The Gulls

 

by Roberta Smithies

orange juice

 

  The back alley was littered with overturned dustbins that had been blown around in the strong winds. Winds were considered a normal occurrence in this coastal area but these last winds had turned into a storm.

The gulls eyed up the debris. They stood on roof tops waiting to swoop down when the mood took one of them and then the rest would follow. The first to take off was a very large gull who landed on a filthy nappy, picked it up, flew off and almost immediately dropped it again into someone’s back yard.

Sam watched from his bedroom window. It was part of his daily entertainment either before or after school but today it was the weekend and he had all day.

‘Not the right flavour.’ He thought and felt revolted at the thought.

One gull in particular always came and sat on the roof opposite his house. It had slightly different markings from its companions and was less aggressive. Sam had a soft spot for this gull and whenever he could he put food out in the back alley for it. All the gulls swooped down but he kept food back that he threw specifically near this gull. It was usually a little apart from the rest so it picked up the food with ease. He noticed that over the weeks it had gained weight and seemed to look for him. He smiled. It was fun evading his Mum to feed what she described as pests, large vermin, worse than rats because you could see them everywhere. They made horrible screeching noises too.

Sam loved the sound they made. When they went to the beaches around his house the calling sound was haunting to him, evocative of sun, sea and sand filled days. Wild lonely parts of the dunes watching shipping go past was his favourite pastime. The gulls fitted in perfectly. The sea was where they belonged but he understood they came inland these days for easy food and were no longer sea gulls but just gulls. He didn’t mind .

Today he was happy because he had been able to feed ‘his’ gull quite a lot of stale bread. Also, he had saved some for the small birds that fluttered in and out of the area sitting in the few trees that were in his street. He felt he was fair in his distribution even giving pigeons food. The rats of the sky, his mum called them. He loved all animals. He named his gull ‘Beaky’ today. Tomorrow he would have cornflakes for him and his pals. He had an old half empty packet of them that his mother was throwing out. He could hardly wait for tomorrow. Beaky had flown off but he would be sat on the roof opposite again tomorrow morning watching for Sam - and Sam watching for him.

About the author 

Roberta was born into a Lake District family of published authors in the 1960's 70's,80's. Two action, adventure, comedy murder mysteries have been published. An ongoing series always set somewhere sunny and glamorous. The author is creating blogs about her new life in a town. See rmhowebooks.co.uk 

The Change

 

by Roberta Smithies  

Just for Ewe bottled beer   

Living in the English Lake District is a privilege. It is chocolate box pretty. On some days dramatic, beautiful, threatening, stunning, breathtaking – depending where you are. Always photogenic. Spoiled many times by tourists who don’t appreciate the mountains and lakes and look only for the maximum amount of alcohol and shops. Litter bins are for other people, the ground is more convenient.

    A downside that has to be lived with as the economy relies on tourism. Sadly farming is declining with farmers turning to B & B to supplement their income. The lovely Herdwick sheep are conspicuous by their waning numbers. This is a reality of my wonderous birthplace. I took it all for granted – but no more.

  I was forced by circumstances to move to a large nearby industrial town. A ship building, nuclear submarine town. Many other industries abound. Pretty, it is not. Old slag heaps are the places for dog walks now. The shoreline can be dramatic, pleasant and nearly always windy. Trees bend permanently one way. Dustbins are to be found yards from the house being regularly dragged back until enough weight has been accumulated to keep them upright and in place.

   One and a half acres of garden with stunning views has been replaced with a row house. It has a tiny back yard unsuitable for my two cats and a dog. It looks unromantically onto the ugly backs of other houses and yards. The front looks towards equally unprepossessing houses, many un-occupied left for a transient workforce who are the mainstay of the ship building. One person left a curtain flapping out of a window two months ago. It’s now in shreds and can’t be removed – legally anyway.

  My house is secure and warm. My neighbours are all friendly. There is 24 hour food with many massive supermarkets and local specialized shops, plus fuel, taxis and many late drinking places to suit people on all kinds of shift work. It often reminds me of a Lowry town. It has some nice cafes. People find their own level. One level is the amount of football both played and watched. The noise is incredible all over town. The dog trembles and I avoid the pubs on those nights but mid week I have a good local pub with incredibly cheap meals which I indulge in because it is cheaper than cooking at home. It is an interesting time of discovery. Who knows what will happen next in my life.

 

About the author

Born into a Lake District family of  authors published in the 1960s , 70s and 80s. Two action, adventure, comedy murder mysteries have been published. An ongoing series always set somewhere sunny and glamorous. The author is creating blogs about her new life in a town. See rmhowebooks.co.uk