Richard Wilcocks writes:
This annual event, made possible by the generosity of Jimbo’s Fund, was as stimulating and emotional as ever. It was compered this year by James Nash, who introduced each reader with his habitual good humour, making helpful comments and observations where necessary. James is the tutor for one of the two creative writing groups involved – the Osmondthorpe Writers – and he sat at the front next to the tutor of the other one, based at HEART, Alison Taft. The new experience of reading their own work in front of a strange audience - an extremely supportive one it must be said - required courage from some of the readers, but there was no lack of that.
This annual event, made possible by the generosity of Jimbo’s Fund, was as stimulating and emotional as ever. It was compered this year by James Nash, who introduced each reader with his habitual good humour, making helpful comments and observations where necessary. James is the tutor for one of the two creative writing groups involved – the Osmondthorpe Writers – and he sat at the front next to the tutor of the other one, based at HEART, Alison Taft. The new experience of reading their own work in front of a strange audience - an extremely supportive one it must be said - required courage from some of the readers, but there was no lack of that.
Michael Taylor
sang Lonely Girl
from memory, and was much appreciated. Less melancholy was Lee Rowley, whose
love poem Laura
could easily be set to music. Joe Geraghty’s short story was about sneezing,
handkerchiefs and perfume as well as love, with amusing references to hay fever
and Piriton, and Richard Sharpe’s My Girlfriend was full of charm. Siobhan Maguire Broad’s
nostalgic Why I love films included her fond memories of eating sugar jellies, The Jungle
Book and old cinemas
filled with cigarette smoke, Carl Flynn gave us his neatly-rhymed Don’t
touch me without not a
glance at the script and Ted Gregory read a colleague’s collection of childhood
memories from Summer 1956.
Geoffrey
Vickers’s Letter Home
was from a soldier to his sweetheart back at home, the one whose photo he
carries in a leather case, and David Newton’s The Place I Love, with its carefully-crafted abrupt,
short phrases was about flying Chinook helicopters in dangerous circumstances,
Vietnam for example. Both of these could return for next year’s LitFest, the
theme of which will be Conflict.
Mandey Hudson
made us laugh with her Elephants, huge creatures who have to be shampooed, and
Moira Garland delivered two literary tours de force with a brief story – Balloons – and a funny-but-true tale about not
getting around to actually writing the three hundred words required for the
weekly creative writing session entitled Ode To The Procrastination of Writing. Heads nodded in recognition as she
read. She was followed by Winkie Whiteley reading her moving The thing I
love – Mum.
Caroline
Wilkinson’s adventurous This Block was made up largely of short phrases – “hungry for
the touch”, “deafening closeness” - and was a kind of celebration of movement and the senses, as
associated with lovers. Fabian Merinyo-Shirima, who originates from Tanzania,
read Kilimanjaro,
and warned me to be careful if I ever tried to climb the mountain, because there have
been so many fatalities. His poem was full of information, like an article in
National Geographic Magazine, together with a feeling of love for his homeland.
Ted Gregory
read Michael Freeman’s Don’t Lose Your Paddle with aplomb, a sad story of loathing between two
siblings, one of whom tries to drown out memories with alcohol, and Ruth
Middleton, in her true-to-life Creating a Ripple, put her focus on the everyday nature of a woman’s
existence. Robert Thorpe’s I love helicopters included his thoughts on the pleasures of cleaning
the machines, and Unwind
by Howard Benn was a beautiful concluding piece: “The sun tucks down beneath
the sheets… while lovers do battle in their beds…”