Day Girls Updated Easter 2015 by Beecharmer
Summary: Think it makes more sense for me to add drabbles done for the LGM Day Girls challenges here instead of making new stories all the time. Starting Feb 2014 with the topic of Forgetfulness
Categories: Ste Therese's House Characters: None
School Period: None
School Name: None
Genre: None
Series: Short Stories on a Theme (Open Series)
Chapters: 3 Completed: No Word count: 3320 Read: 6560 Published: 08 Feb 2014 Updated: 05 Apr 2015

1. Feb 2014 Carey by Beecharmer

2. March 2014 - It was the men who played Clock Golf by Beecharmer

3. Chapter 3 - Easter 2015 by Beecharmer

Feb 2014 Carey by Beecharmer
Author's Notes:
Theme was Forgetfulness.
The author stared out of the window, lost in the actions of her characters. Every now and again, she bent her head and little scribbles could be heard, with low mutterings occasionally breaking the otherwise regular sound of scratches on paper.

"Need a name there... Mmmmm... one I haven't already used ... Where IS that list ?"

Some scrabbling in a pile of papers, a frustrated look around the room, as though the paper might leap up at her, or be hanging from the ceiling perhaps. She didn't want to move, the ideas were coming too well at the moment, and the plot was much more important than the name of a minor character who might never have more than a passing role again, if that.

"I DO wish people wouldn't try to tidy me up when I am writing" she muttered, ignoring the fact that the only person who was likely to do so was herself, in a fit of procrastinitis while waiting for writers block to clear.

"Oh drat it! Well it isn't that important, I can't go searching for it right now..."

She skipped past the character's name and put a little scribbled 'Check' in place of the name. At the beginning of her writing days, this had been a nice clear CHECK, but it had to be admitted that time and habit had replaced it with a large C, squiggle and a sloping K that looked suspiciously like a y. It didn't matter really, for she typed her own manuscripts up once the initial ideas had been taken down in long hand. SHE knew what it meant, after all.

A while later, inspiration having run away like so many of the little rabbits she watched out of her window, she began to type up the notes. That was usually a good way to trigger off some new ideas, and she would remember her plot much better if she had reviewed it while typing. The deft fingers tapped their way along, and happily transcribed the events unfolding with the younger members of the school. A small smile crossed her face as she thought of the next idea for how the girls could get into mischief. A familiar type of segment was being typed, setting the scene and moving things on, so she didn't need to concentrate too hard. Her mind wandered off to the next hops of her plot bunnies and she powered along to get to the next part sooner.

A glance at the page, a misread ' Check' and so Miss Carey was born, a handwork mistress who wasn't going to have much of a role. Later, in another book, a mother or two or relative called Carey, mistyped then kept in, after all it does sound a very motherly name...

Another time, frowning over the typed script, this time with a gap left in every now and again. She needed a name for that dratted girl, Verity-Anne. She had been a difficult one to write, for really she was only a plot device, the vibrant little Mary Lou was much more interested to write about. Several sighs, and then a typed gap, to be filled in later once a name had occurred. Verity Anne Smythe possibly if nothing else showed up? But somehow Commander Smythe didn't look right, but THAT DAMN LIST had gone again, so was he was relegated to a 'Check'.

A mistranscribed squiggle again, and Commander Carey was born. That one, she noticed, for the characters were too central to ignore, but the name ran so well, that it may as well be his surname as any other.

"Why does that name sounded familiar... but it isn't one I would normally use... And - where is that damn... Ah! There it is ! No, good, it isn't on the list. Right then. Verity Anne and Commander Carey it is..."

In the excitement of having a name finally sorted out, the forgetful lady powered on with the story, the "character names and ages" list unamended beside her yet again.

A little later, and the knotty problem of what to call Dickie Christie's stepmother. She was the wife of a friend of Jack's after all, Joey would hardly call her "Mrs Christy" for long... No, she needed a name, but there was that scene with the her daughter to write, and she needed a name too, but the inspiration just WOULD not come.

At least three ideas for things that Mary Lou might do arrived all of a sudden, and so that 'Check' returned again, for both, to later become "Cherry Christy" and "Carey Christie".

"What a lovely combination. Such a nice word, Carey, I do like it. But it is a rather odd first name, I wonder where I came up with that one? I'd better put a bit of explanation in, that will fill the space in that conversation nicely"

The author happily carried on, and chattered away to her characters, and the fact that Verity Anne was also a Carey was long forgotten. After all she was going to be Mary Lou's sister-by-marriage, her surname wouldn't matter, would it, with a Mary Lou around to look after her, she would in effect become a Trelawny. Miss. Carey the handworks mistress was long gone, if the author had even remembered she existed.

And if there WAS a little bit of repetition, no one would notice, none of her readers read the books in that sort of detail after all. No, it was fine. Carey was such a lovely caring sounding name after all...
March 2014 - It was the men who played Clock Golf by Beecharmer
Author's Notes:
For the March topic of Clocks. This wasn't going to be semi poetry, I'm not quite sure what it counts as really. I have no idea with line length, syllables etc, was just looking for a different way to tell the story, so hope it vaguely works !
It was the men who played Clock Golf.

Start at 1 O'clock, get it in, note the puts, then on to 2 position.

It was the men who played Clock Golf.

They needed something to do, after all, while the girls enjoyed the sale.

Note the score carefully there, it's a contest after all.

Move on round the clock, see what your total is for the round.

Note the score carefully there, it's a contest after all.

No noises while you wait your turn, lads, it must be fair for all.

Wouldn't want distraction, not sporting to cough or splutter.

I'm sorry sir, can't redo, no one else heard a whistle blow.

Wouldn't want distraction, not sporting to cough or splutter.

Starts a small and quiet group, unattached men only.

As crowd gets bigger, jeering banter. Though none of course while putting.

Husbands, Fathers do their duty, then released to join.

As crowd gets bigger, jeering banter. Though none of course while putting.

Careless slip, few extra puts, a wasted round I fear.

Click, roll, slow, stop.

Tension, will it go futher?

Click, roll, slow stop.

No! Not past, oh b...other.

Groan, shift, tap, in it goes, note it on the scorepad.

Move back, 2 o'clock now, try to ignore the others.

Groan, shift, tap, in it goes, note it on the scorepad.

So close ! Better luck next time, man. My turn next I think.

A drink perhaps gentlemen? Lemonade or water?

A drink sounds good, how much my dear... 5 franks?! That's...of course, of course, that's fair.

A drink perhaps gentlemen ? Lemonade or Water?

Oh look my dear, I believe they want you over there. Maynard, where's the spirits?

Grand game this, grand grand game.

Pass the flask boys, that's the way.

Grand game this, grand grand game

What's the tally lads, who is winning? He is ? Can't have that.

Another go, please, can't have him beat my score.

Steady, steady, here we go. Tap, roll, hold breath...drop !

Another go, please, can't have him beat my score.

Tea is served? Sounds like a plan, off we go then, be back soon.

Girls of all nations, shown in dance ...well... Yes dear, on my way.

Wonder if they'll stop the game, those single lads are getting ahead.

Girls of all nations, shown in dance...well...Yes dear, on my way.

Yes dear, I'll be fine, why don't you go ahead,

Shouldn't let this bother me, it's a charity do after all.

Who is winning then? Right can't have that, step aside.

Shouldn't let this bother me, it's a charity do after all.

Still, where's the change, another go I think, it is a very good cause ...

Click, roll, roll, drop! Aha ! Look at that - A hole in one.

Next position, fingers crossed, this could be the round

Click, roll, roll, drop ! Aha ! Look at that - A hole in one.

Ha! Beat that, you youngsters, barely lost a shot!

Yes dear, coming dear, oh yes, they've grown so much.

So you've made these all yourselves my dears, well done, they are...unique.

Yes dear, coming dear, oh yes, they've grown so much.

Glancing over, looks ok, don't think that crowd can beat me.

Mmmmm, they have done well, I do agree, you must be very proud.

Except...oh No! Surely they won't let Wilson play?

Mmmmm, they have done well, I do agree, you must be very proud.

Rumour running round - they did! And I would bet she's top.

Nearly end of the day, oh no! There's not much time to play more.

Excuses made, hurry back, check the scoreboard...dammit

Nearly end of the day, oh no! There's not much time to play more.

Click, roll, click roll, click and rollll, click and roll and ...yes!

Now a scramble, must beat her score, we can't have that you know.

Ha ! He's done it, good man there ... Oh no she's coming back...

Now a scramble, must beat her score, we can't have that you know.

A smile, quick check of the takings, and she's backed off thank God.

A winner, not me, ah well done lad, at least tis one of us!

Prize giving soon, a round of applause, and then all round good byes.

A winner, not me, ah well done lad, at least tis one of us!

It was the men who played Clock Golf.

Start at 1 O'clock, get it in, note the puts, then on to 2 position.

It was the men who played Clock Golf.
Chapter 3 - Easter 2015 by Beecharmer
Author's Notes:
The theme was Easter Eggs, Tom Gay and The Island.

The timing is slightly out I think but it doesn't spoil the story hopefully.
It had all started with the Easter Eggs.

Dickie Christie wasn't a type of girl to analyse things too much. Things were as they were, and that was that. She was still in that limbo, not quite child, not quite adult, and happy to stay there. Marriage and children seemed a long way away, not something to be thinking of yet. She supposed she would, after all most women married, but it wasn't happening right now, so there wasn't any reason to consider the subject in depth.

When she looked back on that time, Dickie realised just how much she cherished being with Peggy Bettany, how the crush had begun and grown with time. It didn't matter what the task was, or what amount of time was asked of her, it had been an automatic "Yes" for Dickie - any time with Peggy was sure to be worthwhile.

Their adventure with the storm and falling tree had cemented them together even more. Although Dickie had yet to realise it, she mentally searched most rooms for Peggy as soon as she entered, felt a sense of calm run through with a streak of happiness as soon as she knew the other girl was nearby.

Peggy was always finding things that needed doing, and just getting on with doing them, roping in other prefects where needed, but frequently just seeing to the issue herself if she could. It had become second nature to Dickie to join in, and Peggy was always pleased to have help. She gradually began to ask Dickie first when she needed help with one or other of her schemes.

The Easter eggs had been Bride's affair really. Looking through an old hobbies book, she'd come across the idea of decorating eggshells for Easter. Most of them had decorated boiled eggs in the past, but with the rationing and the difficulty getting supplies to the Island they knew that no one would allow the risk of wasted food. Nor would Matey have allowed it on a school-wide scale, for the youngsters at least would be sure to want to keep their creations, and however long boiled eggs lasted, no one wanted to be finding them in a dormy 6 months later.

The book had been describing a method for making chocolate eggs, where a small pinhole was made in the top, and a slightly larger hole at the bottom. The white and yolk were then blown out, and the egg washed and filled with molten chocolate. This had been Bride's initial thought when she found the book, but seeing the amounts of chocolate that would be required, compared to the prices the eggs would have sold for, had swiftly given up that plan.

It wasn't until Peggy had been bemoaning the poor weather and general feeling of the younger part of the school being unsettled, that the idea had returned. The idea of a saturday afternoon spent decorating egg shells would appeal to much of the lower and middle school, and the need for extreme care to avoid breaking them while decorating would make it last quite a while, as well as adding a challenge to the event for the most jaded of seniors.

So it was that Dickie had found herself getting up before anyone else in the school, creeping down to the kitchens, and sitting with Peggy, Bride, Elfie and Tom Gay, trying not too giggle too much as they systematically blew egg after egg into mixing bowls. The kitchen staff had flatly refused to do so, unsurprisingly, nor to use any more eggs that they had originally planned for meals. So to build up enough shells to have an egg per senior, two for middles and juniors, and a few to spare for any true accidents, the girls had had to spend several weeks gradually building up their collection of blown, washed shells.

The plan had been saved for a rainy Saturday, and proved just as popular as expected. Peggy had been here, there and everywhere, and didn't get much of a chance to do her own egg till nearly at the end. She gazed around for inspiration, and saw Dickie still helping her sister and other juniors, not giving any thought to getting her own chance to do an egg. Peggy had got her finest paintbrushes, and set to decorating the egg with leaves and flowers, with the words "To Dickie, a Good Egg, Love Peggy" and then presented it to her friend that evening without really thinking much of it.

Most of the eggs had not survived far beyond that evening, but Dickie had treasured hers, and kept it beside her bed for as long as she could without attracting comment. After a few weeks, she noticed the others no longer had theirs on display, and felt that she ought to remove it. It was at that point that she came to the biggest revelation of her young life.

She didn't want to lose it. She didn't even want to put it away.

She was fast finding herself subtly turning the egg so she could see the words as she drifted off to sleep, and it was the first thing she looked at in the morning. It wasn't the design, although that was very pretty, it was the words. That throwaway line, decided in a moment and swiftly forgotten, meant the world to Dickie, and for the first time she had no control over her emotions, seeing the words "Love Peggy" made her feel warm, included, and although she was only just starting to admit it - loved.

Peggy didn't feel the same way, Dickie was sure. She'd already forgotten the egg. But for a moment, when Dickie looked at the careful lettering - well maybe, just maybe she could convince herself that she did. That it was a message, that they could have some sort of future together, that the short time they had left at school wouldn't eventually end their daily, near constant contact.

She had hidden the egg away, and taken it home, put it in a box of little treasures, and tried to forget it, step back from the confusing warmth the daydreams gave her. She was mostly successful, although it had been hard sometimes to keep her mind on her work, when she could suddenly feel Peggy's presence everywhere, and woke red faced from dreams of vaguely imagined situations, moments where her friend declared herself in just the same state. She had to hide her feelings, this was too serious an issue to risk the fantasy getting any further than her half imagined moments. She did a good job, for only one person guessed her secret, and in her very reaction saved the older girl from anyone else getting a chance to notice.

It was at the water pageant, where Dickie was riding behind Peggy, returning to the boat. She struggled through the rehearsals with no outward reaction, ignoring the way Peggy's form fitted closely against hers, the way the movement of the horse pushed them together, apart, together. She had managed to focus far in the distance on the trip to the beach, her family being present being another way to keep herself in check. But with the relief of nearly being done, Dickie lost her guard, and subconsciously tightened her grip on Peggy. For one second she gave in, the depth of her feelings and desire for this moment never to end streaking across her blushing face.

Only one person saw, or rather one person recognised the feelings for what they were, not embarrassment at having to be in the show. Tom Gay, just beginning to experience a similar set of confused feelings, glanced at the pair at just the right moment. In her recognition of the desire on Dickie's face, and shock in realising she wasn't the only one to feel this way, Tom couldn't help but blow into the conch shell, emitting a huge noise just beside the horse's head.

In the following moments, Dickie was grateful for there being no one in front of them now, as the bolting horse and need to get it under control threw her and Peggy even closer together, gave a reason for gripping the other girl tightly, till she almost felt burnt where their bare skin touched. She could feel Peggy's heart beating against hers, the excitement and fear of the sudden race clear in the thumping so close to her own. This, with the rush of the ride made Dickie for one wild moment, contemplate letting the horse take them far from the beach, declare herself, whatever the world might do, or Peggy might say.

However, common sense prevailed, she came rapidly to her senses, and pulled the horse up. A moment for a breath, then she calmly walked them back, managing to get herself under control enough that no one questioned anything. Any redness in either of their faces or shortness of breath was explained away by the exertion. If Dickie disappeared into the cold sea for a moment as soon as she had come away from the display, no one really thought much of it. Many of the girls took a moment to splash around and cool off before heading back to the school. Dickie carefully didn't look to see what Peggy might do, the safest thing was to act as if nothing had happened.

But it had. From that moment on, there was no going back, any vague stories she had told herself about just feeling a close friendship, or a platonic sisterly love were given up. She knew how she had felt, and now she had to decide when, or if she would ever act upon those feelings.

All because of an Easter Egg.
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