Kitty Gilthorpe never troubled about the weather, she walked her dog, Rolo, every day whether it was sunny or windy, sleeting or scorching, foggy or frosty. Her walking boots lived by the door with her sturdy stick.

Which was why Rolo found the couple stuck in their car in a snowdrift on the way to hospital with no signal for their phones.

Kitty Gilthorpe was born practical. Before you could say ‘got it sorted’ she had them back to her cottage and the babe born on her kitchen floor.

It was a boy and they called him Rolo Gilthorpe Brown.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Sam scooped up child and oxygen cylinder.
“Okay Bill, we’re gonna run. Is that OK? I won’t drop you.”
William nodded, and Sam set off down the stairs as fast as he could safely go. Out of the door they went, and across the grass to the waiting helicopter. Sam ran as fast as he could, silently thanking God for all the hours he spent in the gym. As he reached the chopper, the door opened and he handed his burden into the arms of one of the waiting crewmen. He jumped into the machine, hearing gunfire behind him and felt something sting his shoulder.
“Bastards,” he said. “Anybody else hit?”
“Yeah. One.” Rod said.
“Bad?”
“No. Shoulder. Flesh wound.”
“Okay. I’ll have a look after we’ve settled Bill. You come sit with him and hold him so he’s sitting up. And chat to him. I don’t want him going back to sleep yet.”
“Right. I will. But what about you? Are you hit?”
“Sort of. Just a scrape across the biceps. I’ll spray it and shove a plaster on it.”
He suited action to words, before turning his gaze towards the boss of the jumpsuit men.
“Is there any problem with them shooting at the chopper?”
“Nah. It’s armoured. Even the glass. And they don’t seem to have any serious shooters. Mostly sawn offs, a couple of two-twos and a few handguns.”
“Good. I’ll look at your bloke’s shoulder as soon as. Can you get him out of his jumpsuit?”
“Will do.”
Sam turned his attention to the child in Rod’s lap. He grinned down at him and carefully removed the oxygen mask.
“How you doing Billy Boy?”
“I feel awfully sick.”
“I can give you an injection to stop that.”
He saw William’s involuntarily wince.
“What is it little man? Did they hurt you when they injected you with their drugs?”
“Yes. They hurt me a lot.”
Sam stroked his head.
“Well we won’t give you an injection then. I have some pills, though they won’t work quite as well.”
William studied his face for a moment.
“Will you hurt me if you give me an injection?”
“No. I promise I won’t.”
The little boy held his sleeve.
“Then you can give me a shot. I feel so very sick.”
“That’s a boy.”
Sam took a local anaesthetic spray from his bag and lifted the sleeve of William’s T-shirt. What he saw there made him tighten his mouth.
“That arm looks a bit sore. Is the other one the same?”
“Yes.”
Rod hugged the small figure very tightly and his face was stony. Sam managed a grin for William.
“Leg then?’
William nodded and Sam sprayed the small thigh liberally. Then he prepared the anti-nausea shot. Before William had a chance to flinch the injection was done.
The little boy was jubilant.
“I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Good. So will you trust me enough to let me give you a shot of antibiotics? You are very cold and you might have picked up a bug.”
“Yes. You won’t hurt me.”
Sam swallowed around a big lump in his throat then gave his small patient a shot of penicillin.
“Can somebody open my bag?” he said. “There’s a red jumper in the top, and I need it.”
A hand passed him the soft wool and he pulled it over William’s head.
“Arms through. It’s much too big but it will help to warm you. And now, stick your legs inside this sleeping bag. Better?”
William actually managed a little giggle before rubbing his face in the softness of the sweater.
“It smells like my Daddy and it’s as soft as clouds. Can I go sleep now?”
“You can. Cuddle into uncle Rod and keep nice and snuggly.”
William turned into his uncle’s huge chest and gave a small sigh before falling asleep.
“Sam,” Rod said “this jumper is cashmere.”
“And? That child is cold. No contest. Now I’m going to look at this gunshot wound before the boomer boys get back.”

From The Cracksman Code by Jane Jago You can also listen to this on YouTube.

When the sensible wife of a well-to-do sheep farmer appeared at the back door with a request for a love philtre Nanny was surprised.
But she invited the woman in and sat her by the kitchen fire with a mug of camomile tea.
“It’s Amos. He don’t want me no more. Set his eyes on a chit of seventeen summers. With a big belly she swears is his.”
“Wouldn’t be Widow Wossname’s girl would it?”
“It would.”
Nanny sighed.
“You go on home and leave this to me.”
Once the woman was safely away, Nanny swore a bit and went out to talk to the bees.
An hour later a certain widow was banging frantically on the front door with a swarm of bees buzzing about her head.
“Help me, please.”
Nanny looked at her sternly.
“You and your daughter have got to stop trying to foist her brat on every farmer in the valley.”
“Well somebody has to take responsibility.”
“The actual father?”
“She don’t know who it is.”
“There has to be one that isn’t married…”
The widow spread her hands in a gesture of defeat.
“I’ll have her wed by Thursday.”
The bees flew away.

©janejago

… or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago

ahsa (noun) – of writers the dreadful feeling experienced in the moment when they realise a plot line is not going to work

awamped (adjective) – slightly damp and smelling of embrocation

lieks (noun) – soup vegetable with the flavour of elderly socks

berhand (adjective) ambidextrous when under the influence of rough cider

clamerous (adjective) – of children in the back of a car demanding to know if we are ‘there yet’

concrend (noun) – inferior building material

delting (verb) – of BDSM the beating of a willing slave with barely cooked spaghetti

enxt (adjective) – attempting to camouflage anxiety by the wearing of a lot of beige knitted clothing

finsih (noun) – minor Scandinavian dialect

nemies (noun) – small Andean rodents often kept as pets by geography teachers

perdick (adjective) – resembling a flaccid penis

probaly (adverb) – of finger pointing very specific threat level

taht (noun) – estuarine pronunciation of tart

wasteat (noun) – the pointed end of the right breast

wriign (verb) – of country dancing or folk singing the action of being persistently half a second behind the beat

yjay (adjective) – birdlike and maliciously inquisitive

Nobody was jealous of Morag.

She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t young and she had a hard life travelling around, doing back breaking work on the land. She had no money for holidays or new clothes, no smartphone or smart TV, her tiny caravan was too hot in summer and too cold in winter. She had no human companionship, and spent her days working, knitting or walking with her dog.

Morag knew well no one envied her. But she was fine with that. All that mattered to Morag was there was nobody in the world she was jealous of at all.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The small round tent with it’s stippled canvas sat under the spread of an oak tree on the edge of the showground. All around rural folk talked rural patter about lambing and brewing, the price of rape by the acre and the eroding of environmental subsidies.
I didn’t feel as though I could bear another hail-fellow-well-met conversation with another farmer, which would begin with a friendly smile and end with a polite one, painted on just as they beat a rapid retreat back to the beer tent or the show ring.
the conversations followed an unavoidable and inevitable pattern.
“So what you going to do with those acres up on Claw Moor now you’ve bought them? Farm sheep?”
“Farm wind.”
A moment of confusion which would change to a quickly hidden hostility.
“The Moor is a beauty spot you know.”
“So is the world.”
A puzzled frown.
“I don’t see -“
“No. Very few do. I quite understand.”
Then the choice between rancour and retreat. Retreat winning most often, to my relief.
So the fortune teller’s tent seemed to me as much a place of temporary respite from all that as a possible entertainment for a few minutes. Besides, I could do with the promise of a tall, dark stranger – especially one who didn’t run away as soon as I started talking about my farm.
Inside it was cool and dim, the scent of verdigris and myrrh gentling the air. The fortune teller was young, not the wise old woman I had expected. She said nothing, nodding regally to the chair opposite her and then lifting a crystal ball from the table between us and holding it in her hands. Silence spread into the sounds outside and absorbed them as my gaze became fixed on the young woman’s dark eyes.
Was it vision or speech? I will never now know, but for a moment reality was banished to the sidelines and something happened. I saw a barren earth devoured by her children, embraced beneath the sleeping flood of rising oceans and the moon riding the skies as sole witness to the coming of a time that did not know humanity.
Then I was standing under the oak tree in the shade that cast me apart from the sun soaked showground, the jollity of ice cream vans and warm real ale, listening to the announcer telling us the winner of the Waggiest Tail contest…

E.M. Swift-Hook – You can listen to this on YouTube.

The vicar’s cousin Luigi turned up on a visit.
Where the vicar was a portly, blunt-nosed khaki-skinned utilitarian sort of a critter his cousin was svelte and smooth with eyes of burning gold.
The village sucked in a collective breath and the sensible female populace gossiped behind its work-roughened hands.
The silly ones fell like ninepins.
Matters came to a head when the daughter of the blacksmith and the niece of the lady of the manner indulged in a bout of face slapping and hair pulling outside church on a Sunday morning.
Luigi found it all highly amusing.
Nanny didn’t share his amusement. She wandered over and stood with her hands on her hips.
Luigi curled his lip. “Was there something, gnome?”
“There was. Knock it off. Or else.”
“Or else what?” He belched a small blue flame.
Nanny took a handful of something out of a pocket and blew.
It’s stupid to underestimate an earth witch, and it’s even stupider to flame a handful of potato flour. The explosion ignited the dragon’s eyebrows, and was the cause of much rustic humour.
Luigi hasn’t been to visit again.

©janejago

Rocky Road to Love by Cindy Tomamichel

The Past Meets The Future in The Present

I’m not much of a one for romance books but I do find the occasional dive into the genre to be a worthwhile diversion and this is a good example of that.
In her fascinating ‘Druid’s Portal’ series, the author is very much committed to the theme of men from the past and women from the present getting together – and in an odd way this is an extrapolation of that theme, only here it is the man obsessed with the past (an archaeologist) and a woman obsessed with the present/future (a prospecting) geologist.
Sandra is trying to save the town of Broken by finding a new source of mineral wealth in the surrounding desert, but Max is there to make sure that in doing so the mines don’t destroy any precious archaeological traces. It all plays out against the backdrop of the vast and harsh Australian landscape and with the warmth and tenderness of true friendships, love and betrayal.
The writing is excellent, the story is classic romance and the characters are a perfect fit for the plot and setting.
If romance is your thing, you should snag this right now, sit back, relax and be transported to the Outback.

E.M. Swift-Hook

This classic love story is redolent with the harshness of its desert setting whilst at the same time celebrating the twin values of love and friendship. A feisty heroine and a hero with issues have a lot to overcome on their rocky road.
Our heroine searches for her grandfather’s legacy, but this could put her in direct conflict with the hero who mistrusts her motivation.
Of course our archetypal hero and heroine fulfil their destiny, but they do have to overcome a lot of misunderstandings to get there.

Four stars and recommended for lovers of romance.

Jane Jago

The feud started when the neighbour painted their shared drainpipe a shade of puke green. Ron had objected, of course, but the neighbour just laughed. Ron got revenge by refusing to throw the children’s balls back and started a collection in his pigeon shed. 

The neighbour got a cat to hunt Ron’s pigeons. Ron got a dog to hunt the cat.

Ron’s grandchildren were bullied by the neighbours kids in school. And then one of the grandchildren was arrested for knifing a neighbour’s kid.

Ron’s daughter came to his house, tearful.

“I hope you’re bloody satisfied now, Dad ,” she said.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Because life can be interesting when you are a character in a video game…

Whatever else the Expansion had done, the beach steps were the same. And so was the fishing pier. The beach itself was unchanged too and it didn’t take her very long to realise that wherever Ruffkin had gone, he wasn’t there.
Beginning to feel concerned now, she ran back up the steps and headed for One Eye’s stall. But it was gone. For a moment she felt her throat constrict with misery and fear. Her eyes misted with tears.
“Hey up young’un!”
The familiar voice had her spinning round. There, across the way from where the stall had been was a proper shop with a sign outside that read ‘One Eye Rye Provisions’. One Eye himself stood in the door grinning like he’d just caught the biggest fish in the Silent Sea.
Milla had to resist the temptation to rush over and throw herself at him. Instead she managed to restrain herself and dodging around some barrels, followed him into the shop.
One Eye swept his arms out to show the crowded shelves and bulging baskets all around. “Seems like we had the Expansion and I have to say I think I like it. I’m no longer having to buy fish from those Visitors, now they have to come to me to buy their provisions.” He grinned again and gestured towards her. “And look at you.”
For the first time, Milla glanced down and realised she was wearing a very different outfit from before. Now she was dressed like all the adult ryeshor, the elegant shimmering robes, split to accommodate her tail and her body was longer, sleeker and smoother.
“Oh my!” It was a very odd feeling.
“See? You are all growed up now.”
But Milla barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the pendant which was now definitely glowing and maybe even pulsing slightly. Holding it up she showed One Eye.
“What do you think…?”
He wrinkled his snout. “No idea on that young’un. But I’m aguessing you’ll be finding that out before too long. That’s how things go after Expansions.”
Which was what reminded Milla of why she had come to see him. Letting the pendant fall back around her neck she spoke quickly. “Have you seen Ruffkin? He wasn’t there when I woke up. I thought he might…”
Something in One Eye’s expression sucked the last words into silence and the breath from her lungs. He reached over and patted her shoulder gently.
“Well that is the thing about Expansions. We don’t all… Well, some times some of us just… Well…”
“Well what?”
“Vanish. Some people just aren’t there anymore.”
Milla shook her head.
“No. Not Ruffkin. What did he ever do to deserve vanishing?”
“Excuse me.”
The door was filled by a robe-clad ryeshor, wearing amulets, rings and wristlets and holding a staff that glowed, runes dancing in the air around it.His red robe glimmered and shimmered around him almost as if it were a living thing.
Clearly a Visitor.
Oddly, a ryeshor Visitor.
Milla blinked.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, good people. I’m not from around here but if I could be of any assistance? I do run to a location spell.”
Visitors had never spoken to Milla before. She had thought for a while they maybe couldn’t see her, until she found they would step around her if she was in their path. She looked instinctively towards One Eye but he just gave her a reassuring grin.
“I – I would be most grateful,” she mumbled, wondering if the Visitor could hear her now.
It seemed he could because he gave a slight grin and gestured with his staff. A spray of sparkling runes exploded around him as he released a spell.
“I hate to ask,” he said as the dazzling shimmers faded again, “but I am a little short on the essentials for my ventures. Is there anything available as recompense for locating this canine?”
Milla shuffled her feet a bit.
“He wants to know what’s the reward for helping you find Ruffkin,” One Eye said.
“Oh!” She knew her collection pouch was empty and she didn’t have anything else except… “You can have this.” She held up the pendant. She had no idea what it did but whatever that was it wasn’t going to be worth more than Ruffkin’s life.
The robed ryeshor Visitor bowed elegantly. “That is a treasure beyond price. For that I will not only locate the encaved canine, I will travel with you to ensure you redeem him safely.”
“Er… Right. Encaved?”
The Visitor nodded. “My location spell is telling me that even now your beloved companion animal is beneath the ground. Under that pyramid over there, in fact, if I am not misled by my magics.”
“Under?” Milla squeaked the word. “Poor Ruffkin! I’ve got to find him.”
“Fair lady, I shall accompany you and keep you safe from all danger.”
“I’m Milla,” she said quickly, wondering why it was whenever they spoke to locals the Visitors all began sounding like this, but amongst themselves, they seemed much less formal.
“And I am the noble Firecaster Pewpowerpwnsyou.” He bowed lavishly. “Your servant, Lady Milla.”
Behind her One Eye cleared his throat.
“You’d better take this, young’un if you going on a venture. Provisions.”
Milla took the small pack One Eye was holding out and shrugged it onto her shoulders. Yes, she supposed she was.
She was going on a venture.
With a Visitor.
Her.
Little Milla.
On a venture with a Visitor.
It was unbelievable. If she hadn’t been so worried about Ruffkin she would have been out and out excited at the thought.

We will return to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook next Sunday.

Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology.