It's not my fault, by Peter Morford

A message found on Mr Gould’s smart phone.

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Dad,

I know you’ll be surprised to receive this attachment as we never write to each other. Since Mother divorced you there seemed to be nothing to say. So I’ll say it anyway.

I heard through the grapevine that you are moving to an open prison and release is imminent.

Don’t come back.

You may not know that Mum married a coach driver – yes, the one who drove us on a tour of the Dolomites in 2017. George is a decent man. He will never be rich.

Thanks to you, Molly and I were privileged kids. Private schools prepared us for University and great careers. We had summer holidays in exotic places and ski resorts at Christmas. Home was always full of guests, friends and clients. We had a paddock for Molly’s horses, swimming pool and a fleet of cars. We lived the life.

To celebrate my A Level results we four plus Molly’s boyfriend and my girl were off  to Sri Lanka. First class of course. After that I would start my studies towards an MBA at Harvard. And then? I expected something powerful in business and politics.

Three weeks later, sated by the sunshine, sights and smells of that beautiful island, we landed in the dark at Heath Row, tired and happy. We cleared customs and Immigration and headed for the exit. We could see our hotel limo waiting for us and the courier’s sign with our name on it.

Standing right by the exit were four policemen, line abreast. One officer stepped towards us.

“Mr. Gould, Mr Jeremy Gould?”

“Yes.”

“You are under arrest. Come with us please. The rest of your party can go.”

You were handcuffed and thrust into the car and driven away. You know the rest. A few weeks awaiting your trial. Then the trial itself when your finance and investment company was revealed to be a fraud. Investors had lost millions. You were damned by the contents of your phones and computers, revealing money laundering, embezzlement and tax evasion. You were sentence to ten years. Your assets would be seized and our nightmare had begun.

What assets? Our elegant house was mortgaged for more than its market value. All the cars are leased. Your only asset was a few thousands in the bank. Your company would be worthless. Where was the alleged £35m which the court decided you had stolen?

Mother, Molly and I were, crammed into a 7 th floor flat in - but you don’t need to know where. I lost my place at Harvard. At eighteen I had to find a job and use my computer skills. Mother applied for a nursing post. Molly moved to a nearby Comprehensive school.

And what am I doing now, six years after your conviction? I suppose you’d call me a computer hacker working for the Police. I’ll find out where you have hidden “your” money.

Traitor, am I? It’s not my fault.

Ever-Green Palace, by Bethany Rivers

 

I travelled the desert of hunger for a hundred years

thirsting for the goodness and discernment

I thought I did not have.  But I followed the call

 

of the wild geese who announced my place

in the family of things, over and over, until

I had no choice but to listen.  Following their call,

 

I came upon the Ever-Green Palace, feathered walls of leaves,

blackbirds and wrens nesting, steps and streams of light

along the central aisle.  The way opened out

 

like a Tibetan Monastery – the symmetry of grass and trees,

a prayer of stillness, in every blade, every leaf,

singing the smallness and the greatness

 

of creation, the same as every breath I take,

with every step I come nearer and nearer to the throne

grown especially for me, and so I finally understand

 

it is time for the corona of spring

to embrace and bless me, an offering from the hands

of our beloved Persephone.

The labours of Hercules in Shropshire, by Peter G. Shilston

 .Many thousands of years ago, before half of Britain was covered in ice, the River Severn flowed north, into the Dee estuary. But then the ice came, and when it at last retreated, the god Zeus spoke to Hercules and said, “It is my desire that the Severn should now flow southwards. Take your club and beat out a new channel for the river”.

Hercules took his club and began his labour at the northern end of the new river-bed. But the god of the northern marshes, fearing that his wetlands would be drained, sent out his reed-girls to distract Hercules. And the reed-girls said, “Leave your work, Hercules, and come with us, and we will show you pleasures beyond imagining!” But Hercules answered, “Go away! Come back when I’ve finished!” and he continued with his work. But he was thinking so much about the beauty of the reed-girls that he beat out his channel shallower than he intended, so some of the wetlands survive to this day.

As Hercules worked further southwards, the river god, annoyed that he had not been consulted, sent river-nymphs to distract Hercules. The river-nymphs danced round Hercules and sang, “Leave your work, Hercules, and come with us, and we will show you pleasures beyond imagining!” But Hercules answered, “Go away! Come back when I’ve finished!” But he was so confused by the nymphs dancing in circles around him that he lost all sense of direction, and the course of the river-bed he was beating out, through where Shrewsbury now stands, instead of being a straight line, now ran in great loops and meanders.

Hercules now reached a line of hills and began to beat a passage through them. But the god of the hills, foreseeing that men would come and cut down his trees to fire their furnaces, and blacken his rocks with their smoke, sent woodland dryads to distract Hercules. The dryads sang, “Leave your work, Hercules, and come with us, and we will show you pleasures beyond imagining!” But Hercules answered, “Go away! Comeback when I’ve finished!” But he was so eager to sample the pleasures that the dryads had promised that he stopped he work early, so that the Ironbridge Gorge was narrower than intended, and it remains a place of fast-flowing and dangerous waters to this day.

At last Hercules finished his labours, and the Severn now flowed southwards in a new path. And Hercules went and sat down to rest in the Quarry gardens, and he called out, “Ho! Reed-girls and water-nymphs and tree-dryads! I’m finished at last! Where are the pleasures beyond imagining that you promised me?” But there was no answer, for they had all gone away. And Hercules smashed his club on the ground in frustration, causing a great pit which is now the Dingle gardens. But eventually he fell asleep, exhausted by his labours.

The god of the River Severn saw him asleep and thought, “Now I’ll have my revenge! Reject the pleasures offered by my water-nymphs, did he? Not to mention the reed-girls and dryads too! I’ll cast a spell on him so that he’ll never be able to enjoy such pleasures again!” And he cast the spell, but Hercules did not realize it till he awoke.

Men later came and erected a statue of Hercules in the Quarry gardens. The river-god was already angry because, thanks to the labours of Hercules, he now faced a very long and weary route to the sea; and this made him angrier still. His anger continues to this day; and every few years he sends down a flood, which often fills the Quarry gardens and surrounds the statue of Hercules, but he has never yet managed to topple it. And if you go to the Quarry gardens today, you can still see Hercules, with his lion-skin and mighty club and his gigantic muscles – but if you look closely you will notice that, thanks to the river-god’s curse, he is obliged to wear an improbably tiny fig-leaf.

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