These stories - monologues for the most part - are exercises in ekphrasis, a form of writing with a very ancient lineage. Ekphrasis means writing about works of art, particularly in such a way as to evoke the essence of those works. 

Often this is done through description. In my work I try to take a different line. I aim to evoke certain 'voices' within the picture. Sometimes the voice is that of a figure in the picture, sometimes it is that of a viewer implied by the picture: a play on point of view if you like. My aim is to engage with the effect that the pictures have on me; a leap of imagination if you like into and through another medium. I deliberately refrain from finding out any information about the picture before I start to write the text. That way I hoped to let the pictures speak to me. Only later do I revise them. 

Most of us, I suspect, consciously or unconsciously, provide a narrative to a picture when we look at it. Indeed, this is an integral part of the act of looking. Moreover, where there is space there must also be time. Even an abstract painting may appear to have no 'story', but this is false. Not only must there have been a time before the paint was applied and a time after, there is time before and after the act of looking. There is also a sense of time implied in the 'movement' of a picture, for if the 'sweep' of a line is from one point to another there has to be a time in which that movement occurs, be that ever so quick and entirely in the mind's eye. Where there is time, there is story - this was, then that happened, this changed. A story.

These stories are inspired by the pictures alongside them. The process of writing them involves allowing something in the picture to 'speak' to me. Were you to try this exercise (and I hope you will) you would come up with different stories. Of course they will reflect concerns of your own. I hope these stories contain enough artistry to provide a slightly oblique take on the pictures and the effect they have on me, which you will enjoy reading.

  Ah! You've caught me. It had to happen. My senses are clearly on the wane. I thought so. Even gods must lose them to some degree. And so you have found me, not quite sans teeth, sans eyes, sans everything. But getting there, slowly.
  You do know who I am, don't you? I am Diana, goddess of the hunt, emblem of chastity and the countryside, defender of women. You must have heard of me. You will have seen me in picture books, or read about me. Surely?
  You did not think I existed? That I was just a legend? How times change. Once you would not have entered this place to hunt without making some kind of sacrifice to me. Your fortune depended entirely on me. 
   But it is true, I have changed. Once I was beautiful, strong, athletic. Not now. Though I have taken good care to preserve my image. I have withdrawn to my beloved woods: no more public appearances for me. Let mystery and myth preserve me. And I am alone now. My nymphs are departed, all gone. I do not blame them. You know what nymphs are like, don't you? Don't you?
   Don't look so sour. You are thinking, how can a goddess become old? How can her body age so? Do I disappoint you? Young man, you should see old Jupiter these days. Absent minded and incontinent, though still with a nasty temper. Were he mortal you'd have him put away. I know what you do to your elderly. In my day we had more respect.
   Oh the curse of eternity! To have witnessed the mess you mortals have made of my beloved woods, my plains, my mountains. How dare you!
   And please keep your dogs under control.
   I see you cannot keep your eyes off my body. I do not flatter myself. You are thinking, is she worth it? Well, let me tell you, young man, you remind me too much of Acteon. 
   What do you mean, who? Don't they teach you anything in school? Acteon discovered my nyphs and me bathing in the forest. I could see his thoughts. He embarrassed me and then he annoyed me with his swagger and his leer. I turned him into a stag and set his own dogs upon him. He was torn to pieces. It did me no harm. My reputation was enhanced, and the forests remained mine. For a while.
   You understand now, don't you? I cannot let you go. You hold your head? That will be your antlers coming through. I must say, you are a fine looking beast. You will be even finer soon. And do not try to raise your gun at me, you cannot fire it with hooves. 
   You are lucky. I am no longer excited by the sight of bloodshed. So I will give you a chance. I will withhold your scent from your dogs for a while. You may even get away completely.
   Now, run!

He likes this pose. I must admit I do too. Though I can't hold it for too long. My right leg goes to sleep and it starts to fizz. My shoulder hurts, and I don't know if I can move my fingers. But I don't think he can see, and that's the main thing. The rest of me is still enough. I have my chin tucked down and I can breathe in some warm air here. My back is a little cold. And my bum. God, don't let me fart. 
  He let me see the other day. I could tell he was quite pleased. I said, you've got me flying into space, it's like I’m taking off. He said, uh huh. He's made my back and bum like lovely and warm, but they're not. I don't mind. Whoever asked the model what she thought? Maybe if I just wiggle my toes a bit, here on the right. Oh no, that's worse. Better let him just get on with it. I expect it'll hurt when I get  up.
  Don't think about it. Think of something else. Think of...Pretty Baa-Lambs. Where did that come from? Oh yeah, I was looking at it the other day in Birmingham Art Gallery with Emma. Who painted it? Why did I think of it? I don't even like it, much. Baa lambs. Bouncing around. Perhaps its because I’m not. Not bouncing at all. God, it's hard to turn your mind away sometimes. Think of, think of...Ed. OK, if I must. Ed. What about Ed? Well he seems quite nice. Older than me of course. I don't usually go for older men. My sister went out with this bloke, like ten years older than her. I thought it was really weird, like I was just eighteen and I thought he was really old. Same age as me now. What happened to him? He was a bit creepy. You could tell he fancied her. 
  Ed. He's got nice ears. And I like his tattoo. An octopus. Unusual. Talks too much about computer games. I  mean, it's all right when you're out in a crowd having a laugh, like if there's enough of you. You can move on. But not when you're having a quiet night in. I could tell he was bored watching telly. But that war game was so violent. I did for a bit and then I said I was going to bed. Like I kind of hoped he might pack it in, but I should have known better. When I got down in the morning he'd tucked himself up on the sofa, love him. He said he didn't want to disturb me.
That was nice. A lot of blokes wouldn't have bothered. Is he bothered? I don't know. Maybe he just crashed out. What do they see in it? 
   Oh God, I’m going to have to ask if I can move in a minute. I can't feel my right leg at all, except it is really cold. How long have I been here? I know its, like, professional, there's nothing in it, but I love it when he looks at me. He's really good. I can hear his brushes working. Sometimes they're scrubbing away, really digging in and it feels like he's working on me, on my skin. Sometimes they're gentle, like he's breathing on me. I don't mind who I model for really, except kids. I won't do schools. The WI class is all right. They make me tea and look after me, which is nice.
  Oh great, he says I can take a break now.  Ow, it hurts to move. Beats working, though.

Of course we make them work. It's good for them. The boys grow healthy and strong. They breathe good air, they eat good food. They are the lucky ones. They will not grow up scabrous and lame. They will not grow up diseased with the pox of civilisation. They will not know faithlessness. Instead they will know good health. They will know the value of an honest day's work. They will know to respect their betters. They will learn to be citizens.
   No-one wanted them. No-one thought them worth attention. But we did. We saw the light in their eyes, the good light, and we turned that light towards another path. A path away from wickedness, which is surely where they were going, if they had not already gone there. 
    We knew very well what they were. Thieves. Vandals. Some not fit to speak the Lord's name. But we took them in and we nurtured them and we turned their hearts and minds towards higher things. They work in the fields now where they can do no harm. They turn the good soil. They know what it is to feel the sun on their backs, the wind in their hair. They know what it is to turn in at the end of a day with an honest ache in their bones from labour given on our good land. Where else would they get that? From hiding in dark alleys, from committing crime and acting in a disorderly manner? No.
    These are the stones that no-one wanted. The rejects of society. The dregs. The dross. The very lowest of the
low. They were living in filth. They were surviving like rats. They had no fathers. They had no mothers. Their lives were shattered like the ruins of a worn out civilisation that had outlived its time and which had been broken and in which they foraged for their very lives. 
     They had no-one till we came along. We took them up and we saved them. Sent them out to another country, and
then sent them on even further, to this place, this place far away from temptation where they could not sin. We extended the hand of friendship to them and we brushed away their sins! We took from them all the knowledge they had of their depraved upbringings. We took from them the shadows of their pasts. We took from them their memories. We gave them light.
    Look at them, these fine boys. Soon they will be full grown. They won't need education, because they will know
how to work. They will be a credit to their country, this fine country that took them in when their own rejected them and abused them. We are turning them into citizens who will serve the native men and women of their new found land. She has given much to the causes of that continent far away from which she was born and to which she looked as child looks to its mother. But she too is grown now, and in return for her sacrifice she has taken these children in. They will serve us. They will be a barrier against the dark hordes that surround us and are even in our midst. They are our future, our investment, and we have served them well that when they fulfil their period  of training with us they will do so ready and willing, with hearts that are full and minds that are empty of knowledge and of wickedness, they will embark on a journey that is hard but ultimately rewarding. Not for them the ways of luxury. Not for them the ways of depravity. They will be of pure heart and pure mind, hard in body, their spirit tempered by hard labour. They had lost their way in the foul sewers of their homes in London, in Liverpool, in Belfast; places which to them are now just fading memories. 
    They will go forth, clean.

One of the things that used to  upset me when I first got out was that nothing went exactly to time. So much seemed to be happening at once. Cars everywhere, phones ringing. I saw people  walking down the street talking to themselves. I couldn't understand it. Have  they opened up the asylums? It took a while to realise they were talking to  other people on their mobile phones. All that had passed me by.
   Nothing  inside prepares you for what it's like on the out. You walk through the gate in  the clothes you went in with at the time, and it's as if you've been beamed down to a different planet. You've seen the telly, of course, but that's not the same. Nothing makes sense: you've got to learn it all from scratch. It's all so  different. I seriously thought about breaking my licence just to get back  inside.
   I’d never been without money. Now I’ve just  got my pension and
housing benefit, and that's about it. Apart from time. I’ve got plenty of that. All the rest went with the sentence. Once I’d been found guilty my wife changed her tune. She'd been quite supportive up till then. She wrote me a letter. She said she couldn't stand by me any more, the strain had been too much for her, and the family were insisting she break off contact. She said they were worried about her health. Then the divorce papers came. 
    Funny thing is, all the time I was in prison she sent me a card on my birthday. I got a little note too, just saying how things were, nothing too detailed. The last one said she was moving to Spain. She must have known I’d be up for parole. 
    I'm not expecting a card this year. She won't know where I am. But that doesn't mean I don't think about her. All the time, to tell you the truth. I'd love to know where she is. 

                                         

  "Oh, good, you've fallen asleep. At last. I’d just popped out to get a cup of tea. I’d got so parched in here. It must be the air conditioning, it's so dry. I find I drink gallons when I’m in here. I know you find it so too, from the way you like me to wet my fingers and run them across your lips. Or put a damp flannel across your forehead. You sometimes smile a little when I do that. That's how I know. It reminds me when I was little and I had chicken pox -or was it measles? - you'd sit by me and put cold flannels on my brow. Its funny, doing it for you now I can feel it all over again. Its like I’m the one who's sick, not you. Isn't that strange.
    "They'll be bringing dinner round soon. I don't think you'll want it. I’ll have it, it won't go to waste. They won't notice. And they're happy to let me get on with it. You can tell that from the way they ask if I’m all right. They don't want me to say no. You've only got to see how many they've got in; its obvious they'll take any help they can get. That's what they call modern nursing. Get the family in, 'cos there's not enough staff. We'll be like the Arabs soon, all the family crowded round the bed.
    "I put a little sugar in your tea earlier, did you notice? I thought it couldn't do any harm, and I’m worried you're not eating anything. Though I haven't told the nurse. I didn't want to. Frankly, that black one, that one in charge, I find her a bit fierce. She reminds me of a school teacher I had. What was her name? Of course she wasn't black but she had the same manner. Over efficient, if you know what I mean. I shouldn't say that, as I’m sure she's very good and very qualified. Well, they are now, aren't they? Almost as qualified as the doctors. Though its not the same. I mean, if I wanted to hear something I’d rather hear it from a doctor than a nurse, wouldn't you? I know I’m old fashioned, but it carries a bit more authority, don't you think, coming from a doctor than a nurse?
    "Now what's the time? Malcolm should be here soon. He says he always gets stuck in traffic though why he doesn't leave a bit earlier for that reason I don't know. Some people haven't the sense they were born with. Visiting time's so short, I told him, you don't want to waste it. Not with the distance you've got to come. But he never did listen, did he? Always did things his own way, our Malcolm. 
    "I'll try to get off when he gets here. Go back to the house and get you a few things and then get back before visiting time ends. I know its dark, but I know the way. I should do! It won't take me long. And then we can settle down for the night. I can tell you this, because you're asleep, but I quite like it here at night. When the nurse isn't looking I sometimes take a walk around. It's so sad. Some are sleeping but most are awake. There's no night or day here really, no beginning, no end. If it wasn't for visiting time and the doctor's rounds you could be on another planet. Planet eternity. Or something. I know what they call it, this ward. The departure lounge. I think that's so insensitive, don't you? I mean, not everyone's going to die. Not in here. I know they're all old and what not, but they're not all on the way out. Not yet. 
    "I ordered that new bed, did I say? The one I showed you, with all the electronic what-nots. Don't ask what it cost, mother, because you don't want to know. Malcolm said he'd help a bit. It'll be here on Tuesday so I’ll have to be in. They were very good on the phone, they said their men would set it up and show me how to use it. It looked lovely in the picture. I can raise it up or down just by pressing a button, so I won't have to lift. Not that you're heavy or anything, its just a bit awkward leaning over, what with my back.
    "You know, you've not stirred a muscle since I came in. I can hardly hear you breathing. I don't want to wake you but can I just move this pillow a little bit? Oh dear, you are cold. Is there a window open? It's as warm as toast in here to me. Maybe I should go and get another blanket. I’ll just go and find a nurse. Won't be a tick. Don't go away."

   Segg! Come clevig. Theym shig. Theym im, prob not surled. You cin tull by their dimmit sep and their shrev creyl. They paregs must be cos.. The yul don't flig for many yegs, not til matre. It's not
unkook to seg them intecelt with ottr speffs. They hiv been segged with carinnes, bovelines and avins. It is thenk they fid on som speffs, but this has not been segged in the wilm. Yum rembrer we segged some farls intecelting with greegs. Them uss thek far prateridge. They will not kul this greeg. The benoft to the farls is clar – yu segg how much beggid the greeg is than farls. It can ofr prateridge. Farls ha ben segged corrined by greegs, as we hiv segged lipsickers corrined by viray. 
   Greegs are mo fek than farls. We are not surl what greegs gur from farls. Though we hiv segged befo – yum rembr serings we segged calimping aloopers for  felk: we theng the aloopers gav preteridge from carulop attacks. Farls have been segged in very large gips. They gur preteridge in meny. Wen alum or in smag gips, as hek, their behal changs and they sek prateridge.
   Ah! The greeg has segged we. Segg it lerls this way. Be caf! 
   New, segg. The largit farl has giv the greeg sumteg. Segg how it feeks from the farl's wen. And new the farl is steeking the greeg. It is mooging bestid it, steking its chors.
   And new the farl has munted the greeg. Segg them rinn! Segg how the im farl rinns behek.
   We have been must prilled to segg thes, my gentroks. Must prilled!

  'And then what we did, do you remember, we set off at noon and hiked all the time until evening and then we made camp. Do you remember?' 
   'Hmm?'
   'We set out from here, I think, or maybe it was further along. We walked along the lake and then took that path up through the woods. Over there, do you see?'
   'Where?'
   'Over there. By that rock. We took the path and walked up the slope. Don't you remember?'
   'Was Gerald with us?'
   'Gerald? No. No. He was dead by then. James. You're thinking of James Frobisher.'
   'Am I?'
   'Yes. James was on leave at the time. I thought you had rather a thing for Flight Lieutenant James Frobisher.'
   'Me?' Surely not. And why do you call him that?'
   'What?'
   'Flight Lieutenant James Frobisher. In that sarcastic tone of voice.' 
   'I suppose I was jealous at the time.'
   'Jealous? Of who?'
   'James. James Frobisher. I thought him awfully fast. I wouldn't have had him along at all if my mother hadn't known his mother.'
   'I don't remember any of this.'
   'You should. You were quite the rose among thorns. Three clumsy great thorns, none too sharp, and you.'
   'Me?'
   'Yes, you. We were more innocent then, of course. You had your brother with you. You were quite safe. From me anyway.'
   'What do you mean?'
   'Don't you remember? James Frobisher had the most dreadful reputation.'
   'Why?'
   'He fancied himself as a bit of a ladies man. His idea of charm was to leer at every pretty girl and ask her straight, would she or wouldn't she? He said he was surprised how many would.' 
   'Really?'
   'Yes. I was afraid he was going to try it on with you.' 
   'Why? What did you think I would say?'
   'I don't really know. I don't think I ever thought that far. I just didn't want him trying it on, that's all.'
   'Sounds like a lot of bravado to me.'
   'Steady on. We were only eighteen or so. James was a bit older. On leave. Anyway, I didn't want him trying it on with you.'
   'Did you bring the sandwiches?'
   'They're in the bag. Want one?'
   'No thank you. I just wanted to make sure.'
   'What?'
   'That you'd brought them.' 
   'I made them.'
   'Oh yes. I thought James rather nice.'
   'I thought you did.'
   'He had lovely hair. Sort of wavy. Fair, I think. And a red sports car.'
   'I remember that.'
   'Oh yes. A lovely red sports car. They were very rare in those days.'
   'Did he take you out in it?'
   'I rather think he did.'
   'He called it his skirt catcher. He had another name for it.'
   'Did he? What?'
   'The satyr. I think it was him who was the satyr.'
   'My, you are jealous! You remember everything, don't you?'
   'I didn't know you had actually been out with him.'
   'Once or twice.'
   'And did he?'
   'What?'
   'You know. Did he ask you?' 
   'Ask me what?'
   'Ask you. Ask you the question!'
   'I’m not sure.'
   'What do you mean you're not sure. You must be sure?'
   'I’m not. I was very young and innocent then.'
   'Not too young and innocent to be riding around on your own with James Frobisher!' 
   'I didn't say I was on my own.'
   'Oh. Right. You weren't, then?'
   'I don't remember.'
   'You must remember. A girl of your sort could not forget going out with James Frobisher!'
   'What do you mean, a girl of my sort?'
   'I mean a nice girl like you. Well mannered. You had lovely manners.'
   'Did I? I expect that was Mummy. She drummed them into us. And then there was school. The only thing they did teach girls of our class then was etiquette. Nothing about babies.'
   'Babies!'
   'They really should have taught us about babies. It would have been far more useful than how to say good day to a Bishop.' 
   'Why would you want to know about babies?'
   'Darling, why do you think?' 
   'Oh. I suppose to protect against the likes of James Frobisher.'
   'If you like. Though he was a sweet boy, if you really want to know.'
   'I’m not sure I do.'
   '…There's something else you don't know, either.'
   'What's that?'
   'I said yes.'
   'You said what?'
   'I said yes. To James Frobisher.'
   'My God!'
   'And I wish I had known about babies. Because if I did I might not have said yes to him. I didn’t know what I was saying yes to really.'
   'The swine!'
   'I can't blame him. He was just a young man. And then he died.'
   'Did he?'
   'They all died. It was the war, remember?'
   'Yes.' 
   'And I had a baby. Only I didn't. Because that died too. Or it never lived, one or the other. I had a miscarriage. Quite early on.'
   'I didn't know.'
   'Why would you? It wasn't the sort of thing one talked about.' 
   'Did your parents know?'
   'Good lord, no. I just had these terrible cramps one day, and passed a lot of blood, and it was over. I had to ask Betty Shaw what it was all about. You remember Betty Shaw?'
   'I don't think I do.'
   'You do. You were rather taken with her at one time.'
   'Never mind Betty Shaw. What about you?'
   'It's all right. No harm was done. I wasn't ill or anything. And there was a war on. We had other things to think about.' 
   'But I thought you were a...you know...when we married.'
   'I was, darling. I don't count James because I didn't know what I was doing.' 
   'But you knew with me?'
   'Of course. I knew that was the real thing.' 
   'That's kind of you.'
   'You were right you know.'
   'About what?'
   'About James. He was a bit fast. Not a bit like you. You were much nicer.'

  So, you've arrived. I won't get up if you don't mind. Its not so easy now. As you might imagine. Or might not. I don't know. And you'll forgive me if I don't ask you to sit down. You probably wouldn't have the patience to wait while I tried to get the words out. 
   There. Good. I like a woman who doesn't dither. Though you've got that look that everyone seems to have nowadays. A mixture of pity, curiosity and contempt. Well, look on. Here I am. I might as well be naked for the way I’m looked at. All my vulnerabilities exposed. I’d like to say I don't mind. But I do. Not that there's anything I can do about it. You'll have recognised that. People do. 
   You've got lovely hair, you know. Lovely long tresses of gold. I bet you have the men buzzing round you like bees around a honey pot. Your mother had your hair when she was young. I remember she used to spend hours brushing it, or making me brush it. I never had it, nor her father. My grandmother did, I think. Sometimes these things skip generations. 
   Now you want to know if I want a cup of tea. No, I don't but I expect I’ll have to have one. I’ve never been a tea drinker, as you'd know if you'd kept in touch. Strong black coffee and a cigarette, that's what I want. Or a drink. God, what I wouldn't give for a fag! Only you might tell me that they were what did for me in the first place. Or if you were more honest, or less self-conscious, you'd say, go ahead, let her have one, what harm can it do now? The old girl's just about had it anyway. Neither are much fun to be aware of, I can tell you. They're both patronising.
   So what do you think of me, now that you've seen me? They should put a limit on dying. If you dither, that's it, off you go. I never dithered. That wasn't my way. Now, I can't do much else. 
   What's that you want to do? Read me a poem? The one about when I grow old I shall wear purple, that one? Of course I know it. You think it will cheer me up. I can tell you it was not written by someone who was old but by one who moaned about her life while she was still young enough to change it. I have no sympathy.
   Do you know what bed sores are like? I didn't till I went into hospital for this damned stroke. Thank god I’m out of there. But I remember. She should have written, when I grow old I shall wear upholstered pants that rub and chafe and I shall be pumped full of drugs and ignored except when I make a fuss and am told off. 
   Old age is another country, my dear. Its different, but at the same time familiar. It's as if I inhabit a picture, looking out. Ironic, don't you think?
   You smile at me. A sweet smile, but that look is still there. You can't hide it. Why should you? But what is this? You are singing. Oh my dear child don't do that. It is too painful. Your mother must have put you up to it, for I don't know how else you would know it. The Man I Love. Gershwin. Long before your time. You've a pretty voice. Go on, touch me now. Hold my hand, the dead one. I wish I could sing along with you, but maybe if I could just move this finger a little bit you will see I'm...no, you've withdrawn.

  Back in them days, doctor wouldn't come for nothing, 'less you was willing to pay. Lord, I remember when Cathy got sick falling in the river, she took bad with pneumonia. It was May and the water was running real cold from the thaw that was going on in the mountains. Must have been just above freezing, though the meadows were sweet with new grass and flowers so pretty in the sun. She'd been sent to bring in the cows for milking and somehow she had gotten herself on the bank and the ground had given way beneath her. She fell in right where it was just too deep for her to stand up in. Poor little thing, she was just turned ten. The current was going strong and she was all swept away. None of us could hear her hollerin'. I guess it was lucky that most of the river even in that kind of flood is not too deep, though it was running fast. She said she stumbled and fell and went under and under. Somehow she managed to grab a hold of some branch that was hanging low over the water, and she pulled herself along to where there it was shallow and she could get herself onto dry land. I got to hand it to that girl, she sure got courage. Weren't no river going to get her beat. No way. Anyhow, she got herself back to the farm all dripping wet and I put her straight to bed, though her Pa was all for drying her off and sending her back for the cows she hadn't brought. I told him, you let your daughter alone, I said, you let her alone. She could'a been killed in that river and she needs to get herself warm. He should get them hisself. She had come in all a shiverin' and her hands all blue and her teeth chatterin'. I got her into my nice warm bed with the warmin' pan all filled with coals from the fire and I told her to stay there. Which she did, though by the next morning I could tell there was something wrong. She was coughing and looking pale as death though her forehead felt real warm. I said to Pa, she needs the doctor, but he says, heck no, a chill will do her good, harden her up. I said, this don't look like no chill to me. And he says we'll wait and see. I knew he was thinking of the cost. The doctor was a real mean old so and so and he don't come out 'less he first sees sight of the money and I knew well as Pa we ain't got none. So I had to just hope he was right and keep a watch on her. Which I did. Night and day. First she was hot then she was cold. All the while she was wet, like the river ain't left her though I know she was sweatin' out the fever. And though I kept tellin' her that it would do her good getting it out in a good old sweat she kept slipping away from me like she was fallin' asleep in my arms. And how she cried out in her dreams and started talkin' all sorts of nonsense about some boy called John. I had to tell her hush child, don't let Pa hear you say such things. There ain't no John at home and he'd be bound to get to wondering. So I made sure he only came in when she was quiet. Which after a while, a couple of days or so she was. It took her a while to recover though and it was near a month before she was able to get up and about. Pa wanted her to get to doin' some o' the housework, sayin' we ain't got no room for guests in this house, but I said, no, you leave her be a while. She'll be better for it. But she weren't. She never was quite right again. Always sickly. I knew what that meant. So did Pa. She'd be hard to marry off and like to die young. Both came true. Pa was right, everyone had to work and she was dead from a haemorrhage before her twenty-fifth birthday. I couldn't bring myself to blame Pa for not sending for the doctor that day. He was a mean old man, that doctor and I was glad when he died. I'll say the one we got now is better. How am I to know she'd have been saved? Medicines now is so much better. Back then it was lineament same as you'd give to a horse. Snake oil, that was all it was. When I was young I'd wanted to be a doctor, though my Pappy told me to hush my mouth. I could see he was right. Still, I miss my Cathy. She'd a made some handsome farmer a good wife. It might even have turned out to be that John she spoke of, though it might not. And I'd have had grandchildren by her now, maybe great grandchildren to take some care o' me. Just me and the boys now. Pa's long gone. Died in his sleep eight years back. Heart they say. What about my heart I want to ask? Though not out loud. Not one of the boys would know what I was talkin' about and that's a fact. They'd talk of putting me away, though I know they won't . Who would cook for them and iron and sew? They ain't got no wives to wait on them so I guess I got to do it. Still, sometimes I find myself thinkin' 'bout Cathy, and the worst is I find just lately I can't remember quite what she looked like. How 'bout that? Was her hair long or short that day she fell in the river? What colour dress had she on? What colour were her eyes? How can a mother forget such things? Time ain't no excuse. All the same, come May these last few years I never can get warm, no matter how the sun shines and I sit on the old porch that is sheltered and sunny an' I just shiver. Maybe my Cathy's callin' to me in her own way. Maybe I'll answer soon. Who knows?
                                                                                                                                                                  

 
Though we're twins, you'd not know it. Michael's the younger by about an hour, and we're different as chalk and cheese. He's an office boy, always has been: slaved all day for years over a bits of paper from the time he left school. He's not gone far. Poor bleeder's married to a woman he doesn't like who won't give him the time of day, kids in a school he can't afford, a mortgage he can't really afford: he's got a belly and an ulcer. He's going bald, too! He looks so miserable, if he were a dog I’d shoot him and put him out of his misery. Me, well what you see is what you get. No fancy collar and tie for me. I wouldn't tell him but I could buy with the money in my pocket right now that little four by four he uses to take the kids to school. It would upset him to know that. And I wouldn't do it. For all he's my brother and he's nothing like me.
   I’ve always looked out for him. He was a skinny little bleeder as a kid, not like now, and always into books. He could read before he was six, when most of us were still struggling when we left school. He taught himself, more or less. It didn't do him much good because he ended up no better than the rest of us. Though in his case it was the old man's fault. Michael always got picked on at school because he was a little bit different. The problem was at home. I'd always have to stand up for him because he couldn't do it for himself. But I wouldn't cross my Dad. We had to watch some nights while Michael got a leathering. He made Mum and me stand and watch while he laid into him. He couldn't ever pick on someone his own size.
   I never knew what it was about Michael that pissed him off, but something did. In the end the loony bin was the best thing for him, though it's not easy to say that about your own brother. They put him away when they caught him trying to kill a neighbour's dog. He'd done other stuff too. Weird stuff. They had to put the dog down because Michael had made such a mess of it, and then they put Michael away. He stayed in for about a month. Meanwhile, the family broke up. Police and social workers were nosing round for a while, and very soon the old man just upped and left. To this day I don't know where he went. He could be dead for all I know, and I hope he is. But Michael took it bad for some reason. You’d have thought he'd have been glad but no, he just kept saying, poor Dad, poor Dad till they gave him some stuff to make him go to sleep for a while. Which he did for a week. After that he seemed better and then they let him out. But he wasn't the same. He was still quiet, but he'd changed. He went back to school. He kept his head down. He didn't read no more.
   Mum took it hard, him being put away and Dad running off, but she never blamed Michael for it. We all had to cope with the shame though it was mostly her. People used to talk. She'd been religious before, but the priest was as bad as the rest of them and she stopped going and sort of shut herself away. I got out, left home. I messed around a bit, got into a bit of trouble, and went into the army as soon as I could; and Michael got an office job in a sawmill. He stayed at home.
   Now Mum's gone, and here we are, sitting in the solicitor's waiting to hear the will. There's no need, I know what's in it. He doesn't, but I do. She told me a long time ago. Most of what she had, the house and all, is his. She said she owed it to him. Him! After all I did. She said he'd never had a fair chance, and that I’d always been the stronger and though I’d had my ups and downs I'd got on fine on my own. That's what she thought.
   He's worried now because he thinks it will have to be split between us, or that I’ll try to do him down. I know he's afraid of me. I’ll probably let him think I want it for a while, and then I’ll say to him one day, No, Michael, it's all right, it's what Mum wanted: you carry on. He'll argue for a bit then and try to give me back my half because he feels guilty; until his wife talks him out of it. Not that I’m doing it for her. But I’ve got my soft side and he's my twin brother and that's the way it is.

  My Lady Godiva steps back from the balcony where she has been giving her weekly address to the people of Coventry. I close the doors behind her.
   “Shall I summon his Lordship now, Madam?” I ask.
   My Lady looks weary. “Not yet, Tom” she says. “I must catch my breath.”
   “Indeed, Madam,” I say, bowing low. “I thought you were particularly good today.” I pour wine into a goblet that I have placed ready on a low table beside her chair, and indicate with a gesture a dish of her favourite pastries beside it.
   Her fool of a husband enters the room unannounced.
   “Forgive me, my dearest,” he says, “But I must speak with you urgently.”
   He sees many things as urgent, though none are of course, not now that my Lady has the ascendancy.
   He asks some damn fool question about the wearing of garters at the forthcoming procession of Saints and Servants. She looks bemused, as she might, and I take the matter in hand. I remind her that our aged Bishop will be present and that he is a stickler for tradition. 
   “Isn't he friends with the Archbishop?” she says. 
    I smile.
   “His likely successor,” I say to her husband, while nodding to my Lady, “Is a man of more modern views who may in due course look upon the wearing of garters with a different eye.”
   “Then we shall let the Bishop have his day!” my Lady says delightedly, and claps her hands, dismissing her husband. 
   But before my Lady can dismiss me I tell her that the morrow is Saint Ertha's day. “She is the patron saint of all who clean armour,” I say, refilling her goblet. “A most onerous task, I’m sure you will agree, madam, and the staff wish to see her day observed.” 
   I offer now my discreetest cough, which my Lady knows is enough to remind her of our bargain. For I know the truth about her famous ride naked through the streets of Coventry. It was not to save her people from another round of taxes. It was the sort of game that bored married couples sometimes play, a dare if you like. Only she wasn't quite honest. She contrived to wear a gown of flesh coloured silk, 'to keep out the cold'. Ha! She could not resist playing to the crowd, who lapped up the idea of her humiliation. I learned of all this from a cousin of mine, her lady's maid, God rest her soul, who was privy to her secrets. So I played a little game myself. I arranged to be caught peeping and feigned my blindness. Oh how I begged for mercy before her in the street. She saw quick enough that by pardoning me she but would seal the love of her people for ever. Thus she became what she wanted, a heroine and a household name. Now the donations pour in; her image is everywhere. She has no need of taxes. And the people flock to hear her mindless prattle every week. As you can see, we all play our parts to perfection.
    I remind her that the King's messenger awaits her pleasure. This she likes.
   “Tell my husband to meet us in the reception room immediately” she says, with an imperious gesture. 
   “Your servant, Madam,” I say, and bow, suitably low.

  Oh yes I had him, he wasn't paying attention as he should have been, and the sword went down quick and heavy and the blood spurted out of him and it was all I could do to stop it splashing on my tunic, this one he gave to me, though I shouldn't have worn it but it was necessary a part of the disguise and if I hadn't he would have suspected something and he was so fiery and tender I had to watch what I said all the time but in the end he fell for me as he had to, though I don't think it was just my looks because he could have had anyone he wanted he was so handsome and so much in command that no woman could resist him and even I had to remind myself of the reason I was here and he got so drunk I thought at one time he was going to take me and if he had tried to I don't know what I would have done because I felt something for him, maybe it was the way he talked about how it felt to be in command of such a huge army any man of which would do his bidding and how the responsibility hung heavy on him sometimes though he had managed to keep it under control, and he said he had never told anyone else and if he were to suggest it to anyone it would be seen as weakness and his enemies would take it as a sign to strike, because a man like him has to be on guard all the time, and I knew what he meant because as a woman at the head of her people I too have to be on guard only doubly so because they would hold me in contempt if they could and so I have to be ruthless and just a little unpredictable, for they are like sheep wanting to be led, and this he knew I think, and for a second I thought perhaps we could be more than enemies, even allies and who knows maybe even more than that, but if it wasn't for my maid who drew me back at the last minute even as I was about to fall for him when she saw my hesitation and made to take up the sword herself though he was sleeping and I was gazing on his beard so fine and the sweet blush of his cheeks and the strength in his arms, and I knew that if I let her seize the moment I would lose my name and that would mean disgrace and certain death before too long, and so I struck his head from his shoulders and it came clean off in one blow and now I hold it here upon my lap while I mourn for him just a little knowing he would have made a worthy mate though he would have done the same to me for this is the way of politics for real, yet I wonder, can I at least say we are together now in history forever?

  Sometimes in my dreams I fly high above the world. I