The Blyth U3A Creative Writing Group aims to provide a supportive learning experience for its members, it is open to and suitable for anyone interested in creative writing, no qualifications or previous experience are necessary and the goal is to enable members to achieve whatever they want to get out of it. 

That could be just writing for themselves, for friends and family, for competitions or to get something published. We will cater for your aspirations whatever they are.

Any homework or projects etc which are proposed are purely voluntary, topics are not set in stone and if you wish to write something else other than the suggested topic then that is fine. The aim is inspiration rather than perspiration.

If you have access to a computer, iPad or similar that would be good but it’s not essential.

We meet at the Library 12.30 to 14.30 on the second Monday of the month but you need to make contact with the Group Leader Brian Dawson first before you can attend.  Tel 07428183116 or e mail brian_dawson_2000@yahoo.Co.Uk

A Festive Tale was the subject of our ‘Xmas homework’ and here is one of the offerings !

The Golden Christmas tree

“Dad’s working on the bins today Janet. With it being near Christmas folk will be throwing out quite a lot of old, yet perfectly acceptable, decorations in order to replace with shiny new ones – especially along Ridley Avenue!”

“Oh mam! Great! I can’t wait to come back from school to see if dad’s rescued anything for us to use!”

The golden Christmas tree surpassed all expectation.  Jack pulled it out of the hessian sack with a proud grin. To the family of Ridley Avenue it had been a sorry looking sight which they had been only too pleased to say goodbye to. The gold tinsel branches had long since shed most of their glory, several of the wire prongs either permanently sagging or had given up the ghost altogether. To the Graham’s it was a thing of yuletide beauty – quite simply magnifying and beaming all the magic the advent season promised.

The foursome family stood agog, scanning every inch of the four-foot magnificence. This was going to take pride of place on the sitting room sideboard, amongst piles of crackers, crepe paper festoons and balloons. Piles of carefully wrapped gift boxes would be placed strategically around its base for that added festive look. These contained nothing at all of course.

“Now we can put our old tree in the bin dad – for a poor family to rescue!”

“Yes lass, our little three-footer has served us well over the years. Mam and I brought the tree from Leeds when we moved up here after the war – oh how we will miss it!”

“Yes, we will dad, but this one is far more modern and so much grander! We’re almost into a new era my teacher says – in a few weeks it will be 1970 and we’ve got to get with it!”

A silence of full concentration fell around the Graham kitchen table after tea. They set about designing, cutting, gluing and generally titivating cornflake boxes and Rennie packets to fashion into an assortment of decorations fit for the newborn saviour, baby Jesus. Once covered in tinfoil, quality street wrappers, milk bottle tops and scraps of Christmas wrapping paper, they looked “just the job” as mam pronounced. The satisfied group leant back in creaking chairs, admiring their joint handiwork. Finally, all the ‘makes’ were finished off with neat double bows of left-over red ribbons from Molly’s sewing box.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we had some lights to put on the tree dad? Some  people in our road have them. I’ve spied quite a few through the neighbours windows.”

“Well, haven’t I the biggest surprise yet for you!”

Jack retrieved the fraying sack from under the table and pulled out a string of etched glass bulbs – each shaped as an intricate Chinese lantern, painted perfectly in jewelled colours. He began to patiently uncoil the fronds of electrical wire and curl them evenly around the tree as the others gazed on, in full admiration of his dexterity and thoughtfulness.

“Before I let you flick the switch to light them up, Janet – the honour of placing the angel on the top of the tree goes to mam as usual.” Jack did a drum roll with his fingertips on the sideboard to emphasise his point, heightening the anticipation.

Molly blushed, taking the fairy from her husbands outstretched hand to officially start Christmas in the Graham household. Teenage Linda reached to gently unfurl the chubby angel’s translucent, crinkled wings, straighten her wonky halo and dab a spot of her own rosy red lipstick on the creatures blanched lips.

“I must admit she’s seen better days – I’ll run up a new dress for her on my Singer after Christmas.” As she made her promise, Molly cast a lopsided grin over the family group. Linda laid a gentle hand on her mam’s arm to assuage her obvious guilt.

“Mam, you say that every year – look, it doesn’t really matter. We all love her just the way she is, don’t we Janet?” 

“Yes we do – I do. She does look terribly cold though. I’ve an idea. Wait there mam.”

Janet returned with a ball of cotton wool and draped it around the brittle, bakelite shoulders of the goggle-eyed cherub.

“There! Perfect! Now we’re all set for the lights switch on!”

Molly reached to plonk the angel in place and Janet clicked the switch. Nothing.

Not a fizzle, a flicker, a blink or a crackle – certainly no illumination.

“Perhaps you can get them to work for next year dad – that would be great.”

He never did and the lanterns remained unlit, forever dormant. The children eventually left home to set up their own homes. They bought seven foot freshly felled Douglas firs, Fenwick’s luxury glass baubles, exotic wreaths swathed in velvet swags and plastic tinkling bells. Fully operational warm white lights flashed on and off at a dizzy pace. The milk bottle top stars were binned, and the angel rested in peace somewhere unknown.

 Molly and Jack… they became a treasured memory of blessed Christmas’s past.

Janet Kennedy