Hinckley's very own writers workshop  

Scene 1 A bedroom...

Tammy and Mike, a couple in their early twenties are asleep in bed. It is 2am. 

Tammy stirs. She removes slices of cucumber from her eyes. 

Tammy (whispers) Mi.. .ke? Do you want to play? 

Mike lies silently.

Tammy: Mike (she fondles him provocatively under the bedclothes.) Does Percy want to come out and play? 

Mike continues to lie silently. 

Tammy: Oh come on Mike (whining.) 

Still no response from Mike. Tammy gets out of bed huffily, knocking his arm as she climbs over him. His arm hangs limply over the edge of the bed, knocking the phone off the bedside table. A radio comes on playing "Puppet on a String". 

Tammy: (Increasingly agitated) Mike, stop messing around, Mike….. Mike

She slaps his face, bouncing up and down on the bed to wake him up. 

There is a loud banging on the wall from next door, which she ignores. She fumbles for the phone. 

Tammy: (muttering) Oh my God 

She dials 999. 

Telephone operator: Which service do you require? 

Tammy: (hesitating) Er, ambulance, quick ambulance 

Operator: Hello, caller, where are you calling from?

Tammy: The bedroom. 

Operator: Where is the bedroom? 

Tammy: Oh. 24 Acacia Avenue.. 

Operator: And what’s the problem caller?

Tammy: Mike’s not breathing.

Operator. Is he stiff? 

Tammy fumbles about under the bedclothes. 

Tammy: No, still limp. 

Operator: Is he in any danger? 

Tammy: Well he’s not breathing. 

Operator: Are there any obstructions to his airways? 

Tammy: No, I’ve got the window open. 

Operator: No, I meant physical obstructions.

Tammy. Well he’s got a tampon up his nose.

Operator. Sorry, could you repeat that please, caller? 

Tammy: Well me mum said it would stop him snoring. He snores something awful, keeps me awake all night. I need my beauty sleep, I’m a model you know. 

Operator. Have you tried removing the foreign body? 

Tammy: (indignantly) He’s not foreign, he’s my husband.

Tammy puts down the phone and tries to remove the tampons from Mike’s nostrils. 

Tammy: (Muttering to herself) I told him not to use Super Plus.

She picks up the phone again. 

Tammy: It won’t come out.

Operator. O.K. I’ll guide you through the recovery procedures.

Tammy (Muttering to herself) If he recovers from this I’ll bloody kill him.

Sound of ambulance siren in distance.

by Wayne, Sue and Sian

By W, J, Ridgway

A bent figure emerged through the swirling mist making its way slowly along the muddy lane to wards the next village, on this November evening, in the year of our lord 1790. Fifteen miles had been covered since daylight, and now evening was giving way to the dark blanket of night.

The cloaked figure was peering in to the gloom, looking for the lights of the next village. A faint flicker of light emerged. From an unexpected quarter, the Church of St Christopher, the patron saints of travelers, or was it a will - of- the- wisp! Sent to confuse the weary traveler?

As the figure fumbled for the gate and passed through, with weary feet crunching on the stony path, that passed the grave stones on either side, the closing mist making some of the head stones look gruesome, with the stone angels huge wings towering down. So disproportionate to their bodies, as if to engulf the lone figure, now so weak not seeming to care, as it slowly made it’s way to wards the pale light flickering, from the glazed colored stained glass window of the church in the shape of the cross

The cloaked figure rubbed at the window to see more clearly through the mist and grime. It gasped from what it had seen. With its back to the wall, the figure gradually worked its way to the Church door, with an open porch, a bench on either side.

The figure sank down on a bench, throwing back the hood, to reveal long chestnut hair clinging to a woman’s head with the damp.

From her cloak she wearily produced a bundle, a baby not more than a few days old, it greedily feed from her breast.

What should she do! Enter the Church and confront the spectre she had seen from the window? At least she would be warmer, and out of the now dense fog, or go on? Her weak state made her try the Church door that still had the big iron key in its lock.

It creaked as she pushed up the iron latch, in the thick oak door, peered in. Clutching the now satisfied bundle, she walked silently up the isle, leaving a trail of wet mud from her boots.

She disappeared from sight in a pew to take stock of the situation. A man knelt in prayer, now turning to a sob, in untold grief, his shoulders heaving in his distress.

An open coffin was placed in the isle, below the altar steps.

A flickering candle was placed in an iron stand at the side. A man was keeping an all night vigil before the funeral.

She came forward fearfully out of the shadows to look.

The man did not notice her in his distress. The white silk lined coffin, contained a woman cradling a newborn babe at her side, swathed in a white shroud. A Christmas rose laying between them. It was just too much for the traveller, after all that she had been through that long weary day

She let out a cry and fainted by the coffin.

The man jumped to his feet in shock and carried her gently on to a pew. He pulled a pocket flask from his coat, lifted her head and moistened her lips, with the brandy.

She stirred, opened her clear green eyes, and looked at him with terror, "Steady lass, naught to fear, I will not harm you let me put my coat round you, at least it be dry." As she weakly struggled against him touching her.

"My baby, I wasn’t my baby she murmured." The man thought she was rambling, after seeing the coffins contents.

For one wild moment when he heard the cry, it was his baby, come to life. He found a baby lying on the pew. It was put gently in its mother’s arms. The man thought, ‘I must leave the Church, or I will lose my reason, but I can’t leave these poor creatures to die in the cold’ he said to him self.

He lit his storm lantern at the church door and went to untie his horse, with the now thick fog making him blink and cough, wondered how the woman had found her way, by the look of her she had come far. Lifting her gently on to the horse, she was just able to hold the reins. The man held the baby and the lamp, leading the rider confidently through the fog.

After what seemed an eternity, the horse went quicker, nearing it’s stable and feed, of sweet smelling hay. As they entered the farmyard, lamps had come to life from the house, helping hands soon came. Woman and baby were gently carried in to the house.

Mrs. Dobson a large rosy bustling housekeeper came down the stairs, standing in the warm kitchen. With rough worn hands placed on her large hips.

"Well Mr. Dobson?" As she always addressed her husband, a short wiry man who had helped carry the strangers in

"A rum do and no mistake Mrs. Dobson." He answered

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways, it said the Lord gives, and the Lord take’s away, but I think he got it the wrong way round this time Mrs. Dobson". I think those two," he said jerking his thumb to ward the stairs," might be just the thing to take the masters mind off his own troubles"

"Hmm replied his wife, more like bringing him a whole lot more," and picked up the damp clothes of the strangers, and threw them in the wash tub with a flourish.

by E. C. Dickinson