THE WAY THINGS USED TO BE


TUESDAY 28th JULY 2020

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

THE WAY THINGS USED TO BE

by John Yeo

Peter and his sister Jane were visiting their granny for tea,

‘Hello Granny! our teacher said, we should ask you please

To remember your life and the way things used to be’.

~

Granny yawned, and bluntly said; ‘Hard times, but we were free

Of social distancing, masks and a pandemic of death and disease’.

Peter and his sister Jane were visiting their granny for tea.

~

‘We didn’t have the internet Zoom, Facebook or Twitter you see’

Granny said, ‘Things were simpler then, it will not be a squeeze

For me to remember life and the way things used to be.

~

There weren’t many aircraft jetting off, on holiday over the sea

We never needed to quarantine from death or a viral sneeze’.

Peter and his sister Jane were visiting their granny for tea.

~

‘Food was too scarce to hoard; we fought a war to be free.

We never had to keep washing our hands, it seems a wheeze

When I remember life and the way things used to be.

~

I remember the times when simple things made me happy

Sun shining on the fields, laughing, playing and climbing trees’.

Peter and his sister Jane were visiting their granny for tea

Exploring her life and the way things used to be.

© Written by John Yeo

PICTURE IT AND WRITE ~ RAGS AND MR. POTTS

This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog

https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/picture-it-write-71/

Ermilia dog-with-stick-having-trouble-getting-up-stairs

As usual the image is supplied and credited by Ermilia

RAGS AND MR. POTTS

by John Yeo

   At last we own our own property, we are so proud it belongs to us, lock, stock and barrel. There is a lot of work to be done it is very rundown and we have boxes and stacked everywhere on the bare wooden floorboards.
  Our pet mongrel dog Rags, has settled in, always barking at the slightest noise or a strange passing dog.
Cindy and I are energised and we are decorating the house from top to bottom.

Cindy has an organising mind and this morning she said.
      “We will sleep in the downstairs front room until we finish the bedrooms off”

   “That’s OK by me!” I reply. “Hey! Look at that dog, what is he doing with that old stick someone has wedged across the stairs? He is trying to get that out from there!”

     “Oh, Rags, come here you silly boy!” Cindy shouts.

    “Oh leave him, at least it is the outside stairs.”

   Mrs Brown our nearest neighbour pops in for a chat and a cup of tea, bringing a hamper of groceries,
     “Just to tide you over dears, until you can get to the local store.”

    “Thanks so much!” I respond, “Can I pay you for them?”

     “No don’t be do silly! I would like you to take them as a good neighbourly gift.”

  Mrs Brown sits on a packing-case drinking a cup of Cindy’s special brew tea.

     “Did you hear the story of old Mr Potts, who last lived here, he was a very eccentric tyrant of a man. He would always be chasing the local kids away if they wandered off the path out front, on to his drive. He would charge out of the house waving a big stick to scare them away, every time anyone passed by.”

    “No!” We chorused.

  Mrs Brown took another sip of tea. “Well he was a bit of a hermit, living alone and not mixing with anyone socially. Rumour has it that he would drink vast quantities of home-brewed cider and get very drunk. One day he tripped over a stick on your back stairs, very drunk and not looking where he was going. He lay at the bottom of those stairs for a whole week before he was discovered, sadly he died on the way to the hospital.”

  Cindy refilled Mrs Browns teacup, as we sat listening to this tragic tale.

     “Well!” She continued. “Rumour has it that someone deliberately lodged that stick there to trip him up, but there was never any proof and nobody is owning up to anything.”

  At this point there was a loud barking from around the back as Rags, tired of trying to dislodge that pesky stick, just sat there barking at nothing, there was no one to be seen.

  When Mrs Brown saw this and noticed the stick lodged across the back stairs she nearly fainted with the shock. Cindy gave her a glass of water and produced some smelling salts. When Mrs Brown came around she was alarmed.

     “Surely that is not the same stick that was responsible for the death of Mr Potts! How did that get there?” She cried.

    “Oh! That stick has been there since we moved in!” I said, “Rags has been going potty trying to get it out, we thought he was just having a game, but after hearing your story now! I wonder?”

  We both finish the day working non-stop, flat out to get as much done as possible before it gets too dark.

  As we settle down to sleep Cindy whispers. “Good Night darling, I hope our little house is not haunted by the ghost of Mr Potts!”

  “Good night Cindy! Don’t worry, Rags will see him off!”

Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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