Lilian and Gwen

In the words of Stephen Fry on the words of Oscar Wilde.

"Oscar Wilde, and there have been few greater and more complete lords of language in the past thousand years, once included with a manuscript he was delivering to his publishers a compliment slip in which he had scribbled the injunction: “I’ll leave you to tidy up the woulds and shoulds, wills and shalls, thats and whiches &c.”

I was once told by Mother Superior that I ought to be shot for my spelling. My grammar is not much better but I call myself a writer. I'm simply telling you a story and the purpose of this blog is to discover whether or not people want to hear this tale of Lilian and Gwen, of a lost child and a bitter end. Any comments on the standard of my English will be treated with contempt. I am no longer seven and i assume you are not wearing a habit. Comments on tone, pace and character are welcomed as are excitement, joy and publishing deals. Here's another snippet to whet your appetite. Enjoy!

Lilian watched at the window as the rain pelted the glass and the wind blew the skinny trees on the green below. It was only 4.30 but it was beginning to get dark and she wondered where Gwen had got to. She came every Friday to set her hair in rollers, it was a routine they had established during the war when money was tight and D.I.Y beauty treatments were all the rage. They'd have their fish and chip supper and watch the television. Sometimes they reminisced but mostly they just enjoyed having a bit of company. Lilian had run out of milk and so had opened the sherry she had been saving for Christmas. She had turned on the Christmas tree lights earlier than usual and was feeling in an unusually jolly mood. It was not long before Gwen's mauve coat became apparent and Lilian lit a cigarette wondering if she would cut across the grass as she always did, even though the rain would splatter mud on her pale shoes..............


Lilian sat on the kitchen chair in front of the television as Gwen twisted her thinning black hair into the small, pink rollers. The smell of their fish and chip supper still hung in the air as they watched 'Strictly Come Dancing' .Her hands were deft for such a solid woman and Lilian's hair was rolled in no time. She began to apply the perming lotion as they watched the celebrities floating across the dance floor in hot pink chiffon , hair slicked into place and cheekbones powdered with glitter. Lilian marvelled at the timing of a pause, the turn of an ankle and at the eyelashes tipped with diamante beads. Gwen shook the last of the lotion onto her scalp and sat down at the table with a sigh. Her swollen ankles were making this job difficult but there was no way she was letting her friend know that. She poured herself another Sherry and lit one of Lilian's cigarettes. Lilian hadn't even noticed that her friend was smoking, she was transfixed, her tiny frame bolt upright in the hard kitchen chair. Her excitement was palpable and she squealed like a child as the handsome cricketer took to the floor and began to shake his hips to the Rumba.
"Look at him move Gwen... oh that smile. He's got come to bed eyes that one."
But Gwen was not looking at the television she was looking at her friend. Her frail and tiny friend who was an old lady and young girl to her all at once. A vain and selfish woman who had never accepted life as it was, a girl that had lost her baby and had never fully recovered. Gwen looked with tenderness at Lilian's tiny feet in her black fluffy slippers and felt an unexpected surge of affection. How could she tell her that he had survived the bomb, she'd missed his life, how could she tell her that. The dance finished and Lilian spun around to share her joy, but Gwen had tears in her eyes....