This story was based on a "dice square" where you have a list of characters, conflicts, weather, settings and 'objects'/prompts and throw a die twice for 2 min characters and once for each other thing. It was thought up by Liskeard Library writing group, who meet every other Monday.
My dice throws brought up a roadsweeper, a relief milk maid, unsatisfactory working conditions, a heatwave, the last over at a cricket match and tide timetables. A bit difficult to bring together, I found, and had to add three other characters before I could make sense of it. I was pleased with the tide times that became a symbol of the change that was needed to resolve the conflict
LAST OVER AT BYEWOOD
“Ellie! Over here.”
“Oh, Hi Uncle Nick! Excuse me, sorry! Thanks, thanks....ouch, excuse me..ooh. Phew! Thought I'd never make it.”
“Well, I only got here twenty minutes ago from the Surgery; but you're be so late- it's only supposed to be a quick milking in the afternoons isn't it?”
“Yeah, but you know what he's like...provocative. Testing me all the time. It's so airless today and the cows were feeling the heat. Everything took twice as long and he just stood watching me struggle to hook them up. Got me into an argument; I ended up betting him that if Byewood didn't win, I'd walk out and he could get some other idiot in to do the job.”
“Oh Lord! That was very rash. You really need that job, Ells, and if he liked you there was the possibility of the full time post and the cottage wasn't there?”
She nods pensively.
“OUT!”
Jubilant applause from Bailhurst. Ellie's boss grins over at her like a shark.
“ Let's catch up properly after the match. We've hardly seen anything of you in the last few months. Anyway, it's the last over and I'm afraid you'll have to say goodbye to your temporary job and any chance of a permanent one. Look at the scoreboard!”
“Oh dear. Who's that bowling now?”
“Ron, the road sweeper, you know? Bit of a pie chucker. Didn't do very well in the batting today either I hear. They always put him on last. Hmm, whose this taking the bat? New fella.”
“Let's hope he can turn it round.”'
“It would take a miracle. But I doubt the Bat's up to much. Don't usually expect brilliance from a tail ender. And I have to say, even Jonathan Trott would struggle with this.”
“You never know... Oh! What happened then? “
“LBW. Five balls left. Clumsy looking chap isn't he?”
“He looks OK to me. Come on, come on Byewood. My future depends on this.”
“Good man! Two runs, not so bad. More luck than judgement though, sent that one straight through the Slips. If it wasn't getting so dark they'd have caught him easy.”
“I think he's getting into his stride.”
“You're deluded. Work it out. Bailhurst were all out for 163. There's four balls left...Oh dear. A yorker! Naughty Ron! Batsman's fallen over his own feet. Three balls left.”
“Yes. I see. Oh well...”
“Nice square cut. But only one run this time. Well, he's trying but there's no chance now. Anyway, what's that you're holding on to?”
“Tide timetables. I keep them for good luck. They're from the year I was in the team that won the Ladies Gig racing regatta. I Haven't won anything since. Five years ago, that was.”
“Chin up. The tide'll turn one of these days. OOOH! What a lost opportunity. Come on, Byewood, one ball left, 158 for 9. You only need a boundary! Ha ha.”
A derisive murmur of laughter from the Bailhurst visitors, who've travelled two miles for this.
Little red houses, lights just coming on, peep through the wooded outskirts of the ground.
In the sticky heat an almost imperceptable wink of lightning charges the air. Under the inverted bowl of soft grey sky, Ron shambles up to the crease and bowls clean and straight for the first time.
The bat arcs in the dim dusk, Ellie seems to see lilac arrows of light gather at the point where the ball is hit-
CRACK!
-Ahhhh! The sighs of the crowd lap the ground like waves receding from their zenith, high tide.
Straight drive, over Mid On, over Ron's head, the red ball disappears into the high, welcoming arms of the dark trees of Byewood. A storm of cheers and clapping ensues.
“What happened? I missed it! “ Hisses a woman fiddling with her handbag.
No one answers. They've just seen a real miracle. A few drops of rain start to fall.
Nick turns to Ellie,
“By the way, what did he bet you if Byewood won?”
But she is on her feet, scrambling over the stunned villagers and into the arms of the new batsman for Byewood. He stands grinning sheepishly, as if he himself cannot believe the brilliance of that last, and only, Six. Ellie turns back to her uncle.
“Oh, didn't I tell you? I get the full time job and the cottage. And Uncle Nick, this is my fiance, Andrew. He agreed to stand in yesterday when old Mr Dove had to pull out.”
“So you're the reason we haven't seen our niece for three months!”
“Uh oh! Here comes the Boss, or should I say, the enemy.” Andrew nudges her. But the farmer beams round at them all.
“ Good evening Doctor. Ellie, you won that fair and square! We'll draw you up a proper contract first thing on Monday. Welcome to Bailhurst Farm. Well done, young man. But you won't win next time.”
“We'll see about that.” Andrew shakes his hand challengingly.
Nick smiles and holds up the little faded yellow book.
“You wont be needing the Tide Times for 2006 any more then?”
The battle of the two villages is over. Byewood hadn't won this match since 1955. “Seems like the tide's turned at last.”
And the rain drums down in steady applause.
The End
No comments:
Post a Comment