Harrow Writers’ Circle - serving writers in North West London
Our Aims
Programme
We welcome our latest members Michael O'Dell, Elise Robinson and Irene Rusike.
Also we would like to congratulate Roy Ramsey and Robin Robinson on their recent successes in competitions and in getting published.
* OPPORTUNITY TO ATTEND AND PARTICIPATE IN MEETINGS AND WORKSHOPS
* SUITABLE FOR WRITERS AND THOSE WHO LIKE TO LISTEN TO GOOD WRITING
* WE OFFER FREE MENTORING TO NEW MEMBERS AND WEB PRESENCE
* JOIN US ON FACEBOOK
Founded in 1948, the Harrow Writers' Circle is a group of 30 or so amateur and professional writers of fiction and non-fiction.
Our President is Cynthia Harrod-Eagles, the well known novelist.
Please visit us whatever your level of experience.
You are sure to improve your writing skills and to meet a friendly and supportive group.
** Why not join this Writers' Club to improve your Writing Skills? **
OUR AIMS
Calling all poets, journalists, short story writers, novelists and other scribblers.Writing need not be lonely!
Harrow Writers' Circle welcomes new members. Founded over sixty years ago we're still going strong. The membership ranges from published authors to absolute beginners with every degree of experience in between, and all age groups.
At our friendly meetings members read out their work for constructive criticism and marketing suggestions. Our aim is to encourage and support each other.
In addition to General Manuscript evenings we have (informal) competitions and the occasional speaker.
Visit Harrow Writers' Circle and see and hear for yourself.
To get a copy of Ten Tips On How To Be A Better Writer and to join our mailing list please register at: Mailing List
PROGRAMME FOR SUMMER 2010
HARROW WRITERS’ CIRCLEThursday 18th March
Read your own work – Note: Gooderson competition entries a priority
Barbara's House
Thursday 1st April
Oscar Monteiro’s Genre workshop
Harrow Arts Centre
Submit entries to President’s competition
Thursday 15th April
Read your own work – Note: Gooderson competition entries a priority
Barbara's House
Note: Following programme entries not confirmed yet
Thursday 29th April
Sue Hampson Workshop “Children Deserve Good Writing”
Harrow Arts Centre
Thursday 13th May
Read your own work – Note: Gooderson competition entries a priority
Barbara’s House
Thursday 27th May
Cynthia Harrod- Eagles Workshop “History and Crime Writing”
Harrow Arts Centre
Thursday 10th June
Read your own work – Note: Gooderson competition entries a priority
Barbara’s House
Thursday 24th June
1) Secretary’s competition2) All entries to External competition to be received
Harrow Arts Centre
Entries for Gooderson competition to be submitted.
Thursday 8th July
Read your own work
Barbara’s House
Thursday 22nd July
To be advised plus Read your own work
Harrow Arts Centre
Thursday 29nd July
Summer Party
Barbara’s House
Deadline for all entries for HWC Christmas anthology
Beyond The Call Of Duty - By Brian Bold
The wind whipped the dry snow into drifts around their car, the wipers struggling to keep the road ahead in view. Not that anyone was likely to come down this narrow country lane on a night like this. If only he had stayed on the main roads they would be at the hospital by now.Jack had been careful all his life, avoided the gaps between paving stones, checked tyre pressures daily and always backed up his files. So why had he screwed up on the most important night of their lives? Controlled and competent in normal life, he felt utterly useless at dealing with the unexpected, at responding intuitively. The car vibrated with Sally’s sobs as she braced herself against the dashboard, compounding his torment.
He glanced across at her face; deadly white, flooded by moonlight reflected in the snow, her anguish etched in her brow. It shouldn’t be like this. She said nothing. No blame, no self-pity, but he saw her desperate disappointment in the situation, and he was sure, in him. They had waited years for this baby, suffered the trauma of two other IVF treatments and now he had destroyed their final chance of a family by a stupid decision on their route.
“I’m so sorry.” He wanted to say but choked on the futile words. For once in your life take control and do something said the voice in his head. Sally’s contractions were coming fast. Maybe the emergency services could still have reached them in time, but he’d left the mobile on the hall table. He shook with the terror of responsibility. Get a grip came the voice again, you know what you’ve got to do.
“I won’t be long, love. I’ll get some help, I promise.” He lent across the seat kissing Sally gently on her wet cheek, before pushing hard on his door to force back the drift. “Sound the horn if you need me urgently.”
Outside, the cold and fury of the blizzard almost froze his resolve before he’d taken a single step. A world of white offered no clue to orientation, only the direction of the car told him which way was ahead. But beyond it how would he know where he was going, circling in confusion. He tried to make each step in line with the last.
The road was icy, the snow deep on the verges and the blizzard unrelenting. Every passing second of his slow progress felt like the countdown to disaster. He’d never prayed before but now he heard himself crying out. “Oh God, please help me save Sally and our baby.”
He wanted to go back to her now. He’d made the wrong decision again; she was afraid, he should be with her. But which way was back? His footprints had already vanished. If only he’d told Sally to use the horn every minute he could have been guided back by the sound.
To his amazement the snow stopped abruptly and he saw red lights flashing ahead, shining like homing beacons. There must be someone there. Even if they couldn’t help perhaps they knew of nearby houses or had a mobile. He hurried forward, hope rising only to be dashed when he reached the car. The engine was still running but the car had skidded and was resting against a large oak tree.
With renewed panic, he frantically scraped the snow off the driver’s window. He shouldn’t, he mustn’t stay but he could see a woman inside, slumped against the steering wheel. She needed help too.
He pulled the door open.
“Are you all right?”
To his relief, the woman stirred and turned towards him, her nurse’s uniform visible.
“Just a bump really. I’d dozed off” She said,.“I was supposed to be attending a birth in the next village. I’m not going to make it now.”
“Oh my God, you're a midwife.” Gasped Jack “I so desperately need your help. My wife’s having a baby in our car down the hill. Are you OK to come back with me?”
“I’ve hurt my hands but I can tell you what to do,” said the woman, “Use my phone first to ring for an ambulance.”
“Thank you so much.”
The woman eased herself out of her car while Jack rang the emergency services.
Sally was panting rapidly when they reached her.
“It’s going to be all right love. I’ve got help.”
“Push the front seat forward and help your wife into the back of the car.” Said the midwife. “You’ll need water. Find something to hold the snow then melt it on your car bonnet.”
Jack felt the tension escape from his body; someone else was in control though he gave himself credit for finding them. Maybe, just maybe, things would work out. He promised himself he would change, be more practical in the future.
He found a lunch box in the car boot and prepared the warm water,
“Now get into the car with your wife and do exactly what I say.”
Sally attempted a smile. He saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes before the strength and frequency of the contractions overwhelmed her.
For the next twenty minutes Jack gave control of his mind and body to the midwife. She paced the road outside the car, brushing the clinging snow from her coat, speaking instructions to him with precision and calm encouragement.
Then came that moment of incomparable joy. They had a son and Sally exhausted but comfortable cradled this new life.
“Wind up the window and keep you family warm.” Said the midwife, with a serene smile. “You’ll be OK now, I’m off to my car”
“How can I thank you? You answered my prayers.” Shouted Jack after the retreating figure as it disappeared, cloaked in white.
“Who were you talking to?” Mumbled Sally.
“The midwife, of course.” Said Jack. “I couldn’t have delivered our baby without her.”
An hour or so later an ambulance edged its way towards them down the hill.
“You’ve been really lucky by the look of it.” Said one of the paramedics, seeing the mother and child. “ Not like the poor woman in the car ahead. We’re quite upset. She was one of our midwives, on the way to a birth, she hit a tree and was killed.”
Word Count: 1057
Date: 14/2/10
(c) Brian Bold
To contact Brian please e-mail him on Brian Bold
