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Ascriber / Writers Eyes Workshop - 6.

'The Deck Chair'

Just after the war (WW 2), a certain family with whom I’m well acquainted had just got their garden put to rights. The life saving Anderson shelter had been dug out, dismantled and relegated to the bottom of the garden as a cycle shed. The ground it had been resting in had been planted with flowers and part of the area that had been used for growing vegetables had been grassed over with a rustic screens complete with climbing roses. An extremely comfortable place for picnic teas, barbecues not being thought of in those days.

There was just one thing wrong. The only seats were the dining chairs carried from the house each and every time they were needed and not very comfortable for sitting on to relax in the sun.

That’s when Dad had an idea. Somewhere in the back of the large, old garden shed was an ancient deck chair and he eagerly pulled it out for Mum. Oh dear though, the wooden frame was dirty and badly in need of attention and the canvas was badly torn, even rotted through in places. Undeterred, while young son was given the job of painting the wood with pale green (slightly lumpy} paint, carefully stored throughout the war years, Dad hunted down some canvas and came back clutching a brightly coloured bundle. This was quickly attached to the frame with the express instructions that no one should sit in the chair until Mum had had the honours.

So the unveiling ceremony, Dad carefully placed the deck chair in the middle of the lawn and Mum was led out with daughter, to inspect the workmanship of her husband and son.. After many comments of approval and thanks came the moment and with three pairs of watching eyes she sat to test its comfort. There was a a sudden explosion as the wood, brittle and as rotten as the canvas had been, smashed itself into a million pieces, depositing her on the ground. Luckily all saw the funny side and the family retold the tale many times after, just as I, being that young son am retelling it to you.

With that tale in mind, workshop 6 is ‘The Deck Chair’. We must make allowances though for modern ideas and will accept Sun loungers, Directors chairs or any other kind of folding chair.

Imagine a beach. Is there sand? Is there shingle? What Country is it? Is the sun shining or is it overcast. What can you see, a colourful display of brightly canvassed deck chairs (or dull green as many were)? A sea of white sunloungers perhaps? Or just one solitary chair.
As in my tale, perhaps the chair is not on the beach but at some other spot.

What about the people (or person) lounging back sun bathing? Skins of many shades ranging from white through to red, brown and black.

Are there any clouds or any tears where fingers have been caught in the framework? What can you smell? salt air, fresh flowers, fish and chips?

Prose: Write a short story of about 1500 words featuring no more than three main characters within the scene that you are imagining. It can be as humorous or tragic as you like to make it.

Alternatively, write an article concerning deck chairs, sun loungers or both, again this can have a serious or humorous side to it.

Poets:
40 lines of poetry please expressing your emotions as you see the scene you have visualised.

Submissions

We are always grateful for your comments and will be pleased to display them, or should the writer prefer, e-mail them on.

The Deckchair I first saw it when I was sent to get the mop and bucket from the locker behind the bridge.
It was covered in grime, and had obviously not been used for years. I was part of the crew on an ancient coastal tramp steamer in the late forties, and all of the crew except me seemed as old as the ship itself.

I was a sixteen-year-old boy at the time, and still very inquisitive. I resolved to dig out the old deckchair when I had some free time. Questioning the able seaman who was responsible for me, elicited little information.
"I think it belonged to one of the previous captains." He told me. "Don't you go messing where you've no right!" he admonished, waving his finger under my nose.
I had no inclination to follow his orders in this, and when my work was done, I dragged it from its resting place. The sun was sinking on a fine day, but was still bright enough for me to see that the canvas was ripped in places, and probably rotting too. The frame was solid though. It was made of mahogany, according to the radio operator who caught me admiring it.
"I heard it used to belong to an eccentric old Captain years ago, who sat in it every evening, and called it his lifesaver." The radio operator was a tall skinny man, with a ready smile. "Best not let the captain see you with that out." He wandered off, back to his radio room I guessed.

I spent the rest of that evening cleaning down the woodwork, and checking over the canvas. It came up like new, and the canvas, when scrubbed, was not too bad after all. It had padded armrests, and a padded seat. I thought perhaps these were filled with some kind of flock or horsehair and closed up with buttons, which resisted my efforts to free them. They were certainly a bit lumpy. As I sat on it though I found it to be very comfortable.
I was taking the night air, relaxing with a hot cup of tea in my hand, when the Captain strolled past. He was astonished to see the deck chair. "Where did that appear from?" he asked kindly. I jumped to my feet in confusion. The great man had not spoken to me since welcoming me aboard two weeks previously.

The deck chair fell on to its side as I struggled to be free of it, and the Captain stepped round me to set it upright again. He then sat down in it. That's the end of that as far as I am concerned, I thought to myself, but he smiled up at me and said, "Well lad, you found it, so you can use it. Mind you look after it though and stow it away every night. We are heading for some rough weather."
I stuttered, "Aye Aye Sir!" The Captain rose and stood back to admire the chair. "That is certainly a nice piece of furniture." Then he carried on with his nightly patrol of the ship.

Two nights later, true to the Captain's forecast we ran into heavy weather. The ship groaned and heaved, the ancient engines struggling to keep her bows into the huge waves that were hitting us.
The storm lasted for two days before the engines gave up the ghost, and stopped running. The ship immediately went abeam to the waves, and the seas pounded us for hours while the engineer fought manfully to restart the engines. To no avail. An even more massive sea pounded us for several minutes before the Captain decided that the old tub could stand no more.
"Prepare to abandon ship!" He cried. And went forward to help launch the two lifeboats. We all scrambled aboard, and the boats were let go. They hit the water with a bang, and one of them broke up and sank almost at once. The men managed to cling to ours, and some of them were pulled aboard before ours met the same fate and split in two. We were all thrown into the heavy seas, and I prayed loud and hysterically for salvation. This was my first trip, and it seemed as if it would be my last.

The tramp steamer by this time had broken up and sunk, leaving plenty of debris floating in our vicinity. The seas were so high, and I had taken in so much water that I could no longer see any of the other crewmen.
A large piece of wreckage tried its best to pound me into eternity, but I managed to dodge the worst of the blow, then I realised that it was my precious deckchair.
I grabbed at it and succeeded in climbing onto it. The deckchair floated very well, and although I had difficulty clinging to it at first, I soon found the rhythm and as the seas gradually calmed with the rising of the sun, I was able to relax and check my surroundings.
There was nothing to see except miles of water. None of the rest of the crew was near, and I began to fear for my life again. The sun rose in the sky, and I began to overheat. Then I noticed that one of the padded armrests of the chair had partially split open. I felt inside, and withdrew a metal canister that my probing fingers located. Wonder of wonders, it was full of water. Old water it's true, but I was in no position to worry about that. I gulped a few mouthfuls and it was bliss. Searching further I found a tin box. This proved to contain boiled sweets, and some mouldy chocolate. The sweets I sucked avidly, but the chocolate would have to wait until I was more desperate.
The other armrest yielded another small water container, and a little tin of biscuits. These enabled me to survive for four days, when I was spotted by a Dutch trawler.

I made sure that they rescued the deckchair as well, and although that adventure was many years ago, as you can see, I said to the local reporter, the deckchair remains my most prized possession and I use it all the time.

Comments

This is a good piece of grammatical prose and I enjoyed it the more because I find so much slack writing on the internet. Perhaps that sounds a bit pompous but I think members will understand that well written prose is appreciated.

Another aspect that I liked was that it had a mystical feel about it but not so fantastical as to be unreal. I really believed in the characters and the story.

Well done. Keep writing.

Dorothy Spry

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