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..


by John Yeo

    Brains was in the process of constructing a hoax, in the form of a practical joke. He put a secondary hidden wire behind a simple light switch leading to a surprise destination. Brains was top of the class in Science and he felt he had to justify his position. He was acting as if he was new to the subject after a new assistant teacher arrived. 

  Mr Tweed, a bumptious upstart bully who delighted in showing up the students had picked on him in front of the whole class. To the surprise of everyone in the class Brains was asking questions on the simplest of subjects. 

   ‘Excuse me Sir, can you detail the constitution of electricity.’

   ‘What do you mean by that you idiotic moron, everyone knows. Electric charge is a fundamental property of matter, borne by particles.’ 

  ‘How do you switch on an electric light or a lamp, to convey the electricity to the bulb?’ asked Brains.

  ‘Are you kidding me, you impudent misbegotten escapee from the planet of the apes?’

  There was dead silence in the class as the students held their breath, waiting for a response to this obvious insult.

  ‘No Sir, I leave all that to the butler and the maid at home, my Father says I don’t have to worry.’

   ‘Look here! It’s not rocket science. Just screw in the bulb and flip the switch.’

With that the teacher flipped the room light switch and received a nasty electric shock. There was pandemonium as the lights fused and the matron was called. Mr Tweed was whisked off to the infirmary.

  Meanwhile Brains removed all signs of his electrical trap.

  A week later Mr Tweed returned to the class, he warily treated Brains with a new respect, having realised the embarrassing truth. 

© Written by John Yeo


FRIDAY 5th JUNE 2020


by John Yeo

The entire head took the message

Then responded with a united reply,

The nose addressed the eyes,

I will balance the glasses

You read the words.

I will sniff out the story, 

Pass the result on to the brain.

The brain will interpret 

The meaning of the words.

The magic of the poetry

Will be expressed by the mouth.


The ears will balance the glasses

Listen carefully to the response, 

And adjust the result accordingly.

The eyes looked down on the nose

We have no need of your sniffing,

We are reputedly 

The windows of the soul.

The light of truth

Shining directly to the brain

A shining light reflecting 

The light of creativity.


Then in unison the ears chorused

Without your glasses you are blind 

We can hear the music of the words.

The mouth joined in the conversation

A very wise mouth indeed! 

You must leave room for interpretation,

Each mind is unique! 

Together we make up the individual

Striving for unique expression,

Guidance is just another opinion

Generated with respect.


© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved 

   I remember an unwilling, uninspiring English language teacher several years ago, who demonstrated some individual views on life that would have been highly criticised today. His major goal in life at the time was a high degree of self-promotion. His outward role was to attempt to instil in his pupils, (subjects), an interest in writing and appreciating poetry. He would start a session by reading his personal examples of poetry, then invite comments, which were obviously expected to be positive. The class would then be invited to write a poem on a set subject. An hour later our teacher would sit and take them apart piece by piece. The session would end by him handing out a subject to take away and use as an impetus to write a piece of poetry. When I wrote the above poem, I was influenced by some of his views and his comments. I included a couple of sentences that to this day I hope he noticed and took away with him. 

 Of course I’ve reworded and rejigged some of the words, since I resurrected it. When I look back, I can’t help thinking perhaps he wasn’t a bad teacher as he certainly stung me into action.


A Prompt Response for Flasher Friday

Gypsy tent

Image from the net


By John Yeo


 It was cloudy and windy as the day dawned over Westchester Towers high school. 400 students, children of wealthy, landowners, industrialists, and commoners alike were in various stages of greeting a brand new day.

The manicured school lawn this morning was blighted by the sight of a large camping tent that had appeared from nowhere overnight.

This caused a ripple of concern among the staff and a delegation was soon formed and sent to investigate.

 The Headmaster, flanked by his deputy and the PE teacher together with the school janitor approached the tent.

“Headmaster, shouldn’t we call the police?” asked Tim Sampson, his deputy.

“Not yet, we don’t want to alarm the students, and we could be accused of wasting police time if there is a reasonable explanation.” replied the headmaster.

Then with a well-rehearsed, well-honed air of authority, he puffed out his chest and called out.

 “Hello, whoever is in there, come out at once!”

There was a silent pause before a strangely familiar voice shouted back,

“Keep away! There is danger here.”

The Headmaster, said “It’s Tom Newton the Science teacher. Whatever does he mean? Stand back, I think he’s gone crazy.”

 At that moment, James Jones and his best school pal, Fauntleroy Smythe were sitting on a small stone bridge, tossing stones and twigs into a fast-flowing brook. They had a good view of the mysterious tent and the events that followed.

 “Gypsies have moved in, if you ask me, they are everywhere these days. My Dad said they are a pain and should be forced to settle down and pay taxes like everyone else.” Said Fauntleroy.

 James smiled and nodded at this remark.  “Yes, they’re everywhere!  My Great-grandad was a Romany, a traveller who settled down and made a fortune as a scrap metal dealer.”

 “Oh! Sorry James, I never knew that; good for him.”

James just grinned and said, “It’s OK Fauntleroy!”

Then he pushed him off the bridge into the stream and watched as a shocked, muddy, sorry-looking individual clambered out of the water and staggered off towards the mysterious tent.

Ignoring the shouts of keep away; from the assembled delegation, Fauntleroy entered.

 Suddenly there was a loud bang followed by a terrifying scream. The Science teacher, staggered out carrying the student,

 “Call an ambulance!”  ordered the headmaster. “ What’s going on Newton?”

“Well Headmaster, I noticed some suspicious looking characters building this tent on the lawn last night. “I approached them, but I was overpowered and held prisoner.

“What was that loud bang?” asked the headmaster, “How did this lad get hurt?”

“I’m not sure Headmaster, I think a car backfired on the road beyond those trees as they fled, this lad screamed and fainted with shock.”

Then with a siren screeching, an ambulance arrived. Two paramedics confirmed that Fauntleroy had fainted with shock and would be fine with some rest.

 Meanwhile, James was in conversation with his Great Uncle Louis, who had arrived to visit him, bringing news of the family.


(497 WORDS)


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

This is my response to a prompt from Our Write Side to their Friday Flasher prompt. A short story in no more than 500 Words using four elements

  • Place: inside a camping tent
  • Character: a high school teacher
  • Object: an ambulance
  • Weather: windy
  • Follow this link To comment:  Join in and have fun

Friday Flasher: Inside A Tent

Memories of Schooldays


by John Yeo

The day is here, Mum is near.

I can hardly suppress a tear

My uniform is new and clean

Off to attend my very first day

In the Junior school.


We don’t go far, in Dad’s car.

My Mum called me a star.

Concrete playground drab and drear

Many children going my way

To the Junior school.


Dad says goodbye, I will not cry

I make a friend and by and by

The bell goes and the teacher arrives

With a smile. “Hello! I’m Miss Prim

Here in the Junior school.


An oblong block,

Then a chalk-filled duster

Both throw up clouds of chalky dust.

Inkwell and dipping-pen with

Blotting paper that soaks up inky blobs.

A wooden desk with an inkwell

Initials gouged in the lid.

Silence as the register is called

Before the lesson begins.

My thoughts stray from the subject.

Until with a blunt request.

“What do you think, boy?”

I feel flustered and I bluster,

“I am not too sure, Miss”

I daren’t reveal my thoughts.

“Go to the back of the class”

“Stupid boy!”


Copyright © ~ Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved