Jeffrey's Longer Shorts

Geoffrey Crees

Description

In each of these ten longer short stories Geoffrey Crees imparts a Christian message with warmth and whimsical humour. An escape from prison, a lost sock, a hopeless drama group, a stranded cruise ship, to name a few of the stories, provide entertaining situations in which characters are challenged in some way by people of resolute Christian faith. The characters are fictitious, but for the quirky and curious situations in which they find themselves the author has drawn on his experiences over many years as an Anglican vicar. Now retired, Geoffrey lives with his wife in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire.

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 21 novembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780722348031
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

JEFFREY’S LONGER SHORTS
A Collection of Short Stories
Geoffrey Crees




First published in 2017 by
Arthur H. Stockwell Ltd
www.ahstockwell.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2017 Geoffrey Crees
The right of Geoffrey Crees to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.




To friends at Forest Gate Church, Mitcheldean; and the Chaplaincy Team at Gloucester Royal Hospital.



Acknowledgements
Every author, however modest in output, is indebted to many others before the printed words become a reality.
I am grateful to Pam Britton and Wendy Stephens for their original comments in the initial stages of this book.
To Pam and Malcolm Britton for their Author’s Profile, to Mark the photographer, and to Dave Stephens for the loan of his three-quarters shorts. To Steve D. Cook for imaginative illustrations. To Richard Stockwell and Rose Nicholas for proofreading and preparation for printing. Not least to my wife, Jean, for her love, patience, computer skills and pertinent criticism and comments which have contributed to and shaped this work.



Introduction
Why write another book? Won’t two do? Strangely, it is difficult to put into words, but talking to other authors there seems to be an agreement that there is a compulsion to always want to write more! It comes with an inner (I believe God-given) desire to communicate some of the hopes, dreams, fears and desires of every human being and, given the warm reception I have received for Jeffrey’s Shorts , I decided a sequel was in order - fewer stories, but double the length.
I make no apologies that Jeffrey’s Shorts was oblique in its Christian message while this current book is possibly more direct!
In 1871 Anthony Trollope, the author of Barchester Towers , wrote Anna on the SS Great Britain en route to Australia. Many of these stories were conceived on the way to and from France via Brittany Ferries. Such situations can concentrate the mind wonderfully well!
It is often said the printed word says a good deal about the author. If this is so, I trust the reader will judge me kindly.
Geoffrey Crees, summer 2017



The Shadow Of The Noose
A Fantasy Story


Social media had been buzzing. Many people believed him to be innocent, including those in semi-secret Churches, such as Olivia; but all appeals exhausted, Harri stepped out of his cell with his prison officer beside him for the very short walk to the scaffold, where the noose was facing him, and he could espy a coffin in the corner. Beside the governor was the chaplain and one other jailer.
“Anything to say, Janze, before we carry out the sentence of the court?”
“No, sir!” Harri had grown accustomed to respect authority.
“Take one step forward.”
At that moment Harri bent down, whipped out his taser gun and fired it rapidly at all four men, who before they could press an alarm were writhing on the floor. For good measure Harri shot off the noose, which dropped off with a plonk on to the governor’s nose. Harri got the bunch of keys from the officials and sped down the corridor, unlocking several cells as he went out into the prison yard. Just then he caught sight of a Fresco delivery van, jumped in, pushing the driver out with force, rendering him unconscious in the process, and at the last moment Harri grabbed the driver’s cap. The gates having been opened already, he sped out wearing the cap, so the gate official assumed Harri was the delivery driver. Once outside in the cobbled street, he drove across to what, in fact, was the top of a steep hill with steps on its narrow sides.
Back in the prison chaos reigned when, at last, the panic button was pressed; in the meantime some twenty prisoners had escaped, though only two got outside the walls, and another three sat outside their cells not knowing quite what to do.
Eventually some sort of order was restored, but most assumed that Janze had been ‘topped’, and it was a long while before his escape had been realised.
Having steered the electric van to the top of the hill he let it go, whilst he jumped out, forgetting to take the cap with him. Rushing straight into the nearest shop, a hairdresser’s, he grabbed a gown, draped it round himself and sat in a chair.
The assistant, who was engrossed in the happenings outside the shop, did not realise his presence for quite a while. She turned, realised she had a customer, and asked if she could be of help.
“Just a trim of the beard, please.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Harri was also in a state of shock now, as being addressed as ‘sir’, and in the presence of a young woman, were never in his thoughts in the long years of planning his escape from captivity. He noticed her name was ‘OLIVIA’ with ‘hairdressing assistant’ on her badge, which made him wonder if she was the assistant, who is the boss?
He soon got the answer when she called out, “I’ve got a customer, Mrs Trinkwasser.”
“Carry on, dear” came a slurred voice from the back of the shop.
For Mrs Trinkwasser, drinking water was always last on her mind, and she spent most of her days in the back of the shop with her favourite vodka bottle.
Outside, the delivery van careered down the steep hill, with a few early morning shoppers leaping out of the way, until it shot out into the muddy, murky waters of the river, where it slowly sank with just the top of the cab showing. A passing police officer, wondering as to the fuss, shouted for the small crowd to keep back, to no avail.
“Was the driver in it?” and “Where did it come from?” were the questions circulating among the bystanders.
The officer duly called for backup, which was delayed because of the chaotic scenes inside and outside the prison.
“Could you deal with a couple of blackheads, please?” asked Harri.
“Certainly, sir. I’ll just get my plastic gloves and tweezers.”
Olivia was wondering, ‘Who is this guy? It can’t be Harri Janze, who was hung this morning; maybe it is his twin brother come to watch the notice being put on the prison wall.’
Minor operation over, Harri whispered, “Can you help me? I haven’t any money on me,” at the same time noticing that Olivia had beautiful olive-coloured eyes.
‘Oh, oh, oh,’ thought Harri.
“That’s OK. Come back later today when the bank is open.”
“No, I haven’t any money anywhere, and my urgent need is somewhere to hide.”
At this the penny dropped in Olivia’s young mind. Yes, it was the famous/infamous Harri Janze, but what was he doing here? Why wasn’t he dead? Did the hangman’s rope break? She had heard such stories in the past.
“Quick - while Mrs Trinkwasser is asleep!” (Which in fact she was most of the time.)
The shop was built into the hillside with plenty of rooms downstairs. A room was found, unkempt but lockable with a toilet inside. In fact, Harri could not believe his luck - he had escaped the noose, escaped prison and now was smitten by Olivia, his saviour. He gladly assented to being locked in and for extra security shut himself in the toilet.
“I shall have customers waiting - but trust me, I’ll come back with some food and a spare key so you can go your own way once the fuss is over.”
‘Trust me’ - Harri had not heard such words for years. Food was, of course, the last thing on his mind since his last requested meal was fillet steak, fresh broad beans, new potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and gravy followed by a large helping of plum duff, custard and ice cream.
The prison chef was not really pleased to get up earlier than usual and thought to himself that, with all that food, either he would swing quickly or the rope would break!
The civil guard having been called out, some sort of order was restored, interrupted by numerous TV camera crews, whose personnel soon set up their satellite dishes and put their vans where they thought fit in the narrow streets. Many of the residents desiring their moment of fame queued up in front of the cameras to tell their stories, many of which were elaborated and embellished with “I saw him - such a wicked look in his eyes” and so on.
At 10.30 a.m. a statement was read on national TV to the effect that there was a brief delay in the execution of Harri Janze and that no one in the prison service was available for interview. “Another last-minute appeal” was one passing comment.
The regional administrator appeared from some thirty kilometres away, but found it difficult to get through the crowds. When he did eventually get to the governor’s office he met with the four officials, who were still confused and bemused by what had happened.
“Have you any explanations before I sack you - including you, Mr Chaplain?”
The chaplain thought this a bit harsh as he only came into the prison for executions. No other religious practices were normally allowed.
Crowds gathered above the riverbank, and spotlights and floodlights were soon shining on the delivery van or as much as was above the murky waters. Then the delivery man’s cap floated to the surfac