Bard's life

Back in the 1960’s before the introduction of decimal coinage to Britain, in an era before satellite television, mobile phones and personal computers, people used a monetary system that nowadays seems positively quaint. The British pound's value was comprised of twenty shillings and each shilling was made up of twelve pence. Along with the standard pound note, there was a smaller ten shilling note. Additionally there were four silver coins: a half-crown, florin, shilling and sixpence. Smaller values included a three pence coin (often referred to as ‘thrupence’ or a ‘thrup'ny bit’), a penny, half-penny and a farthing.  There is no coin that is a direct equivalent of the old three pence coin today. The ‘thrup'ny’ bit was a pleasant coin to handle. It had a satisfying, chunky feel and a child with one in his pocket c ould feel safe in the knowledge that its spending power would provide a cornucopia of treats. COIN         It’s under glass therefore ...

Already this year my wife and I have lost a number of elderly friends, all of whom had reached their nineties. M any of us would question whether living to much a n advanced age is something to be desired. WAITING A nurse approaches then retires having adjusted tubes and wires so I am left to lie in peace and to progressively release my buried improprieties and misdemeanors, as I please: errors, too late for correction, guilts, those lapses of affection, transgressions of the flesh and mind, the failure, often, to be kind, the opportunities I missed when Fortune pleaded to be kissed. Subdued and suitably contrite, I gather them around me tight. I do this with consummate skill. I lie quite still. A fly lands on the window-sill.

Remember when the world was filled with endless possibilities, when each day promised fresh adventures, when we thought we knew it all, believed ourselves indestructible, had energy in abundance, unwrinkled skin, were slim?   There's something about the arrival of Spring, particularly when it's been long awaited, that has an energizing and invigorating quality, and brings to mind the heady escapades of youth and the illusion of freedom that we enjoyed in those carefree years. THE RAILWAY LINE We walked together side by side, at dusk along the disused line, restless and glad to be outside. I had Woodbines, you brought cheap wine. Fifteen, unthinkingly alive, truants from our suburban Drive, we talked excitedly of life how we had cracked it, knew the score. We worked the cork out with your knife then drank sweet wine and wanted more. We smoked our fags, ignored the cold,  could not imagine being old.

The eagerly anticipated film of the best-selling novel, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society , is due for general release on 20th April but, here on the island, we've already had an opportunity to see the film which depicts dramatic events during the occupation of Guernsey by German troops in the Second World War. Annie Barrows, Jane Mosse and Frances Lemmon A mixture of nostalgia and romance, the film was well received by its Guernsey audience, and author, Annie Barrows , who co-wrote the novel with her aunt, Mary Ann Shaffer , came to the island for the red-carpet showing. Earlier today, my wife, Jane and her co-author, Frances Lemmon, enjoyed a brief author-to-author chat with Annie, and Literary Festival Director, Claire Allen , was on hand to record the moment. GUERNSEY LEGENDS by Jane Mosse and Frances Lemmon. https://www.blueormer.co.uk/?page_id=850

Brought up in god-fearing, post-war Northern Ireland, I was force-fed a fearsome brand of stern Christianity. Whilst I've managed to recover from th at childhood trauma, I still find myself drawn to churches and cathe drals when on holiday, a lthough , nowadays, as a sightseer rather than a worshi p per.  CATHEDRAL In from the cutting wind and rain it is less raw and yet the chill  is evident and I remain bone-cold and wet. I wait until my eyes adjust, then look about this edifice of the Devout. It truly is a splendid sight: a massive pulpit dominates, vast windows welcome in the light, on wall-plaques are recorded dates whilst on the floor, in marble set, are names of earl and baronet. The great, the godly, in this place have their memorials which tell that they rest in a state of grace while lesser mortals burn in Hell. Such privilege seems so unfair: in life, they had the lion’s share. The lesser mortals, father, son, laid scaffolding against the sky, transported great st...

Hurry along to Guernsey's Priaulx Library at 2pm on Saturday to meet two fascinating women.  Jane Mosse and Frances Lemmon will unveil their exciting new publication, Guernsey Legends , and weave an intriguing verbal web composed of witchcraft, superstition and ghostly happenings, along with other local folk tales of fairies, some benign and others downright scary.

As machines stealthily expropriate human roles, here's a humorous take on a serious subject. CO-OP ROBOTS At the Co-Op Easter function, machines that now do check-out work all behaved without malfunction, none got drunk or went berserk. Instead, they stood there, screen to screen, extremely boring, drably grey, exchanging messages in green: Thank you for shopping here today ... One said this to the others, then they all, in chorus, said it too, repeating those same words again as though, somehow, it all rang true. They didn’t circulate or dance but droned on until late at night. The ballroom was a bare expanse with not a human being in sight.