Dragon dropped out of the sky to where a plump white virgin was shackled against a rock wall. She shrieked squeakily… 

“Halt foul beast.” The voice was more shaky than commanding, and it emanated from a steel-clad knight astride a bored-looking destrier. Horse and dragon eyed each other, and horse offered the equine equivalent of a shrug.

The maiden clasped her hands across her ample bosom as the young knight hefted his broadsword in an unsteady hand.

“Boo…” dragon laughed.

Horse took matters into his own hooves. And bolted.

Dragon ate the virgin. 

He belched a single flame…

©️jj 2018

It’s difficult being good, because bad girls have all the fun.

Which is probably why I found myself sitting on the pavement outside the Dog and Duck late one Saturday night. I blinked owlishly at the long denim-clad legs that blocked my vision. Came a deep-chested chuckle and I looked up, and then up some more to find myself looking into the amused face of a very tall man with a blond beard. He grinned down at me.
“How’d I get out here?”
“On my back…”
I must have looked disbelieving because he crouched down in front of me.
“Stand up and have a look inside.”

I don’t usually do what people tell me but there was something compelling about the big guy so I heaved myself onto my feet and walked to the pub doorway. Inside it was chaos. There were punches and bottles being thrown, and the floor was a mess of beer and blood. I automatically looked towards my usual table, to see my friends bending over something on the floor. There were tears and snot running down their faces and they seemed unusually distraught.

I felt the big man come stand beside me and his body heat was surprisingly comfortable. I turned my head.
“What’s on the floor?”
He put his hands on my waist and lifted me so I could look down onto the dirty floor in front of the red leatherette banquette.

What I saw all but defied belief. I shook my head, blinked twice, then fisted my eyes and looked again. It didn’t get any better. My friends were standing around a humped pile of clothing and hair, only it was my clothing and my hair. I screwed my head around and looked down on the blond head of the man who held me in the air. I wriggled and he set me down.

He smiled, not entirely kindly.
“Yes that is you in there on the floor. And yes you are dead.”
I considered that for a moment.
“The me in there is dead. But the me out here don’t seem to be in too much trouble. Why’s that? And who are you?”
“Your body is inside. But your spirit is out here.” His smile had the cutting edge of a razor and he ran a hand along the bare skin of my arm. Then he sobered “Who am I? That’s a bit more complicated…”
“Try me…”
He seemed to be struggling for words, but I can be patient so I waited quietly.
“Do you believe in God?”
That seemed to me like an odd question, but it was an odd sort of an evening so I played along.
“Mostly. Sort of.”
“And Angels.”
“You telling me you’re an Angel?”
This time his grin was genuinely amused.
“No. I’m the opposite.”
“Demon then?”
“Sort of. Although we don’t like that word.”
“Okay. What do you like to be called?”
“Dark Angels.”
I was vaguely surprised by how well I was handling this conversation, but I smiled at him anyway.
“You got wings?”
He moved his shoulders and I saw a pair of huge black feathered wings for the briefest of instants before they disappeared.
“Yup.”
“Right. I’m probably hallucinating, but just in case I’m not what do you want with me?”
“You have a choice to make.”
“I do?”
“You do. Mostly when people die there is a clear path to the light or into the dark. But in a very few cases it isn’t clear cut and the deceased gets to make a choice. Gabriel or Lucifer. Good or evil. Heaven or hell.”
He stared deeply into my eyes and whatever he saw there made his grin widen.
“You really are considering, aren’t you?”
I lifted a shoulder.
“I shouldn’t be?”
“No. You should be. But most of he newly dead are in hysterics right about now.”
I snorted.
“So why is it only you here? Shouldn’t there be somebody batting for the other team.”
He jerked his chin and I looked to where a skinny bloke lay unconscious on the deck.
“Who cold cocked him?”
A new voice spoke. Icily. “That’s a very good question.”
My head snapped around as if on elastic and I found my eyes assaulted by a bright whiteness that hurt my teeth it was so shiny.
I put a hand over my eyes. “Sheesh, Angel Wossname, turn the brightness down a tad, you’re blinding me.”
The voice that responded was both patronising and didactic. “Better to be blinded by the servant of God than beguiled by the servant of the Devil.”
For some reason this arrogance got on my nerves.
“Turn it down or bugger off. The choice is yours.”
After a second of affronted silence the white apparition disappeared.
My demon whistled admiringly.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
I shrugged. “It got on my tits. Now. How many lies have you told me?”
“None. So far. Lying to candidates is frowned on.”
“If I go with you, what?”
“You become one of us. A Dark Angel.”
“And if I choose the other path?”
“I don’t know. But you can bet your sweet ass it will be boring…”
I think he was going to say more but I held up a hand for silence.
“Fire and brimstone and eternal torment?”
“Only for murderers and child molesters. They go to The Pit. But that has nothing to do with us.”
I glowered at him.
“You aren’t giving me a lot of confidence. Explain further.”
He looked at me as if reassessing his options. Then he showed his teeth.
“My lord Lucifer wants you. So here’s the deal. There are five places the dead can go. There’s heaven, where you eventually get to be a white angel. There’s the waiting room where you go if you are to be reborn. There’s purgatory where you go to expunge your sins before being reborn. There is hell where you get to be a dark angel. And there’s the pit, where all the torments Lucifer and Gabriel can devise are heaped on your head.”
“This far I’m just about buying it.”
“Good. It’s the unvarnished truth.”
“It is,” the melodious voice came from just behind my right ear. I resisted the temptation to jump and cuss, instead turning my head to look at the new arrival.

He was white and gold and beauty incarnate, and his smile all but melted my heart.

“What Gor neglected to mention was that there hasn’t been a choice for ten of your generations until tonight. Which makes you a very important soul.”

I shrugged.
“Gor. May I see your true form.”
The Dark Angel flowed out of his simulacrum of human skin and stood before me, coal black and naked. He was mighty fine. I stared at them for a long moment before speaking.

“So what you are really asking me to choose between is two sides of the same coin.”

They both beamed at me and Gor went so far as to wink.

I held out my hand to the Dark Angel.
“Take me to your leader…”

© jane jago 2017

She was bone tired, and frightened by the bleakness of her own future. She had been her father’s unpaid housekeeper for a decade, but now he wanted to remarry.

“What happens to me now?”

She hadn’t realised she spoke aloud until a deep voice came from the doorway.

“You could marry somebody who has loved you since he was ten years old.”

She turned to look into his honest face.

“Why did you never speak before?”

“You think I didn’t?”

“Oh. I hate my father,” she sighed, before offering the young giant in the doorway her hands and her lips.

©️jj 2018

To celebrate the upcoming launch of a brand-new sequel Who Put Her in? has it’s own shiny new cover, courtesy of the hugely talented Ian Bristow. We took the opportunity to ask him a few searching questions about the process.

Q1. You read this book long before getting the chore of making it a shiny new cover. How helpful is it to have read and enjoyed a piece if you are artwork for it?   

Oh, it is immensely helpful to have read and enjoyed a book before doing the cover art. That being said,  a very similar benefit can be gained from a good excerpt of the scene the author wants captured in the art (or typically the mood of the scene).  Covers are not usually an exact replica of a moment in a scene due to the necessary differences in the art of writing and painting.  With writing, the author needs to show you the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the world without beating you down with dense descriptions. It needs to move and flow and feel effortless. Painting, on the other hand, needs to capture a freeze frame of one passing moment in that writing that sells the whole of its mood, emotion and energy. It needs to be detailed and focused or it will never accomplish that.

Q2. Even having been given an idea of how the writer thought the heroine should look, how did you go about making her so human and real?  

The short answer is that I focused on her expression and tied it to the other major element of the cover – a burning barn. Selling emotion is one of the main keys to humanizing characters. For example, think of what Disney has been able to do with animals and inanimate objects. Expression truly does humanize just about anything. The other important bit was texture. The world is textured. Look at your skin, your shirt, anything. These textures are subtle and easy to overlook, but without them in a painting, you lose a sense of realism faster than you can say lose.

Q3. I have often wondered what criteria a cover artist applies when choosing a suitable font. Please put me out of my misery…   

Hahaha! It is just not easy, period. Choosing a font is a huge deal and has a greater impact on the feeling of the cover than I think most viewers could ever possibly imagine. Here are my hard, fast rules. 1. Clean/legible 2. Context sensitive 3. Not too close to hyper-iconic fonts from pop culture. I think those three rules are the path to success in almost all cases.

If you would like to find out more about Ian Bristow's cover designing services, go to Bristow Design or look for Ian on his Website, check out his awesome timelapse art videos with his own original music on YouTube or follow him on Twitter.

Zoe never thought she had any say in her relationship with Lucas. He was a cold, dominant man, who said he had feelings for nobody. 

But he sent roses for the anniversary of their first date, which intrigued her. Watching him carefully, she began to think he wasn’t as impervious as he appeared.

Her birthday. In a swanky restaurant. She could see he was on edge about something, but when he knelt on the restaurant carpet with a ring box in his hands it surprised her to note that those hands were unsteady.

Maybe the power was hers after all…

©️jj 2018

This is the second part of a Fortune's Fools two-part extract from Haruspex:Trust A Few. If you missed it, you can find the first part here.

“Let me get this right,” Charis said, incredulous. “You are telling me that because I took a break from the freight shunts to help a friend with their new business I am – ” It felt surreal and for a moment Charis had to close her eyes.
“No longer a citizen.” the official finished for her. “That is indeed so, Var Sweetling.”
She opened her eyes again and tried to deal with the situation in a calm and logical way.
“Look, if the Coalition needs me on the cargo runs so badly, I’ll go back to Rota tomorrow.
They will be happy to have me back. They told me they would.”
The official’s face wore an expression which might even have held some trace of regret.
“I am sure you would and I am sure they would. But, I am sorry to say there is an issue with your doing so. Those posts are only open to those who are citizens of the Coalition. And, as you have now confirmed all the details which underlie the ruling of the committee, the status of your non-citizenship has already been confirmed.”
Charis felt her mouth dry up as her throat became suddenly constricted and sore.
“I want a lawyer,” she said, snapping out the words and without even waiting for permission she sent a link out to her mother. It failed to connect and dropped away.
“You are welcome to seek legal representation if you wish to re-apply for asylum, appeal the decision or seek citizenship, but only once you have been deported. As a non-citizen, you have no right to residency in any of the CentralCentral or other Coalition worlds, so whatever legal steps you feel you need to take will have to be conducted from outside them.”
The full horror of her situation impacted then and left Charis feeling weak, as though her muscles could not support her body. She felt herself slump back into the chair.
“I need to go home if you are going to deport me, I need my things. I -”
“That is not going to be possible. You will leave here for a detention facility where you will be informed as to what options may be open to you. I do suggest you co-operate as it makes the process less unpleasant for everyone, but most of all for yourself.”
“But – you don’t understand. I am a citizen of Central – raised here, educated here, my parents live here, all my friends are here, I don’t know any other life. I couldn’t survive a day on half the Middle World protectorates I’ve shunted cargo to, let alone on some below low-tech Periphery hell hole. I won’t know the culture, the way of life, the people. Why take me in and teach me, nurture me, make this my home – then throw me out? What was the point? It’s beyond pointless – it’s – it’s cruel.”
Her voice broke a little on the last word and she had to stop talking or risk allowing the tears of anger and frustration, which pricked in her eyes, from showing.
The official looked a little weary as if he found himself dealing with this situation one time too often.
“The Coalition always takes the cases of displaced minors, children who need asylum, very seriously and the Protected Children Program has been long established as a humane and fair way of treating unaccompanied or orphaned children who come to us in need. Those, such as yourself, who are accepted under Amendment D are required to repay the community through military service, which you did. After which you may be accorded rights of citizenship if you are working in reserved employment – as you were for many years. There is nothing unfair, pointless or cruel about it.”
Charis heard the door open behind her and, still in denial when her arm was taken in an iron grip, she felt as if the end of her life had begun.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

The Little Bottomley versus Upper Crutchingham football match happened every Boxing Day, come rain, shine, hail sleet or snow. The bragging rights were priceless, and the battered cup took pride of place behind the bar of either the Drunken Duck or the Lamb and Fleece. 

Nothing changed until the the coming of the Great War when so many went to war that there was barely a dozen young men in both villages. 

What to do?

Boxing Day 1915. The muddy and bloodstained captain of Upper Crutchingham held the trophy aloft in both hands. 

She smiled a gap-toothed triumphant smile…

©️jj 2018

An extract from Prelude: The Expanding Seas of Earth by J.H. Tabbott

The research vessel Sally’s Pride. Plucked off the ocean by an alien expeditionary force planning an invasion, Dr. Maggie Kestler and her crew must find a way to warn Earth. 

Time is running out, and the best plans Maggie’s devised so far are probably suicidal. When an even more daring plan comes to light, she must choose. However, the final solution will test their strengths, beliefs, and personal hopes beyond all limits as they journey toward a strange new reality…

Maggie grabbed a short plastic tumbler from the counter and tugged at one of the chairs by the table. It was tethered to the mess deck by cable for rough seas, but there were no rough seas in space. Pouring the dark red wine into her glass, she toasted, “Here’s to surviving.”
The Coulets lifted their glasses in salute. Adele spoke. “Oh, I think we all survive. It is of Earth I am not so sure.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Maggie regarded them admiringly. They were obviously soul-mates. When Blaise spoke to Adele, you could hear the respect and warmth in his voice. And Adele’s trust and admiration toward him always shone through, even when she teased him, which she and – it seemed to Maggie – even he clearly enjoyed. Their passions for each other may have cooled, but not waned.
“You’ve spent more time on the teaching machines, and spoken to Khreseea more,” Maggie asked, “What do you think of their plans?”
“Well, do you mean will their plans succeed? Or do you wonder what their plans will mean to Earth?”
“Good point, but I guess both…”
Blaise nodded, and took a slow sip of his wine, then looked directly into Maggie’s eyes. “We have discussed this before, between ourselves,” Blaise glanced at Adele, “and the conclusion is always the same. Their plan will succeed. It is unstoppable. We have not seen their weapons, but we have seen a little more of their ship and have been allowed a small peek at their science…so far ahead of our own, so powerful. If their weaponry were only a fraction as advanced as their other technologies, Earth would have no defense. Earth may fight, but it will be a short fight. Non, Earth’s governments will cooperate.”
“And what about the people? You think this rosy picture they paint of cooperation – advanced medical technology, ending famine, humanity becoming part of the greater universe – is that realistic?”
“We all die,” Adele responded, “Certainmente they can help us live longer, but inevitably we all die. Our own technologies have already added many years to human life. Hunger? We can cure it ourselves even now. It is only a question of politics and transport that starves people. These things, I think they can fix, but so can we. But becoming part of a greater universe…I don’t think.”
Blaise spoke up. “Was the French peasant part of the greater universe under Louis the 16th? Did the American farmers feel part of the greater British empire before 1776? These are the pretenses people of power embrace to justify their ambitions. The only thing that is real is that they will be in power, and we–we will be powerless.”
Maggie digested the words first, uncertainly. “Do you think we have any chance? Can we change anything? Stop them?”
“We have wondered the same,” Blaise said quietly, “but we have come up with no answer.”
“We had thought maybe some way to warn Earth,” Adele added, “but, of course, even then what could Earth do?”
“Have you seen anything, any clue, how we could warn Earth?” Maggie asked.
“Aaahh, yes.” Adele smiled conspiratorially at Blaise. “My husband has thought of two such wonderful plans”
Blaise sighed dismissively, and turned to Maggie, “I would not myself call them plans. And only if we were very fortunate would one work. If we could get to their communications system–and had time to decipher it–we might send a warning to Earth before we were captured. But most likely we would not have time enough. The second has a better chance. If we could get to their engineering, I think we could much easier compromise this ship’s containment fields. They would not have time to react, and Earth would know we are here.”
“But their containment fields…for their power source?”
“Yes. They control great power. Unleashed, we could paint a bright spot on the night sky. I am sure we are still within our solar system. We would be seen. Questions asked. This close, it would be known this was not natural–a warning at least that something very dangerous was near.”
“But we’d be dead. We’d blow up the ship with ourselves on board. And it could take years before Earth found wreckage and really understood.”
“Well,” Blaise swirled the wine around in his glass, “it is not a perfect plan.”

A Bite of... J.H. Tabbott

Question one: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

I don’t know. But I suspect all authors imbue both their heroes and villains with at least some aspect of themselves. In Maggie Kestler, I see much uncertainty. She has a strong opinion of what must be done, but a built in resistance to stepping out of her comfort zone to make decisions for others. I can relate to that, including sometimes over-thinking decisions I must make. In Kreseea, I see someone operating completely in her comfort zone – confident and arrogant in her ability to control situations. In my particular area of expertise, I am confident. And honestly, within that domain, sometimes I will show a little arrogance – to a purpose, for getting things done. I think people who at least know what they’re doing are entitled to occasionally show a little arrogance – so long as they don’t lose sight of the real possibility they could still fall on their faces. Arrogance makes the fall all that harder, so it is rarely worth it. 

Question two: Would you rather live in this world or the one you create in your books?

Well, despite all its flaws, I like this world. I’d just like to change it in new and exciting ways–so I like exploring change. However, I believe there are limits to what we can change. What it means to be human is to be imperfect, but be capable of seeing perfection. Only not everyone’s vision or values are clear, so people develop different versions of perfection. I don’t believe people, individually, will change, but in the aggregate I do believe human society will always draw toward perfection – just never reaching that goal because humanity has built-in flaws.
So I enjoy writing about game-changers. In PRELUDE, I give my protagonists a chance to lead humanity onto a new path. Yet I have them respect everyone’s right to choose. What I’d like to see most in this world or any imagined future, is universal acceptance that everyone has a natural right to choose their own path, and make all their own personal decisions. 
And, of course, I’d love to live in a world where interstellar travel is a routine thing. 
If it is an integral part of your theme, or can help supporting your theme, then use it. 

Question three: Chips or pasta? 

It depends upon the occasion. Watching football? Chips! Dinner with my beautiful wife? Pasta, a nice salad, and a good Merlot.
What time of day do you write best? 
I don’t know, but usually I’m stuck writing evenings between nine and midnight. Day job done, a little quality time with my wife, then dive in. I would love to have mornings, to see what happens when I’m fresh.

J.H. Tabbott in his own words

I’m a native New Yorker, who grew up loving reading and aspired by age nine to become an author. New York City has so many diverse and rich real-life characters, I was inspired to write “the great American novel”  – which ambition was further out of my reach than expected. And my early disappointment led me to set writing aside too soon.
My other love is the water. I like telling people I was born on an island, with all the rich tropical images that conveys. Then I tell them it was Staten Island – in New York City. One of the five Boroughs. Entirely different images ensue.
But still I was surrounded by water and bought my first boat by the age of nineteen. Cruising New York harbor and the Atlantic Highlands inspired and fulfilled my need to explore new places. It later seemed fitting when I began work at a steamship company and learned about the waterfront from the bottom up. Working with ships and international trade became my career, and I still enjoy it. But writing was always my first love. I never forgot it.
I became most attracted to science fiction because every story was an exploration of new worlds and new ideas. My earliest favorite was Isaac Asimov. His wonderful cleverness and humor still inspires me.
I enjoy knocking about on boats and enjoy watching sunsets over the St. Johns River from my home. But now, after the sun sets I turn on my computer, and have the thrill of creating my own new worlds to share with others. It’s a soaring freedom hard to come by in other jobs.

 Prelude: The Expanding Seas of Earth is out now.

We wanted a puppy. But Maw said no. Said we wasn’t responsible enough. Said we neglected the animals we had got, so no puppy. 

We sulked a bit, but then Elmer said Maw had a point. So we knuckled down and helped her about the place, learning to care for the cow and the sheep, and the yard dogs, and the horses. 

We was so busy we near to forgot about the puppy. But Maw never forgets nothing.

We come in from the yard one time and there’s a box by the fire. Maw smiles as the puppy jumps out…

©️jj 2018

When seconds, and in some case thirds, had been consumed. Anna and Colin cleared the buffet, while Patsy collected plates and cutlery and loaded the dishwasher.
“It’s full, Anna,” she commented. “Will I set it going?”
“Please.”
Patsy grinned engagingly.
“Need any help?”
“Nah. You’re all right. We’ve got it.”
“Good. I’m going back to Mrs Jackson. She’s telling Jim the filthiest stories, and all in the most ladylike of tones. It’s fucking hilarious. Sufiq and Anjali are both pissing themselves.”
She sloped off and Ben came over to Anna with a face full of laughter.
“God. She’s fricking wonderful isn’t she? Got us all sitting up and begging.”
“She would. She actually trains dogs for a living.”
Ben laughed until he nearly fell over.
“Dressed like that?”
“Don’t be silly, though she does have her boiler suits tailored… Now go away, there’s a dear. Colin’s getting twitchy.”

He went and Anna and Colin replenished the buffet.
“Pudding,” Anna called, and people came over in ones and twos to help themselves.
“The Patsy effect,” Colin muttered into Anna’s ear. “I wonder if she’s available for wedding receptions and the like.”

Anna grinned and went to the table. She loaded a meringue shell with lemon curd ice cream, then topped it with clotted cream and a generous spoonful of crushed biscuit. Wandering over to the table where Gloria sat, she put the bowl down in front of her.
“Eat. I know what you like.”
Gloria grinned and took a spoonful.
“Oh my,” she groaned “Jim you have to taste this”.
He took the offered spoonful and made similar noises of appreciation.
“Oh my goodness. It’s lemon meringue pie. Only better. Mrs J, you have to try this.”
“Two more?'”Anna asked laughingly and went to fetch.
Anjali followed her smiling.
“It’s lovely to see Pats. And to see you so happy. I reckon she’ll even stop bullying you now. Seems to think you’ve grown up at last. Now. Did I hear mention of chocolate brownies?”
“You did.” Anna pointed, then made two more lemon meringue nests, which she delivered to Jim and Mrs Jackson.

A heavy hand fell in her shoulder and she turned to grin at her big brother.
“Where Paul?”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him over the the big table. Putting her finger to her lips she pointed underneath. Sure enough, Paul was still with the little ones. He had snaffled a floor cushion from somewhere and was leaning against the table leg absent-mindedly spooning food into his mouth between sentences as he wove a tale of treasure and daring do for his small audience. Danny grinned and stood up silently.
“I don’t always remember how much he loves kids. Maybe we should adopt some…”
Anna shrugged.
“Not something you need to discuss with me.”
He saw the hurt in her eyes and coloured.
“Sorry Anna. Is it still so raw?”
“No. I just look at Sam and think what a lovely Daddy he would be.”
Danny took her shoulders in his hands and gave her a little shake.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? Way I hear it, you aren’t the only reason that won’t happen.”
She winked away a tear and smiled crookedly.
“I know. It just seems sad.”
He swatted her backside.
“Don’t get greedy, love. Wasn’t too long ago you were Miss Marshall in the back office. Now look at yourself.”
This time her smile was genuine.
“Thanks Danny. I needed reminding how lucky I am.”
He flicked the top of her head.
“Totally undeserved, of course. Now what do you recommend I have for pudding?”

Anna did a circuit of the room, making sure that everybody was happy. Back at the buffet table Sam stood irresolute.
“It all looks so good. I don’t know where to start.”
“How about I make you a meringue nest. Not lemon as it’s not your favourite. Otherwise, let me surprise you.”

He grinned and turned his back. A couple of minutes later Anna put a plate in his hand. He looked at the contents and licked his lips.
“Meringue. Strawberry. Chocolate sauce. Ice cream. Yum. Extra hour at the gym this week.”
‘Maybe. Or perhaps lots of sex and a couple long walks with Bonnie.”
He grinned evilly.
“Talking of Bonnie. Where is she?”
“In her basket in the utility. Conked out. Entertaining is obviously very tiring. And Sam. Your Mrs Jackson is telling Jim stories that are so filthy his ears are going red.”
“I bet she is, and all in the most genteel of tones. She used to do the same to me. Give her one glass of wine and all discretion flies out of the window. For all the gentility she’s had a bit of a life.”
“I reckon.”
“Geordie came to see me just after I moved in here. Just to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage. When he decided I wasn’t he made it clear that any friend of Mrs J’s could walk down any street in Glasgow unmolested. I’ll admit I’ve never had the nerve to try it out. But…”
“But indeed.”

It was a very good party, and went on until quite late. One of the neighbours went home and got his guitar, which started a somewhat raucous sing-song. Almost everyone joined in, with the exception of Anna and Bonnie, neither of whom could hold a tune. The highlight of the evening, though, came when Jim took a harmonica out of his shirt pocket and played. Anna grabbed Sam’s arm.
“Oh,” she whispered in his ear, “Pats is going to sing. She has a wonderful voice.”
Then the room fell silent as Jim swung into Summer Time, joined after the intro by the most glorious contralto voice. When the song finished there was clapping and cheering, and more than one person had tears in their eyes.
“More. More please!” came from all around the room.
Patsy grinned and wiped her own eyes.
“What next?”
Jim put the harmonica to his lips and winked as he played the first chords of The Mountains of Mourne. Silence fell again.
When the last note had died away, the applause was thunderous once again.

Jane Jago