THAT WAS THE CAKE, THAT WAS!

This short story is basically true with a little poetic license.  Written with kids in mind.

  Note - sultanas and any grape products are poisonous to dogs, not sure about cats. Mine didn't eat as much of the cake as in the story and were fine.

That was the Cake, that was! (short story)

 This incident happened many, many years ago. I think it was in the 1970's.  In those days, I had more time on my hands than I do now! 

I used to do a lot of baking then and loved making fairy cakes and chocolate crispies for my children, they used to love them and I made a rich fruit cake at least once a week.

At the time we had a feisty Jack Russell dog, called Peter and two cats called Moppet and Honda. Moppet was a pretty, fluffy little tortoiseshell cat and Honda - well, she was named after a motorbike, by my eldest daughter!  The two cats were sisters and partners-in-crime as we shall discover.

On one particular day, I decided to make the biggest, richest fruit cake ever. It took a while to mix and well over an hour to bake. When it was cooked, I proudly turned it out on the cooling rack on the kitchen worktop and stood and admired it for a few seconds. Then I went off to finish some household chores.
This is what happened in my absence...

"There's a lovely smell in the kitchen" piped up Peter, the Jack Russell, who had just trotted in from the garden and was feeling decidedly peckish!

"Yes, yummy isn't it" agreed Moppet and Honda in unison.

"It smells like fruit cake" observed the little dog, "Do you two fancy some?"

"We'd love some" replied the pair, "but we shouldn't, should we?"

"A little bit won't hurt" said Peter, confidently, "but I can't get up there to get it, but you two can" he added, encouragingly.

With that, Moppet and Honda leaped up on the worktop and clawed at the cake. They had to be careful, as it was still quite hot, but the aroma was so delicious, they didn't care! They pushed an enormous lump on the floor for Peter and he gobbled it up, greedily.

"More, more!" he barked. The cats jumped, they were a bit scared of Peter, who was rather bossy and inclined to nip them sometimes. Obediently they pushed another huge chunk of fruit cake on the floor. Peter wolfed it down, almost choking in the process!

Soon all the cake was eaten and only a few crumbs remained.

"Oh, I do feel a bit sick now" wailed Peter, who had expanded enormously round his middle!  The cats felt somewhat queasy too, and slunk off in their basket to sleep it off.

When I returned and saw the cake gone, I wondered who could have scoffed it all, knowing my daughters were still at school. Then I took one look at my rather rotund Jack Russell and the bloated bellies of my cats and knew who the culprits were. They were all groaning with terrible tummy-ache!

"Serves you right for being so greedy!" I shouted at them.

The moral of this little tale is; - never leave your delicious, rich fruit cake unattended, if you have pets. They are very partial to it!



The End.       

THAT FEELING!

A little poem remembering a first love.




That delicious, tingling feeling
When first your eyes meet his.
You pretend to be aloof, so cool
But your heart is thumping so.
You're breathless, feeling faint now
And you think that he must know.


As you try to speak, words fail you
For your throat is dry and parched.
So you smile, eyes all a flutter
And hope he doesn't notice.
Then you hear his nervous mutter...

Er.. are you doing anything tonight?

Heart in a Cage.

There will always be a part of me,
that I keep locked away.
Where my desires lie dormant,
just waiting for the day...

When someone will awaken them
and set my heart aflame;
but until then I'm waiting
and life goes on the same.

Will I ever find that love,
to free this inner rage?
Or must I stay alone and sad,
my heart locked in a cage.

Ditto the Dalmatian

Ditto, the Dalmatian
only had one spot.
He wasn't very happy
as his siblings had a lot.

His mum and dad had plenty,
his cousins did as well.
His aunt resembled chicken pox,
Though didn't itch like hell!

Ditto was so fed up,
he found a black felt pen.
He painted on enormous spots
and was well-splattered then.

Now Ditto's sporting many spots
and struts around, so vain.
Though he has to be quite careful,
when he goes out in the rain!

THE SUMMER HOUSE - A TRUE STORY

One day many years ago, a young boy was playing at the bottom of his grandparent’s garden. Geoffrey was ten years old, the year was 1924 and it was a glorious late summer day. He often wandered into the shady summer house to relax and get away from the glare of the sun. One day he noticed a beautiful, though quite frail young woman, lying on a hammock. She looked very relaxed and smiled across at him. Although he didn’t know her, he didn’t feel it was that strange to see her there.

When he went in he mentioned it to his grandparents, after describing the lady. They went very quiet, appeared upset, but offered no explanation as to who she was and Geoffrey did not question them, as it wasn’t the done thing in those days.

Many years later he discovered that his father’s sister, his aunt Stella had contracted tuberculosis and spent many hours, relaxing in the summer house. Fresh air was believed to be the best treatment then, before the days of penicillin. She had died in the summer house. Geoffrey had never met his aunt, or even know of her existence.

Geoffrey grew up to be a rational, intelligent man who became a journalist. He never saw another apparition or had any other occult experiences. The ghost he saw of his aunt that day was not transparent and appeared as a substantial human being. He was a shy, nervous child, but the apparition made no attempt to frighten him and he always thought of her, years later, as a “kindly ghost”

Geoffrey was my father and this little story is true and is based on a letter found in my dad's effects, written by a colleague who was investigating occult experiences.

© Ann Wilson

Winter magic

Winter's icy fingers freeze
the earth, yet grace the trees.
With frost, like finest lace,
pure white.
Spun by ghostly weavers
in the night.


How magical, this winter scene,
swathed in moonlight's silver
spangled sheen.
Snow-laden days that she
may bring....

A prelude to a glorious
Spring.

The Birthday Cake

THE BIRTHDAY CAKE



Joanne was looking forward to seeing her father after all these years. It would be his birthday soon. She had moved away from home to work up north, after her pretty younger sister Annabelle had died so unexpectedly at seventeen. Their mother June had died ten years earlier after a long and courageous battle with cancer and Joanne had virtually brought Annabelle up single-handedly. Their father had started drinking heavily after June died and family life deteriorated rapidly.

Joanne had been twenty-one at the time of Annabelle’s death.

Her father was the only close relative she had now and she couldn’t wait to make up for lost time. She gazed at an old snapshot of him in the family photo album. He had been a good looking young man and she could see herself in him, with his dark curly hair and charismatic smile. She took after her mother, nature-wise and had inherited her strong character and determined nature. Joanne made a promise to herself that she would find her father one day. She knew it was what her mum and sister would have wanted. She had to put things right; she owed it to them - and to him.

Joanne would be forty-one next year. She’d never married and had worked as a pharmacy assistant for many years at the local hospital. Despite having to miss many school lessons when she was younger, due to the family situation, she had studied hard at college and had done well in her exams. Her father had not been around to see how well she had recovered from all the trauma. He would be nearly seventy-three now, Joanne thought and she wondered how much he had changed.

Would he even remember her? She so wanted him to remember, or would he still be a hopeless drunk, his brain now addled from years of abuse?

She’d found out he was living in a bed-sit in Luton, thanks to the Salvation Army’s help and had decided to go and visit him. She was feeling very apprehensive and wondered what she could take as a sort of ice-breaker, so she made a large chocolate sponge for his imminent seventy-third birthday. She clearly remembered from all those years ago, that it was her dad’s favourite, when he hadn’t been too drunk to bother with eating!. The cake turned out as light as a feather with all the special and expensive ingredients she’d used.

When Joanne arrived at the address she’ d been given, she was surprised, as she had expected the building to be in a state of disrepair and quite dilapidated. The tastefully renovated building was situated in a quiet road, surrounded by elegant gardens and had a spacious car park.. Her father’s bed-sit was on the ground floor. After parking her car, she rang the bell and the smart double-glazed door was opened almost immediately, as if he had been expecting her.

“Hello Dad” she said, beaming at him warmly “Long time no see!”

“Is that really you Joanne?” he gasped “ I can hardly believe my eyes girl, come on in, won’t you”

Joanne struggled to swallow, her throat started to feel very dry, making it difficult to speak and she felt overwhelmed with emotion at seeing him again. She stepped nervously over the threshold into a small hall, off which was a large well kept bed-sit area.


“ Thanks, I’ve made you a chocolate cake for your birthday, your favourite, I think”

“It most certainly is love” he replied “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea to wash it down with” and he disappeared into the small kitchenette, humming contentedly to himself.

Joanne sat down on one of the two comfortable arm-chairs and unwrapped the huge and very inviting looking sponge cake. She looked around for any signs of alcohol abuse, but there was nothing to indicate that he was still drinking heavily.

He came back shortly with two teas in bright china mugs and a couple of plates, complete with white serviettes. She watched him closely as he handed her a mug of steaming tea. His hair was still as curly as she remembered, though silvery grey now and slightly thin on top. She recalled sadly how much she’d loved him when she was a little girl.

She quickly observed how the strong hands that had mauled her young body so many times, all those years ago, were a little shaky now. She also recalled how she had said nothing and learned to live with the abuse, as he had gone no further, and she had felt so confused, with all the conflicting emotions and loyalties of a child. Then it all suddenly stopped.

But years later when she’d found Annabelle’s note, after finding her dead from a massive overdose that awful day, she knew that she herself had got off lightly.
Annabelle was not such a strong character and keeping the secret had driven her to despair. She felt she couldn’t tell anyone, even Joanne as she didn’t think she would be believed. It was all in the note.

Though Joanne was sick with grief and felt such personal guilt, the shame of it all coming out was too much to bear. How could she not have suspected what Annabelle was going through? Joanne destroyed the note and a verdict of “suicide whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed” was recorded. Pressures of college work, boyfriend trouble - everyone assumed those were the reasons.



He noticed Joanne’s penetrating look, disguised by the sweet, but false smile.

“Just a touch of Parkinson’s dear - and my ticker’s a bit dodgy too, but I saw the doc only yesterday and he says I’m doing Ok for a man of my age” he said, cheerfully.

They chatted for a while, just small talk about his health, his rehabilitation, her pharmacy job, her flat and her life in general - until Joanne could stand the pretence no longer.

“When did you get out of prison Dad?” she asked abruptly.

“About fifteen years ago and I’ve never touched a drop since, in case you‘re wondering” he said, rather too smugly, as he reached for a second slice of the delicious cake.

He had killed a young lad through drink driving, shortly after selling the family home when Joanne left. He had disappeared into oblivion after being released from prison He doesn’t seem that remorseful, thought Joanne, but then he’d never said sorry to anyone. Perhaps he thinks he has paid his debts to society. She knew better.



“Have another slice of cake Dad, it’ll only go stale” she said “I can’t have it anyway, as I’m diabetic - and I did make it specially for you”

He didn’t really need any encouragement and helped himself to another huge slice - and then another.

“God help my arteries!” he joked to Joanne. “All this cholesterol!”

She smiled broadly at him and laughed “Don’t worry about that Dad, that’s the least of your worries - I hope you rot in hell, you bastard!”

“What was that you said love, didn’t quite catch that last bit?” He had started to feel a little bit woozy now and slightly nauseous. Everything, including Joanne seemed hazy and far away.


The cake had been delicious, topped with chocolate fondant icing and hundreds and thousands, in fact just how he liked it and extremely sweet; well - perhaps just a little bit too sweet, he thought…

as he slowly drifted into unconsciousness.


Joanne was pleased - her boring, underpaid and slightly repetitive job in the pharmacy department had proved useful and she didn't care about herself now. The debt she owed her sister had been paid.

Two days later she made the call and waited for a knock on her door.