Goulburn Valley U3A
WRITING 4 PLEASURE
Writing For Pleasure
U3A sample of stories from 2025 for website
The U3A writing group has published a book of their best stories for 2025. The book is available for purchase for $10. Here is a sample of those stories. (Contact Marion MacLennan or Allan Wilson)
Click on a name to read the creative piece
Dorothy Grant
Topic: Timing
Once is Enough: By Dorothy Grant
The time had come for us as we waited at Calais for the midday Hovercraft to return us to Dover. Completing our European trip, we made a last minute decision to postpone our Dover trip until mid afternoon, enabling us to lunch and reminisce with our new travel friends. This proved to be a bad decision as we discovered later in the afternoon.
Farewells over, we boarded the hovercraft, a sixth sense making me uneasy, as the normally blue-green sea turned into churning grey froth. Warnings of gale force winds were relayed over the loud speaker, advising the passengers this would be the last crossing for the day. Our timing could not have been worse.
Within ten minutes the choppy water extended to six-foot waves, bouncing the craft like a toy, the roar of the engine drowning the high-pitched screams of terrified passengers. This turbulence did not last, it intensified! The swell increased to 10 feet, heaving the craft heavenwards then slamming down with a bang. Nervously we tried to remain seated, watching as people lost their balance and slid along the now soaked floor. Panic stricken parents clung tightly to their children, trying to remain calm and reassure them the sea would soon become smooth, but the looks on the parent’s face belied their feelings.
My stomach rose continually to my mouth, coughing and swallowing hard as seasick passengers clambered for the paper bags provided. With the engine labouring the noise became ear splitting, conversing with a neighbour now impossible. Water drenched us, skies became blacker. Whatever direction I looked, distressed passengers held their heads in paper bags, the sounds and smell emanating, making my already disturbed stomach queasier. With closed eyes I tried calming meditation but with another violent thud this proved useless, leaving me determined not to join the bag heaving people around me.
Being a poor swimmer, I looked for life jackets, depressing thoughts now reminding me of the several hovercraft accidents and drownings that made headlines in world wide papers years before. These upsetting thoughts gave way to thoughts of my children at home, praying they would not become orphans!
This 45 minute traumatic journey seemed endless. With land in sight, there were sighs of relief as those White Cliffs came into view. Arriving in Dover, there was a scramble to disembark. With legs of jelly and a head that was still swimming, I wobbled onto terra firma, forgiving anyone if they told me my face was green. Not looking back at that wild grey sea, we gave thanks to be on solid English soil.
Our timing was wrong. Postponing our trip to travel later in the day was a mistake. My delicate constitution could have been saved if we had travelled with our original earlier plan. Would I do it again? No, once in a lifetime was enough.
Topic: Where Are We?
The Next Four Years
By Lyn Austin
Where are we on the world stage?
With fear and uncertainty rife,
We must aim to remain very strong,
Work hard to lead a normal life.
There’s a lot going on in our world,
And not all of it is great,
Our daily news can be hard to digest,
As we learn of the spread of hate.
Strange things are adrift in the USA,
Give thanks for the sea in-between,
A trumpet booms across the waves,
Of the likes we’ve never seen.
Our world looks more dangerous now,
Not many with a smile on their face,
Daily we wonder what will come forth,
Delivered at a frantic pace.
Are we on the brink of something big?
World order turned on its head,
Is the idea to upset many countries?
And why are people easily led?
The next four years may be trying,
As bad news drifts to our land,
Try to sort out the truth from lies,
Let go of any negative stand.
History is full of turbulent times,
We have no control over it,
Maybe the answer is very simple,
Breathe deeply, whenever we sit.
Strength is needed in chaotic times,
Do what’s required to stay strong,
Try to help others, whenever we can,
And being kind is never wrong.
Think of people like Nelson Mandela,
He never gave up on his race,
A truthful, kind and humble man,
And there I rest my case.
Topic: Looking Back
Just a Yo Yo
By Peter Leffler
Looking back, I doubt if he would have done what he did. We were holidaying overseas, forgetting that sometimes the exhilaration of being in a new and unfamiliar landscape causes us to let our guard down. You do something without realising the consequences can be very different to those at home. It was the end of the day. We were tired from walking. It was not because our money was getting low. We never set out to do it. It just sort of happened. An opportunity, a fleeting moment of weakness, he was caught, with no escape. He had the opportunity to change his mind. He could have said no.
Was I being sentenced to death? The hangman stood in front of me. The noose held tightly in his hand. My time was up. The rope applied. My apprehension turned to fear. My heart raced. Now it pounded in my chest: boom boom boom, faster faster, stronger stronger. Was I not sweating? His eyes were kind. His smile was reassuring. He’d done it hundreds of times. He offered consolation. I had been counselled.
“Close your eyes. Pretend you are on a cliff and you are going to jump to the river. It will not hurt and it will be all over before you know it”. Falling, falling, the smile long gone. It was an eternity with no end in sight. Will the rope break? Will I be saved? Will the governor ring and grant me a pardon? Will someone shout out at the last minute: stop stop? No, it was all over.
He was the last to go down on the rope today. We must admit he had the biggest audience for a long time. They swarmed, like spectators rushing to the front row of the colosseum to the watch the gladiators fight in the last spectacle of the day.
Somehow I was alive but still hanging. I can remember looking ahead, taking a step forward and seeing the brown water of the river below rapidly come towards me. I put out my hand to greet it but it was frightened and hurried away. I was just a yo-yo on a string. My pants were wet as I sat in the bottom of the boat.
“Sorry about the wet pants. The lady before you, we pulled out of the river and she left a puddle of water, where you are sitting. You will be famous when they go back to Japan. Maybe a 100 people came out of two coaches with cameras and videos. Your Bungy Jump will be seen by 100s of people. The two coaches sat there for an hour just waiting for you to come along. We were even getting ready to pack up shop at 5pm. You made their day and we got everything on video for you to watch when you get home. You get your very own A J Hackett Bungy Jump NZ T-Shirt.”
Topic: Under The Burning Sun
Hubris Has its Own Reward
By Allan Wilson
Bill set out on the run north to record the regrowth on the woody shrubs that had been burnt in the big fires the previous year with little portent of the drama ahead. He had risen early to make a start before the day became hot, but the sun was up before him. By the time he was on the road, the day was scorching. The forecast ahead was not good either. It was going to be a heat-wave.
Bill’s research group had started to measure the survival of the native shrubs to natural fire after the blaze around Cobar in 1974. After the big rains in ‘73 the annual grasses had covered the bare ground between the shrubs and lightning had sparked a wild fire that burnt for weeks. His group had a mandate to find out how to clear this scrub by natural means. Could controlled fire be the answer? So, the group had tagged thousands of shrubs, of all species and ages, across this blackened landscape, to record their regrowth. It was his turn to take the summer record.
It was after lunch by the time he reached the turn-off, out along the Ivanhoe-Cobar road, around 320 km north-west of Deni. It was isolated, but he was quite confident that he could cope with both the heat and the dust. He’d filled his large water bottle with ice and packed a sandwich lunch.
The turnoff to the burnt patch was an unmarked station track, located only by its distance from Ivanhoe, 42.5 km, and the presence of a large leopard wood tree on the corner. At about 6 km along this rarely used trail he came to a patch of over 500 shiny aluminium tags, each one marking a previously burnt shrub. Two hours later he was through and repaired to the ute parked under a tree. Easy work, but a burning day. He downed the last of his iced water and stowed his note book away. Only then did he notice the flat tyre on the front left. No trouble, he said to myself, ‘I’ll have that changed in a jiffy’. But not so. To his horror the spare was flat. His hot but easy day had turned nasty.
But no trouble. He was out of water, but from his desert knowledge he knew how to make more. He dug several holes in the ground, filled them with green foliage, placed a cup down in the centre of each and covered the holes with a plastic sheet. Overnight the leaves would dry out and condensation on the under-side of the plastic would drip into the cups below. Thus, he spent a dry night sleeping on the ground under a starry sky. In the morning he had three or four cups of water. But, so what! He was still very thirsty and stranded.
Two days later, dehydrated and distressed, he was found by a search party. his non arrival having been noticed. His two cups of water a day from condensation had saved him, but not slaked his thirst. Using the spare from one of their utes they soon had him back on the road. But then the surprise. On stowing the flat tyre back in its position under the seat, they found a pressure can of Fix-a-Flat. ‘Emergency flat tyre repair’, it said on the label. ‘Just, connect, inflate and go’! Oh yes, he knew how to survive in the bush, but not how to use his eyes!
Topic: It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
By Charlotte Brewer
The last night of Rosa's life was a dark and stormy one. She sat on the semi-enclosed verandah of her in-laws' holiday house overlooking the sea on the west coast of Phillip Island. Thunderclaps sounded every 15 to 20 minutes, followed by intense flashes of lightening. When the lightening shot across the horizon Rosa could see and hear the waves crashing onto the rocks below arid the rain bucketing down. Electricity was flickering but she was well supplied with torches. Warmly wrapped and enjoying the son et lumiere, Rosa was onto her third glass of merlot. Watching the elements, Rosa pondered the meaning of a discovery she had made earlier that day. Searching for torches and spare batteries, she had gone into the shed, and discovered hidden under a box of ancient jam-jars a life insurance policy on her life taken out three years ago by her husband. The sum insured was $3,000,000.
Rosa wondered why Guy had never mentioned this to her. Was she reading too much into it? Perhaps he felt she would be upset at his wanting to make money out of her should she die. What was going on three years ago? The last failed IVF, after which they agreed to focus on each other and their own careers. When he arrived tomorrow from a business trip, he would drive down to spend the rest of the long weekend with her.
There was a knock at the door. Deciding she couldn't leave someone standing outside in this weather Rosa opened the door. A youngish woman stood there, a crying toddler in her arms. "Please can you help me? I took a wrong turn in this weather, then the car broke down and I dropped my phone somewhere."
What could Rosa do but invite them in. The woman introduced herself as Lisa, the toddler as James. Rosa introduced herself, suggested a bath for James and heated up some soup and made toast while that happened. Lisa had managed to grab a bag of toddler necessities and once James was clean and fed, he soon settled down to sleep.
Lisa joined Rosa on the balcony. She told Rosa that she was from Cowes, returning to her parents' house for the long weekend, with her partner coming down the next day. They opened another bottle and Rosa went to find some cheese and biscuits. Shortly after her return, she started to feel groggy. Lisa called her over to the balcony to see a particularly spectacular sight. As Rosa leant over the balcony, a huge bang on her head knocked her out, then she was pushed over the edge and sent crashing down to the rocks below.
Lisa calmly, wiped the hammer clean, wiped her fingerprints off glasses, bottle and plates, then pulled her mobile out of her pocket. "Come in darling, all good". Guy's knock on the door woke James, he looked up at the man entering. "Dada".
Topic : Create A New Word
The Dingledy Dangledy
by Lynda Corbett
Fumbledy wumbledy horror and dread,
A dingledy dangledy’s under my bed!
I know it’s a dangledy as it’s got jaws,
Forty-nine fingle teeth, ten hoary paws.
A body so singledy clingledy red,
It’s flumbledy near me to fingle my head!
It’s not a Ribungleding (they’re slobberly slow),
But faster than Wongledies, flooze as they flow.
The Dangledy’s pondering under my feet,
Gnashing its fingle teeth, flipping my sheet.
Oh, awful! It’s flobbleling right near my shoe,
Plipping and plopping. What shall I do?
Closer ribobbling as nearer it comes,
Ingleding, dobbleding, wobbling its thumbs.
Oh no! Its blobbed closer and plicking my hair,
Fingleding, dobbleding, cobbling there.
Wish it would bingle and bangle away,
I didn’t ask it to cringle today.
Guess I’ll have to fabble and fibble all night,
Unless I can fangle and fingle to fight.
“Go!” I say, “Go to your Dingledy Ding,
Fingleby, fobberly horrible thing!
Gringelgy, gronglegy, hobbily ho,
The dingledy dungledy’s got up to go!”
What a relief! No Dingledy’s there,
Or pondering, flobbering under my chair,
Singleling, sighingly I settle down,
Under my bubberly warm eiderdown,
But what is that plipping and plogging I hear?
My dingledy dangledy friends have drawn near!