Not everyone was able to make the first face-t0-face (or rather mask-to-mask) meeting at our new venue, but we managed to do a lot of catching up on everyone’s news and to welcome our newest members, Miranda Hargrave and Solvig Choi. It is Solvig, almost in the photo above, that we have to thank for recording this unique moment in RWG’s long history.
Audrey Blackburn was presented by our Chairman, Maggie Cobbett, with her honorary life membership and a similar certificate is on its way to Kathleen Atkinson who will, we hope, be able to join us at a later date.
Members who won trophies during lockdown were finally presented with them. These were:
Lindsay Trenholme for the President’s Cup – presented by Maggie in the absence of Peter Hicks.
Peter Page for the Short Story competition – presented by our Competitions Secretary Susan Perkins.
Solvig Choi for the Artistic Licence competition, the very first she had entered since joining RWG.
WELL DONE, ALL OF YOU!
In the time left over, a few members read out pieces they’d written recently and Christine treated us to a performance of her latest song.
We were very sad to lose Janet, whose generosity of spirit and gentle humour had enhanced many a meeting. Others will wish to add their thoughts, I’m sure, but here in the meantime is a tribute just received from her son Philip, no mean writer himself. It includes one of Janet’s cleverly crafted poems, a pantoum in this case.
Janet Barclay, my mother and an enthusiastic member of the Ripon Writers’ Group, has sadly died. I wanted to thank the Group for the friendship and literary support you offered Janet since she moved to Ripon. She often mentioned how much she had enjoyed writing with you. She became much more focused and prolific when she had the stimulus of a deadline or a competition. She also enjoyed reading works by other members of the Group. It was a pleasure to meet Group members’ at Mum’s funeral and to hear that her comments were well-received and useful.
Even before she became a creative writer, Janet was proud of her beautiful handwriting, her correct grammar and her long elegant sentences, modeled on the 19th century female novelists she so loved: particularly, Elizabeth Gaskell, George Eliot and Jane Austen. I discovered from an early age how much impact good writing can have. Mum once sent me to school with a letter of mild complaint. I handed it to the Headmaster who read it and said, “Thank you, Barclay, please tell your Mother that was very well put.” Mum was delighted with that praise and forgot all about her complaint.
After retiring from teaching and once her four children had moved out, Mum had the time to really apply herself to her own writing. She was adept at every genre. She produced some fascinating life writing, particularly describing her experiences of basic family summers in Norfolk in the 1940s. She wrote a novel about a woman trying to deal with a controlling husband; she enjoyed pastiches and parodies and loved the challenge of poetry.
One of the most enjoyable phases in my own development as a writer was studying Creative Writing with Janet through the Open University ten years ago. We faced all the same assignments and used to swap our efforts. Mum always scored better than me and ended up with a diploma with distinction. But she was more modest about her work than I was, which meant she gained even more pleasure from good marks and praise from the assessors. She loved working with different poetic forms. This is an example of a Pantoum, which the OU assessors particularly liked:
The vicar came and talked with me
When George, my husband, ran away.
We talked, I cried, we drank some tea,
He helped me through that dreadful day
When George, my husband, ran away.
I did not ask for sympathy;
He helped me through that dreadful day.
My sobs a tuneless litany.
I did not ask for sympathy
But just a friendly smile and touch.
My sobs a tuneless litany,
I wasn’t asking very much
But just a friendly smile and touch.
He held my hand to comfort me –
I wasn’t asking very much –
We sat together, knee to knee.
He held my hand to comfort me;
I stroked his fingers, kissed his ring.
We sat together, knee to knee;
I didn’t ask for anything.
I stroked his fingers, kissed his ring,
His hands caressed my tear-stained face.
I didn’t ask for anything
When, sitting in that holy place
His hands caressed my tear-stained face.
But this we knew could not be right
When sitting in that holy place
As darkness fell. Lead, kindly light!
For this we knew could not be right
Within the church. We knelt to pray
As darkness fell. Lead, kindly light!
We broke apart at break of day.
Within the church we knelt to pray
To lose the memory of our love.
We broke apart at break of day
As guilt poured down from heaven above.
To lose the memory of our love
The vicar left; his wife went too
As guilt poured down from heaven above,
And all the congregation knew.
The vicar left; his wife went too.
The bishop came, and talked with me,
And all the congregation knew.
I do not ask for sympathy.
– Janet Barclay, 2011
Interestingly in her comments on this piece for the assessor, Janet faulted the woman who it voices for “absorption in her own personal misfortune” and a “parade of self-justifying excuses.” Most of us – particularly in the ‘Me-too’ era – would place most of the blame on the vicar! But Mum had no time for self-pity even during her last two years, which were pretty tough for her. Mum’s unwillingness to make a fuss even when she was suffering with grief and poor health makes me – and all of Janet’s family – all the more grateful for the stimulation and friendship the Ripon Writers’ Group offered her. We all wish you the very best with your future writing.
I am sure that many of you will be aware that Janet was a folk dancer as well as a writer. She was still an active dancer when she arrived in Ripon, although she admitted to me that by then age prevented her and her folk dance club colleagues from dancing the more vigorous dances like a Cumberland Square Eight. What you may not have been aware of is that she was also a folk dance caller. It was in that role that she was able to remind me of the correct calls for ‘Red River Valley’ at the time I was writing new words to that tune She also told me that at a ceilidh ‘Newcastle’ (which is one of the more complicated folk dances) would be introduced as ‘Newcastle, for those who know it’ rather than being called in the usual way. These memories and the feeling that she and I were often on much the same wavelength as writers will be my principal memories of Janet.
This competition, one of our rolling programme of six, invites entries on any aspect of the arts and alternates between fiction and non-fiction. This time around it was fiction and our adjudicator was Oz Hardwick.
Once face-to-face meetings resume, we shall present the trophy to Solvig Choi and, with her permission, add a photograph to this post. Maggie Cobbett and Susan Perkins were in second and third place.
In the meantime, Oz’s adjudication can be seen below. He was also kind enough to furnish all the entrants with individual comments on their pieces.
Ripon Writers’ Group Adjudication – Oz Hardwick
Though primarily a poet, back when I left school I initially went straight into Art College. Many years later, I studied English and Art History at university, and have written a book and a fair number of articles on (mainly medieval) art. Apart from every other awful aspect of the past eighteen months, what I have particularly missed is visiting art galleries and museums, so it was an absolute delight to view this diverse and intriguing gallery of the real and imagined through the power of your words.
I’m happy to be able to say with complete honesty that I enjoyed reading all of the submissions and, as there was just a small number, I had leisure to enjoy each one several times. What particularly impressed me was the grasp of structure in each piece. Short forms can be very unforgiving, but something each piece did was lead me from a starting point to somewhere substantially different, via a discernible route. This may sound obvious, but it’s far from always being the case. The other thing that impressed me was the range of voices, from third-person omniscient narration to first-person limited in the voice of the central artwork, one of the figures depicted, or, indeed, an authoritative and lively expert. And each one of these had a distinct authorial style.
My day job, of course, is as an English Professor, so I am obliged to note that one can never over-proofread one’s work, and that very little can bring more joy to the heart of an editor/judge/pedant than properly laid-out paragraphs. However, moving on …
If it wasn’t for my strict remit, I would probably leave it at that, and adopt Carroll’s Dodo’s “Everybody has won and all must have prizes” approach. However, needs must and I am tasked with selecting a winner and two joint runners-up. So, unfortunately, there are no laurels for The Picture’s mysterious inheritance (of which I would like to read a longer version), Molly’s decades-spanning tale of innocence and experience (which again could be longer), or the absolutely fascinating Talking the Blues (which has been banished to the naughty step now for not being fiction, but which I’d love to listen to as an illustrated talk).
Drum roll here …
In third place, Petrified mixes history and myth to tell a story of the fragments of a marble statue from the Acropolis. What I like particularly about this is that, while it is packed with reference to events and stories, a framing narrative in which the reader is addressed provides a reason for this, in consequence keeping it convincing as a story being told, rather than – as can all too frequently happen with less well-handled research – a bit of showing off by the author. It’s an imaginative story, well told within the word count.
In second place is another voice from the past: this time that of VictorineMeurent, who is best known – if at all – these days as Manet’s most frequently-used model, most famously his scandalous Le déjeuner sur l’herbe and Olympia. Apart from being a celebrated model, she was also an artist in her own right, and this story, while focusing on Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, reasserts this status while nicely applying the connoisseur’s eye to some of the odder aspects of the famous painting.
Which leaves, in first place, The Thinker, a slightly satirical slice of absurdism in the tastelessly extravagant world of big business. What really enlivened this was dialogue. There are a lot of characters for a short story, but their convincing exchanges, interspersed with third-person narration to vary the pace, gives a sense of every one of them. The story itself is slight but full of incident, and left me with a sense of narrative satisfaction, but also the feeling that I would like to follow these characters into further bizarre situations, getting to know them better. Well done.
Indeed, thank you to all of you for inviting me to read your work. I’m so sorry that I can’t come and say hello in person (and of course try to flog you my dodgy books).
There was much to discuss at our first face-to-face committee meeting since lockdown.
We look forward, if all goes well, to welcoming old and new members to our new venue, St Wilfrid’s Community Centre, on 20th July.
Watch this space for further details!
Memories of the late John Lythgoe
Written by Joe Peters
It was with great sadness that I learnt of the death on May 31st 2021 of one of our long-standing former members, John Lythgoe. When his wife Marion gave me this news all the memories of John’s long and faithful membership of RWG came flooding back. John held various offices over the years, including that of President in our celebratory year in 2003. John was a master of many skills. Fortunately for RWG one of those was that of master printer. Without John’s knowledge and guidance and sheer hard work those annual anthologies of RWG members’ writing work would not have appeared at that time.
Everything John did he seemed to undertake with great thoroughness. I never actually saw the model railway he established in his garden – but I know it would be accurate and immaculate in every detail. His encyclopaedic knowledge of all kinds of public transport, from technical features to the various liveries was spellbinding. Soon left behind by the complexity of those wonderful articles he wrote for various magazines I could only listen in awe.
Perhaps above all, John had a dry infectious sense of humour which often caused much merriment. And yet John was equally skilled as a sensitive observer of nature and the countryside, especially of his much-loved North Lincolnshire where he spent two happy years operating the mobile library service.
I’m sure those reading this who actually had the privilege of knowing John will have their own memories.
Marion too was an ‘adopted’ member of RWG. Although not attending actual meetings she always joined John for special occasions like those annual dinners, parties and days out. I’m sure you will all want to join me in offering condolences and love to Marion, our ‘adoptive’ Northumbrian.
PS: I know RWG’s founder will be casting a critical eye over this piece. I know she could have done it much better than I.
Adjudication by Jill Freeman
Jill’s adjudication, submitted perforce in writing, was both thoughtful and thorough. Thank you, Jill! As ever, tales with a discernable beginning, middle and end had to be spun in exactly 50 words and there was a wide variety of themes.
- 1st Place – Janet Barclay with ‘Space Quest’, a story of aliens sending Covid to Earth to wipe out the human race prior to a possible invasion
- 2nd Place – Maggie Cobbett with ‘Living for the Moment’, a story about cattle being let out to enjoy sunshine and fresh grass after a long winter
- 3rd Place – Carol Mayer with ‘The Treachery of Images’ concerning Rene Magritte’s painting ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’
- Highly Commended – Susan Perkins with ‘Invasion’, a story of Martians responding to an explorer lander from Earth by sending ‘Marsovirus’
- Commended –Peter Hicks with ‘A Cautionary Tale’ (an entry in verse about not sawing the branch one is sitting on when lopping branches off a tree), Ella Benigno with ‘My Sister’s Granddaughter Homesick and Stuck in Hong Kong’ (about a family wedding severely affected by the Covid pandemic) and Peter Page with ‘The Story of Ancient History’ (about the way stories of events in ancient history have been passed down leading to modern disputes about what really happened).
Roger Kendall once again agreed to judge our Poetry Competition, entries for which were sent to him towards the end of last year, and remarked as follows:
As on previous occasions, I have been most impressed by the high standard of the entries to this competition. They cover a variety of subjects, including the recent pandemic, and a range of poetic forms from free verse and rhymed tetrameter to a perfect Shakespearian sonnet. There was a real confidence in all of the writing, poets who had found their ‘voices’and were in control of both language and structure. They all usedsome vivid language and some original similes and metaphors. They explored a number of different moods, the anger ofthe poet in ‘Nasreen,’ the anxiety of the out-patient in ‘Breathing Space,’ the humour of the wild-swimmers in ‘Autumn.’
Such was the quality of all the entries, it made choosing a First, Second and Third a difficult task. As always, it’s a subjective matter, but I would emphasise that every one of these poems is to be highly commended. It was a great pleasure to read them all and I wish Ripon Writers’ Group a happy and successful writing year and good luck with the next Poetry Competition.
- 1st – Peter Page with ‘The Plates’
- 2nd – Kate Swann with ‘Breathing Space’
- 3rd– Ros Swaney with ‘Autumn
Entrants were then invited to share their poems by email and the following were very much enjoyed by the membership:
- Kate – ‘Breathing Space’ – a poem about an outpatient visit to a hospital for a scan
- Susan – ‘Looking Back, Looking Forward: a Conversation’ – a poem about 2020 written first as an acrostic sonnet and then rearranged as the competition entry
- Ros – ‘Autumn’ – a poem about a walk down to the river on an autumn evening in the course of which three women wild swimming in beanie hats are encountered
- Lindsay – ‘On not being Alone in 2020’ – a poem about a solitary person out and about who encounters a wide variety of things that seem to be in pairs, ending with a dog appearing which seems to think that he and the writer might want to go for a walk together
- Maggie – ‘Nasreen’ – a poem about a girl Maggie had known at school who, after flouting the rules in her own community, disappears, probably sent ‘back home’ to marry some distant cousin in the interests of family honour
- Peter H – ‘First Ice Cream’ – a memoir poem about an Italian ice cream vendor whose ice creams were much admired prior to WW2
- Sheila – ‘Sea Story’ – a poem about a walk on a beach on a day with rough seas and the poet’s ease in conjuring up a sea monster from myth as a result of the way rogue breakers seem to attack her
- Carol – ‘A René Magritte Moment’ – a short poem about lilac leave shifting in a breeze, sometimes revealing roof tiles behind which seem to leap into the foreground, reminding the poet of the ‘trompe l’oeil’ optical effects used by the painter Magritte
- Peter P – ‘The Plates’ – a sonnet about plate tectonics which had been previously shared with the Group.
In addition Susan shared Janet’s poem, ‘Hannah’s Song’ inspired by the story in Chapters 1 and 2 of the biblical First book of Samuel. Janet had intended this as a competition entry but it had somehow got missed.
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