence work. Frieda was still shocked and said nothing.

The next day in the confusion that had arisen from the bombings the evening before, decisions had to be made. It was assumed that Lily had been killed in the accident at the underground station. John left to join his regiment to go to Italy and Frieda was taken to Lily’s sister where she spent the rest of her childhood. John arrived in Italy but in the first week of his active service he was killed by a stray bullet from the other side. GI Uncle Joe was also sent to other countries to serve and returned to America as a war hero.

Some years after the war London was being rebuilt. The old flattened areas left from the bombings in the war were being removed and foundations were being made for new buildings. It was then that a skeleton was found in the remains of an old building. It was examined and cause of death was found to be a fracture of the skull caused by a hard object. It was decided it was one of the victims of the London bombings in the war.

Writing Prompt #6: Visual

MULTIPLY Creative Challenge #40: One minute at a time

How can life go past one minute at a time
When today life is stress, and not even mine
The day must begin so early in the morning
Perhaps work is awaiting, no time left for yawning
A quick cup of coffee, and a bite perhaps to eat
The minutes go fast, I am now on my feet
On my way to my workplace as fast as I can
Over red lights, skipping traffic, oh world what a plan
It’s now time for shopping, we do not live from air
It’s lunchtime, grab a bite, watch the clock, how unfair
Back to work, time is passing, I wish I was home
I think I am getting the timeless syndrome

When I look at my cats, just sleeping all day
They understand life, being stressed does not pay
When I start to despair, I have to sit down
I would like to relax, do away with the frown
Outside it had snowed, I was cold to the bone
Then what did I see, now something had grown
Although it is February and time is so bold
I saw the first crocus despite all the cold
It was then that I realised that life was in rhyme
Nature knows what it does, one minute at a time

Creative Challenge #40: One minute at a time

MULTIPLY United Friends Challenge #118: Inner Demons

Rjamp's Challenge

Write a short story or poem on your inner weakness (or inner demons). Using this statment to start it...
I look in the mirror and I see ....

I look in the mirror and I see
a woman quite old, I think that is me
Her grey hair and eyes reflecting the past
so what can I tell you, please don’t be downcast
My first husband was not handsome but had plenty of money
he believed all my lies which I thought was quite funny
He died in his sleep, I helped on the way
Just a small dose of poison, does wonders they say
I was then very happy, my life it was soaring
but spending money alone was a little bit boring
One day I married Fred, he had charm and was fine
There was only one problem, he spent money that was mine
I remember the accident so well, it was bad
The brakes on the car failed, as a widow I was sad
Poor Fred did not last long, but what could I do
My money was less, I had to renew
It was then that my third husband appeared on the scene
He was ideal, and old, so again I was mean
I forgot to tell you he was rich and his oil wells were many
But this time I was lucky, I had not to pay a penny
When you are old the heart can be weak
I did practically nothing, a reason please do not seek
One morning he awoke and fell down the stair
It was judged as an accident, just a private affair
The years have gone by, looking back on it all
life has really been good to me, and now I have Paul
Paul is so young and looks after me well
Sometimes I have doubts, but you can never tell
I was once very young and had some ideas
That is one of the reasons that Paul gives me fears
In the meanwhile I am happy, my will has been made
I must tell it to Paul that his interest does not fade
Should death take me by surprise, an accident or such
Then Paul will be left without very much
During life I have learnt that you cannot depend on just love
One day it will happened that we look down from above
We all have our demons they are hidden inside
Its good to have money and the men will provide

United Friends Challenge #118: Inner Demons

MULTIPLY Rita's "Riting" Challenge #8: the Truck

"Hank, can you go and see who is at the door. I am busy cooking lunch“
“No problem dear” and Hank made his way to see who was there. The Stewart family had only been living in their new home in Switzerland for a few months and were still settling in. When Hank was offered a job in charge of his company office in Europe he jumped at the chance. His family were now living in a small village just outside of Geneva which was ideal. Geneva had a lot of international organisations there and his children could even go to the English school. Things were just perfect, until Hank opened the door and found two Swiss police officers standing there.
“Can I help you officer?” Hank asked.
“Vous parlez français” was the answer, to which Hank told them yes, but not so good and if they could speak english.
“I can speak english” said the other officer. “We have something to discuss with you.”
“Then come in and take a seat” answered Hank.
“We have had some complaints from the neighbours and we have to look into it.”
“Some complaints” and Hank’s wife Jean appeared on the scene. “I just can’t imagine what we have done; or perhaps the children have done something they shouldn’t. I told the two boys to be careful when they were practicing baseball out in the yard, but I am sure they would have told us if a window got broken. Or is it more serious?”
“The problem is to be quite honest, the truck out in your garden.”
“The truck out in my garden? What do you mean?” and Hank was very surprised
“Of course I have an old truck down at the bottom of my garden in the grass. It was going to be thrown away by a colleague of mine. I decided instead of throwing it away, it would be just fine for my boys, so I had it put in the garden. The boys love playing around it: keeps them, occupied in the evenings.”
“Is someone having a problem with the truck” asked Jean
“Yes Mrs. Stewart. Some of the neighbours find it a bit strange.”
“Well I grew up with a truck out in the garden and it was the best thing I had as a boy. I remember my brothers and I playing in the truck. We really had fun. We even learnt a few basics about how they worked. When some of the instruments are still in the truck, just like the one we have now, the boys can play all sorts of games with it.”
“Oh yes, Hank, I remember that truck you had in the garden so well. When we first started dating, well we often spent our time in the truck.”
“That might be Monsieur Stewart, but you see in Switzerland we do not have trucks in our gardens. It somehow does not fit in with the surroundings. The Swiss have certain laws that have to be kept and some of the neighbours are not so happy about your truck.”
“In other words, officer, I should get rid of the truck in the garden.”
It was then that the Stewart sons entered.
“What did I hear there dad, we have to get rid of our truck. We always had a truck in the garden. Life is going to be boring without that truck.”
“Sorry sons, but the police said it just doesn’t fit in this country.”
“I am very sorry Mr. Stewart, but that is the law. I mean how would you feel if in America someone had an old ski lift in their garden? That would definitely look out of place.”
Hank saw that his arguments would lead nowhere and he did not want to have any problems with the Swiss authorities.

The next week-end Hank organised a lorry to remove the truck from the garden. Hank’s neighbours were watching and breathed a sigh of relief. They were glad that the unsightly truck had been removed. There was no telling the damage that it could do to the environment. A rusty old truck was just something they did not want next door. The Stewart boys were sorry to see it go, but Jean and Hank told them that they were now living in another country and had to take the feelings of the people into consideration.

A week later there was another lorry delivery to the Stewart's house. This time an old ski lift cabin was deposited in the garden. The Stewart children were really pleased with this. It even gave shelter from the rain and they had enough room to play and even have a bite to eat now and again.

This time there were no complaints from the neighbours, after all ski lift cabins were something that belonged to the Swiss heritage.

Rita's "Riting" Challenge #8: The Truck

MULTIPLY Pictures to Words #6

The old house was empty, its soul was now gone
The curtains are torn, were of finest chiffon
Once filled with laughter from children long ago
now just sounds of bees coming from a near bye meadow
Seasons had come and had passed in a flight
doors hanging on hinges, no longer fit tight
The spiders moved in, they just felt at home
Their webs spun securely, they needed no comb
A mouse scuttled over the floor on its way
to a hidden quiet place with a nest made of hay
Where a family once was with their ancestors and kin
was now an empty shell, no-one dwelt within
Perhaps ghosts from the past moved in silence through the air
Thinking of days when they lived here, before they were rare
Then one day came some children, inquisitive to know
if they could play in the house, and some stones they did throw
The old house cried out in a silent weak way
A glass pane was broken, for the children it was play
But the house was injured, it suffered a while
the pain was soon forgotten, and the ghosts they did smile
They could see at the window the blue sky through a hole
Perhaps the house was just sleeping and still had a soul

Pictures to Words #6

MULTIPLY United Friends Challenge #117: A Cat with a Sore Throat

Potashtam's Challenge

Describe how you have helped any person or animal in need.
Write a story or poem to show how you did this.

My three cats have allowed me to live with them over the past seven years. During this time you learn a lot about how cats think and function. Basically their motto in life is “I, me and myself”.
“Mrs. Human, that is not fair” and Tabby one of my cats has appeared on the scene.
“So tell me why it isn’t fair” I asked
“Easily said Mrs. Human. It is an honour for you to live with us. Admittedly you chose me and my sister Nera, as well as Fluffy, the odd one out, but we decided to stay.”
“OK, Tabby, agreed and now can I continue.”
“No problem” was the answer, although when a cat says that, do not believe him. A cat will always find a problem.
It all started last week. I arrived home from work and my husband told me that Tabby was having problems. She seemed to have pain when she swallowed.
“Now that really hurt” Tabby tells me. “It seemed as if I had no space left in my throat for anything to pass down. That was the reason why I stopped eating. Even a nice juicy piece of tuna fish would not have tempted my feline longings; I just did not feel like doing anything. Just sat there and had to put up with the pain in my throat.”
“So to continue my part of the story, if I may Tabby.”
“You may Mrs. Human.”
As cats are so defenceless when they have a health problem my husband and me decided that Tabby should visit the vet the next day. It was now evening and the vets would be closed, just open for an emergency. Although it seemed Tabby had a painful problem, it could wait until the next day.
“Mrs. Human, no-one asked me, otherwise I would have told you that waiting a complete night was not very pleasant. On the other hand, I did not really feel like a trip in the car to the vets. At home is always the best place to be.”
“Tabbeeeee”
“Yes, Mrs. Human”
“I will continue.”
The next morning arrived and as coincidence would have it, it was the beginning of a few days holiday I had taken from work. I called the vet and told her my problem, and she said to come straight away. Now my husband and I had to be clever. I fetched our cage from the cellar but kept it outside. If I had brought it into our home and Tabby saw it, then she would have disappeared.
“Mrs. Human, can you alter the last part of your story. It reads as if I am frightened of a cage. This is not true; a cat is not frightened of anything. It is more a misunderstanding. I mean how would you feel to be picked up and forced into four narrow walls and afterwards be locked in. It doesn’t get better when you are picked up and put into a car. Then the real torture begins.”
“OK Tabby, you are not frightened of the cage, just a misunderstanding. I was just wondering why you run away and hide in the most impossible places when you see the cage. The only way we got you this time was because you did not see the cage, Mr. Human picked you up and I quickly fetched the cage. Before you could say Kit Kat you were in the cage with no problem.”
“Mrs. Human do you know how foolish a cat feels when he is tricked in that way? I almost forgot my sore throat.”
I will now continue and I hope with no unnecessary interruption from Tabby, although she is still sitting next to me at the computer reading every word I write.
We now had a Tabby cat with a sore throat packed into a cage and I put her in the car. Luckily the vets is only a five minute drive from where I work so we were soon there. It was early in the morning, half past seven to be exact. It was very early in the morning, I had not even had time for my breakfast. The vet had a quick look at Tabby and said I would have to leave her there for a closer examination. They would have to look down her throat to make sure she had not swallowed anything and to see what was really wrong.
“Mrs. Human, if I had been asked I would have said I had swallowed nothing, I just had a very sore throat.”
“Tabby, unfortunately not all humans speak feline speech, so you would not have been understood. It is only because I can read your mind after I have been living with you for the past seven years, that I somehow know what is wrong.”
I drove home without Tabby hoping that it was nothing serious. The vet called me about one hour later by telephone. They had put Tabby to sleep for a few minutes and had a look down her throat with one of their instruments. It was confirmed that her throat was swollen and very sore. We were glad that she had not swallowed anything, but it was clear that Tabby needed treatment. She had tonsillitis. I never realised that cats could have such a complaint. I remember as a child being in hospital for a few days when my tonsils were removed, but I would never have thought that a cat could have an infection of her tonsils: poor Tabby. I was told I could pick her up again in the afternoon and the vet would tell me what the further treatment would be. When I arrived at the vets Tabby had completely recovered from her small dose of anaesthetic.
“You must be joking Mrs. Human. I felt tired and droopy, no exactly the life and soul of the cat party.”
“Well you looked ok to me Tabby; nice and quiet and sleepy in your cage.”
The vet gave me some antibiotics in tablet form with instructions to give Tabby a tablet in the morning and one in the evening. This was naturally easier said than done. Tabby had been given some treatment already at the vets so I just had to start with the tablets the next day. That was when the problems really started.
“What do you expect Mrs. Human. That you can give me a tablet and I will swallow it with no problem. No way. I am a cat and do what I want.”
“But Tabby I mixed the tablet with some nice tuna fish.

“Mrs. Human, you could have mixed it with the best quality caviar, but I can assure you I do not swallow things I do not know. Do you really think we cats are so stupid that we do not realise when something is hidden in our food. Do not forget. We were once worshipped as Gods and are not to be treated like some sort of gullible creation that just nods and says yes please when one of these human species tries to trick us to eating something we do not want.”
The result of this refusal to take antibiotics was that I had to phone the vet the next day and explain my dilemma. The vet told me to bring Tabby again, so we had a repeat performance of the day before. Tabby was again put into the hated cage and driven to the vets and got two jabs with her medicine and also an infusion to make sure she did not dehydrate, because she was also not drinking. This all started on Wednesday morning and the last visit to the vets was on Saturday morning. By this time Tabby had been given two jabs of antibiotics every morning and a daily infusion.
“So how are you feeling now Tabby?” I asked her after the last visit.
“I still have a slight sore throat, but can at least swallow my food again, although I have to have a little coughing session afterwards. Drinking is no problem any more, and I can also sleep much better. I don’t think I have to go to the vets any more.”
“That is not your decision Tabby, but the doctors.”
It was true she seemed a lot better and now I was back to giving her two tablets during the day. As her throat did not hurt so much any more, we decided to try a trick again with the tablets. This time we were prepared. Over the years we found that cats like yogurt, at least our three do, so a special tub of yogurt was bought for Tabby. We noticed that caramel seemed to be the favourite flavour, so we decided that it would be caramel yogurt. The tablet was crushed by using the back of a spoon and mixed with the yogurt: success! Tabby swallowed the yogurt together with her tablet, no problem. Tomorrow it is back to the vets for a check-up to see how she is progressing but she now seems to be over the worst. This is going to be an expensive illness I think.

That night Tabby was settling down for a sleep in her cat cushion high up on a cupboard and her litter sister Nera was laying in another cushion next to her.
“Tabby”
“Yes Nera”
“How are you feeling now? Has your throat got better?”
“No problem Nera, you just have to do it the right way.”
“What do you mean Tabby?”
“It took ages to get into those human’s inferior brains that a cat has to be treated with utmost respect, before it does what they want it to.”
“So what was the solution Tabby.”
“Based on earlier experience, the humans remembered that I have a sort of weakness for caramel yogurt. I mean I would do almost anything for caramel yogurt. Ever swallow the tablets crushed into it.”
“Oh I see Tabby”
and Nera and Tabby closed their eyes and spent the night in cat nirvana.

United Friends Challenge #117: A Cat with a Sore Throat