New term, new him

'Nine there were, almost a clan', grandpa said.  I leaned on his arm, whispered, 'Gramps, when I'm big as you, gonna be a buzzard an' fly off a bit.’

Sandwich sat safe in plastic bag - an' choc'late for energy, just in case.

Plus mac, whistle an' drink. Helped each other over th'  gate into Muffin meadow, along the valley to th' hill, then, up puffin' we went to the very top, peered down at villages an' all. 

Binoc'lars in hand, watched them buzzards soarin' high in the sky.

Ignoring the rushed-rough hollering, lost in his own quiet world, boy stretched, yawned a cavern, gazed at buttercup flecked field, closed eyes, thought.  ‘Last week, the sun shone, 

grandpa an' me went about wearin' shorts, thick socks, walkin' boots, crinkled dubbed bright.) 

Bus groaned to a stop, churned fumes. Boys, girls, push-shove for seats clucking high pitched and voice breaking.

Lunchboxes post-breakfast raided, smiles, yells, nudges, whispers, ‘Do a swap, what you got?’ ‘Nuttin' special - just cheese.’ (iding th'  pork pie and crisps!

Books juggled, shuffled, quickly opened, elbows will perch pen-scratched surface. Pencil, eraser sought, retrieved, all hidden in ripped plastic bag with  a silver foil-wrapped biscuit. Project completed - just. 

Groaned over blobs, blots, bleatings ' an'  curses ripely unready for another term of boring, useless lessons.

.. .. ..

Winte was a might cruel. Was freezing outside.  We sort of laughed cos ice came in an'  stuck to  th' windows of a near month even tho we kept chippin' it off. '

Gran died soon after.  I cried, searched for a something now but gone, even a scarf. Gramps stopped speaking, grew whiskers he'd never showed afore, now grey thick ‘Who cares whether Holidays or not, 

crackers, cake, trifle, all a load of tosh.’ 

These days  he only has one bath a week an' he don't shave  often an' only  one side.  But we love him anyway

One day he said, ‘I’m off for a walk. Coming boy?

Off we went, him in his old dressing gown, me in a vest and shorts.   'Bloody cold, Gramps said.

Went near two miles an' nobody missed us.  Had a great look at th' buzzards.   Tried to c ount em, thought five or six.. but maybe a seventh in the distance.  Great scruff it were.  

Both went down with colds an' my bum was sore for weeks.  Ever so sad it was.

We all cried.  Excepting Gramps. 

Reviews

[LisaCarol]

Very descriptive and nostalgic. Took me back to my own childhood, the sadness of the end of summer and then the end of my own grandfather’s life. Your writing always inspires. Thank you for sharing.

[Pete]

very sweet and packed with deep, touching, intricate details. am glad that at least gramps wasn't considered an old buzzard. after all, we can choose our friends but not our relatives. love them for who the are - oddities and all. couldn't help but smile as i read. nice work.

[Olivia Bant]

Nice one again, Emma. Brings back some childhoods memories. Never grew up with a grandpa, but surely with a grandma. I pictured myself in this like the little boy. Love it.

[emmajoygreen]

Whether grandpa or grandma, we need someone from another generation to remember - they make precious history. Thank you so much for leaving your thoughts, Olivia.

[Lore Keeper]

Very whimsical, and imaginative. Could vividly see each scene as it played out in my minds eye.

[emmajoygreen]

Thank you so very, very much much, you've left such appreciative words! I love writing stories. Can, as with this post, see things happen as I'm writing, words find the tale as I go along, there's little or no pre.planning beforehand. Want to get into flash fiction to be honest. Wishing you a very happy October, Lore Keeper.

[Davidgeo]

Are you a fan of TS Eliot? You don't write like him exactly but the way you combine prose and poetry reminds me of a couple of his poems. The Waste Lands is an obvious one. You both write stories with your poetry. I prefer to describe pop cultural emo s**t and pop psychology in short bits... way easier to bring substance to the void that way (also because i'm lazy)... Thommy Stearns and yourself bring more art to the craft with that style. I'm more of a clever commercial.

[emmajoygreen]

Thank you so much for your comments, and yes, I'm very much a TS Eliot fan. As said above I love writing stories, find prose comes with its own visuals as I put 'pen to paper' or whatever. Your words are much appreciated.

[Ken Simm.]

This is so exact. It could be the memories of any of us. There are parts I find particularly delightful. Yawning a cavern for instance.
You have displayed wonderful story telling skills here. And with dialect. In fact a delight throughout even the sad parts.

[emmajoygreen]

Dear friend, no matter what I write, you leave such generous words and - after many years, you're still very kind, inevitably finding this or that to mention. As you know, I love writing prose and am immensefly fond of some of the people or events that edged their way into this or that tale!
Often things.. just.. happen.. sans.. invitation!
Seriously thinking of trying flash fiction although am apt to over-write: controlling words is a problem for me! Wishing you and your Northern world a peaceful and beautiful October, sir Simm

[Ken Simm.]

Go for it.

[Sami Khalil]

Good story of a boy growing up and his interactions with grandparents. Very detailed and effective.
Not sure if the buzzards symbolize death in this story or not?!
A big family indeed of 9.

[emmajoygreen]

If buzzards have anything to do with death, Sami, their mention was more for their look and call high in the sky than any thought of death! See how casual a writer I am!!! Now I have to research that possibility. As to buzzards, once counted thirteen of them overhead seemingly floating and certainly soaring! Many thanks for your generous words, Sami. Hope October is a very happy month for you.

[Sami Khalil]

Wowzy woooo! I agree wholeheartedly. And, you are welcome muchly.

[emmajoygreen]

Smiling at you know-what you have written, Sami!

[DIVYA]

New term...New him...Such a beautiful and touching story about growing up. I was lost in a child's animated world, of schools, buses and friends' chatter. And then, the sad happenings, elders dying and innocence waning, it's time to grow up. Yet the sunny, play-filled days and the lovely meadows and hilltops never go away. Absolutely enjoyed and loved this poem.

[emmajoygreen]

You leave the most wonderful reviews, Divya, thank you. I truly trust your opinions, know you would always be truthful, sincere and all. Sending a big smile via air currents, plus crossed fingers for luck! :)