The fantastic Winchester’s own Wendy Couchman set and adjudicator our November competition:
For this month’s competition write a story in diary format over a few days in no more than 300 words. The character could be imaginary or real (but not famous) with a focus on an incident or event.
And the winners were…
First place: ‘The Mother I’d Never Met’ by Margaret Farran
28th April
I’m going to meet my mother for the first time this afternoon. I can’t believe I’ve just written those words after all these years of searching.
1st May
Well she’s nothing like I imagined. For a start she looks nothing like me. In my head I’d created this picture of someone, who looked just like me, but was sixteen years older. She is tiny and drab like a sparrow. Her voice is squeaky and hurt my ears. I tried to ignore the pain and concentrate on the words, that shot out of her thin lips. I needed to concentrate on the content and not on the sound.
2nd May
I’m so disappointed. It’s as if a present you have been looking forward to all your life turns out to be the wrong one. It’s been given to you by someone who doesn’t know you and certainly doesn’t love you.
3rd May
She’s called Annabelle. She had me when she was a teenager and gave me away like a discarded handbag. She says she remembers me every day on my birthday, but I don’t believe her. She is stiff and cold. She didn’t cry and hug me tight like on those tv programmes. No, she sat with her brown coat tightly buttoned up and her hands clenched together on her lap.
1st June
I’m meeting Annabelle for the second time today. She’s written me a long letter in her beautiful handwriting. I’ve read it at least twenty times and I’ve tried to put myself into her sixteen year old shoes. I’m going to try to be less harsh and judgmental this time.
2nd June
Well it went a bit better this time. She undid the buttons on her coat and she held my hand. It was warm and soft and I felt my fingers slowly curl around hers.
Second Place: ‘Below Par’ by John Quinn
Monday, October 1st.
A red-letter day – on the q.t. Terry has given me the nod that the golf club is ‘going to recognise’ me at next week’s AGM!
Obviously that means I’m to be the next Captain! It’s a great honour, but one, in all modesty, I deserve. Dad, God rest him, used to say: ‘honest toil has its own rewards.’ My years of doing the club’s accounts for nothing and buying drinks for the committee members has, finally, paid off.
Wednesday, October 3rd.
Well, that was a mistake! I only told Jim – I’m supposed to keep it under wraps until the AGM – because I thought he’d pleased for his old dad. What is it about one’s own children – why can’t they just be happy for you??? No, Jim – who, at 46, STILL moans that I don’t call him James – said that the definition of an English golf club is ‘white, male, middle-aged, middle-class and former middle-management,’ and being made captain is ‘like being made Grand Wizard of the local Ku Klux Klan.’ Mentally my son’s still a teenager; at worse we’re the Conservative Party at play.
I told him it’s an honour: the first among equals; selected by ones peers. He said that I’ll never now be available to collect the grandkids from school.
And after all we’ve done for him…
Friday, October 5th.
I let slip to Beth tonight. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘As Captain’s wife, I’ll need a new wardrobe for all those functions.’ Not a ‘congratulations’ or ‘we’ll done, you deserve it,’ in sight.
Friday, October 12th.
The treacherous bastards!!! And Terry is a first-class CXXX! ‘For your years of selfless service,’ the out-going captain purred, ‘we’re granting you your very own reserved parking space!’ He thought he was giving me the Crown bloody Jewels. Then, to twist the knife, that disgraced former Tory MP, Anthony Smith, was named as the next Captain. I almost told them where to stick their reserved parking space!
Third Place: ‘Diary for a Widowmaker’ by Sam Christie
Tuesday 21/10/24
Lloyd decided to do the Widowmaker on Friday. That way we’d have something to celebrate, a reason for a few pints. I’d like to say we drew straws, but the truth is I’d felt like it was my turn. You just feel that way for some reason.
What gets me about this game is the fact that I don’t think anyone has any idea what we’re doing, climbing about in trees in the middle of nowhere. We’re in the top three dangerous jobs – above squaddies as it goes. We don’t get medals though.
Wednesday 22/10/24
Lloyd will guide me impatiently, urging me to do things that seem impossible, yelling that will come and go over the sound of my chainsaw.
Put your foot up there boy, grab that branch over there. Cut it like this or that.
All will seem mad. The trick is to try not to do the hard parts first. Don’t rush things to get it over with. You have to set things up to make it a clean job.
Lloyd will be feeling every cut, every move, the strain in my muscles approaching failure. He’ll be watching my legs for shaking, checking if I’ll bottle it.
Thursday 23/10/24
It’s a rotten ash over what I think they call a rectory. Reverend Evans is the bloke’s name. It’s massive, covered in vines and I think only an expert in probability could really explain why it’s called a Widowmaker.
Last night I dreamt that moss was growing on my hands. I saw nothing but a blanket of leaves when I closed my eyes. I didn’t say goodnight to my daughter; I’ll leave that until Friday.
You sometimes get this, but tomorrow doesn’t feel right.
A huge congratulations to this months winners!!
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