A short story

Robby The Rat

 

One dark night in winter Robby the young rat went for a walk in the woods as rats do at night.

He was always told not to go far or he would get lost, but this night he just kept finding more and more interesting smells and before he knew it he was LOST

 

 

He ran and ran but could not find his way home.

Help! Help! Help! He shouted and began to cry.

Oh dear I am lost!

What will mummy rat say?

What will daddy rat say?

What will my whole family say?

I AM LOST

 

 

He walked and walked all night.

He hid when he heard the hoot of an owl

He hid when he heard the cry of a fox

He hid when he heard the snore of a dog.

He hid when he heard the voices of people.

 

All night he walked and scuttled and ran.

At dawn he was near a house with a pond.

He was so tired. Then at the edge of the pond he found an old rat hole. He went inside and curled up and was soon fast asleep.

 

 

The pond was in Mr and Mrs Mumpuses’ garden. When he woke up he peered out of his rat hole. The sun was shining and he heard the sound of birds, the gurgle and splash of frogs, the swish of newts and the muffled voices of Mr and Mrs Mumpus inside the house.

 

 

 There were also children’s voices and over a few days he  learned their names  There was Moo, Boo  and Sue and their mummy and Daddy and there was Blit and Blot and their mummy and daddy and there was Aunty Moggle and Margaret on a Saturday morning. He knew all this since rats are known to be clever and watchful.

 

 

He was sad about getting lost, but then he remembered that his daddy rat told him that one day he would have to stand on his own four feet and make his own way in the world.

Above his rat hole was an apple tree and birds would feel sorry for Robby and drop peanuts down to him from the bird feeder, so at least he had something to eat.

 

 

 

After a week of rain and rain and more rain he overheard people talking about him.

What shall we do about that rat they said?

Shall we just leave it alone?

No, rats can spread diseases!

Shall we get the rat catcher man from the Council.

 No that’s too much money.

Shall we shoot it?

No the rats too clever for that.

Shall we poison it?

No, the rats too clever for that

Shall we trap and kill it.

 No, that’s not nice

Shall we buy a cage trap and then let it go alive some other place?

That might be fine, they all said

‘Phew’ thought Robby, I was starting to get really worried and he ran down his hole and would not come out for days!

 

 

When he did come out next to look for peanuts, he noticed a metal cage with an open lid and some smelly cheese inside.

Oh I am not falling for that one he thought. He was quite a well educated rat, home tutored by mummy rat who explained to him the meaning of ‘when to smell a rat’

No way was he going to get into this trap.

 

 

 

He was getting lonely, and missed the rat pack at home.

The cage was still open week after week until one night he smelled his favourite food: Peanut Butter.

Sniff, sniff, where was that smell coming from? Grandad Neil had put Peanut Butter on some bread in the trap!

In the middle of the night Grandad Mumpus decided to go to the toilet as Grandads do. I will check the rat trap he thought. As he shone his torch he saw that the trap was shut and Robbie was caught.

 

 

What shall we do with him?

Shall we let him go again?

No

Shall we take him over the churchyard in the field at the back?

No

Shall we take him down the bottom of the hill near the Sewage works

No

 

 

Grandma and Grandad Mumpus were starting to like Robby. He had cute pink feet and he had a winning smile when he was having a wash.

 ‘I know’ said Grandad Mumpus

I will take him for a road trip and let him go in the wild moorlands.

 

 

 

Robby, still in the trap, did not like being bundled in a Co-op bag and put in the boot of a car and he squealed and snarled his displeasure.

The rat-run took all of 20 minutes, but then the car stopped and Grandad Mumpus opened the boot of the car near the pub at Clearbrook.

Before he realized it, Robby found himself bounding and racing through the bushes and within a few second after Grandad Mumpus opened the trap, Robby was gone

 

 

Grandad Mumpus was a little sad.

Still, he thought, Robby should be a happy rat here, so he drove back home and wrote this story.

And thats that.

 

By old grandad Mumpus.

 

True story. Names changed to protect privacy ( not the rats)!

Neil Mawdsley

 

A Poem : Willie The Worm by Harvey Fitton

Many moons ago I came across this poem in a Lancashire dialect booklet. It has created so much fun and laughter over the years, especially acted out by my students while I narrated in my best Lancashire accent.
 It is something to cheer you up in difficult times!

WILLIE THE WORM  by Harvey Fitton. Lancashire dialect poet.

I once knew a worm and I christened him Willie.

Its really quite true, though it does sound silly.

I used to meet him often in my garden plot.

And we grew quite friendly, believe it or not.

His skin was dark and shiny, his colour ‘mottled deep’.

And he lived in a hole by the compost heap.

We got so very friendly, that he began to talk.

We often ‘passed the time of day’ on my evening walk.

He’d tell me all the troubles that in his world abound.

Sometimes he’d bob his head up, for he wouldn’t leave the ground.

Then I’d bend down to listen, but I’d often to pretend.

(I was never quite sure that I’d got the right end)

It seems a certain Winnie (a winsome looking worm)

Had captured his affection, with a wriggle and a squirm.

He’d meet her every evening by the ‘potting shed’

And tell her that he loved her and asked her to be wed.

He’d sometimes take her presents (a tasty piece of –well-)

I couldn’t tell you what it was – it had a funny smell.

They’d have a shy little kiss, a squirm and a squiggle

Then off on their way they’d contentedly wriggle.

Now Willie loved her dearly, swore –‘I’ll get her if I can!’

Until he met a rival worm, by name Sebastian

Sebastian was a wicked worm, his heart was steeped in crime,

He slipped and slurred and rolled, in every kind of grime!

He noted Winsome Winnie as she glided round a rail

And he was captivated by her wriggly little tail.

He rudely then accosted her and followed in her train.

‘Why not come and live with me in a lovely smelly drain!’

But Winnie answered boldly-though her heart gave such a leap

‘I’m going to live with Willie in his cosy compost heap!’

He quickly then encircled her and gave a fearful hiss

‘I’ll have you for my own!’ he cried, and roughly stole a kiss

Indeed said Willie angrily as he glided to her side

‘Kindly just uncoil yourself!’ she is my promised bride.

‘Ho, Ho!’ said Don Sebastian as he shook his clammy head

‘Prepare yourself for battle!’ ‘You’ll very soon be dead!’

So Willie quickly oiled his coils on that dark and dismal dawn

And all the worms for miles around collected on my lawn

Though Willie was the stronger worm – I’d say that in a pinch

Sabastian had the longer tail at least by half an inch

They wrestled strongly with a will, the fight reached such a pitch

That in the early morning light I couldn’t tell which was which

Their coils entwined in angry zest, their battle cry ‘No quarter!’

And each worm tried his wriggly best, the other worm to slaughter!

Sebastian gave a sudden heave – but Willie gave a squiggle

And wrapped his coils in bands of steel around Sebastian’s middle.

Sebastian gasped and gurgled, a most peculiar sound.

But, that was the end. That wicked worm lay dying on the ground.

A twisted mangled boneless pulp, with wounds no worm could heal.

And the early bird came swooping down for a tasty little meal

I never see poor Willie now. I don’t know where he’s gone

The landlord took my garden to build some houses on.

So if you see a worm, that goes with a wriggle

Then gives a little squirm and a little squiggle

Just bid him ‘Good Day!’ though it does sound silly

You never can tell, it might be Willie.

Quarantine Art: Free Watercolour Projects 1

So the oldies are going into lockdown to protect from the virus!

So I am giving away watercolour  projects in the form of jpegs or Word docs. They can I think, be quite a therapeutic way of passing the next few months if we are not let out to catch anything

Here is the first of many, unless I go down with the unmentionable!
http://www.mawdsley.co.uk/hedgehog%20free.htm
 If you have any difficulties printing, then I can send you the pdf version, or you could screenshot.

Chance of winning the Lottery

Rummaging around piles of papers I came across an old idea for art I had in 1994. I thought it was a good idea at the time but I let it drift away. The subject was the National Lottery which was wet behind the ears then in 1994. My creative thoughts might make you smile so I have made a page of all the weird and wonderful art projects I came up with
 http://www.mawdsley.co.uk/lottery%20art%20project.htm

Odds of picking a letter in this stack of Mills and Boon books is 14 million to 1

Concrete Sand Pies

Saltash Passage Playground

There used to be a peaceful little playground here overlooking the river and under the Tamar Bridges. It is still there, but not the lovely trees that gave shade in summer and and shelter in wintry weather. Any excuse to chop trees down in Plymouth. 

Time To Be Yourself

Crazy times, bombarded with media this and that.
Time to think and just be still.

 Years ago now I set up this still life subject in the corner of a room. I had no time to paint during the day, so I made the effort to get up 1 hour earlier and relax into painting this over 3, 4 days. It was a quiet therapy and something personal other than the 'tyranny of the urgent' 

So we are Leaving The European Union

Finally we leave, but do we? For all its faults, I think we may regret leaving in a years time or earlier, unless we are in the rich minority.