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Meetings are held on the first and third Tuesdays of the month at Dancox House Club Room, St Clements Gardens, St Johns, Worcester from 7.30 pm to 9.30pm.
If you want to know more about Worcester Writers' Circle, please telephone Sue Round, Secretary 01905 619062.
Probably the oldest writers' circle in the country, we have grown from half a dozen enthusiasts in the dark days of the Second World War, to a thriving and productive group of people who share their experiences, successes and pitfalls at each meeting. We have a wide range of writers, some published professionals, some occasionally appearing in magazines, and many newcomers eager to see their name in print.
At a normal meeting, we read from our work, sometimes on a theme set for the evening and we offer advice and reactions. A cup of tea and a chat of course, and discussions about markets, successes and rejections. Sometimes we have a speaker from amongst our ranks, or a guestjoining us for the evening. Our interests are wide - stories, Westerns, nostalgia, poetry, biography, roofing and cats have all featured at our meetings. If you can get to Worcester, (that's the one in Worcestershire, England) give us a try.
The Waiting Room
by Angela Lanyon
There's good in everyone, that's what I say and, you get to see all sorts in my job. You would, you know. They all come in and out here, anxious, excited, upset. Meeting people and saying goodbye; and half of them so wrapped up in their own concerns the world could fall apart without them noticing. Not that I don't have to keep my eyes open. Don't know what people are coming to these days. And it's not only the young ones, some of the older ones who should know better aren't beyond trying their hands at stealing if they think my back's turned.
It's me and Iris what runs the buffet. She's getting too old for it really, trouble with her feet, but she says if she didn't come out to work she'd go mad, staying home all day with that miserable old husband of hers. Not that it's his fault, if you know what I mean – he were blown up in Northern Ireland and it's made him nervous. Not to mention Iris.
Now, just hang on a minute.
'All right, Iris, I can see them. That bloke with the rucksack and her with the hair hanging all over her face.'
'Up to no good, if you ask me,' she said. 'Probably after pinching a couple of magazines if you don't keep a weather eye.'
'You all right there?' I called. Just to let them know I'd seen them. Flashed me a lovely smile, he did.
''You haven't got…' didn't hear the rest of it because of one them announcements. I've been here, I don't know how many years, and they still make me jump. Not that you can understand what they're saying.
'They've gone now,' said Iris and she started wiping over the counter. ' Don't want to miss their train, I reckon.' A real stickler for tidiness, our Iris and I knew she wanted to get everything set up and the displays refilled before rush hour came round. I flicked a glance at the clock. Half past four. Another thirty minutes and it'd be heaving in here, especially if the trains weren't to time which is usual. I'm used to it by now, I've worked in the buffet here for more years than I can remember. You get to know your regulars but most times it's just a mass of faces with open mouths. Feeding frenzy they call it when it's one of them nature programmes. Bad manners, that what I call it.
I can't think what made that young man's face stick in my mind, maybe it was because he looked a bit like one of my lads. Same dark hair and nice teeth.
'Right then, Iris, are we set up?' I asked ten minutes later. She'd gone in the back to make us both a cuppa and I'd just heard one of the Intercities pull in. You can tell by the hiss on the brakes and then people running. I don't know why when they get off the train lest they're after taxis to get on somewhere else.
'Hello, Winston, you're after a Kit Kat, are you?' You could set your clock by our Winston, a lovely lad even if he is black and willing to do anything to help. He's mostly there to help the disabled, drives this buggy thing – I said to him one day, I reckon you think you're driving a tank when you're racing along the platform.
'Picking a lady up from the four-fifty, platform nine,' he said, pulling the paper off the chocolate and crunching into it. 'Starting to rain now, filthy weather, could do with some sunshine.'
'Well, you don't need to worry about a tan,' I called as he went out. Platform nine's on the other side which was all right seeing has a wife and four kids.
Iris nudged me in the side. 'They're back,' she said.
'Who are?'
'That young couple.' She glanced over to where they stood just inside the door. 'Got something on her mind if you ask me.'
'Maybe they missed their train?'
'Maybe it's some party. You know one of these hiking clubs?'
I used to imagine lives for some of the people I saw. Young girls with little cases, maybe going to work on the telly, or chaps with skis off on holidays. When I looked at them more closely they didn't seem to fit. 'Perhaps they're waiting for a friend and he missed the train. They should go and wait under the clock, that's where the meeting point is.'
He came over to me then. 'Can we have two cups of tea?' he said. 'And what about a sandwich, love.'
She shook her head. Looking sickly if you ask me.
'Is your friend all right?' I asked. Then I said to her' Why don't you sit down?'
'She's all right,' he replied. 'Just a bit tired.'
'Had a long journey, have you?'
The hot water steamed into the cups.
'I'll have a chicken tikka,' he said pointing to the display.
'That's three pounds and forty-seven pence,' I told him and watched him count the money out.
'You'll not go far on that.' I said when I saw his purse.
He smiled. 'Nearly home now.'
'Well take care, dearie,' I told him, 'it's nasty night and I'm glad you've not got far to go. I can't help saying it, love, but you do remind me of my youngest.'
He grinned at me, really friendly but I could see her scowling. You get them like that, possessive. I hoped he wasn't thinking of marrying her because I couldn't see it lasting. I mean fancy getting upset at him talking to an old biddy like me. Old enough to be his grannie, I guessed.
They took their tea to a table by the door.
'So they can keep a lookout for their friend,' I told Iris.
It was beginning to fill up and there was buzz of noise and hurrying feet from the platform. People were coming in shaking umbrellas and stumbling up the steps from the tube as if they hadn't time to breathe. I glanced across to the table, the two of them seemed to be having some sort of an argument. Suddenly he jumped up and came over to me. She was getting to her feet and going towards the door but he pushed right through everyone.
'Come one, there's others waiting,' I heard Iris say.
The lad pushed some money at me. 'I'll have Mars bar,' he said. I handed it over and went to take his money and then like he was in great rush he shoved it across the counter and half of it went on the floor.
'It's down there, ‘ he said, 'down there, under the edge of the counter.
Well money's money and although I didn't want to keep customers waiting I bent down to pick up the coins.
There must have been some good in him and as they say it takes all sorts - but there were forty three killed by those two suicide bombers.
Copyright © 2004 Angela Lanyon