Apologies: Alan, Cathy, Natasha, Adi (Keith had sent apologies for the August meeting, but these were omitted in error)
NEWS:
Harry had enjoyed another competition success and was warmly congratulated. (Details to follow.)
Liz had heard from the Woking News and Mail editor that he was interested in discussing a regular slot for Woking Writers’ Circle.
Liz also reported that the Book Group had read The White Castle by Orhan Pamuk, which had not been enjoyed, earning a notional mark of 5 out of 10. The next book is The Midnight Library by Matt Haig.
Heather reminded everyone that Write Out Loud would take place at the Fiery Bird on Thursday 25th September. There will be 2 more meetings at this venue before closure: October and November. There will not be a meeting in December, but from January 2026 WOL meetings will take place at the Lionsheart Bookshop and will be held on a Monday. Further information to follow.
READINGS:
Heather read her poem Rain Women, which was generally well-received, with some reservations about the slightly racy implications!
Nathan’s poem, Come Autumn We Fall Again, was a beautiful piece, featuring sustained and original autumn imagery. There was some discussion about the 2nd verse, which did not quite sustain the dreamy mood of the rest of the poem. Sarah thought in terms of song lyrics and suggested adding other senses to enrich the autumnal descriptions. Liz wondered about punctuation, but apparently the technology used had decided against it.
Nathan’s trademark Haiku was beautiful.
Dave’s poem, The Human Condition, was extremely powerful and interesting, raising the question of humans seeking comfort from non-existent sources instead of trusting their own abilities/agency. The description of the ‘pagan’ ritual was vivid, but it was suggested that tension could be further increased in this part of the poem, before the woman spits out the ball. (And if that doesn’t make you want to read it or hear it, I don’t know what will!)
Keith brought along his stunningly beautiful painting of wisteria at Wisley and read his poem featuring this. Everyone enjoyed this descriptive piece, which avoided cliché and walked hand-in-hand with the painting. There was a brief discussion about Ekphrastic poetry.
Keith’s second poem, Being a Poet, was in a totally different vein and full of witty lines, recording all the things that Keith thinks about that he hasn’t done now he has achieved senior status.
Tricia’s piece, Rebel’s Cause, was a moving tale about a young man, Olly, going to a Gaza march. He sustains a head injury that he appears to recover from, but then dies following an accidental shove while on the march. A classic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was praise for the natural dialogue and Dave particularly enjoyed the suddenness of the ending.
Liz read her poem, Arrival of Autumn, which was rich in imagery. Heather enjoyed ‘Short fuse burning, no backward turning’ which contrasted with the body of the poem.
Liz’s second poem, He/She, was interesting and had a cathartic quality but was not in the least self-pitying. The mention of ‘Widow’s fire’ was a new concept for this innocent audience.
Harry’s poem, White Lies of the Game, related to a poker game being played by ‘A quartet of kids’. This was a greatly appreciated piece, with humour – ‘no-one knows the rules’ and warmth – ‘a blithe ballad of adolescence’.
Harry’s second poem, Pleasantries with the Arachnid, was startlingly original and very clever. ‘Competition-worthy’ indeed. It was agreed that it would make an excellent performance poem.
Simona will email about an opportunity presented by the Bylines Network publication.
Liz reported that WWC Book Group was reading 2 books: Orbital and Night Train to Lisbon.
Liz has entered the Write Out Loud competition. She has also taken part in 3 workshops.
WRITING COMPETITIONS:
It was agreed that for a period of 3 months, the Minutes would include a section on current writing competitions, to see whether WWC members found this useful. No attempt would be made to provide a comprehensive list, or to give full details of each competition as these are available on the relevant websites. WWC members might find it helpful to obtain the monthly magazine, Writers’ News, which runs its own competitions and provides information about many other opportunities.
Frome Festival Short Story Competition: For unpublished short fiction between 1000 and 2,200 words. Closing Date 31st May.
Yeovil Literary Prize: Various categories, including Poetry and Short Stories. C/D 31st May
Personal Memoir Competition: For unpublished, original memoirs up to 1,500 words. C/D 31st August.
Ware Poets Open Poetry Competition: For poems up to 50 lines, any subject. There is a special Sonnet Prize. C/D 30 April
Winchester Poetry Festival: For poems up to 40 lines, any subject. C/D 31st July
READINGS:
Simona read a short story, featuring Alys, who is a woman with a mission. The piece could stand alone, but the intention is that it will be part of Simona’s book. It was rich in technical detail, but this was conveyed in such a way as to make sense to the non-techies in the group. There was great admiration for the writing style, which maintained tension and pace throughout. All agreed that it was a remarkable piece of work.
Heather once again lowered the tone with her poem, Support for the Partners of Poets, written after being driven to several recent poetry events by her long-suffering partner. She also contributed 2 clerihews (inspired by Nathan’s ground-breaking venture at the March meeting), one of which featured Hieronymous Bosch; the second, Picasso.
Nathan’s wonderfully romantic, dreamlike poem, Wanderer, was in stark contrast to the previous offerings and was greatly appreciated. Suggestions were made regarding the ‘clutch at straws’ usage in verse 2 and the puzzle simile at the end of verse 2, but everyone relished the beauty of the language and images created in this remarkable poem. Nathan also presented a trademark Haiku, Echoes, which was admired by all. The last line, ‘The past carries on’ was compelling in its truth and simplicity.
Cathy had followed the Homework suggestion which had been to write in a different genre from the usual one favoured by the writer. This she had done to great effect in a short poem, employing spare language to convey the stark facts known about a person’s life: Baptism, Marriage, Burial. Every 10 years, the Census recorded scant facts such as status, occupation, but nothing else about a person’s life survived beyond family memories. This was a moving and beautifully constructed piece.
Alan contributed 2 pieces, in very different styles. The first very short story, Moonshine, featured 2 prisoners peeping out and seeing the moon. The whole story took up less than half a page of A4 and was told entirely in dialogue. This was a clever piece with the usual punchline delivered with a satisfying thud. The second story, Petrified Witness, was very different from Alan’s usual style, conveyed in an exchange of letters which faithfully reflected the style of Victorian polite society. This was a longer story which allowed for development of character and some telling references to the prevailing customs of the day, as in Miss Bingham’s allusion to reading mathematics at Cambridge not being ‘an avenue…open to our sex’. This story also had the power to shock, possibly more so because of the mannered style of the letters. Both pieces were greatly admired.
Liz began by inviting views about whether she should write a wellbeing piece, possibly focussing on the pleasure to be had while shopping in Woking. She had departed from her usual genre by writing a children’s poem inspired by a walk round Winkworth Arboretum with her family. The young boy was fascinated by dinosaurs and all agreed that Liz’s rhyming poem captured the child’s excitement and wild imagination. Some suggestions were made about the imaginary dinosaurs that were hiding conflicting with the idea of digging, a possible solution being to dig for dinosaur bones in a sandpit. This was a very enjoyable piece.
Harry’s poem, My Friend and the Racist, signalled a complete change of mood. The language was real and the inclusion of swear words gave credibility to the uncomfortable scene described. The emotions felt were powerfully conveyed and the regrets of the writer, as in the racist inviting the writer to punch him, followed by, ‘I didn’t – I wanted to./ I wish I did.’ The inclusion of reference to the racist putting down his ‘black dog’ worked well and the final lines about the writer feeling ‘sorry for his dog’ provided a neat and thoughtful end to a powerful and disturbing (in a good way!) poem.
Woking Writers Circle hopes you enjoy Tricia’s second instalment of her Tanzania Adventures, as much as we did:
I’d said to my friend that I wasn’t keen to visit the Serengeti or wildlife parks. Human life interests me more. I’m not averse to natural features especially waterfalls. I was lucky enough to visit Victoria falls in 2023, all thanks to my sister. My friend also likes falls so she arranged a trip, with a local guide she knew, the day after returning from Zanzibar.
We sat waiting for our guide, knap sacks ready. B arrived apologizing for being late, we had coffee and discussed the day. It sounded great, waterfall, coffee farm, food in a Chagga village and back.
The day was warm and sunny, the mist hung over Mount Meru (the nearest one) and further on clung to Mount Kilimanjaro (the shy one) obscuring the summit. (A) told me she had only seen the summit a couple of times in the year she had been here.
B drove us through the bustling market, then turned off to a quieter road. He told us we were approaching Maji Chai.
“Why do you think it is called that?” Realizing that chai means tea, we suggested something to do with that.
“Nearly right, look at the colour of the river (it was reddish brown) the water is contaminated by minerals from Mount Meru. The name translates as ‘Tea Water”. He was very knowledgeable about the culture and history of the area.
About one hour later we turn off the main road, gradually ascending, luckily there was plenty of foliage and no steep drops. We were about the same elevation as the first base camp on Kilimanjaro, but outside the national park, I do keep forgetting that falls are quite high up.
We left the car and set off along a track, its only 7km to the falls, but quite hard going in places. In the shade it was muddy, in the sun quite withering.
B explained about the Chagga tribe and the Materuni village that we would visit after the falls.
B showed us how to make a sun hat from a banana leaf, he kept asking us to guess what the plants were, we were not very good at it, but it was fun. The people here are so much more in touch with nature.
As we descended, several scrambler bikes whizzed past, local guys driving, tired tourists riding pillion. I looked at B.
“Oh they give you a ride up the hill, sometimes it’s too much on the way back.”
Not on your life I thought.
We were approached by some children who had chameleons. A really wanted to look at them.
We stopped at the lower reaches of the falls, its about 80 m high. I dipped my feet in the water, so cool and refreshing. I swapped my trainers for sandals and B offered to carry my rucksack, which made walking lots easier. I’m starting to feel my age.
As we sat admiring the peace and tranquillity, several youngsters in blue school uniforms passed by, and then there were more. One hundred and fifty to be precise, several teachers and a nun. As the walk towards the falls was getting slippery, the nun was down to the bottom like a mountain goat, made me feel old.
B and my friend helped the teachers make a chain so the kids could get down to paddle on the rocks. I held all the bags. It was great to see the rapture as they paddled, sadly it would never pass a UK risk assessment, more’s the pity.
We decided that it was too slippery to go closer to the falls.
We went back a little way downstream, and had a swim. I tried to teach B to float, but the current was strong. We packed up hurriedly to beat the rush of children. I decided to walk barefoot , much easier. I felt more agile, in touch with the earth.
When we arrived at the steep incline, I wondered if I could manage it, just then the BODABODA (bikes) arrived . I looked on in horror.
“You’ll be fine, just hold on tight, put your chin in the back of his neck, honestly you’ll be ok.”
I went for it, spurred on by B’s positivity. Clinging on for dear life as he swerved around ruts, twisting and turning around the rugged track. I nearly squeezed the life out of the poor boy. Hairy, but any exhilaration I felt left me as we approached a steep descent.
“ Stop, stop!”
“You ok, you burn yourself?”
“No, no, I’ll walk down.”
He starred at me perplexed.
“Ok”
Then I stepped back and noticed that I did burn my ankle on the exhaust.
We arrived at the Materuni village, which J described as an authentic village where tours and trips were developed to try to help people and remove the temptation of drug use. His brother had succumbed and he wanted to help the young people. There were several dwellings and a cow shed, all the people, adults and children made us feel very welcome. B knew them well and engaged in some banter regarding one of the girls.
We were taken to a table outside but in the shade, and treated to a traditional Chagga lunch. Soya beans and rice, brown and white, soup, potatoes and local veg, meat curry. All fresh and homemade, it was lovely. I’ve never eaten whole soya beans. One of the young guys joined us, his name was Goodluck, as his mother finally got the son she wanted.
Then we went to see the coffee preparation. They had Arabica plants, we were shown the whole process, starting with the pods and the hand machine that removes the skin, the washing, where the bad pods rise to the surface and are skimmed off. The drying, which takes about 1-2 weeks. Once dry they use a large pestle and mortar to remove the husks, they then shake the husks away and these are used for fertilizer.
Next came the roasting, a man with dreads half way down his back, stirred the beans and moved the metal pot around over the open fire. We sang traditional songs. They tend to roast coffee medium here believing that it retains more natural goodness. Then back to the pestle and mortar. They made it look easy and I had a go but it definitely was not.
Tasting time! They poured coffee into small China cups and were impressed I drink my coffee black. Which is what they do. More pure.
Finally time to go. We walked back to the car, there was an old couple sitting outside a hut, she was stirring a pot. B explained they were making the local brew. We did have some of the banana beer with lunch, more like liqueur, very strong. This is called Mbege, it is a beer made from the ‘ndizi Ngombe (cow banana) and sprouted millet powder, it is a time consuming process and is made by the women.
They beckoned to us.
“Go on they are inviting you to try some”
It tasted ok but the grainy scum floating on the top. Yuk!
We thanked them.
As we drove down we noticed that the sky had become very clear. We stopped and were met by a very old man who was looking for something. The shy mountain had come out of hiding and was visible in all her glory right to the top. I felt very privileged.
The hour and a half journey there turned into a 3 hour journey back. We hit all the market traffic. I’d never driven out in the night when I had been in Namibia, car hire firms usually stipulate no night driving except in a town. Mind you it definitely wasn’t quiet. People finishing work, packing and loading cars and trucks full of unsold produce. Shops and bars and restaurants.
As it got later the clothing changed and an assortment of partying and nightlife was on display. Vibrant, colourful snippets of life. B wanted to take us to a local café when we got back to Arusha, we were both tired, but needed to eat, so we agreed.
Gradually the road became quieter as we neared Arusha. We drove into town and through some back streets. The café had lots of tables outside.
I was going to try chips mayai, a local specialty which was basically an omelette with the chips in it. I wasn’t sure at first, but it works. I also had some chicken and salad with different spices and breads.
We finally got back to A’s about 10 pm. A twelve hour day.
One of our Circle members has recently been on a trip to Tanzania and has written a piece describing her experience, below:
In Zanzibar the majority of people are Muslim. I didn’t realize the strength of Arab influence until I was told of their role in the trade of slaves and spices. In fact, the hotel we were staying at was once the palace of an Ottoman prince and looked like he had left lots behind. It felt like walking through an Ottoman antique shop with unusual bric-a-brac dotted all around and framed by beautiful wood panelling inlaid with Islamic designs. The décor was indeed very palatial, especially the four poster queen beds and mosaic shower trays.
The balcony was a different story. The Small space was wedged between two walls with only enough room for 2 chairs and a table with an opening at the end. Drops of water from the aircon unit were dripping down regularly, mostly on my friend’s head. They described the view as ‘the amazing metal roofs of stone town’ but that was must have been estate agent speak.
Visiting the night market was on our agenda and despite being inquisitive I did not ask for more details. The Market turned out to be full of fish and food stalls with skewers of every sort of fish you could imagine and sometimes meat as well. Generally, most of the stalls sold similar stuff, but they all wanted you to buy specifically from them. One guy realizing I was from UK said ”I’m Millwall, you buy from me”. It seemed ironic given their track record on diversity.
Drinks were also on offer but only fruit juices or soft drinks. Amazingly, when I said I didn’t drink those a young guy managed to conjure up a weird cocktail with a lot of vodka in it.
We had booked a trip to Chengu island, also known as prison island. In the lovely 30-minute boat ride, you could see how much Zanzibar depended on fishing. The weather was hot and balmy and our boatman, Abdi Morrocco, was a good and helpful guide, even though his English was limited.
I hadn’t told my friend that the island was home to a colony of peacocks and Aldabra tortoises which are giant and live a long time. The Oldest tortoise was 160 years old, but they had a little nursery with tiny ones too. I’m not in the habit of massaging 160-year-olds’ necks but as it was a rare tortoise I’d made an exception.
The history of the island was interesting as it was used as a holding place for rebellious slaves by the Arabs. The British later on turned it into a quarantine island, and now it is a tourist attraction. We made sure to go for a swim before departing.
Later on, we had the loveliest lunch, sitting in the sun and watching the sea, eating the freshest avocado and tomatoes on bruschetta, that I luckily didn’t break my teeth on and sipping a cool glass of white wine. Not long after we went to the beach on the east side of the island, the Indian ocean side.
The hotel was small and all on one level and our room overlooked onto the pool with glimpses of the sea, the sand and the restaurant. The room itself was fine, but the pungent odor of disinfectant played havoc with my chest the first night. I made sure they didn’t use it after that first night.
Later on that day, we decided to walk down the beach to find somewhere to eat. The Fisherman’s was a very rustic place and at first it seemed little more than a shack just off the beach, but as you went further back, it was welcoming and cozy. We ordered food and wine, which they probably had to rush to get from the local bottle store. Some guys rocked up with a guitar, drum and shakers and we were treated to some music, relaxing reggae in Swahili and English. The atmosphere was chilled and instigated some philosophizing, some dancing, enjoyment of great food, of lovely people. What a great start to the holiday.
I’ve always wanted to swim with Dolphins, but not in captivity and we found out that this could be done in Zanzibar. I had to weigh the price, the time and the ethics of doing it and after some convincing from the hotel staff I decided that I should do it.
I had to rise early but that was not a problem. I arrived at the place and managed to cadge a lighter (the airport took mine) and a sealed bottle of water. I set off in a boat and then 2 more boats joined ours. My boat was going quite fast, hitting the waves, bumping up and down. At one point the boatman said, “get in, get in, there they are” and I did, but was not too happy with the abruptness of the ride and signal. Plus, there were no dolphins. We drove a bit further and I asked him to stop and told him “I’m just going to swim for a bit”. I thought if the Dolphin wants to swim with me, they will come. To my surprise, one did. I told the boatman “That’s it” and he said, “you’re the boss”. I tried to make it as ethical as possible given the circumstances.
After the trip I managed to get back in time for breakfast.
Later, we went for a walk in the local town or village and after lunch, I went searching for a lighter, meanwhile my friend had been accosted by one of her work colleagues. It turned out she was DJ- ing at a restaurant just down the beach from us. Despite neither my friend nor I being into deep house music, we agreed to have dinner with her when she told us the food there was excellent. It was a good night despite being interrogated by my friend’s colleague, but the deep house music did not fill us with deep joy.
We wended our way back and had a discreet glass of wine on our terrace.
The next day we were off to Maalam caves for a natural swimming experience. This was a very nature centered experience where you could snorkel and see fishes swimming amongst the rocks. Me and snorkeling are not generally compatible, but I could hold my breath long enough to see some. My friend loved it, and she spent ages face in water getting down with the flora and fauna. The were lots of other people there, and I thought they gave the birds a run for their money with their incessant chatter, almost chirping like.
After the swimming we had a lovely coffee, and I bought some lemon grass soap. Back at the hotel we both fancied a burger for lunch despite my liking for fish and always saying I need to eat more, but we had eaten fish nearly every day. After lunch, our stroll down the beach led to me getting an hour long massage for less than £10.00 from Mamma Africa.
On our last night we went to Mr Kahawa’s, which I later discovered means “coffee”. I was also told that “kafi” means to hit or slap someone, which was slightly confusing but since I order coffee a lot, I should probably remember this. Since I’d had a burger for lunch, I decided to be good and have a couscous salad.
The setting was beautiful, watching the waves of the warm ocean lapping on the sand whilst listening to The Rolling Stones, which started us on a nostalgic musical journey. We have very similar tastes in music, and it made me realize how lucky I’ve been to see the bands that I have seen.
I woke up very early the next morning and saw a strange cloud that rose up like an anthill. I then went right down to the front of the restaurant to see the sun rise and I was joined by a young German girl who was there to watch it too. It was quick but stunning and made me realize how close to the equator we were. It gets light and dark at the same time every day of the year. No short or long days.
We chilled by the pool until it was time to go to the airport and fly back to Arusha.
Our August meeting, as is the tradition, was a social evening, with plenty of food and some drink. But we still managed to find the time to share some fine writing. Here is the first of these, a poem by Heather Cook extolling the pleasures of a stay-at-home Bank Holiday:
BANK HOLIDAY MONDAY
by Heather Cook
Another warm and sunny day
And oh, what bliss to roam
Down Mr Waitrose’ tranquil aisles
Just minutes from my home.
***
The motorways are jammed I hear,
The airports overflowing;
There’s engineering on the rails –
Don’t even think of going.
***
But should you ever get there
It’s standing room on beaches
While pottering round Waitrose
Is just a bowl of peaches.
***
The shopping done, I’ll rest a while
Until it’s time to dine
Then rustle up a ready meal
Washed down with well-chilled wine.
***
***
But if you fancy a pastime that is a bit more strenuous, why not join Carla Scarano D’Antonio’s life-affirming ‘Yoga Classes’?
YOGA CLASSES
by Carla Scarano D’Antonio
We meet at weekends in the park or on Zoom since the gyms are closed. A small bunch of five-10 ladies when we are outside, a few occasional men, more numerous on the online sessions. The instructor is passionate about us, she supervises every movement, corrects our postures and suggests alternatives to the most difficult ones. We enjoy the time out when the weather is fine, the thick branches of the oak trees swinging in the wind, the clouds gathering in grey menacing clusters and then scattering in white fluffy bits above our heads. We rotate our bodies, twist, swing legs and arms, one leg in high ‘peeing dog’ pose and hold, hold our postures, exercise abs and sun salutations. We sit as if ‘peeing on a dirty toilet’, ‘hula hoop sassy hips’ and ‘kneel as if proposing marriage’. Our legs point straight or are soft when standing; we take life with ease and mean to go through it, ageing but still active, not bothering about bulging bits, varicose veins, big bums and flabby arms. We are stags, dancers and warriors, open our arms wide in goddess position. Together, bright and shining in the summer weather.
