Hotter than hades

On May 30th last year, Charli Mills prompted us thus:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a decision between two clashing priorities.

And I came up with this:

Dog days

He stared at the letter in his hand; he had done it again. Got all the way from car to post box and forgotten to post it. He would forget himself one of these days.

Milton whined from the back; he had forgotten to walk the bloody dog, too.

Sighing to himself, Peter climbed out and made for the phone box. Halfway there he remembered he hadn’t wound the window down. Poor Milton, it was so hot.

He hesitated fractionally and then set off again. He would only be a few minutes.

The stroke, when it came, was huge.

That turned out to be the first instalment in what has become Mary’s Story.

This week Charli’s prompt is:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the phrase, “Man, it’s a hot one.” You can choose a gender neutral replacement for the slang, “man” or any other general address. The phrase can lead, end or show up in the middle of the story. If the prompt leads you to a creative idea to alter the phrase, do it! And stay cool this week!

 Maybe you can see the echo in my original piece.

05 BOX-021

Me in my primary school uniform

The phrase ‘It’s a hot one’ brings back a memory from when I was about ten. My class at primary school was taught by a fearsome woman – Miss Hazel – known for obvious reasons as Witch Hazel – who complained constantly during the winter term about how cold her classroom was. We had these large metal radiators like huge brass musical instruments that jutted out from the wall about which is was said ‘if you sit on those you’ll get piles’. Piles of what I wondered but since everyone sniggered I sniggered too, a beat behind the boy who said it. The story of my primary school life, laughing a beat too late. Maybe that’s why I find leading a dance so tricky.

The whole of the rest of the staff knew about the misfiring radiator and the Witch’s grumbles – she was an Olympic standard moaner – because if they ever came to see her when she was teaching they might hug themselves and say ‘chilly, isn’t it?’ or look at the windows and offer ‘is that ice on the inside?’

Eventually the lugubrious caretaker, Mr Stephens appeared and, with much teeth sucking and the application of a large wrench bullied some life into the beast. It made a very satisfactory gurgling noise which we all much admired. One consequence was, however, that as the day progressed the radiator became hotter and hotter and we were warned to keep away. Miss Hazel would stand close to it while teaching, warming her hands from a safe distance.

It can’t have been much after this engineering masterpiece that Miss Hazel fell ill – not enough eyes of toads for her soup – and Miss Taylor took our class for the day. Miss Taylor was much younger and, it being the sixties, prone to wearing short skirts. You can see where this is going.

My memory of the particular lesson is limited to a moment of utter concentration by the whole class. We were 29 children and we were both mixed ability and mixed attention span – some of the class would today be diagnosed with ADHD or with one learning difficulty or another – and we had a not completely unwarranted reputation for being a tricky class to keep in control.  Especially as the day progressed.

So Miss Taylor was probably delighted with how we remained hooked by her every word; how we never let our focus on her waver. Gradually her movements narrowed; facing us she made a grand gesture and, delight on delight took a short step back.

In my head I can still hear the sizzle. I can still see the thin red line running down her thigh. I can still recall the surprise as she became the first adult to utter ‘bloody hell’ in our presence.

As a class we recognised the look on her face; it was the precursor to teacherly revenge. She knew we knew. You leant early that, pupil against teacher was a fight the pupil never won. But occasionally all the subsequent detentions and random punishments paled against the collective wonder of being there at that glorious moment of bum branding.

Turning to the prompt, I missed a post last week on my blogiday so here’s last week’s flash followed by this week. And this is the link to the whole saga.

Picture This

‘Are you Mary North?’


‘Sorry to disturb. We’ve bought 52 Rose Street. And, well, we found this.’

The woman fumbled in her bag, smiling apologies. ‘We’re doing a few things. Modernising, you know. We’ve been clearing out the attic. Filthy of course.’

Mary felt her embarrassment. She knew she was removing Mary’s parents from their home.

‘It’s a locket. There’s a catch…’

Suddenly, the pewter pendant sprang open, revealing a sepia picture of two chubby babies.

‘Is one you?’

Mary caressed the silky smooth surface and nodded. One of these girls was her twin.

‘Were you identical twins?’

‘You’re getting warmer…’

Rupert, Mary’s half-brother, wiped his forehead. ‘Too dammed hot for me.’

Mary smiled. ‘Me too. Heat and pregnancy don’t mix. Penny loves it, though. Dad did too.’

Rupert nodded. ‘So Paul said you’ve found some things about your twin?’

Mary showed him the locket and the book. ‘She was Sharon. Aunt Gloria lied when she said that was my imaginary friend.’

‘Don’t be hard on her. She had reasons. And we’ve something to work on.’

‘True.’ Mary rubbed her back. ‘I suppose we might just be getting warm at last.’

‘Rupert nodded. ‘Soon we’ll be very hot. You see.’

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
This entry was posted in creative writing, flash fiction, miscellany, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

13 Responses to Hotter than hades

  1. Lovely schoolboy reminiscing. There are loads of stories there – that is one never to be forgotten

    Liked by 1 person

  2. trifflepudling says:

    “…Creeping like a snail unwillingly to school”. Yer blazer’s shrunk!
    Very amusing story. Like a very straight-faced teacher we had for Bilge, replacing a lovely lady. Lessons were terrible until Mrs Straightface stepped backwards off the rostrum into a wastepaper bin! Much better after that.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh how cute you looked in that uniform with the little t-strap shoes, Kids seemed to look so much smarter back then! How I loved your story of the young teacher and the burned bum! It really was a treat in those days when their professional facade slipped a bit, as it so rarely did. Getting a ‘bloody hell’ hit the jackpot!
    Thanks for the laugh, I enjoyed that 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. noelleg44 says:

    What an enjoyable post – loved all the stories, but I think Witch Hazel was my favorite. I do remember those radiators – had run in with one of them once myself. One of my high school teachers, an elderly woman with white hair (who did a terrific time teaching me precis writing) kept a thermos on her desk and from time to time would leave the room with it. We always suspected it contained alcohol!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Charli Mills says:

    What an impressionable age to witness a teacher bum branded! Wow, what an accomplishment, Geoff, as you come to an anniversary of Mary’s Story. Some new twists that put Mary in the lead of finding out what happened. So, Aunt Gloria lied…

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Pingback: Man, It’s a Hot One « Carrot Ranch Communications

Comments are closed.