Programme
Story List
Links
Members
Writers' Blog
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.
Four Fare Stages of Travel by Bus
by Tony Robinson
When young, we took the bus to school,
We learnt a bit, and played the fool,
And disregarded every rule,
Which often caused a fuss;
We played our noisy childhood games,
Supported telly heroes' claims,
And called each other naughty names -
We learnt them on the bus.
In teenage years, the birds and bees
Would sometimes thrill, but often tease
With adolescent agonies
Too painful to discuss;
But when we found a friend who cared,
Our fears were eased, our souls were bared,
And deepest confidences shared
In whispers on the bus.
The bus queue starts our working day;
Each morning we hear someone say,
"The bus is late again today,"
And adds, '"Twas ever thus."
We wait in line, a patient band,
Frozen each cheek, and ear, and hand,
It seems we must forever stand,
Dumb servants of the bus.
Retirement brings its own delights,
We tour by coach, and see the sights,
Palatial houses, harbour lights,
A treat for all of us;
Each with blue rinse and plastic mac,
And sticks of rock, and bric-a-brac,
A lovely day -we've just come back
From Margate on the bus!
Copyright © 2004 Tony Robinson