We Will Remember Them

At the Eleventh Hour On the Eleventh Day Of the Eleventh Month

We Thank You:


Soldier, Walter Ridout (Battle of the Somme, 1916)

Sergeant, Albert Edward Matthews
(8th Royal Tank Regiment, El Alamein, 1942)

Seaman, Stanley Matthews (Lost at sea on HMS Hood, 24 May, 1941)

John Anthony Taylor, Home Guard WWII

And to all who sacrificed their all for us.  Lest We Forget.

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

(From the poem The Fallen, Laurence Binyhn 1869-1943)

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Pumpkins Memoir And A Bull Ride And A Radio Spot At The Rodeo

This time last year, we had just moved house.  What a difference a year makes.  We’ve painted, repaired and put up new fencing for starters. And Animal Farm has a new addition: a tiny ball of kitten naughtiness and heart melting cuteness, nine week old, Olive…

(Photo a bit blurred…she’s too quick, little rascal…)

(c) Sherri Matthews 2018

I found a place I thought would be good for growing pumpkins, my first attempt for twenty years since living in California. I got the seeds, germinated them indoors, then planted them out after the last frost and hoped for the best:

They grew and grew and by early October, had Eddie in a Halloween mood…

The seeds worked! We got our Pumpkin Patch…

Like those of you who garden, I’ve had a mix of triumphs and failures.  In California, I also grew zucchini (courgettes) with great success.  Until one year when gophers got to the roots and did for the lot of them.

Like writing.  It thrives and then it doesn’t.  It calls, sweetly, then whacks you like a fist to the eye. It holds you captive until you get that damn sentence written and you get it written right.  It turns you into a raving loon if you’re interrupted, but even when hours stretch out unhindered – ahh, the bliss – it doesn’t let up.

It’s passion gone mad; a lure to the edge; a messing of your mind.  You bleat on and on to all who would listen until their eyes glaze over and you know they’re thinking, for crying out loud, get the thing finished already and give us all some peace.

Exhilarating and punishing in equal measure and it has to be to get the job done.  Harvest time for the pumpkins, then for my memoir.

Meanwhile, back at the Rodeo, I’m proud and honoured to wear my beautiful Rodeo Leader badge for my contest, ‘Travel With A Twist’.  Thank you, Charli Mills!  And this week it’s time to saddle up for some bull riding at the Rodeo for the last, but certainly not the least, of the contests with D Avery, all details in the link below:

D Avery’s Rodeo #5:  Sound and Fury

Entries must be received by November 7, 2018, at 11:59 p.m. (EST). Contest winner, second and third place entries announced here December 14, 2018.

Carrot Ranch is also running an exciting new bonus contest, open to all for a fantastic opportunity to win a cash prize and a radio spot advertising The Continental Fire Company, a proud sponsor of Carrot Ranch:

ATTENTION WRITERS: Bonus Rodeo: Old Time Radio remains open to enter through November 7 11:59 p.m. EST. There are THREE cash prizes and an opportunity to hear your story on the radio! Questions or concerns, contact the Lead Buckaroo.

Thank you again for supporting Rodeo, 2018, the response has been wonderful. The next part is the hard part for the judges.  Read here for a round-up of all the contests with dates of upcoming winner announcements. As a reminder, mine will post at the Ranch and here at the Summerhouse on Friday, November 30, and once again, good luck to all!

I’ll be back for a major catch up when I’ve crossed the finish line…until then…

Happy Halloween!

(c) Sherri Matthews 2018

 

 

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Rodeo #4: Fractured Fairy Tales

Halloween is almost here, so what better time to rustle up those fun treats and cook up a twisted fairy tale, or two? Hello again, dear friends, it’s week four at the Rodeo and time for Norah Colvin’s contest: Fractured Fairy Tales. Food, naturally, is the prompt. As before all details below, all entries are free with a $25 cash prize for the winner. The contest runs until 11:59pm EST October 31. So you’ve got plenty of time to don your aprons and mix a fine brew for Norah and her esteemed judges. Just watch out for the big bad wolf, especially if he’s called Fred.

And a huge thank you, dear readers, for keeping the Summerhouse ticking over while I write up a storm on my memoir. I’ve got a date with an editor in just over two weeks…It’s really happening this time…yikes!

See you back here next week with the last, but certainly not the least, of the Rodeo contests. Good luck all!

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

A Flash Fiction contest by Norah Colvin
Co Judges: Anne Goodwin and Robbie Cheadle

Do you love fairy tales? Chances are, unless you are a parent or grandparent of young children or an early childhood educator as I am, you may not have encountered a fairy tale for a while. Well, I am about to change that by asking you to fracture a fairy tale for the fourth Carrot Ranch rodeo contest. [READ MORE…]

For insights and tips from the contest creator, read Norah’s Post, “Once Upon a Rodeo Time.” For word count, use Microsoft Word or wordcount.net. Be aware that punctuation and word-hyphens can change your word count so run it through one of those two counters.

Norah Colvin is an Australian educator, passionate about learning and early childhood education especially. She has many years’ experience in a variety of educational roles. She currently blogs about education…

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Rodeo #3: Travel with a Twist

Hello again, dear friends! We’ve reached the midway point at the Rodeo which means it’s time to pack your bags and flash a holiday tale with a twist. My contest, Rodeo #3: Travel With A Twist, is up and running at the Rodeo until 11:59 EST October 24. As before, all details below.  The winner, second and third places will be announced at Carrot Ranch and the Summerhouse on 30 November. See you soon and Bon Voyage!

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

By Sherri Matthews

In July, I had the good fortune to spend a week’s holiday with my husband on the Italian Amalfi Coast. I say good fortune, because hubby won it, thanks to a random prize draw. We couldn’t believe it. Who wins those things anyway? Surely it’s a scam? But I can report back that it’s no scam because I’ve got the pics to prove it. [READ MORE…]

Welcome to Travel With A Twist, the third contest at Rodeo 2018.  Packed and ready for the off? Then let’s ride. But first, just like any essential safety demonstrations, a few simple rules before take-off:

  1. Entry must be 99 words, no more, no less (not including the title).
  2. Use the form below to enter, including your name (judging is blind).  All entries will receive a confirmation email. If you do not receive an acknowledgment by email, contact us at wordsforpeople@gmail.com.

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Rodeo #2: Memoir

‘She Did It’. That’s the prompt for Irene Waters’ Rodeo #2 Flash Fiction Memoir Contest. Huge apologies for my late re-blog this week – wifi/update issues, say no more – but there’s still plenty of time to enter by 11:59 EST 17 October. As before, all entries are free with a cash prize for the winner. Irene asks for a 99 word memoir or a BOTS (Based on a true story), all rules below. Winners announced 16 November at Carrot Ranch. Speaking of memoir…time to press on and good luck to all!

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

By Irene Waters, Rodeo Leader

Memoir is a passion, so I’m thrilled to once again host the memoir section of the Carrot Ranch Rodeo Contest. Hoping you’ll tighten your saddles and put on your spurs and join in. [READ MORE…]

Last year we had Scars – this year?

“She Did It.”

Three little words can hold so much meaning and have so many stories that come to mind. For the memoir prompt “She Did It” write a true story or a BOTS (based on a true story) keeping in mind the tips on writing memoir.

THE RULES:

  1. Every entry must be 99 words, no more, no less. You can have a title outside that limit. Check your word count using the net as this will be the one I use to check the entries. Entries that aren’t 99 words will be disqualified.
  2. The genre is memoir although BOTS (based on…

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Rodeo #1: Dialog

And we’re off! Geoff Le Pard is first through the gate at the Rodeo with contest number 1, ‘Dialogue’. All details below. Open to all, free entry, and a cash prize for the winner. Contest closes October 10 at 11:59pm EST. See you back here with next week’s contest, and best of luck to all.

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

By Geoff Le Pard, Rodeo Leader

Writers are notorious people watchers. It’s a small miracle we don’t get done for stalking more often. Part of that idea — thieving we do involves listening to what people say — phrases, the modes of speech, dialect, etc. People convey ideas and feelings with words. [READ MORE…]

So, those pesky rules:

  1. Every entry must be 99 words, no more, no less. You can have a title outside that limit.
  2. It’s dialogue only. Everything inside speech marks, please. (American and British styles both accepted.)
  3. Any genre, time, place, just let us know via words. If you can world build a fantasy, hats off! (Oh, by the way, I bloody loathe the overuse of the exclamation mark. Be very sparing or my prejudices may show through.
  4. It’s a conversation so you need two characters at least. But can you have a conversation with yourself? With…

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Travel to the Rodeo

Howdy Folks! Yep…it’s time once again to saddle up, polish your boots and grab your pen too: the Rodeo is back! Five, 99 word flash fiction contests, each with a unique prompt, running weekly through October at Carrot Ranch.

Open to all, no entry fee and a cash prize for the winner.

Thrilled to lead my contest, ‘Travel with a Twist’, which opens October 17.

Details of this, my fellow judges and every contest,  including Lead Buckaroo Charli Mill’s TUFF (The Ultimate Flash Fiction), a free-write challenge remaining for September 25, posted below.

I’ll re-blog each contest’s opening day here at the Summerhouse.

So watch this space, pack your bags and get ready to Travel to the Rodeo…with a twist, of course.

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

Sherri Matthews has kept her feet in the stirrups at Carrot Ranch while riding hard to revise her memoir. She’s one of our premier memoir writers who also pens a hapless village werewolf character who first debuted here in flash fiction. Her fiction can turn a dark twist as deftly as a rodeo bronc.

This year, Sherri seeks inspiration from travel. It’s not her first rodeo, so as a leader she’s going to shake up her event. Her husband Mike Matthews and friend and fellow writer, Hugh Roberts, joins her in the judging. Here’s what she has to tell you to prepare for her event.

Rodeo #3: Travel with a Twist
By Sherri Matthews

In July, I had the good fortune to spend a week’s holiday with my husband on the Italian Amalfi Coast. I say good fortune, because hubby won it, thanks to a random prize draw. We couldn’t…

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49 Days In 1988: Week 36 – Choices

Today I’m travelling with Hugh Roberts and Huey Lewis and the News back to the future. Since January, Hugh has invited a weekly guest to choose their favourite 80’s song and feature in his ’49 Days in 1988′ series. Hugh shares snippets from his diary of 1988 with great music, and today it’s my turn with The Power of Love. Thank you, Hugh!

Hugh's Views & News

Click here to read the first week of this feature, and follow the links at the end of each post.

***

London – September 7th, 1988

Yesterday, it seems that there was quite a bit of upset between Anthony and Mr & Mrs Summer. Marcus revealed to Marty and me that a large rift has developed between both parties over the death of our landlord, Shaun. 

It’s a great shame, but it seems that Anthony has led us all, here at Grassmere Road, up the garden path as to when Shaun’s parents intend selling the house. It’s now almost certain that we will all have to be out by November 1st!

I hate being up against a deadline, so I immediately contacted Simon and Rod and told them to get searching for a place that will accommodate three people. Simon seemed really chuffed that I’ve decided to move in with…

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She’s Gone To Capri And She’s Not Coming Back

Be careful what you wish for, so goes the old adage. During my other life in California as a mum of three school-age children, meaning frequently run-off-my-feet, I sometimes joked that I would escape and be like the woman in a well-known TV Ad quoting the line,  ‘She’s gone to Capri, and she’s not coming back’.

Ignoring the part about the cigarette,  it promoted a glamorous image of a woman abroad, free from constraints, prancing around in a silky evening gown, osbensibly somewhere in Capri.  The very idea of me a) wearing a silky evening gown, and b) going anywhere remotely close to Capri, was so ludicrous, that we all laughed our heads off.

But sometimes we do get what we wish for.  Roll on twenty years or so, and would you believe, hubby won a random prize draw.  The prize?  A holiday for two on Italy’s Amalfi Coast.  Ever closer to Capri.  Must be a scam, we thought.  But it wasn’t. We took the holiday in July and have the pics to prove it.

The prize came with a hire car.  Great.  So far so good as hubby drove out of Naples airport and hit the open road and after Salerno, we entered the famed Amalfi coastal road, otherwise known as Amalfi Drive.  With the Tyrrhenian Sea on one side, it clings to an open cliff face on the other, climbing ever higher on a narrow, one lane road with back-to-back hairpins for approximately 80 km (50 miles) to Positano. Buses, motorcycles and local drivers thinking nothing of overtaking on blind turns.

 

 

It took an hour to so to reach our hotel in Minori, some 20 km along, and after that, the car stayed in the hotel’s garage until our return journey.   Hair-raising, but the views are spectacular, even if snapped from a moving car:

Minori is a delightful fishing village, our hotel just a 5 minute walk from the beach and a good choice of restaurants and cafes and a pretty harbour.

 

 

I warded off a nuisance head cold with siestas and lemons the size of grapefruits.

And then we took a boat trip across the Bay of Naples to the island of Capri. With clear blue skies and sea to match, we set out early in the morning for an hour and a half  giving us fantastic views of Amalfi and Positano from the water:

We passed one or two rather expensive looking yatchts along the way:

And we got a great view of the beautiful coastline dotted with coves and beaches and one of Sophia Loren’s villas.

On land, we took a bus to the town of Anacapri at the top where it is less crowded and offers breathtaking vistas away from the madding crowd lower down, it being the height of summer.

On the way back down to the harbour, I couldn’t resist taking this photo of the cute cat window:

Designer shops line the path up to the top, cut into the rugged cliff side.  Needless to say, it is not cheap in Capri.   Being Brits, we sought out a cafe for shade and a cup of tea, at a cost of 15 euros (not far off fifteen pounds) for two cups of tea and a bottle of water.  I watched valets haul luggage from arriving guests to a 5-star hotel and for a moment, imagined myself swanning around in one of their finest rooms wearing a silky evening gown…

The prize also gave us a meal at a 5 star restaurant. Perched high on a cliff side above a cove filled with millionaire yachts, we wined and dined in a setting so luxurious that I didn’t dare take any photos.  Frankly, I was grateful to have survived the taxi ride there, a thirty minute drive hurtling us further along the Amalfi coastal road with a 70’s Al Pacino lookalike at the wheel, down to the pin stripe suit and gold medallion.

He chatted in Italian all the way, except for the repeated mention of Chaka Chan while fiddling with the radio, as he couldn’t get a good signal. And then, for no apparant reason, he stopped the car.  He got out to check something in the back, leaving me and hubby in the back seat to wonder what he was looking for.  His Chaka Chan CD? His lunch?  A body?  Worse? Maybe I’ve watched The Sopranos too many times, but although the sea sparkled far below us, I hoped we weren’t about to swim with the fishes.

The ride back later on had him stopping on the way to introduce us to various restaurant owners.  And wouldn’t you know it, his radio got a signal, only to play the theme song from ‘The Godfather’.

The drive back to Naples airport one week later, took us far away from Amalfi Drive and past Mount Vesuvius, a still active volcano to this day.  Hopefully it won’t erupt again any time soon.

A holiday to remember for all its twists and turns, and what a prize.  Thank you, Classic FM!

As for Capri, did it live up to my dream?  If I were rich, maybe. If we had gone out of season without the throng of people and not so incredibly hot and humid, more likely.  But, although I am thrilled to have visited, I think, perhaps, of other places where I would rather slink around in an evening gown.  Funny how we change.

 

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Memoirs Of A Bicycle: Times Past

Driving to Gatwick Airport recently, road signs to long-ago places from my childhood like Horley, Reigate and Brighton, zoom by.  But one town called Purley brings back just one clear memory.  Not of the town itself; in fact, I have no memory of the place at all.  What I do remember, is going to one shop with my parents for one reason only: to get my very first bicycle.

I was seven when I got my first bike, a Raleigh with a red frame. I adored it and couldn’t wait to learn how to ride it.  I spent hours practicing by pedalling along a narrow walkway between the side of our house and the neighbour’s fence, a hand on each, until I got the perfect balance.

But it wasn’t until we moved to the Suffolk countryside that my cycling days really took off. In the summer, I cycled the couple of miles to school and in the summer holidays, my brother and I cycled down to the tennis courts a few miles away in the nearest small town.  The cycling was fun, but not the arguments over who’s turn it was to serve and collect stray balls.

We cycled for hours with our friends from the village. I loved my bike, but I was envious of the boy with the yellow Chopper.

Hands-free meant something different in the 70’s.  It meant riding a bike without holding the handlebars.  Even better, go down a hill as fast as possible with just your feet on them.  Getting my Cycling Proficiency Badge was a thing of pride, but I was more proud that I could pull a stunt like that.

Not my first bicycle, but the only one I can find (c) Sherri Matthews

Sadly, for my brother, such a stunt didn’t turn out so well when a stick caught in his front wheel spokes. Close behind him (though younger, he was always faster), I watched in horror as he flew clean over his handle bars and scraped several feet, face down, along the grit-covered road.

We found a nearby house, and knocked on the door to ask for help.  The woman, kind and concerned, called our mother.  While we waited, she mentioned something about putting iodine on my brother’s knee-bone exposed wound, but thought better of it, mumbling something like, ‘it might send him to the roof’.  I found out later what she meant when I asked my mother.  A throw back to the war, or something like that.  Like beef dripping sandwiches and dried eggs.

But although cycling took up a large part of  my younger years,  it was my foray into night-time cycling that finished me off.

I was a Girl Guide, briefly.  Cycling into town for the weekly meetings was fine when it was light, but returning home in the dark was quite another. One such night, as I cycled out of town and away from the street lights,  I realised I was totally alone in the pitch dark on a rural road split between an open field and a wood.

I had recently finished scaring myself witless reading the ‘Hounds of the Baskervilles’, and as I pedaled furiously, my dynamo lights blazing as much as dynamo lights can,  I could have sworn I heard footfall behind me. Like an animal.  Like a hound.  Like a headless hound with flames of hellfire blazing from its neck, inches from the back of mine.

The speed with which I arrived home that night would have put me in contention for the Tour de France.

Strangely, but perhaps not surprisingly, I have no memory of cycling after that.  Nor of attending any more Girl Guide meetings.

It wasn’t until decades later and visiting rural France for the first time in my adult life, that I rediscovered the joy of cycling.  And I am today, once more, the proud owner of a bicycle. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to cycle a few trails with hubby soon.  But it won’t be in the dark.  And it’s safe to say I’ll hold the handle bars this time – with my hands, not my feet.

*******

This post is in response to Irene Water’s Times Past challenge for July.  Irene asks that we state our generation and where we grew up as part of her fascinating memoir series, exploring our differing childhood experiences, generationally and geographically.  I write as a tail-end baby boomer growing up in 60’s and 70’s rural Britain.  (Not wanting to miss Irene’s July deadline – scraping in as usual –  my Italy post will follow shortly.)

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