Tag Archives: #JoyLennick

…whatever yeez do, yeez mess with these ladies at yer peril!

…I’m wearing a huge smile this week after receiving the contents of the marvellous Guest Blog post below… my web pal, the redoubtable m’Lady, Joy Lennick, and her partner in literary confluence, the equally formidable, m’Lady, Jean Wilson, have concocted a terrific anthology of short stories, more than well worth the read… here’s what arrived – it needs no editing by me… enjoy…


The joint ages of friends Jean Wilson and Joy Lennick may add up to one hundred and seventy one years, but there’s nothing “old lace” about these two women writers; while the “arsenic” connection is questionable…

Both adept at delving into the messy, murky world of murder, it is enlightening, and sometimes, a relief… to discover their added light, humorous touch. This makes for a diverse selection of highly entertaining short stories to tickle the fancy of readers of a variety of genres.

Jean Wilson (pictured her on the left) worked as a Queen’s Nurse in the 1950s, and soon earned the affectionate nickname ‘The Angel of Aldgate’ for her cheerful, hard work among the sick of the East End of London, and later  became a Psychologist, working with handicapped children.

Joy Lennick (on the right, in sunny Spain) wore a few hats: secretarial, shopkeeper and hotelier before working with children, coaching their reading fluency and poetry. She became an author in 1984; adding many writing projects to her long list, including five books.

I’m delighted that these two, able ladies have collaborated and look forward to reading their joint venture. Here are a few, brief excerpts from some of their true (one!) and imaginative tales.


“Harold was a person one endeavoured to avoid if at all possible. He was an intense, blustery man of somewhat large stature, which of itself failed to hide his poorly controlled thinking ability; rather like a failed computer made in a third world country, which hadn’t yet got its act together.  He was certainly low in gigabytes and wanting in RAM. One couldn’t be certain that the keys struck would register as expected and a whole load of input seemed to have no relation to its later output. Harold’s idea of taking a short-cut was to fall down the stairs; and his confidence in himself took no account of the extent of his limitations. Any unfortunate encounter with him left many people feeling immense hopelessness in the integrity of the workings of Nature. Here was a man who told everyone he was a born-again Xtian. It didn’t occur to him that he hadn’t been one in the first place…..” etc.,


“It was 1952/3 when our last, very bad smog descended on London. It was fog, it was sulphurous, it was lethal!  Many people died that year (several thousand), and it brought home to the Government the problems associated with burning coal and open fires and the choking smoke from the factories. There were no buses and trains, and our world came to a halt. There were no people about except a stupid Queen’s nurse on a bicycle, trying to get oxygen to the asthmatics.  I didn’t realize I had been given the nickname until an urgent message was placed on the radio station for the Queen’s nurse called ‘The Angel of Aldgate.“

(From “DONKI OTI 1”)

“And so, for a few weeks at least, the inhabitants and visitors of Donki Oti 1 woke up most mornings after a reasonable night’s sleep, until, that is, an eccentric Dutch couple moved into number 14. Rumour had it that an odd aroma was detected drifting from the open window of their villa, and when Muriel stopped to chat too long to a neighbour outside their gate, she returned home giggling, with a silly smile on her face. But that’s another story…”


“ Before the guy was zipped into the body bag, Maurice took another look at his face, noticing  his mouth was slightly lopsided. Spotting the rope in the clue bag which was used to hang the victim  – curled up like a dead, evil snake which had done its worst – he unconsciously touched his own throat and rubbed his nose.

‘Surely, he was what Dickens called ‘part of the dispossessed, eh Chuck?’ he said with a shake of his head.

‘Whatever you say, M.’

Maurice silently wondered what kind of life the unfortunate guy had had before becoming a  vagrant…After all, he thought, none of us are born vagrants.

‘A dime for them, boss?’

‘Just wondering about the poor devil, Chuck.’

‘Oh, come on, he’s just another weak bum who fell by the wayside! The world’s full of ‘em.’

‘You don’t spend much time wondering about human nature, do you, Chuck?’

‘Don’t you go all religious and preachy on me, M…’

‘You know very well I’m an atheist, but I do care about humanity!’

‘Yeah, well…’ For once, Chuck was lost for words, and looked – to his credit – embarrassed.”

If your curiosity is titillated, “Where Angels and Devils Tread” is available from CreateSpace/ Amazon and Kindle. (Contains sixteen short varied stories covering romance, love, life and murder most foul from the vivid imaginations of writers Jean Wilson and Joy Lennick.) Published by Janette Davies of QGS Publishing.

“Donki Oti 1” was first published in Writers’ Ink anthology “Des Res” published by QGS Publishing and “The O’Reilly Case” was first published in “Precinct Murder” by WordPlay Publishing.


Book cover by Jason Lennick.

…thanks very much, m’Ladies… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff

…Authoress, Joy Lennick shares the story of an amazing man…

…my dear friend, Authoress, Joy Lennick, was approached by Graham Knight, the grandson of a remarkable man, Fred Knight, with the request to adapt his grandfather’s autobiography, FROM THE PRAIRIE TO PASSCHENDAELE…  and what a life story it is… but let Joy tell yeez…


I recently “adapted” the autobiography of a worthy man: Frederick Alfred Knight (Fred), born in  the late 1800s  to a family of twelve children in  Kent, UK. Those were “the good old days”…and Fred left school at fourteen to be apprenticed to a cobbler. Hearing of an opening in Canada, he dreamed of being a cowboy, borrowed the fare and sailed there alone, aged seventeen. Instead, the hard role of a farmer greeted him and he quickly became a man!

Despite the arduous work and severe highs and lows of temperatures in  summer and winter, he took to the wide open prairies and simple life, until World War I broke out and rearranged his future. Bravely fighting in the much lauded 10th Canadian Military Unit in several battles, including the one at Passchendaele, he nearly died and eventually lost his right arm from wounds received then.  Fred Knight  was awarded the Military Medal for bravery, but at such a high price!



Born in the late 1800’s: one of twelve children, Fred Knight’s story is of one man’s fight against the odds.

Where Fred lived… “ A lot went on in  my home village of Elham in those early days. …Ale was brewed in an old building behind The King’s Arms and The Rose and Crown public houses for the ever thirsty men; flax was grown locally, which was made into string and rope of all thicknesses, and we had a  blacksmith’s forge. Iron smelting was another occupation and the brickworks was down by the railway station….Prior to 1906, when a Liberal government was elected, destitute people were sent to the dreaded Workhouse and had to ‘break stones’ for road making, or ‘break bones’ for making into fertilizer…  After 1906, poor children were given a free school meal and old age pensioners were paid five shillings a week.”

Where Fred worked…”He (my father) obtained an apprenticeship for me with a shoe repairer in the town…I felt exploited and also underpaid – having to ask for my money!”(His father was a ‘fire and brimstone’ preacher and engineer.)

What Fred dreamed of… Becoming a cowboy! He was offered a job on a farm in Canada, and, having very little money, managed to borrow the fare and sailed there, alone, aged seventeen. Bitterly disappointed, because the promised job didn’t materialize, Fred was offered work by a Homesteader, and became a farmer – working 320 acres of land! – and a man in a very short space of time! It was hardly the cowboy fantasy he had, but he had a debt to honour and his hard graft soon earned the respect and friendship of the tough men and women in the scattered towns and farms. He surprised himself by growing to love the stark simplicity of the Canadian prairie.

What life decided for him…Despite 45 degrees below temperatures in winter and soaring ones in  summer, Fred ploughed on, until World War I arrived and led his life in another, tragic, direction. He fought bravely with the 10th Canadian Infantry unit in various battles, including the bloody one at Passchendaele. The Canadians  seized Passchendaele on November 6th, 1917 . They were awarded nine Victoria Crosses, but the cost was terribly high.  There were 15,000 wounded and dead for a few square kilometres of mud, and the battle had lasted three months. What mayhem and madness! Fred was awarded the Military Medal for his valour, for which he paid a terrible price. Severely wounded, he eventually lost his right arm and suffered continuous pain in the stump for many years. When peace was declared, it didn’t come for Fred…Being a formidable character – no longer able to farm – he retrained as an accountant, and with his then wife and four sons, returned to work and live in  Kent. He prospered, and on retirement, at the age of 83, he decided to write his life story. Sadly, Parkinson’s disease had robbed him of the use of his left arm. Never one to give in easily, he purchased a device so he could type it with his head!

For someone who just wanted “To be a cowboy!” the grueling life on the Saskatchewan prairie came as a rude awakening, but one which Fred fully embraced. By today’s standards, the sheer hard work involved in working a farm is the 1910’s/20’s and 30’s, is mind-boggling.

I felt privileged at being asked to adapt Fred’s book and salute the memory of a worthy man.

Note. Next year, 2017, is the 100th anniversary of The Battle of Passchendaele.

Amazon buying link:


…thanks for that fabulous insight to splendid man, m’Lady, Joy… see yeez later.. LUV YEEZ!



Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff

… ‘Owed to Joy’ (with apologies to Master Beethoven)… meet my pal, Joy Lennick…

…we’re out of the blocks and running, Lads and Lassies of Blog Land… the current Open Season for Guest Bloggers on this ‘ere ‘umble page starts with a terrific offering from my pal, Authoress, Joy Lennick… for fellow scribblers, the sentiments will be swiftly appreciated…  just read and enjoy!…



It started around 5.00 a.m…My ‘word soldiers’ mutinied and I had one hell of a job controlling them after that.  It must happen to all writers occasionally.  Doesn’t it? You marshal your troops, give then a pep talk and expect them to obey orders.  Do they heck!

“Right! This morning it’s an article on minimalism.  Someone? Anyone…?” Silence and then verbal diarrhoea ending in chaos. Someone babbled about ‘Style’; another about ‘Chocolate’(?) A third smart-arse suggested ‘Discipline’.  The cheek of the man; he only added fuel to the fire…I found it hard to cope, so arose and made a cup of tea.  Sanity prevailed. The troops were still silent when an upstart interrupted my reverie and piped up: ‘Minimalism’ and added a few ideas.  I made him up to sergeant and gave him the rest of the day off.

The reason for all this nonsense? The discovery of the so-called ‘Queen of Minimalism:’ American writer Amy Hempel: ‘The Dog of the Marriage’ a collection of short stories. A warning! It’s not to everyone’s taste, but what is?! But and it’s a big BUT, as a writing exercise and lesson in pruning – especially for the short story writer – some of her work is well worth reading. The expression ‘wheat from chaff’ comes to mind. And so I approached my key-board with something approaching enthusiasm.  This is my first attempt. See if it helps or grabs you.

                                                                THE ROW

Outside Autumn glowed golden.  Inside it was Winter: the room icy. The decibel level of the grandfather clock increased alarmingly. Bird-song was strident this morning she thought.

Looks lethal as darts passed between them; time grew heavy, laboured. Remembered niceties, loving smiles, gestures, tried hammering at her door. It was locked.

She poured her own coffee; heard the decisive ‘clonk’ as the cup met the saucer. Her voice was on alert, eager for action…

The wall between them was paper-thin; the silent words pregnant with doom.


Email: joylennick@hotmail.com


Joy’s latest books: ‘MY GENTLE WAR’ a memoir, and ‘THE CATALYST’ a faction novel

joy 2joy 3

Short stories in ‘PRECINCT MURDER’ (WordPlay Publishers.), ‘FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD’ (Quirky Girl Publishing) and ‘DES RES?’ (Quirky Girl Publishing.) All anthologies. AMAZON AND KINDLE.

Having worn several hats in her life: wife, mum, secretary, shop-keeper, hotelier; Joy’s favourite is the multi-coloured author’s creation. She’s an eclectic writer: diary, articles, poetry, short stories and five books. Two books were factual, the third as biographer: HURRICANE HALSEY (a true sea adventure), fourth her Memoir MY GENTLE WAR and her current faction novel is THE CATALYST. Plenty more simmering…
Supposedly ‘Retired,’ she now lives in Spain with her husband and ‘three great sons’.



Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff