Coming back up

Coming back up

Short Story Unknown   11:47

Have you ever done any extreme sports? Are you an adrenaline junkie? Read this story about one man facing his fear.

Coming back up

by Chris Rose

So we’re driving along, a road in the middle of nowhere, a few trees now and then on each side of the road, mountains in the distance, there hasn’t been a town for ages and then you see this sign, not really a proper sign at all, just a piece of card with some words scribbled on it:

“Bungee Jumping, 5km”

and an arrow pointing to the left. I can’t even see a road going left, and there’s certainly no sign of any bungee jumping, but you insist, the idea has taken you, you’re crazy about it, you’ve always wanted to do bungee jumping, I know, you think I’m boring because I don’t want to go.

“Go on!” you insist, “We don’t even have to do the bungee jumping, we can just go there and see what’s happening. It’ll be interesting!” As usual, you get your way, I give in and off we go along this dirt road, for what seems much more than 5 kilometres to me. But then, after driving for ages, suddenly, out of nowhere, some trees appear, like a small wood.

“This must be the place,” you say. The roads narrows into just a path, so we pull over to the side of the road. I couldn’t drive down there if I wanted to. As soon as we’re out of the car we can hear voices: people shouting and laughing. They sound like young people, they sound like they’re having a good time.

We slowly walk to where the noise and people are. In the middle of the wood there’s a group of about 20 people. The youngest are about 15 or 16, while some of them are perhaps in their late 20’s.

They look up and see us, then say hello to us. They’re polite, friendly even, but I feel like we’re interrupting a private party – gatecrashing something they’re doing.

Once there had been a river running through the middle of the forest, but now there was just a dry ditch. It doesn’t matter; nobody is interested in swimming. A metal bridge crosses the ditch. The bridge doesn’t look too stable. I think the kids had built it themselves. There’s a big group of the kids in the middle of the bridge. They’re all leaning over and looking down into the ditch. They’re all shouting and laughing. Another person is hanging from a long piece of elastic rope in the middle of the ditch. He is laughing like he is mad. The other people slowly pull him up to the bridge. As the guy comes to the top he looks exhilarated and shocked, but also very, very happy.

I look at you and can see what you’re thinking.

“I want to do that!” you say. I knew it. And you know what I want to say:

“Danger!!! Damage to internal organs! Safety procedures! Damage to your eyes! The rope can burn you! You can get tangled up in the rope! You can dislocate your arm or your leg! It’s certain that you will get bruises on your arms! What happens if the rope breaks? Who knows who these people are? Have you any idea how far away from a hospital we are?” I don’t say it, but yes, you’re right, I am thinking it. I don’t say anything because I know that you won’t have answers for any of my questions. You know that I’m right, really.

You’ve always been a lot more adventurous than me. I know you think I’m boring and safe and always worried about danger and risk.

Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am too boring.

I don’t know why people do it. I really don’t know. I remember when I was a kid, my friend had a bicycle that had no brakes. We used to take his bike without brakes and go down a big hill on it. I think about that, that old bike so many years ago, and I remember how I felt then.

I breathe in, close my eyes, don’t think about anything. I jump. I think I’m going forever and wonder when I’ll stop. But it feels great. I feel scared and thrilled and alive. Then there’s a pull and I’m going back up again, and, yes, it is dangerous, but yes it is thrilling. But the most exciting, thrilling, wonderful thing of all is seeing your face as I come back up to the bridge.

THE END

A Game of Go

A Game of Go

Short Story Unknown   11:42

Two people sit down to play a game. One is an old man who has spent all of his life playing this game, which is called Go. The other is a young woman. She has only been playing Go for three years.

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A Game of Go

by Chris Rose

Two people sit down opposite each other to play a game. Between them is a large wooden board. The board is rectangular in shape and it has black lines drawn on it in. There are 19 horizontal lines and 19 vertical lines, making 361 small black squares on the brown wooden board. Each player has some stones. The man has 180 white stones, and the woman has 181 black stones. All the stones are round and smooth. The white ones are made from the shells of clams; the black ones are made of slate. They have the stones in wooden bowls next to the board. When it is time to start playing, they slowly take the lids off the bowls.

One of the players is an old man. He is now 89 years old. He has spent all of his life playing this game, which is called Go. There are many other names for this game in the many parts of the world where it is played, but Go is the most common. The man has been playing Go since he was a small child. His father showed him how to place the big heavy stones on the board when he was three years old. He has never stopped playing since then. He is now the most famous player of Go in the world. People from all over the world call him “the Master”. People come from all over the world to play against him. Some people want to try and beat him; most people only want to watch and learn from him. The Master thinks that the game of Go is an art, and he thinks that he is an artist. He does not know how many games of Go he has played in his life, but thinks that even if he has played many thousands of games, then he has still not made anything near the number of possible combinations there are for this game. This game is very very simple, and very very complicated.

The two players place the stones they take from their opponent in the upturned lid of the wooden bowls. It will continue like this until one player can take no more stones. Then they will start to play again. They will play many games, until they eventually know who is the winner.

The other person is a young woman. The young woman has only been playing Go for three years. This is not a very long time It takes years to become an expert in this simple but complicated game. Before this, the woman was an expert at playing computer games. She was a computer games champion, and she won competitions in all types of computer games. She played in tournaments in Los Angeles, Tokyo and Munich, as well as many online tournaments, with people from all over the world. When she thought she could not win any more computer games, she looked for other games to play. She enjoyed playing poker, she became an expert at chess, but nothing captured her imagination like the simplicity of placing black or white stones on a simple wooden board. She studied hard and practiced a lot, the way she always did. She played to win. She thought of the game as a science. She calculated all the possible variations, using a computer to analyse techniques and strategies. She became a human computer when she played. She played Go the same way she had played computer games – by becoming a machine herself.

Both players are dedicated. Both players are obsessed. Both players think about nothing else but the game of Go from the moment they wake up until the moment they sleep, and even then they do not stop thinking about Go, as they have dreams about great games, in which they always win. Neither is married, neither has ever been in love with anything except the game of Go.

“When I was your age, it would have been impossible for us to play together” he says to her. They speak very little during the game.
“Why?” she asks.
“Young lady, you have not studied the history of this game. In the past, women did not play Go.” There is silence again. She might be irritated by the old man’s comment, but now she is playing Go, and so she feels no emotions. Her mind is not listening to the man, but calculating all the possible ways of placing her next stone. The old man, on the other hand, tries to listen to the woman very carefully. He watches her and studies her, looks at the movements of her hands and of her face. This is not only because he thinks that she is very beautiful, it is also because by understanding a person he knows how they will play. When he understands how a person moves, he understands their character. And when he understands their character, he understands their game. This has always helped him to win.

By placing the stones on the board, they both try to invade each other’s space, each other’s territory. White stones invade a black-bordered area, black stones try to fill a white-bordered area. At the end of each game, the board is a map of two countries, one black and one white. The board is map of their minds. Black and white mix together. Each player is learning something from the other.

He wins the first game, and the second, and the third. The woman’s face shows no emotion, and the man is confused. He agrees to continue playing. She wins the next game, and the man is shocked. This has never happened to him before. He rarely loses, and he has never lost to a woman.

The two players place their stones on the board using only their fingers, not their thumbs. It is necessary to think very carefully about where to put the stones, and to hold them properly. A long time passes between each move. They do not place the stones in the squares, this is not a game like chess or draughts, but on the corners where the lines meet.

The old man worries about the way the young woman is playing the game. He does not recognise her style, her strategy. He can’t read her face; he does not understand her. Sometimes, he thinks that he does not understand the world around him any longer.

“The way I think about the game” says the woman, “is that it is a series of steps for getting what I want.” Again, the old man is surprised. For him, the game is a way of life, life itself, and not a model of life. He worries about the dignity of the game, the elegance of the board. She worries about getting points.

“There is no more beauty any longer. Everything is science and rules. Everything is about winning. Nothing is about playing” he says.
“What sense does a game have if you don’t win?”
“The playing is the sense” replies the man.

People have been playing this game for 3000 years. Sometimes, the two players think, this game will last 3000 years. The man feels like he has been playing Go for 3000 years.

“This game was invented by generals. They used it to work out strategies for war. They used the stones to map out positions” he tells her. “And then they decided that it was better to have a game than have a war.”
“Are we at war now?” she asks. He wants to say no, but does not know how to reply.

“There is another story” says the young woman. “Go began when witches threw stones to tell fortunes.”
“Will this game tell our fortune?”
“It is better to play a game than try to tell the future” she says, and he is surprised again. This time he is surprised by how wise her words are.

“The future is a game that has already started. The future is waiting to see who the winner is” he says. “Every move you make determines what will happen in the future.”

They play Go for six months. At the end of six months, they know that their final game is close. The final game will decide who is the winner, and who the loser.

“A game is a metaphor for life.”
“No, life is a metaphor for a game.”

They cannot agree; but it is not necessary. They both look at the Go board in silence. It looks like a work of art, and also a scientific document. It is a map, a map of the game they played, and a map of their thoughts.

“Change is a necessary part of life” thinks the man.
“Playing is as important as winning” thinks the woman.

They start to play their final game.

Story by Mike Soanin

Story by Mike Soanin

Short Story Unknown   11:36

"On Lep Island, there was a masalai who had exactly ten heads. This masalai had two wives. The three of them lived happily together on their island…" Read this folk story from Papua New Guinea.

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The Masalai of Lep Island

Story by Mike Soanin
Translated by Thomas H. Slone

Long, long ago, in Manus Province, there was a small island behind Baluan Island [Baluan-Pam People]. This island was called Lep.

On Lep Island, there was a masalai who had exactly ten heads. This masalai had two wives. The three of them lived happily together on their island. There were many kinds of foods and fruits. Tree fruits filled the island.

There was no other person who lived on this island. It was just the masalai, his two wives, the animals, and the birds that lived there. The people of the big island, Baluan, often heard stories about Lep Island.

Many men would say, “Lep Island is just behind Baluan. There are many kinds of foods and wild animals there.” Sometimes, the people of Baluan would wake up in the morning and search the many good tree fruits that were lying about in the grasses and areas around their houses.

They would take these fruits and eat them. The fruits were very sweet. Some men took the fruits and tried to plant them near their houses, but the fruit trees did not grow well.

Many men of Baluan wanted to try to find this Lep Island. So one day, an old man and his little boy wanted to try. They took their canoe and paddled off to find Lep Island.

They paddled the canoe for ten whole days. Later, they saw a small island. They boy said, “Hey papa, I think that’s Lep Island over there!”

The father said, “Sssshhh, don’t talk loud. It would be bad if some man hears you and comes to kill us.” So the two of them paddled very quietly and went closer to this small island.

It was getting dark when they went towards the shore of the island. They did not go up on the beach. No, they were completely exhausted and slept in the canoe. Late that night, they heard the sweet bird songs of the island.

Oh my! The father and son heard bird songs and salivated [lit. “their mucus fell”] for this island. They did not know yet that a masalai lived on this island because they had come ashore on one end, and the masalai lived on the other end.

In the morning, they paddled up to the beach. They walked up the island and they gorged themselves on fruits.

Later, the father said, “Son, let’s try to see the other side of the island.” So they walked around the island and came to the other side. They were surprised to see smoke coming from a fire in the forest.

They said, “There must be some people living here. Let’s try to go closer and see this fire.” They walked very quietly and went closer and they saw two young women making a garden.

They did not show their faces. They hid and watched. The old father told his son, “We must hide and see where they go."

The women finished working and got up to walk away. The old man and the boy followed the two women to their home. They went there and saw a house standing there.

The old man saw the house and said, “I think that the two women live with their husband in that house.” But no, the two of them were married to a masalai with ten heads, and they lived in that house.

Later, the two women walked down to the beach to bathe. The old man walked very quietly and went inside the house. He heard a man breathing heavily inside a room.

The old man wanted to go closer, but he heard the two women returning. He sped outside and spoke to his son. He said, “We must hide inside the shed.” Then two of them went and hid inside the firewood shed.

They stayed there quietly until it was night. They did not sleep well that night. They tried to hear all the noises inside the house.

In the morning, the women woke up and cooked food. They left it there for their husband. They walked into the forest and continued to work in their garden. In the late afternoon, they would return to the house.

When the masalai woke up, he said, “Ah hah! I can smell a new kind of smell inside the house.” Then the ten heads got up and looked everywhere inside the house.

The masalai got up and walked around outside. Oh my! When the old man and boy saw the masalai, they gnashed their teeth and were completely afraid. They trembled fiercely inside the firewood shed.

They did not tremble quietly. The firewood trembled with them and fell about. The masalai looked and said, “Ah hah! I think that this smell is in the firewood shed."

So the masalai asked them, “Why did you two come here?” The old man said, “We came to look for fish in the sea and a strong wind came up, and the waves carried us ashore on this island."

The masalai listened to the old man’s story and he was sorry for them. He took the food and gave it to them. Then he hid them in his room. They hid in the masalai’s room until the afternoon.

The two women came back from the garden. They came and cooked some food. Later, they served the food, leaving some for their husband. They finished their food and went to sleep.

In the morning, the two women woke up. They wanted to look, but no! All their food was gone. They got up and cooked again. They left some for their husband and went back to the garden.

The two women returned in the afternoon and saw that all the food was gone. Some days later, they saw what was happening: the food was being finished very quickly.

They talked to each other and said, “Oh my! This masalai is not like before. Is he getting hungry too quickly? It would be bad if he found the food to be bad, and killed and ate us."

The women said, “We must find a way to run away to another place.” The poor women did not yet know that the old man and boy were in their house. The two of them only knew that the masalai’s food was being eaten.

One woman told the other, “I know a kind of vine in the forest. Let’s take it and cook it and give it to the masalai to drink. This liquid or soup from the vine can kill the masalai."

The next morning, the women went to work in the garden. Later, they removed the vine from the forest and brought it back to the house. They cooked the vine with the food.

The two women did not eat that night. The masalai ate and later he gave some to the old man and his son. They were famished and finished the food right away.

They all slept that night. The next morning, the masalai felt a big pain in his stomach. The poor old man and his son had died because the poison from this vine was very strong and killed them quickly.

The ten-headed masalai cried and turned about. When he called out and cried, the clouds in the sky broke and thundered. He wanted to cry, but no. A heavy rain fell. When his body trembled, all the places on the island shook with him.

The two women looked for a place to go, but they did not have a way to run away to another place. A strong wind came up. The clouds thundered. A heavy rain fell. A strong earthquake shook the island. Then the masalai died.

Water flooded over Lep Island. The two women, the ten-headed masalai, the old man and the boy all went down into the sea with the island.

If today you go around to the back side of Baluan Island, you can see a small reef in the sea. On Baluan, you can also see various kinds of good fruits and foods. People had planted these when the birds carried them from Lep Island to Baluan.

I believe that this story from the ancestors is a true story.

The Seven Ages of Man

The Seven Ages of Man

Short Story Unknown   11:33

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players…" The famous lines from Shakespeare's play As You Like It.

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The Seven Ages of Man

(from As You Like It, II, vii)

by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The Stone Cutter

The Stone Cutter

Short Story Unknown   11:29

Once upon a time there was a stone cutter who set out to become the most powerful thing in the land. This fascinating tale from Asian mythology has a very powerful message.

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The Stonecutter

Once upon a time there was a stone cutter. The stone cutter lived in a land where a life of privilege meant being powerful. Looking at his life he decided that he was unsatisfied with the way things were and so he set out to become the most powerful thing in the land.

Looking around his land he wondered to himself what is it to be powerful. Looking up he saw the Sun shining down on all the land. "The Sun must be the most powerful thing that there is, for it shines down on all things, and all things grow from it's touch." So he became the Sun.

Days later, as he shone his power down on the inhabitants of the land, there came a cloud which passed beneath him obstructing his brilliance. Frustrated he realized that the Sun was not the most powerful thing in the land, if a simple cloud could interrupt his greatness. So he became a cloud, in fact, he became the most powerful storm that the world had ever seen.

And so he blew his rain and lightning, and resounded with thunder all over the land, demonstrating that he was the most powerful. Until one day he came across a boulder.

Down and down he poured and his thunder roared, lightning flashed and filled the sky, striking the ground near the boulder. His winds blew and blew and blew, and yet, despite all his efforts, he could not budge the boulder.

Frustrated again, he realized that the storm was not the most powerful thing in the land, rather it must be the boulder. So he became the boulder.

For days he sat, unmovable, and impassive, demonstrating his power, until one day, a stone cutter came and chiseled him to bits.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes the most important thing to remember is that you have everything you need already, right inside of you. Power is an illusion.

King of the Pumpkins

King of the Pumpkins

Short Story Unknown   11:26

"Deep in the middle of the woods”, said my mother, “is the place where the King of the Pumpkins lives." A young boy and his cat try and find out what - if anything - is true about his mother's stories.

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King of the Pumpkins

by Chris Rose

“Deep in the middle of the woods”, said my mother, “is the place where the King of the Pumpkins lives.”

“But pumpkins live in fields, not in forests”, I said to my mother.

She wouldn’t listen to me. “I’m telling you”, she said, “the King of the Pumpkins lives in the middle of the woods, and the woods that he lives in are the woods right next to our house, the woods you can see out of the window over there”. She pointed with her hand to the woods that were, in fact, just outside the window behind our house. “He doesn’t live in a field like the other pumpkins” continued Mother, “because he’s not an ordinary pumpkin. He’s the King Pumpkin”.

I shut up and decided to believe her, like you do when you’re a kid. Firstly I knew that it wasn’t worth arguing with my mother. She always won. Secondly, when you’re a kid, you always believe what grown-ups tell you, no matter how stupid it is. Like Santa Claus and stuff like that. Kids always believe it, even though they know it’s stupid.

Still, I decided to go and find the King of the Pumpkins, partly because I was bored, partly because I was curious, and also – of course - because I wanted to know if my mother really was talking nonsense or not.

Mother often talked nonsense, I have to say that. There was the time she told me that the moon was made of cheese. I knew that was nonsense. Then there were all the stories she told me. Stories about frogs, princesses, princes and shoes. Stories about donkeys and unicorns, gnomes and elves, magic mirrors and magic cooking pots. Stories about why the stars are exactly the way they are, why the river that runs through our town has the name that it has, stories about where the sun comes from, why the sky is so far away and why the elephant has a long trunk.

Some of these stories, I think, might have been true. I was never sure, and it was difficult to find out. This time though, with this story about the King of the Pumpkins, it was going to be easy to find out if she was telling the truth or not.

Some people used to call my mother a witch, but I knew that she wasn’t a witch. Just a bit strange perhaps. And she used to talk nonsense. Perhaps it was also because of the black cat we had. People say that witches always have black cats, and we had a black cat. But Mog wasn’t a witch’s cat. He was just a regular black cat. Mog could talk, though, I have to say that. Perhaps that isn’t so regular in a cat, now I think about it.

Anyway, I was telling you about the time I went to find the King of the Pumpkins. I set off with Mog the cat into the woods to look for the King of the Pumpkins. Even though we’d lived in that house near the woods all my life, I had never gone into the middle of the woods. This was the first time. I was glad I had Mog with me. I was a bit scared, even though I didn’t really think that the King of the Pumpkins lived there. “Watch out for the wolves!” said Mog. “Yes…and the grandmothers too!” I joked. “Let’s not leave the path!” said Mog.

When people said my mother was a witch, I told them that witches don’t have children. “Yeah” they replied, “That’s true. But you look more like an elf than a regular kid.” I looked in the mirror to see if I looked like an elf or not. I think I looked like a regular kid, but you never can tell really.

“Do you think he’s real?” I asked Mog.
“Who, the wolf? He certainly is” replied Mog.
“No, not the wolf. I know the wolf is real” I said to Mog. Sometimes I could hear the wolf howling at night. I knew he was real. “No, not the wolf. The King of the Pumpkins. Do you think he’s real?”
“Don’t know” said the cat. “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

We walked on into the forest. The trees got taller and taller and taller. The path got narrower and narrower and narrower.
“What does he do, then, this King of the Pumpkins?” asked Mog.
“I don’t know really” I said. “I guess he just kind of is head pumpkin, boss pumpkin, he decides on pumpkin rules and pumpkin laws, and punishes people who break them.”
“Oh, I see” said Mog. He was quiet for a bit, then said,
“What kind of things are pumpkin rules then?”
“Erm, how big you can grow. What colour you have to be. Stuff like that.”
“You’re making this up, aren’t you?” asked Mog.
“Yeah,” I said.

Eventually, we got to the middle of the forest. At least I think it was the middle of the forest, but it’s difficult to say exactly. There was a clearing, a big space where there were no trees. In the middle of the clearing was the King of the Pumpkins.

At least, I think it was the King of the Pumpkins. It looked like a man at first. He was quite tall and had legs and arms made from sticks. He was wearing an old black coat. His head was a pumpkin. His head was the biggest pumpkin I had ever seen.

Me and Mog went up close to him. He didn’t say anything.
“Is that it?” asked Mog.
“I guess so.” I said.
“Disappointing” said Mog.
“Do you think he’s the real King of the Pumpkins?” I asked Mog.
“Who knows?” replied the cat.

As we walked back along the path out of the forest, I started to think about what was real and what was not. Could things that were made up also be true? What was the difference between “story” and “history”? One is real and the other isn’t – is that it?
“What about all those other things that Mother talks about, do you think they’re real?” I asked Mog.
“Hmmm…I’m not sure” said Mog. “Those stories she tells sometimes…about why the night is black and the day is blue, about golden eggs and girls with golden hair, about why people have ten fingers, ten toes, two feet, two hands and two eyes…Sometimes I think she’s crazy, and sometimes I think she might be right…”
I knew what Mog meant. I felt the same way.

“Perhaps the stories aren’t true” I said, “but what they mean is.”

Quotes about the United Kingdom

Quotes about the United Kingdom

Short Story Unknown   11:21

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Quotes about the United Kingdom

First set of quotes

UAE - When young people say about the British that he's unpleasant or old, it is an impression we have from the time when Great Britain was a great power together with Portugal.

ITALY - I particularly liked the spirit, the liveliness, the people and their open-mindedness.

HUNGARY - It's so fantastic that they are able to look at themselves with self-irony. I think this is exceptional. They write books and make movies that tell a negative picture about them and they show it.

HONG KONG - A lot of them are drunk and cause trouble.

JAPAN - There are bad points such as discrimination but also good points such as the parliamentary government.

KENYA - It's believed that if you go for further education in Britain, you get quality education.

THAILAND - They seem so cold in general.

BANGLADESH - Heritage from Britain, technology and dynamism from the United States.

SINGAPORE - The British always give me the idea of old and boring.

KOREA - Underlying the British people's ideologies is their deeply rooted tradition, long history, long history of the royal family and democracy, and the class structure.

GREECE - I am thinking about music. It's not by accident that the most innovative trends in music come from England.

VIETNAM - UK is a small island but it has a global trading system.

Second set of quotes

MEXICO - The British are limited. They don't try new things.

JAPAN - British scientists are enthusiastic, almost manic, in particular categories. But they are doing something that really doesn't matter.

CZECH REPUBLIC - Britain was the first country with a constitution, I think. So there is a real democratic tradition in Britain.

SPAIN - Out of the European countries I think the closest to the US is England; but you can't separate them from Europe.

SINGAPORE - They have a group of white trash, you know, skinheads. That group is very, very racist. But I think the majority is fine. In fact, I know there are some community leaders that are black.

FRANCE - There are many differences between the English, the Irish and the Scottish. Irish and Scottish are much more friendly.

HUNGARY - Their mistrust with strangers is also a characteristic. Usually this is said for the Germans but it is far more true for the English.

NIGERIA - A British product is very high quality. You'll use it and use it until you are tired.

RUSSIA - People are very involved in the life of society, politics. They are very well aware of what is going on.

GERMANY - The really crazy people all come from England.

SAUDI ARABIA - They don't have any famous artists. They like soccer.

Coetzee's novels

Coetzee's novels

Short Story Unknown   11:14

Read synopses of some of the novels of Nobel prize winning writer, South African J.M. Coetzee, and then compare them.

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The novels of J.M. Coetzee

Dusklands

The novel actually consists of two separate stories. The first one, The Vietnam Project, relates the gradual descent into insanity of its protagonist Eugene Dawn. Eugene works for a U.S. government agency responsible for the psychological warfare in the Vietnam War. However, his work on mythography and psychological operations is taking a heavy toll on him; his fall culminates in him stabbing his own son, Martin.

The second story, The Narrative of Jacobus Coetzee, which takes place in the 18th century, is an account of a hunting expedition into the then unexplored interior of South Africa. After crossing the Orange River, Jacobus meets with a Namaqua tribe to trade, but suddenly falls ill. He is attended to by the tribe and gradually recovers, only to get into a fight for which he is expelled from the village. His last slave dying on the way home, he returns alone and later organizes a punitive expedition against the Namaqua. The narrative concludes with his execution of the slaves that deserted him on the previous journey and the massacre of the tribe.

In the Heart of the Country

In the Heart of the Country (1977) is a novel which delves into the the complex relationships that form between the colonizer and the colonized. It takes place on a desolate farm in South Africa told through the perspective of an intelligent yet meek European woman. She clashes with her father when he takes an African mistress causing a rift that leads towards vengeance, violence and a muddling of her own relationship with the Africans.

Waiting for the Barbarians

The story is set in a small frontier town of a nameless empire. The town's magistrate is the story's main protagonist and narrator. His rather peaceful existence on the frontier comes to an end with the arrival of some special forces of the Empire, led by a sinister Colonel Joll. There are rumours that the barbarians are preparing an attack on the Empire. That is why Colonel Joll and his men conduct an expedition into the land beyond the frontier. They capture a number of "barbarians", bring them back to town, torture them, kill some of them, and leave for the Empire's capital in order to prepare a larger campaign against the barbarians. In the meantime, the Magistrate becomes involved with a "barbarian girl" who was left behind crippled and blinded by the torturers. Eventually, he decides to take her back to her people. After a life-threatening trip through the barren land, he returns to his village. Shortly thereafter, the Empire's forces return and the Magistrate's own plight begins.

Life and Times of Michael K

After her death, she is cremated and the ashes given to him. He vows to return them to her birthplace. He begins a long, arduous journey across the country to her childhood farm, sleeping rough and enduring many hardships along the way. The country is at war, and he sees many convoys going past. One of the soldiers ransacks his belongings and takes his money.

Eventually he reaches the place of his destination and finds the place deserted, the owners long gone. He scatters the ashes on the ground and takes up residence there. He kills goats and birds for food and drinks from the nearby dam. A member of the old family comes and wanting to escape the war, hides in the farmhouse.

Foe

"Returning from Bahia, where she has been searching for a lost daughter, Susan Barton is put off the ship after a mutiny; she is accompanied only by the dead body of the captain, whose mistress she had been. She swims ashore and finds herself on the island with Cruso and Friday. Friday has been mutilated: he has no tongue. Who did this, where or how it happened, we are never told. After their rescue by a passing merchantman, Cruso dies aboard the ship and Susan and Friday are left to make their way to England. After she arrives in England, Susan drafts a memoir, "The Female Castaway" and seeks out the author, Foe, to have her story told. Coetzee's novel comprises four parts: beginning with Susan's memoir, it continues with a series of letters addressed to Foe, letters that do not reach him because he is hiding, trying to evade his creditors. The novel proceeds to an account of Susan's relationship with Foe and her struggle to retain control over the story and its meaning; it ends with a sequence spoken by an unnamed narrator (possibly standing for Coetzee himself) who revises the story as we know it and dissolves the narration in an act of authorial renunciation." (from D. Attwell "J.M. Coetzee. South Africa and the Politics of Writing," University of California Press)

Age of Iron

The novel depicts the agony of Mrs. Curren, a classically educated white woman. She lives in the Cape Town of the apartheid era, where she is slowly dying of cancer. Against a backdrop of violence by whites and blacks alike, Mrs. Curren remembers her past and her daughter, who left South Africa because of the situation in the country: the book is framed as an extended letter from the mother to her distant offspring. As the story progresses, she constructs a relationship of a different kind with Vercueil, an old black man who happens upon her home.

Coetzee brings together important themes in this book: the drama of a tragic end of life, the separation of mother and daughter, a strange friendship between diametrically opposed people, and the metaphor of decay from within — atop which is painted a picture of social and political tragedy unfolding in an undeveloped country.

Disgrace

The novel tells the story of David Lurie, a professor of Romantic literature at a technical university in Cape Town, South Africa, twice-divorced and unsatisfied with his job. The disgrace comes when he has an affair with one of his students and is dismissed from his teaching position, after which he takes refuge on his daughter's farm in the Eastern Cape. Shortly after becoming comfortable with rural life, he is forced to come to terms with the aftermath of an attack on the farm in which his daughter is raped and he is brutally assaulted.

Elizabeth Costello

In this novel, Elizabeth Costello, an aging Australian writer, travels around the world and gives lectures on topics including the lives of animals and literary censorship. In her youth, Costello wrote The House on Eccles Street, a novel that re-tells James Joyce's Ulysses from the perspective of his wife, Molly Bloom. Costello, becoming weary from old age, confronts her fame, which seems farther and farther removed from who she has become, and struggles with issues of belief, vegetarianism, sexuality, language, and evil.

Slow Man

Slow Man tells the story of Paul Rayment, a man who loses part of a leg after a car accident. He becomes a wallflower, but one attracted to his Croatian nurse. It is obvious that they could never come together, and their interactions become awkward.

It is not until the famed author Elizabeth Costello – the eponymous heroine of Coetzee's 2003 novel Elizabeth Costello – finds her way into Paul's life that he is able to become a stronger and fuller person.

On a deeper and more meaningful level the book is a discourse on the inter-relationship between the literary author and the characters, and with reality.

These texts come from Wikipedia.
Wikipedia:Text of the GNU Free Documentation License

The British Council is not responsible for the content of external websites.

The Tay Bridge Disaster

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Short Story Unknown   11:08

"Alas! I am very sorry to say | That ninety lives have been taken away". Lines from the most famous poem from William Topaz McGonagall, who is regarded as one of the worst poets in the English language!

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The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Your turn

Have you ever experienced any kind of natural disaster? If not, imagine what it would be like. Write a poem about your real or imagined experience. Send it to us.

Other selected disaster poems

After the Deluge
by Maggie Borum

A walk in the garden
Right after the storm --
The air is much clearer
When the deluge moves on

Yes the deluge is over
But the damage remains
When rage is discharged
And can't be contained

Feelings accrue --
The levee gives way --
Again and again,
But what can I say?

It's one of the worst mistakes
Man or Nature makes:
Reason returns, but by
Then it's too late

Two peas in a pod

Two peas in a pod

Short Story Unknown   11:05

Edie and Evie are identical twins. Identical in appearance, but their personalities are not at all identical. Things get very weird when one of them pretends to be the other...

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Two peas in a pod

by Chris Rose

They even dressed us the same. My mother said that it was easier for her just to buy two of everything. Sometimes it was the same clothes but in different colours – a red top for me, and a yellow one for my sister, for example. When they did that we swapped the clothes so that they still couldn’t tell us apart. Not even our parents could tell us apart. Our schoolteachers never could.

And then there were our names. It was crazy - they called us Edie and Evie! Even our names were almost identical.

Two peas in a pod, they called us. Two drops of water.

Sometimes we couldn’t hardly tell ourselves from each other. At least when we were small. But as we grew up things began to change.

Everybody thinks identical twins are, well, identical. But if you’re a twin you’ll know that it’s not true. Physically, yes, we were almost identical. I say almost, because there was the birthmark. My sister has a very small brown spot on her left shoulder. I don’t. This was the only way we could ever be told apart.

But other than that, twins, even identical ones, are different inside. I think we started to change when we started school. I was always very good. I never got into trouble, I always did all of my homework and did very well in all the tests and exams. Evie wasn’t like that. Evie was always getting into trouble. Evie never did her homework. Evie was a really bad student who never studied and never learned anything. She would have failed her exams – but of course she didn’t. Why? Well, it’s simple, isn’t it?

If you have an identical twin, how do you know which is which?

Evie, of course, started by copying my homework. Then she got worse. When there was a class test she would write my name on her paper. When she got into trouble, she smiled beautifully at the teacher and said “No, I’m Edie, I’m the good one, it was my twin sister Evie who was naughty!”

They never took us seriously, we were only small children after all, there was no harm in being a bit naughty. Everyone used to laugh. And because they never really knew who was who, neither of us was ever punished for being naughty, and they never failed either of us in our exams, because they couldn’t be sure which one to fail and which one to pass.

But as we got older, it got worse. Evie started to steal things. At first it was only things from other children, sweets or pens or pencils or rubbers, the kind of things that sometimes happen in school. But when we were 15, some money was taken from a teacher’s bag. It was quite a lot of money, and the situation was serious. Then they found the money in Evie’s pocket. And what did Evie do? Well, of course, she did the same thing she always did. “No, it wasn’t me. It was my twin sister.” And I got into trouble, serious trouble this time. They called the police. They tried to expel me from school. It was only when our parents came in and pleaded with the headteacher that they agreed to drop the charges and say nothing about it. We were lucky that time.

But the trouble didn’t stop there. Evie was always playing truant, not going to school. Then when she came in again, she accused me of lying. She said that she was Edie, and that I had given the teachers the wrong name when they called the register. I thought about telling everyone about the birthmark on her shoulder, that they should check the birthmark to make sure who was who. That would solve the problem. I don’t know why I didn’t. Identical twins are always very close, and even though I knew she was bad, I didn’t want to get her into trouble. Perhaps also because I knew that trouble for her also meant trouble for me.

After we left school I began to worry more. I got a job working in an office. It wasn’t an interesting job, but it was ok. I worked hard in the office, I did well and was going to get a promotion. Evie, on the other hand, did nothing. She never got a job. She used to come and ask me for money. She often disappeared for long periods of time. I didn’t know where she was. This was bad, but it was worse when one day I looked at my passport, and found that I had Evie’s. I didn’t know where she was, but obviously she had taken my passport to get there. Wherever she was, and whatever she was doing , she was pretending to be me.

Eventually it happened. There was a loud knock on the door at six o’clock in the morning. There were three policemen there. Two of them in uniforms, the other one a detective. I looked at their serious faces and thought that they had come to tell me bad news. I thought they were coming to tell me that my sister had died. But it wasn’t that. They asked me to come to the police station with them. I understood that I couldn’t say no. They said that they didn’t want to arrest me just yet, but that if I refused to help them, they would arrest me.

Of course, they asked to see my documents. I had to show them Evie’s passport, and tried to explain that I wasn’t really Evie, but that my sister had taken my passport.

When I got to the police station Evie was there too. They had already arrested her – well, I say “her”, but of course, they had arrested me. As far as the police were concerned, they had arrested “Edie”. That’s what it said on her passport, and that’s who she said she was.

There was a long list of charges against her. Fraud and smuggling drugs. She told the police that she was really Edie, and that I had changed the passports. Edie, me, who had a perfect alibi. Edie hadn’t been to any other countries. She went to work everyday. It was Evie who the problem was, she said.

The trial lasted for days, with even the judge and the lawyers getting continually confused about who was who. Eventually, they convicted her. Ten years.

I still go to my job everyday. I’m still free. I never go to visit my sister in prison. I’m afraid that she might show someone that she doesn’t have a birthmark on her left shoulder. Then someone might look, and they will find that I do.

Uncle Tom's Cabin

Uncle Tom's Cabin

Short Story Unknown   11:00

This anti-slavery novel, published in 1852, had a profound effect on worldwide attitudes toward African-Americans and slavery. It may have intensified the conflict that led to civil war.

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Uncle Tom's Cabin

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Uncle Tom's Cabin, or Life Among the Lowly is an anti-slavery novel by American author Harriet Beecher Stowe. Published in 1852, the novel had a profound effect on worldwide attitudes toward African-Americans and slavery. In the United States, it is widely thought to have helped intensify the sectional conflict that led to civil war.

Stowe, a Connecticut-born teacher at the Hartford Female Academy and an active abolitionist, focused the novel on the character of Uncle Tom, a long-suffering Black slave around whose life revolve the stories of other characters—both fellow slaves and slave owners.

Uncle Tom's Cabin was the best-selling novel, and the second best-selling book {following the Bible}, of the 19th century and is credited with helping to fuel the abolitionist cause in the 1850s. In the first year after it was published, 300,000 copies of the book were sold in the United States alone. The book's impact was so great that when Abraham Lincoln met Stowe at the start of the American Civil War, Lincoln is often quoted as having declared, "So this is the little lady who made this big war."

The book also helped create a number of common stereotypes about Blacks, many of which endure to this day. These include the affectionate, dark-skinned mammy; the piccaninny stereotype of black children; and the Uncle Tom, or dutiful, long-suffering servant faithful to his white master or mistress. In recent years, the negative associations with Uncle Tom's Cabin have, to an extent, overshadowed the historical impact of the book as a "vital antislavery tool."

Uncle Tom's cabin

Plot summary

Eliza escapes with her son, Tom sold "down the river"

The book opens with a Kentucky farmer named Arthur Shelby facing the loss of his farm because of debts. Even though he and his wife (Emily Shelby) believe that they have a benevolent relationship with their slaves, Shelby decides to raise the needed funds by selling two of them—Uncle Tom, a middle-aged man with a wife and children, and Harry, the son of Emily Shelby’s maid Eliza—to a slave trader. Emily Shelby hates the idea of doing this because she had promised her maid that her child would never be sold; Emily's son, George Shelby, hates to see Tom go because he sees the old man as his friend and mentor.

When Eliza overhears Mr. and Mrs. Shelby discussing plans to sell Tom and Harry, Eliza determines to run away with her son. The novel states that Eliza made this decision not because of physical cruelty, but by her fear of losing her only surviving child (she had already lost two children due to miscarriage). Eliza departs that night, leaving a note of apology to her mistress.

While all of this is happening, Uncle Tom is sold and placed on a riverboat, which sets sail down the Mississippi River. While on board, Tom meets and befriends a young white girl named Eva. When Eva falls into the river, Tom saves her. In gratitude, Eva's father, Augustine St. Clare, buys Tom from the slave trader and takes him with the family to their home in New Orleans. During this time, Tom and Eva begin to relate to one another because of the deep Christian faith they both share.

Eliza's family hunted, Tom's life with St. Clare

During Eliza's escape, she meets up with her husband George Harris, who ran away previously. They decide to attempt to reach Canada. However, they are now being tracked by a slave hunter named Tom Loker. Eventually Loker and his men trap Eliza and her family, causing George to shoot Loker. Worried that Loker may die, Eliza convinces George to bring the slave hunter to a nearby Quaker settlement for medical treatment.

Back in New Orleans, St. Clare debates slavery with his cousin Ophelia who, while opposing slavery, is deeply prejudiced against Black people. St. Clare, however, believes he is not biased, even though he is a slave owner. In an attempt to show Ophelia that her views on Blacks are wrong, St. Clare purchases Topsy, a young black slave. St. Clare then asks Ophelia to educate Topsy.

After Tom has lived with the St. Clares for two years, Eva grows very ill. Before she dies she experiences a vision of heaven, which she shares with the people around her. As a result of her death and vision, the other characters resolve to change their lives, with Ophelia promising to love her slaves more, Topsy saying she will better herself, and St. Clare pledging to free Uncle Tom.

Tom sold to Simon Legree

Before St. Clare can follow through on his pledge, he is fatally stabbed while intervening in a fight. His wife reneges on her late husband's vow and sells Tom at auction to a vicious plantation owner named Simon Legree. Legree (who is not a native southerner but a transplanted Yankee) takes Tom to rural Louisiana, where Tom meets Legree's other slaves, including Emmeline (whom Legree purchased at the same time). Legree begins to hate Tom when Tom refuses Legree's order to whip his fellow slave. Tom receives a brutal beating, and Legree resolves to crush Tom's faith in God. But Tom refuses to stop reading his Bible and comforting the other slaves as best he can. While at the plantation, Tom meets Cassy, another of Legree's slaves. Cassy was previously separated from her son and daughter when they were sold; unable to endure the pain of seeing another child sold, she killed her third child.

At this point Tom Loker returns to the story. Loker has changed as the result of being healed by the Quakers. George, Eliza, and Harry have also obtained their freedom after crossing into Canada. In Louisiana, Uncle Tom almost succumbs to hopelessness as his faith in God is tested by the hardships of the plantation. However, he has two visions—one of Jesus and one of Eva—which renews his resolve to remain a faithful Christian, even unto death. He encourages Cassy to escape, which she does, taking Emmeline with her. When Tom refuses to tell Legree where Cassy and Emmeline have gone, Legree orders his overseers to kill Tom. As Tom is dying, he forgives the overseers who savagely beat him. Humbled by the character of the man they have killed, both men become Christians. After Tom's death, George Shelby (Arthur Shelby's son) arrives to buy Tom’s freedom, but finds he is too late.

Final Section

On their boat ride to freedom, Cassy and Emmeline meet George Harris' sister and accompany her to Canada. Once there Cassy discovers that Eliza is her long-lost daughter who was sold as a child. Now that their family is together again, they travel to France and eventually Liberia, the African nation created for former American slaves. There they meet Cassy's long-lost son. George Shelby returns to the Kentucky farm and frees all his slaves. George tells them to remember Tom's sacrifice and his belief in the true meaning of Christianity.

The Fix

The Fix

Short Story Unknown   10:53

The four judges must agree on who will win the four awards in the important Global Music Awards. But there is a problem. They must all agree on each winner. If they can’t all agree, nobody will win.

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The Fix

by Chris Rose

The four judges have been sitting in a small room in the Milton Hotel in London for three hours now. The judges must agree on who will win the four awards in the important Global Music Awards: best album, best song, best new band and lifetime achievement award. Outside the small room where the judges are, five hundred people are sitting waiting. They are all very excited, and they are all very nervous. They want to know who is going to win the important awards. The television show goes live in 30 minutes. Excitement is growing; tension is rising.

But there is a problem. A big problem. The judges have not yet agreed on one single thing.

The judges must all agree on each winner. If they can’t all agree, then the award will not be given – nobody will win.

The four judges are David Froth, the music critic for an important newspaper, Betty Weill, the head of a big record company, Jake Dangerous, a singer who won the award for best song last year and Dan Snaith. Dan Snaith isn’t an important person. Dan Snaith is a reader of New Music Weekly, a music magazine. He won a competition in the magazine to be one of the judges of the Global Music Awards.

“OK guys, come on...we have to decide now,” says David Froth. “We can’t wait any more. Best Album - I vote for the Polar Gorillas’ first album, their punk-influenced sound and intelligent lyrics make them the best band around.”

“I agree,” says Betty Weill. “But they’re all very young – we can give them the Best New Band award, then we can give the Best Album award to Janie Waller. Her album, Smooth as Chocolate, is a great jazz-pop crossover."
“It’s already sold a million copies” says Jake Dangerous.
“Exactly!” says Betty.
“No!” says Jake. “It’s already sold a million copies, so she doesn’t need an award! The Best Album should go to Missy Queen. Her album Girlz Can Rap is the best hip-hop record in years.”
“Hmmmm...it’s certainly an impressive record,” says David Froth, “but I think there’s only one really great track on it – the song ‘Hey! You! Listen Up!’”
“We can give her Best Song then!” says Jake.
“Ok, now we’re getting somewhere. We’re finally making progress,” says David Froth. “What about Lifetime Achievement? Remember, this is a really important award. It’s recognition for a singer who has changed the course of popular music!”
“I think Jake Dangerous should win,” says Jake Dangerous. Nobody listens to him.
“Dan – what do you think?” asks David Froth.

Dan says nothing. He was very excited about being a judge for the Global Music Awards, but now he is disappointed. Dan knows that David Froth wants the Polar Gorillas to win because he was the first person to write about them – he “discovered” them, and so when they become very famous, Froth will take the credit. Betty Weill wants Janie Waller to win because Janie Waller releases records for her record company. If Janie Waller wins, her record will sell even more copies, and Betty Weill will become even richer. Jake Dangerous wants Missy Queen to win because Missy Queen is his girlfriend. Dan is disappointed because now he knows that the Global Music Awards are, in fact, a fix.

“Look, our time is up!” says Froth. “Can we agree on this: Best Album, Janie Waller. Best Song, Missy Queen. Best New Band, Polar Gorillas. Lifetime Achievement...ok Dan, we’ll leave this up to you. But remember – Dylan Roberts is in the audience tonight, so is Jack Michaelson, and Nobbo from X5. I don’t have to tell you that Dylan Roberts is the voice of a generation, Jack Michaelson is very, very rich, and Nobbo from X5 is bringing peace to the world. He’s also a friend of the Secretary General of the United Nations. The choice is yours!”

The judges walk out onto the stage in the Milton Hotel. Five hundred excited, nervous people are watching them. Five hundred cameras flash when they go on stage. Dan feels very scared. He also knows that millions of people around the world are watching on TV.

The judges all stand up on the stage and pretend to open envelopes.

“And the winner is...” they all say. There is a moment of silence then lots and lots of really loud applause as the judges read out the names of their friends.

Then it is Dan’s turn.

“Ok everyone,” says David Froth, “Are we having a good time?!” Everyone shouts and claps. “Finally, we arrive at perhaps the most important award this evening: the Lifetime Achievement Award. Who will win this year? Will it be Dylan Roberts, voice of a generation? Or Jack Michaelson? Erm...dancer of a generation. Or Nobbo, bringer of world peace? To present the award, here is Dan Snaith, winner of the New Music Weekly competition.” Five hundred people applaud and shout. Five hundred cameras flash again in Dan’s face. Millions of people are watching him on TV.

Dan gets up nervously and stands in front of the microphone.

“Good evening!” he says. He opens an envelope which has a piece of paper in it. Nothing is written on the piece of paper. He says the words, “...and the winner is...” He stops and pauses. There is total silence in the room.

“The winner is....you!”

There is more total silence in the room. A few people say “What???”

“That’s right!” continues Dan, feeling more confident now. “You!” He looks directly into the TV cameras. “All the people around the world who listen to music and play music and love music! You are the most important people!”

There is the sound of surprise in the big room. Dan sees Dylan Roberts, Jack Michaelson and Nobbo leave the room.

“These awards,” Dan continues, “are a fix! The music business is a fix! If nobody listened to or bought the music, there would be no winners here tonight. That is why YOU are the winners!”

Some people cheer and applaud, some people say “boooo!”.

But tonight, Dan Snaith knows that he has won, too.

April Fool's day

April Fool's day

Short Story Unknown   10:47

Danny Applewhite was developing into a rather arrogant young man. He was among the top five achievers at his school, but would he be smart enough to avoid being a fool on April 1st?

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April Fool's day

by Pete Humphreys

Danny Applewhite was developing into a rather arrogant young man. True, he was among the top five achievers at his school, but he was the only one of them who would regularly remind the other 150 students at St. Cuthbert’s of this fact. Yes, he was a keen mountaineer, probably the best for his age in the county, but he sometimes forgot to thank those people who guided, supported or dragged him up towards his latest peak. Danny’s artwork was proudly displayed along school corridors but the minute anyone stopped him to say ‘well done’ he would tell the viewer not to get too close to his designs, in case they damaged them somehow.

It was late March and Danny was studying the flowers on the route between his parents’ house and school. Rollo lived next door and because their parents were friends Danny was forced to walk in with him. Rollo was not like Danny at all. That morning Danny had been forced to wait while his classmate found the correct books, clothes and sportswear from those littering the messy bedroom floor. In comparison, Danny always packed his briefcase the night before, carefully arranging his pocket computer, homework and the sandwiches made by his mum to strict organic specifications.

‘What are these ones Danny?’ asked Rollo, pointing to some tall plants with yellow, shell-like heads.
‘Ah,’ said Danny, pausing, as if extracting the name from a locked box deep inside his brain, ‘they’re Vanillius Seasidicus.’
‘Really,’ said Rollo, impressed, as usual, by his friend.

Danny swung his briefcase happily, deflecting some Spring sunshine into Rollo’s wide eyes, and thought how easy it was to fool people who didn’t read books. Poor Rollo, perhaps one day he would catch up. Until he did Danny would make sure his parents always told Rollo he was out if he called for Danny in the evening.

When they arrived at the sandstone wall that marked the edge of the school grounds, Rollo adjusted his glasses in that nervous way of his, and Danny, anticipating the question, had time to prepare his excuse.
‘Meet you for lunch?’
‘I can’t Rollo,’ and while speaking Danny touched his nose to suggest some kind of mystery, ‘things to do. I’m booked into the technology lab.’

They parted at the elaborate school gates. Made of iron, the ornamental spikes that topped the gates had already punctured some unfortunate footballs that now sat there like cartoon heads. Danny shook his own, baffled by the silly games his schoolmates played. Maybe some serious lab work was exactly what he needed to stimulate that busy brain of his.

The day was drawing to a close at St. Cuthbert’s and in his small office Mr Samson was squinting at the year eleven course-work he had to grade by the start of next month. Even when he shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun, a confused look often remained on his face. His students certainly had a strange idea of History. When the deputy-headmaster saw Applewhite at his door, smiling in that slightly superior way of his, he was more than willing to be distracted.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Applewhite, can I help?’
Danny took a deep breath.
‘It’s something of immediate importance, Mr Samson, that will affect the whole school for the next few days.’
‘You better tell me what’s happening.’

Danny went on to explain the results of his lunchtime research. He had received advanced warning, the bewildered Samson was told, that the internet was to be shut down from midnight on the 31st of March until midday on the 1st of April. Why? Because of essential cleaning work. Apparently all those emails he had been sending concerning school discipline, all those catch-ups with relatives in Australia, had in some small way contributed to a global cyberspace that was now completely full up with invisible junk.
‘But who’ll do this job?’ asked the deeply confused, heavily bearded teacher, ‘You, Applewhite?’
Danny gave a brief laugh.
‘No sir, not me. An international team of scientists has developed five very special, highly efficient internet robots. They’ll be smuggled onto the net inside special data packages.’
Sometimes Mr Samson would like to have been smuggled back into the past, a place he knew and taught so well. He often imagined living as a medieval knight or simple farmer somewhere. Now was such an occasion. He thought for a moment then said:
‘I better send an email to warn –‘
But Danny interrupted.
‘Best not to sir, more for the robots to clean up. You leave it to me, I’ll tell everyone to shut down the school computers straight away.’

When Danny and Rollo walked to school two days later only one of them was smiling.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Rollo, ‘Without computers I can’t play Drag Racer on-line anymore. I miss my racing friends in China. The boys all make me play football now and my glasses have been broken three times.’
Rollo pointed to the tape that secured the muddy lenses of his glasses in place.
‘Why don’t you do something useful, Rollo – read a book. I’ve read six since the computers were off.’

April the first, how Danny loved this date. This time last year he had spread a rumour around the school that it was a non-uniform day at St Cuthbert’s. All his foolish schoolmates had been punished for their appearance. And some of the fashions! Rollo had dressed in a ripped black T-shirt and worn an earring! Why couldn’t they all accept that the best way to dress was in a well-ironed shirt and tie, like him?

Danny’s first surprise of the day came at the school gates when Lucy Lang, captain of the girls’ football team, deflected a ball towards them.
‘Hey, kick it back then. We’ve got a game to finish here,’ she yelled.
Despite his damaged glasses and the innocent expression on Lucy’s face, Rollo sensed that something wasn’t right. Turning to his friend he quickly warned him not to touch the ball.
‘Don’t be daft, Rollo, it’s a stupid game but I still know how to play it. Watch this – I’m aiming for the roof of the arts block.’

Although Danny’s technique matched his ambition and his shoelaces struck the ball dead centre, what happened next is rarely seen in the professional game. As foot met leather an explosion occurred that left Danny’s entire right side covered in a sticky yellow substance – a thick and gloopy custard fresh (but not very) from the school’s infamous canteen.
‘April fool!’ shouted Lucy at the top of her voice.

Danny didn’t mind the custard but he’d never been called a fool before. Somehow he had also lost his watch. It was only a cheap one but it wasn’t like him to lose things so easily. He glared up at the school clock – 9am. Three hours to go. Danny regained his cool. After all, he would have the last laugh minutes before the midday deadline when, according to the rules, any person still fooling others became the fool.

By the 11 o’clock break Danny was feeling much better. Mr Samson was walking towards him across the yard, and he suspected he was about to learn his excellent History grade.
‘Dreadful work, Applewhite, really amateurish, I’m going to have to give you extra assignments.’
Like Lucy’s, these were words Danny had not heard before and he was surprised to find his cheeks were burning red.
‘But sir,’ he protested.
Mr Samson winked at Danny as he turned away.
‘April fool’s – you make sure you’re as sharp in person as you are on the page,’ he advised.
In seconds Danny proved his sharpness – quickly seeing that Samson was walking directly towards an open drainage hole in the yard. The juniors had been fishing again.
‘Mr Samson! Look out!’
The teacher smiled.
‘You can’t fool me that easily Applewhyyyyyyyyyyy!‘
And he was gone. When Samson opened his eyes he found he was in an underground tunnel, dark and damp. Surprisingly, he felt remarkably content. It would be a simpler life down here, he thought, watching a rat watching him, compared to dealing with those strange creatures up above.

Danny asked Rollo for the time. There were ten minutes before midday – it was time for his cunning trick to be revealed. A famous writer was speaking to the entire population of St. Cuthbert’s today and everyone was moving into the main hall to hear him read.  Knowing a quick route backstage, Danny positioned himself behind a thick velvet curtain and peeped out at the rows of uniformed children. The writer looked nervous and Danny sympathized – this crowd could turn nasty at any time. Just as the middle-aged man was getting ready to read, Danny jumped out on stage.
‘Ladies and gentleman!’ he announced. ‘More bad news I’m afraid!’
Some of the younger kids looked scared. At the back the teachers raised their eyebrows. Danny continued:
‘Due to a terrible robot malfunction the internet is closed for another week!’

Danny was laughing so much to himself that he struggled to hear a thin voice addressing him from the third row.
‘No it isn’t Danny. You’re making it up.’
It was Rollo.
‘What?’ Danny turned to the writer, hoping that he might share his exasperated expression.
‘I got a text from my friend Yang in China. They’ve been on the web all week. You’re a liar.’
‘Rollo, my old friend -‘
‘And another thing,’ Rollo was holding something up. It was Danny’s watch.
‘It’s ten past twelve and you are the fool!’
‘Rubbish,’ said Danny, determined to win, ‘what about the school clock? It says five-to-twelve.’
Mr Samson stood up, still wiping away mud from his trip below ground.
‘That was my work Applewhite, I’m afraid – I arranged for the clock to be running 20 minutes slow. Sorry old potato, all part of the fun.’

The whole school was now laughing at Danny. The students who knew about the trick beforehand laughed as long and hard as those who had just found out about it from their friends. Even the famous writer was laughing with the horrible kids and old, bald teachers. Danny decided that when he became an incredibly wealthy businessman he would buy the internet and close it down. But then, looking at Rollo’s infectious smile, he thought he might like to get to know his neighbours, far and wide, first of all.

THE END