To be Lucky – The force that causes things, especially good things, to happen to you by chance and not as a result of your own efforts or abilities:
Our home where we lived halfway between Bristol and Bath in Somerset before we moved to Spain was such a ‘lucky’ buy as it was being advertised in large letters in an estate agent window, I could not miss it as I walked past. The property was on the end of a chain and if not sold the chain collapsed. There were seven days to buy and complete. As we had nothing to sell it was possible and we made it happen.
It was a small three-bedroom semi detached house, which was disappointing as we had planned to buy something larger off plan, so my burning desire on arrival was to improve it and if possible, turn the small 850 square feet residence into something larger.
And the improvements in size were achievable, by adding a side extension and improving the ground floor by adjoining the garage into the living accommodation and encroaching that into the garden. We added another bedroom and a bathroom, and when complete the house was nearly twice the original size and a dining table you could walk around.
It was a beautiful summer’s evening when the extension into the rear was finished with the patio and the garden laid out and as there were no houses to the rear, also South facing, it was an ideal place to sit in the evening sun.
The ground floor design had wide open glass to the living area overlooking the patio, making it part of the lounge with three metre heavy glass panel sliding doors between the two, giving an open appearance.
Four of us had been sitting on new patio furniture and when the sun disappeared over the trees, we stood up to move inside. We were ‘lucky’ because as we vacated the chairs the four panes of the sliding doors, which had been fitted the previous day fell outwards smashing the table and chairs we had been sitting on – a moment earlier we would have been badly hurt.
The Hondon Writers Circle:
I have always enjoyed writing and have had items published in the past. About six years ago I was ‘lucky’ to be talking with Lynn Penhaul over coffee when she suggested we should form a writer’s group, after talking to like minded people we met in her house for the very first time and the Hondon Writers Circle was born.
The group met on a regular basis and still do. Before breaking up a session, a word or maybe a phrase is decided on for homework, the idea for a story to be produced around the words for discussion at the next session.
In April 2019 the phrase for homework was ‘Journey not taken.’ The following was my input.
The Greek Dairy Farmer
It was after the second World War when the ‘Urney’ family, (And as everyone knows that means ‘first’ in ancient Greek) along with their young son ‘Jo’ moved away from their homeland of Greece and settled in the U.K. Up to that period and for three generations before they were recognised businesspeople in dairy farming.
Following their losses at the hands of the invaders they salvaged what they could and managed to set up a similar business in Southern England. As the country struggled to recover from the period of conflict and started to flourish and so did the family. They were very proud of the fast delivery service of dairy products where their milk carts would go out daily to serve their customer and it was often said “Urney’s had the fastest milk carts in the West.”
Their son ‘Jo’ was a sad disappointment to them as he refused to follow in their footsteps and to be the first ‘Urney’ to go out in the world and earn a living other than in the dairy industry. As a child, and as a result of the original travelling away from the family’s homeland, this had induced in him the desire to travel.
Jo scoured the newspapers looking for work that included travelling and was content when he managed to gain a post as a ‘Client Service Manager’ with a shipping company. He was a little disappointed when he realised it was a ferry company and what he thought was a very important job turned out to be a steward standing behind a bar serving drinks, and all the other chores of clearing up that went with it. Nevertheless, he persevered with his employment.
From a very young boy Jo had been fastidious in keeping a diary and each day before retiring he would make notes of the hours of activities. On a daily basis, the ferry with him on board, travelled back and forth to France, besides serving he recorded the actions and deeds of the travelling public.
In his twentieth year of working on the ship and finally being promoted to Purser, he gathered up his writings and put them into book form. It was A5 in size with an attractive red cover and the name ‘Journey’ flourished in gold print across the front of the finished item. It looked impressive.
He had a sizable number printed and travelled around the small shops delivering them on the basis the owners would pay him on a regular basis for the ones they had sold. The first week came to an end and he set off to collect the revenue. At the first shop on a corner with its wares displayed to the front, he pushed the door which set off a bell as it opened. Behind the counter was Mr Singh, wearing a coloured turban on his head and who was serving a customer. He looked up at the sound and shaking his head said in broken English “’Journey’ not taken.”
www.facebook.com/percy chattey
