South Devon Link Road – possibly not the answer people claim it to be

With the news that the South Devon Link Road is to get the go-ahead, a Lib Dem Councillor has expressed his concern for the impact on South Devon.

Lib Dem councillor Gordon Hook, who represents the Newton Abbot wards of Buckland and Milber has suggested the decision for the go-ahead for the South Devon Link Road is a ‘Black Day for Newton Abbot’.

On his website Gordon says: “It will give the ‘green light’ (no sick joke intended) to the development and in filling of the Aller Valley / hillside opposite Aller Park Road. This, coupled to other proposals in the Teignbridge Core Strategy will see an irrevocable change in both the character of Newton Abbot and also an end to the green lung which separates Newton from Kingskerswell.”

He is also skeptical about the solution a flyover will offer – instead the traffic jam, into Torbay which the link road is intended to ease, will be pushed elsewhere on the road network.

He says: “I wanted to see other alternatives to road building to solve this issue… and still want to see greater investment in decent public transport / park and ride/walk schemes/ investment in electric (and other non fossil fuel) vehicles.

“No one currently knows when the scheme will start, but take a good look at the green fields between Kingskerswell and Newton… they won’t be there much longer. This could yet turn out to be the biggest single act of environmental vandalism perpetrated against the County of Devon since the Luftwaffe visited Plymouth.”

Meanwhile Torbay Labour have voiced their support for the plans

Read Gordon’s full post on his site.

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2. Torbay Labour welcomes link road news Seems there's been some news of the South Devon Link...
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Read Mathew F Riley’s spooky short story for Halloween online, or download it

“Pass the cider, Steve, mate, there’s a good boy.”

Across the fire and eight empty cans of Stella, Dan saw Steve lean out of the circle of light and reach behind him, rummaging in the backpack.

“Don’t speak to him like that,” whispered Jessica, angry at her boyfriend’s patronising tone, “he’s only here because I invited him, so at least try to make him feel welcome.”

“I bet he’s just glad to be out of his stinking bedroom for once, away from his computer games… why the hell did you invite him anyway?” Dan hissed, his voice rising despite his attempts to keep quiet. He moved his face closer to Jessica, licking her earlobe. She backed away a little, seeing the look of hunger in his eyes, the smirk on his lips, sensing his impatience.

“Not yet Dan, let him go home first. Wait until we’re on our own can’t you?”

“Here you go.” Steve handed over the plastic litre container of Scrumpy Jack, pretending not to have heard the exchange. Talk to me, not about me.

He retreated back to the other side of the fire and added another piece of driftwood, hoping the renewed flames would hide his face from them both. He liked Jessica very much, but Dan was an ignorant jerk. One of those naturally big blokes who acted as if he just didn’t care what you thought of him, able to wind himself up and launch into vicious verbal assaults when the need, or opportunity, arose. He liked to reinforce the fact that Jessica was his girlfriend to anyone who’d listen, even to those like Steve, who already knew they were a couple, and had that fact shoved down their throats every day at college. Steve wondered if Jessica got fed up being shown off to everyone they met. He hated the way Dan called Jessica Jess. It just didn’t feel right: Jess was a name you gave a horse. He hated Scrumpy Jack too; it was a redneck drink. Perfect for Dan, then.

Still, Steve supposed, at least they had found each other; and he had to admit, he was jealous of their happiness. Shaldon was a small place, and there weren’t many kids of his age living here, let alone girls. Even though they went to the community college in Teignmouth, the larger town that overlooked Shaldon from the hills on the other side of the estuary, there was no question of them mixing socially with the kids there. It just wasn’t done, and never had been as far as he could tell.

Steve didn’t know why he’d agreed to come along tonight. Admittedly he’d had nothing better to do, but it didn’t stop him feeling used. There was absolutely no way he could relax or feel included, not with their cosy chats and lingering looks. Not with Dan’s constant mocking tone. Steve could practically feel the contempt Dan had for him circulating in the chilled air this late October night. Worse, Jessica’s giggles made him want to fade back into the darkness outside the fire’s narrow circle of illumination.

The three were huddled under the cliffs of the Ness beach, regardless of the danger of rock falls from above. It was a secret; that’s how the locals liked to think of it: their secret beach. The Ness, a great red sandstone headland, protected Shaldon from most of the elements that whipped in towards the village from across the sea. The great hill loomed over the thin channel of the River Teign at the entrance to the estuary; its shadows fell across the water, reaching Teignmouth’s gently sloping beach on a sunny day.

At this end of the village the land rose steeply, and most tourists were put off by the sudden incline. Up here was their not-so-secret secret. On foot it could only be reached via an old smugglers tunnel, built in Napoleonic times, Steve’s dad had told him. The tunnel wound darkly for a few hundred yards, getting steeper as it went, until it opened out onto a concrete level, some railings and a set of concrete steps that led down to the beach.

It was a favourite haunt of the village’s youth; small groups of teenagers could often be found having a barbeque or drinking session when the weather was mild enough. These gatherings were strictly invitation only, and definitely adult free. Shaldon’s kids considered the beach a secret worth defending and there had been run-ins with gangs from Teignmouth seeking somewhere to have an illicit joint. Teignmouth’s beach had nowhere to hide out; it was a stretch of sand and pebble, ideal for tourists and dog walking. Ness beach had its share of ragged natural features: vast boulders that had fallen from the cliffs above provided windbreaks and perfect sites for small fires; several shallow caves allowed shelter from the rain, when it didn’t sweep in horizontally from the sea.

Steve had spent a few evenings with his mate Howard that summer watching the waves break on the red sand in the failing light. As the sky darkened they liked to sit, eyes closed, listening to the surf as it crashed onto the sand and stone, then sucking itself out again, to return a second or so later. Steve enjoyed losing himself in the rhythmic flow of the tides as they came and went. He wondered where his friend was now. Howard hadn’t said goodbye, just left the village a few weeks ago, leaving his responsibilities for someone else to sort out. Maybe he had the right idea.

Steve got up.

“I’m going for a walk, be back in a bit.”

“Take your time mate,” he heard Dan drunkenly respond. Jessica giggled again. There was a slithering of jacket material, then silence behind the crackling of the flames.

Steve walked towards the rocks at the far end of the beach, where the Teign met the English Channel, a surging chaos of currents, where the seagulls screamed.

+

Steve stood outside the weakening firelight. The moon was high overhead; Jessica and Dan sat in its silvery shadows gazing into the golden embers of the dying fire. The wind was biting now, driving a salty drizzle off the sea and into their eyes. The wood had run out, as had the drink.

Their conversation too, thought Steve, buoyed a little by this idea.

Dan sensed his presence, taking the opportunity to have another dig at him.

“I’m freezing, so’s Jess. We wanted to stay out all night, we had plans.”

Steve figured Dan’s plans were obviously not mutual.

“Before you go mate, you sure you don’t want to go find us some more wood?”

“I haven’t said I’m going yet Dan,” said Steve, annoyed and cold, “but if that’s what you want. See you then.”

“Hey man, what about that wood?”

Steve ignored him, “Bye Jessica.”

“No, don’t go Steve,” it was Jessica, “let’s talk.”

Why did she want him to stay? Did she feel sorry for him, or was it because she and Dan had fallen out when he’d been walking? Perhaps it was only because they’d nothing to say to each other. Should he give it ten minutes, see the way the conversation went? Steve could tell Dan was getting angry. If only he would go home, leaving just him and Jessica, that’d be perfect.

“Where did you go on your walk then?” she asked him.

“Just went to watch the water. Do you know what time it is? One forty. The tide’s been going out for a while now; another hour and it’ll be low tide.”

Dan guffawed, “Man. I can’t believe you know that sort of shit. Low tide? That shit’s for fishermen. You wanna be a fisherman? A salty old seadog, like your Daddy?”

Steve heard the words and knew there was an incredulous sneer on Dan’s hidden face. He shrugged his shoulders, hoping the older boy would see him.

“No, just wanted to check out what Howard told me about low tide around here. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Dan snorted again, “Howard? Oh yeah, I remember him. Spookeee. Not! Bleeding Gothboy. He was your friend wasn’t he? Older than you wasn’t he?”

“Sod off Dan. He was just a mate.”

Dan scrambled to his feet.

“Don’t you tell me to fu-”

Jessica jumped up, “Dan! Sit down and shut up. Leave him alone. Steve, please don’t go yet. Tell us what Howard told you.” She grabbed hold of his arm, “please?”

Steve sensed something wasn’t right between them. Dan seemed well pissed off. Jessica seemed nervous all of a sudden, almost… scared. They must have had an argument, although he thought he would have heard it, the beach was so quiet, apart from the wind and the sea. He’d stay for a while, just to spite Dan.

“I’m sorry Dan, didn’t mean it. It is a cool story though. Want to hear it?”

“Go on then, if Jess wants to, then so do I.”

They sat down.

“See that light out there?” Steve indicated behind him, to where he’d been walking. Beyond the beach, out on the water, a tiny white light hovered about ten feet in the air.

“Hadn’t noticed that,” murmured Dan, barely holding in his temper.

“That’s a rowing boat; it’s out there at low tide. Howard told me it’s not there to do any fishing. It’s there to watch, that’s all.”

“Watch what?” asked Jessica.

“Well, don’t laugh at me. I’m only repeating what Howard said…”

“Get on with it.” Dan was becoming more exasperated with every minute that passed.

“Howard said… he said that when someone dies in Shaldon, their soul is washed out to sea on the low tide. Happens on the night they die. They go out with the water. That guy in the boat is there to make sure none of the souls get washed back in. The same boat’s been used for three hundred years apparently. Howard said that sometimes the souls get caught up in a current that takes them onto this beach, where they turn into pebbles, or something. In the old days the villagers used to go beach combing just before the sun rose. They’d wander along the beach to see if they could find any pebbles that had souls in them. They believed that if they kept the pebbles they could return that person to life. Some just wanted to see their loved ones one more time. Then they’d throw the pebble back in so that soul could move on.”

Dan couldn’t hold himself back.

“Jesus H. Christ! I suppose they end up in France then do they? What a load of absolute shite that is. Howard wasn’t right in the head, hanging around with the likes of you. Can’t believe you actually went and had a look. You freak. C’mon Jess, we’re going.”

Dan jumped up and kicked the empty Scrumpy Jack container into the darkness to join the discarded cans of Stella. At least, Steve thought, he stamped out the embers of the fire. Steve regretted telling them now, but Jessica asked, “So, did you see anything then?”

As they walked up the beach towards the tunnel Steve looked at her in the moonlight. Was she really interested? He was tempted to make something up: a glowing pebble at his feet, or misty ghosts swirling beneath the surface of the water as it met the sea.

“Nah, nothing. Just a load of seaweed washed up on the beach,” he half-joked, “I guess that means nobody died tonight.”

+

Jessica couldn’t get Steve’s story out of her head.

It niggled at her for the remainder of the week and she found herself wondering how the man in the boat thought he would be able to catch a soul. Did they have special nets? And, how did the souls get from the dead body and into the river? What did they look like? She wanted to speak with Steve about it, to find out more, although she didn’t know why. It was so weird, to be thinking these things. She knew it was stupid, but… it just wouldn’t leave her alone. Unlike Dan. What was wrong with him? She liked him, but he was just too angry all the time. She’d refused to sneak home with him that night, and as punishment, she presumed, he was ignoring her at college. He hadn’t even asked her out yet this week. She knew he’d assumed they were going to go all the way. Yeah right. She wasn’t ready and wasn’t sure Dan was the one (but on the other hand, he was the best looking bloke at college). Then, thankfully, Steve had turned up. Just as well he’d brought Dan some cider, which had calmed things down for a while.

That afternoon Jessica made sure Dan had left for home; on Friday his last class finished an hour earlier than hers. She waited outside the college gates and took her chance as Steve wandered absent-mindedly towards Shaldon.

“Steve? Hi. Look, um, can we meet up tonight? You can tell me more about that weird story. I quite liked it.”

+

“I talked to my dad about it,” teased Steve, almost enjoying himself. Jessica was hanging on his every word. It was nine o’clock and they were hiding from the rain under a tree in the unkempt Botanical Gardens, another location the village hid so well without really trying.

“Dad said he’d speak to Arthur as he hasn’t heard the story before. He says Arthur’s the one who sits in the boat. He reckons Arthur fishes at low-tide because that’s when it’s easiest to catch the biggest Flounders.”

“Really? I don’t know him. Do you reckon we could go out with him on the boat? It’d be fun. Will you ask your dad?”

Steve nodded. He was definitely enjoying himself now. “I’ll try, but what about Dan? He wouldn’t exactly be happy would he? He really doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m a retard.”

“He wouldn’t have to know. The low-tide is so early in the morning no-one will be up anyway.”

Surely this was wrong? She really wanted to follow this through. Steve felt a seed of self-doubt germinate, grow and quickly flourish; suddenly he found himself trying to back out.

“Is it worth it though Jessica? I didn’t see anything at all. It’s just an old local myth, a silly superstition. He probably is just a night fisherman. It could be pointless.”

“I just want to do something different Steve. I can’t wait until college is over. I can’t wait to get the exams out of the way. Go to uni if I’m lucky. Dan and I, we just are, and it’s boring. Please don’t tell Dan I’ve told you any of this. If I told him my plans he’d only lose his temper. He’d kill you, me too probably…”

Jessica examined the ground closely, hesitating before continuing.

“He, he hits me sometimes, on my arms with his knuckles. I haven’t told anyone else this, so please keep it to yourself. Dan can’t see beyond the outskirts of Shaldon and Teignmouth. He knows he’s going to get a job with his dad in the garage, so he’s not worried about his exams. He’s not even trying. Just wants to get off his face.

“But that story you told us, it was cool, and weird. Shaldon’s spooky sometimes, have you noticed? All the old people stare at us as if we don’t belong here. Sometimes I think they’re right. All the little lanes and dark windows in this place give me the creeps; the people give me the creeps. I thought we could look into it together, you know, as mates? Give us something to do apart from getting trashed and revising.”

Jessica’s words confirmed everything Steve had suspected about Dan: he was more than just mouth. He hit her. That cretin didn’t deserve her. Why did she even give him the time of day? But, Jessica was up for it. Just as mates though. Still, it was better than nothing. Maybe if they spent some time together she’d begin to like him more than just a friend, and that meant he’d have to come up with reasons for them to spend that time together. He had to think fast.

“Okay. Can you get out tomorrow night? The tide goes out at quarter past two. Meet me on the Bridge at two.”

+

Shaldon Bridge was once the longest in the country. Jessica decided it was certainly the coldest. The wind whipped itself horizontally down the estuary, the railings whistled eerily. The right side of her face had gone numb. She saw a hooded figure, illuminated by the lamplights that were placed at regular intervals along the bridge’s length, leaning on the handrail right in the middle of the bridge. She hoped it was Steve; she didn’t like to be out and about, alone in Shaldon, especially at this ridiculous time of night. She hoped freezing her tits off would be worth it. The figure waved at her. Who else could it be in that Paddington Bear coat?

“Alright? Thought you weren’t coming,” she tried to hide her relief.

“Hi, nearly didn’t make it, couldn’t get out of bed so soon after getting into it. I wasn’t sure if my mum and dad had gone to sleep. Their light was still on. What are we doing here anyway?”

“Well I figured that if someone dies in Shaldon tonight their soul is going to have to pass under the bridge at some stage. The village stretches back a bit doesn’t it, up to Ringmore, that’s where the graveyard of St Nicholas is, so maybe they come from there.”

Jessica contemplated the shadows forming Steve’s face.

“But, what if they die in bed and their soul goes straight into the river from their house? Standing here means we’ve got a fifty per cent chance of missing it. Even more standing here: look how wide the bridge is. We’ll be really lucky if a soul comes floating down the river right below us.”

Steve was mildly annoyed at her logic, and himself. She had a point. The Teign was wide at this point. And it was even wider upstream, further into the estuary. Jessica had obviously thought this all through. She was taking this a bit more seriously than he’d expected her to. How was he going to impress her if she out-thought him? He hid his sudden inadequacy deeper within his hood, turning away from her.

“Let’s give it a go anyway shall we? Now that we’re here.”

“I’ll stand over there,” Jessica moved further down the bridge, onto the Teignmouth side. The two of them went quiet for a few minutes, concentrating, trying to ignore the biting wind that made their eyes smart. Steve was beginning to think this was a stupid idea of his, but before he could take the lead and suggest they move on, he heard a sigh.

“It’s too damn dark to see the water,” Jessica complained. At its highest the Teign was about ten feet beneath their feet, and the Bridge’s lights didn’t reach that far. Jessica recalled that on those rare occasions when the Teign had flooded low-lying parts of the village: the football pitch, the streets that led directly onto the beach down in the heart of Shaldon, the water had never reached the Bridge and the road that crossed it. In fact, the only thing that had ever shut the Bridge that she could remember had been when one of those clay boats had broken its moorings in Teignmouth docks and wedged itself tight under the arches at high tide.

“Steve. If there is anything to see, we’re not going see it here are we? That whistling’s freaking me out too. Let’s go.”

They walked back together in silence.

But, thought Steve, what if the souls were coloured? Then they’d definitely see something. Shaldon was a small place. There wasn’t a death every night of the week was there? He couldn’t guarantee that, could he? It was a perfectly reasonable explanation why they wouldn’t be able to see anything.

No, don’t even mention it – keep it to yourself. He didn’t want to test her temper. There was no way he’d ever be able to argue with her. He felt like it was his duty to apologise for wasting her time, but again Jessica pre-empted him.

“Why don’t we go down to the village beach, just to see if the boat’s there? If it is then maybe we could wait until he comes back in. We could talk to him ourselves. Find out if we’re being stupid. We can wait in the ferry hut.”

Steve signalled his agreement. This was good. Jessica seemed happy to be out with him, even though it had gone three in the morning: not the most romantic of times and made even less so considering they were searching for the souls of Shaldon’s dead. A sudden clarity bubbled to the surface of his thoughts, surprising him: I want this to happen.

+

The light was out there.

“How long are we going to have to wait?” Jessica asked. They were snuggled together for warmth in the ferry’s hut, a wooden structure open to the elements. Inside, they perched on an uncomfortable bench, facing the beach, positioned so those waiting for the ferry could keep an eye on its progress across the Teign.

“As long as it takes,” responded Steve, feeling red and hot inside his coat. He hadn’t expected Jessica to come this close to him, “but the tide turns at about quarter to four, that’s in fifteen minutes.”

The Shaldon ferry had been running for over a hundred and fifty years. It was a black and white longboat, painted in a Tudor style. Why would anyone paint a boat like a house? Steve supposed it added character, for the tourists. Nowadays it had an engine and made the trip from Shaldon to Teignmouth every day of the year except Christmas Day, New Year’s Day, and strangely, the eleventh of July. He hadn’t been able to find out why.

“The water looks like oil in this light,” Jessica yawned and laid her head on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m nervous. What if he won’t talk to us?” Her hands wrapped themselves around his left arm. The moon showed itself from behind a bank of clouds and they watched as the little rowing boat approached the shore.

+

“Need some help Arthur?”

Steve waited for the elderly shadow to creak out of the beached rowing boat. Jessica cowered behind him, listening to the old man’s wheezing.

“Help me haul her up out of the water lad. I seen you from out there. Waiting for me is yer? Bit late for you young uns.”

Jessica barged forward.

“Hi Mr…, um, Arthur, we wanted to ask you about the souls on the low-tide. A friend of Steve’s… This is Steve by the way. I’m Jessica. How do you do? Yes, um, Steve’s dad said he’d ask you for us, didn’t he Steve? So, yes, we wanted –”

Arthur grunted, “wait up there young lady. Let me get ashore first.”

Jessica stepped back behind Steve again, embarrassed, how uncool was that you idiot? Steve must think I’m completely losing it. She watched him help the old man pull the rowing boat from the water. Not an easy task, as its timbers had soaked up a lot of water and salt over the years. Steve wondered how Arthur managed this on his own every night. He took out a bucket full of fish, wondering if Arthur was only a night fisherman; something about the way he’d looked at them made him think otherwise.

They’re not Flounders.

“Dad said you fished for Flounders at night?”

The shapes writhing in Arthur’s bucket were small and silver, not flat or spotted like a Flounder. Steve had helped his mum prepare the fish for dinner on several occasions.

“He’s wrong son. Help me turn her over.”

They heaved the boat onto its side and let it drop onto the sand, facedown, next to several other rowing boats. Arthur slowly leant over and picked up the oars, balancing them over one shoulder. Steve carried the bucket.

“Can’t leave my oars in the boat, they’ll get nicked. Young uns like you I suspect. Use em on those fires I reckon. Even nick the boats sometimes.”

“What about your fishing rod?” squeaked Jessica, slowly regaining her composure.

“Don’t need one on nights like this. The fish just jump into the boat, slippery beggars, maybe they’re trying to reach the moon,” Arthur chuckled.

Steve and Jessica followed him into the tight net of shadowed alleys and damp fishermen’s cottages that are the heart of Shaldon.

+

“Tea?”

Steve and Jessica nodded their heads as one. They were seated on twisted chairs at a pine dining table, the wood of which was marked and scoured like the fisherman’s weathered face, watching him potter.

Just how old is he? Steve looked around Arthur’s kitchen. A simple gas camping stove was set upon a wooden sideboard, next to a rusty kettle (boiling), and a stack of chipped, but washed crockery that leaned towards an unremarkable sink. What was remarkable however, were the wooden shelves that covered all four walls of the kitchen at regular intervals, all the way from the floor to the ceiling. On these shelves hundreds of empty bottles stood side by side. Clear glass bottles mingled with greens, yellows, and browns. The room stank like the rowing boat, of salt and seaweed, and of something else, a hidden, faint sweetness.

Arthur waved his hands at the walls dismissively, second-guessing Steve’s thoughts.

“I collect bottles. Always washing up on the beach, floating around in the sea. I bring em in, give em a wash and set em down here. Give em a home. Keeps the waters clean. Upstairs are the special ones. Found none tonight though. Now, you two: milk? Sugar?”

The fisherman looked at them with a piercing stare. His eyes were full of vitality, despite his angular, aged frame. Steve nodded and Jessica shook her head. Arthur sighed, “I’ll let you add your own then.” The old man shuffled around the kitchen, dropping tealeaves into a pot, pouring in the hot water.

“So. Lad. I know your father. But he doesn’t know me very well obviously, or these waters. He’s been fishing off the coast here for twenty years or more hasn’t he? Perhaps he’d do better making ice cream for the grockels! No Flounder finds itself swimming in that place on the Teign I can tell you. Too many currents you see, each one fighting against the other. No peace on the riverbed there. No riverbed to talk of really. That’s the Teign’s deepwater passage, and so narrow ain’t it? Always thought it a miracle that the big ships squeeze themselves through into the harbour. Sometimes they don’t and that’s a sight you wouldn’t want to miss. You could throw a stone from Shaldon Beach and crack one of they Teignmouth scrotes on the back of the head if you so wished.”

They watched in silence as Arthur amused himself, pouring the now flavoured water through a strainer and handed each of them a gloriously hot mug of tea.

“Thanks,” Jessica murmured. Steve noted she took hers black, with no sugar. He added a little milk to his own. There was nothing to stir it with. Arthur sat down opposite them. Resigned expectancy seeped from the old man. Steve and Jessica glanced at each other, both trying to decide what to say, and who should say it.  Steve saw Jessica’s go-on say it look and averted his eyes quickly. It was Arthur who broke the silence again.

“So what do you want to talk with me about then? I take it you do want to talk to me, an not just look at me?” Arthur addressed Steve, as if, after Jessica’s outburst, he’d already made a judgment on who was the leader of this little expedition. Steve thought he might well be wrong, but answered the old fisherman’s question, as Arthur was staring at him intently. And so was Jessica, better make this good.

“Thanks for the tea Arthur. Yeah. We’re doing some research into local myths and stuff, for college? My friend told me that when people died in Shaldon their souls, or spirits, are taken away on the low tide, just before morning on the night they died. He told me you watched the spirits to make sure they go on their way? It’s probably a load of crap,” Steve looked at Jessica, “but we wanted to see what you could tell us. We thought you might let us go out with you sometime? You know, to see the souls.”

“Did you now? Low tides ain’t always this time of the clock. They goes round with the sun and the moon, rising and falling. You could come out with me on the afternoon tide, but not at night, wouldn’t be right.”

Jessica interrupted, “So are you saying you do watch the souls go out?”

Arthur shifted his gaze, “It ain’t my place to say young lady. I fish when I’m out there, no sense not fishing when you’re on the water, is there? These fishes they do jump into my boat, always have. I have to fight off the seagulls, they go mad for em. The cormorants, they’re the clever ones. They dive down for em where I can’t reach. Sometimes they come up with other things, crabs and starfish. It’s written in the Village Book, see. The tradition should be kept on with. That’s what a tradition is. So I goes out at low tide and watch the water. Been going out for as long as I can remember. Not every night mind you. Can’t be there all the time, can I?”

“But, what have you seen?” Jessica was obviously getting fed up with Arthur’s ramblings.

“I seen things that I can’t explain, but that happens on that television all the time too. Happens every day in Shaldon. If you live here as long as I have, you’d know –”

“So, what happens if people die after low tide? Does their soul wait until the next low tide? Could we see them in the day? You mentioned a ‘Village Book’. Where’s that kept? Could we see that too?”

“Young lady,” Arthur paused for effect, hoping Jessica might learn the importance of timing, “please do not interrupt… People see what they want to see. People believe in stuff that their head tells em not to, but that their heart won’t let em forget… I goes out because it’s written like that. Just as my father did, and his father…anyway, you gets the gist.

“And, yes, I seen some things in the water, don’t know what they were though. Could be just fish or seaweed deep down in the current. Not too bothered to think about what they were either. You can tell your teachers that if you like.”

Arthur finished his tea with a dramatic gesture, “And now, it’s late, or early, so I’d like to go to me bed if that’s all right with you two?”

They thanked Arthur for his tea and time. On his way out, Steve glanced at the bucket the old man had placed next to the back door. The fish were still squirming.

As they negotiated their way out of the maze of alleyways, not helped by the lack of streetlights, Jessica asked him, “So what do you think? He didn’t tell us much did he? The ‘Village Book’? My arse. He was just playing with us. There’s nothing to the story is there? He’s just a knackered old fisherman.”

Steve felt a surge of desperation. Arthur had been evasive in his answers. He had to keep her interest. She’d find someone else to befriend, forget him and move on. Do her exams and leave Shaldon. He’d not have another chance.

“He didn’t deny it though did he? I mean he didn’t say it was true, but… um…” He was losing the thread, confusing himself. Think. “Um… look Jessica, we haven’t been out there yet, have we? Maybe it is a load of bollocks, but give it one more night. He said he’d seen some weird stuff didn’t he? Let’s meet at Ness Beach on Monday night at half past three. We’ll get a boat, go out and see for ourselves? What do you say? It’s still better than getting trashed, isn’t it?” Christ, did he sound as desperate as he felt?

Jessica yawned.

+

Thick fog rolled off the River Teign. It wrapped itself around the Ness, flowing onto the beach where Jessica waited for Steve. She was early. Enveloping her, a sea fog clashed with the sodden silence, approaching silently from somewhere. She imagined the fog rising up and out of the water itself. She shivered.

Where is he? It was just before three. On Halloween night of all nights! What was I thinking? Steve wasn’t going to get a boat in this weather. He’s probably tucked up in bed, snoring his geek arse off. Typical. The sooner I get out of this shithole place the better. You can’t rely on anyone. She liked Steve, but was beginning to think he might be just as much of a loser as the rest of them.

Jessica peered out into the gloom, funny how the fog seems to lighten the night. Nevertheless, it was too opaque for her to discern any details. She didn’t think mad old Arthur would be out there tonight. It was far too dangerous for someone so past it. And if he were out there, the light from his boat would surely be insufficient to reach her at the very edge of Ness Beach. She could hear the outgoing Teign’s waters meeting the vast black volume of the sea only metres from where she stood.

The silence suddenly deepened, the waves calmed, the water lapping at her feet missed its rhythm, pausing… she found she was holding her breath. The fog reacted with an unseen pressure and lifted perceptibly a few feet into the air. From up above the cliff, towards the back of the village she thought, but couldn’t really tell, there was a low whump followed by a crackling and cracking, like a vast pillow had been smacked down onto a field of dry wheat. As if released, the fog pushed down on her again with all its weight.

Jessica exhaled and a screaming filled the air. She whirled around to look up at the cliffs above her. There was movement in the fog as many things swooped through its cobwebby textures. The screaming wasn’t coming from the village. It was passing over her head. She turned back to face the sea, it was out there, over the water now: the screams of seagulls. She put her hands over her ears so piercing were their cries. One night she’d heard foxes fighting and screaming at each other outside her house. They’d sounded like babies in agony. That was bad, but this was unbearable. Beneath the screaming she heard a splash, another. Something was diving into the water, again a splash: cormorants? They’re the clever ones…

Waves broke across her shoes and Jessica took a step back, away from the splashing.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours, and she became progressively uneasy, extremely aware that she was alone.

“Steve? Where the HELL are you?”

The fog gulped down her words. Were those footsteps echoing along the smuggler’s tunnel? He was here at last, wasn’t he?

“You idiot! Where were you?”

She was relieved he hadn’t forgotten her. She turned around. Was that dark circular shape the entrance to the tunnel? She looked again, the shape moved with her gaze. The fog was playing tricks with her. She closed her eyes and listened: nothing, just the screaming of unseen seagulls.

She couldn’t stay here much longer. She felt as if the world had faded away while she’d been standing here. At this moment, she truly believed she would walk into the fog and find nothing: the sandstone cliffs that towered two hundred feet or so above her would be gone. Shaldon would be gone. She would simply walk, and walk, alone into the fog.

+

“Jessica?”

Steve’s voice took a long time to reach her in the bitter air. A strong smell of petrol invaded the beach. His silhouette drifted into focus, then his features. Half his face was red-raw, his hair singed. One eye was glued shut, his right arm unmoving by his side.

“Steve. What, what happened to you?”

He stopped a few paces from her and indicated with a stiff nod of his head.

“Watch the water, Jessica.”

The seagulls quietened and she turned back to the sea. A wave soaked her up to the knees, dragged itself out into the fog. How could that be? The tide was going out wasn’t it? She looked at the water’s edge. No more waves came.

Jessica saw colour. Yellow and pink pebbles stood out from the greys, browns and greens of eroded stone and stinking seaweed. Three shimmering pebbles lay at her feet. Could it be? She bent down and picked one up. It was warm. Something familiar… she gasped.

“Dan?” God she could taste him: his tongue, teeth. He walked through her. She felt the pull of him as he moved somewhere unseen, somewhere near perhaps. Don’t go!

He didn’t, not yet.

Steve, Dan, or was it her? Someone said, “It’s true.”

She tasted heat and surprise, utter helplessness and a gradual build up of incendiary pain she’d never recover from. Jessica fell to her knees. Her stomach flipped and she vomited, as she understood what Steve had done. He’d murdered Dan and his parents, just to show her.

“Oh God, what’ve you done? I wanted to believe, I really did. You didn’t need to prove it to me. You didn’t need to kill anyone.”

“I wanted you to see…”

Steve’s voice broke and Jessica thought she heard him sobbing.

“Get away from me,” she cried into the sand.

+

Distant sirens sounded, muffled somewhere along the enshrouded estuary.

Jessica looked at the other pebbles; they were losing their colour. She didn’t want to touch them, but felt she should, Dan’s mum and dad? Who else could they be?

The fog moved suddenly, imploding, parting in panic as a white shape landed. In the second it took Jessica to realise it was a seagull the bird grabbed the two pebbles in its heavy beak and gulped them down greedily. It looked at her, its eyes betraying knowledge, or a desire, that she tried to deny.  The powerful bird twisted on its thin legs and pushed off with its webbed feet. She heard one, two beats of its strong wings. Then silence.

+

Would it work?

What if she walked back home, taking the pebble with her? Would Dan be there next morning, as if nothing had happened? Would he be all burnt up? She refused to even think the phrase, bring him back to life. But how would she do it? It was a pebble for God’s sake; a little bit of rock. Would planting it work? Should she even consider doing this? It must be against nature. But what if it is nature? What if this IS the way things are done?

And Dan’s parents, Stan and Jill; the seagull had eaten them. One summer, walking on the Dawlish Green, she’d seen a seagull swoop down and carry off a tiny duckling. The seagull had done the same thing to them. Carried them off somewhere. It knew. What did that make seagulls? Angels? Something worse? Shit, she couldn’t bear to think about it.

Jessica felt Steve watching her. His figure was blurring, thinning as the fog thickened.

“You knew all along it was true didn’t you? Why couldn’t you have had some patience?”

She had wanted it to be true so badly; wanted something new and exciting, something more out of her life in Shaldon. But not like this.

Steve remained silent, hardly there.

And what about Dan? Did she want him back? He wanted to own her. To keep her locked up in this tiny place, this damn village. She had always known that. Why would she want a violent and selfish person like him back in her life? Did he deserve another chance?

Jessica watched the fog, hovering above the black water, filling the air. She could return the pebble to the sea. Throw it into the greyness and listen for its splash. Let Dan continue whatever journey he had in front of him. Would it be cruel to prevent him from doing so? She’d seen him one last time, whether or not she’d wanted to.

She squeezed her hands around the cooling pebble, crushing it to her palms, enclosing it wholly within her stiff fingers. What if it went completely cold? It didn’t matter now she supposed. Dan’s smell, his violence, her memory of his abuse, everything about him had merged within her, and with the fog, as she stood debating with herself. She felt herself shying away from his presence.

She wondered if this feeling would fade over time. Would returning the pebble to the sea cut off the sensation immediately? Did she want that? There were simply no answers to questions such as these. Darker possibilities filled her thoughts.

I’m scared. Dan didn’t want me to leave. What if he doesn’t fade away? Will he try to keep me here, to rot in Shaldon?

Jessica put the pebble into her right hand, closed her eyes, and threw it as far into the fog as she could. She listened for its splash, but heard nothing. She turned around to face Steve.

The beach was empty.

++++

All words © Mathew F. Riley

Contact: ghos...@gmail.com; mathewfriley.com

Illustrations by Owen Priestley; 20three.com

PDF designed by Matt Hawdon

Thanks to Joseph D’Lacey, Johnny Mains and Kealan Patrick Burke for editorial advice

Tide times by Pike Ward Ltd; pikeward.co.uk

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Sponsorship: we had a look at South Devon MPs’ registered interests with some interesting findings

The biggest chunk for Conservative financial support comes from big finance – the Bureau of Investigative Journalism has found that hedge funds, financiers and private equity firms contributed more than a quarter of all the Tories’ private donations, coughing up around £1m a month. It got us to thinking about donations to our South Devon MPs, so we gave a look at the Register of Members Interest on They Work For You.

It turns out that Newton Abbot firm Centrax had given Newton Abbot MP Anne Marie Morris £4,000, but it is a Newton Abbot firm after all. What surprised us was that she pulled in around £13,000 from sectors outside South Devon. Check out Anne Marie Morris’ sponsorship yourself on They Work For you

Looking at Torbay MP Adrian Sanders’ sponsorship figures we were just left with a small disappointment he doesn’t seem to attend the Brits anymore… have a look yourself. Torbay MP Adrian Sanders’ register of interest.

For the £3,000 sponsorship that Totnes MP Sarah Wollaston recieved from London firm Flowidea Ltd, we turned to the Daily Record in Scotland, which gave an assessment of Flowidea for the dosh it dished in supporting to the Tories in Scotland 2010.

The paper said Flowidea is controlled by multi-millionaire Henry Angest, one of the party’s biggest UK donors and a former Tory treasurer, it donated £264,289 to the Conservative Party in 2007 and another £40,500 in 2008. And: “The company has also handed tens of thousands of pounds to rightwing think-tanks and campaign groups. The Taxpayers’ Alliance and Migration Watch both got cash.”

Check out Totnes MP Sarah Wollaston’s register of interest for yourself.

Central Devon MP Mel Stride is always good to raise a smile, a talent that isn’t missed in the entry of sponsors, which includes two clubs (Association of Conservative and United and Cecil) and one trust (the Exeter Constitutional Trust). We don’t know anything about these, other than it seems the United and Cecil club gives out plenty of money to Tories all over the country. Check out Central Devon Mel Stride’s register of interest.

We couldn’t find anything to say about Exeter MP Ben Bradshaw‘s register of interests. Is that good or bad? Take a look yourself.

What was unsettling from West Devon MP’s Gary Streeter register of interests is that it featured a donation from an organisation that even the Daily Telegraph called Christian fundamentalist. Gary got sponsorship from Christian Action Research and Education (Care) to the tune of £5,500 in October 2010.

Here’s what the Telegraph said of Care in 2008:

Christian Action Research and Education (Care) has borrowed the tactics of America’s religious Right in its attempts to affect policy. Care describes itself as a “mainstream Christian charity bringing Christian insight and experience to matters of public policy”. A closer look at its website appears to contradict the claim to be “mainstream”. The organisation’s published doctrinal basis is distinctly fundamentalist and among other things talks of “the divine inspiration of Holy Scripture and its consequent entire trustworthiness and supreme authority in all matters of faith and conduct”. In other words, the Bible is the literal truth.

Hmm, wonder where they stand on incinerators… Check out South West Devon MP Gary Streeters restister of interest on They Work For You.

Plymouth Moor View MP Alison Seabeck has a couple of interesting entries on her register of interests. The first is that Labour donor, Stefanos Stefanou (who in 2008 the Times Online claimed had given the party up to £40,000) put his hand in his pocket to the tune of £3,000 in June 2010. And that Alison was Parliamentary consultant to the Institution of Structural Engineers. Check out her register of interests yourself on They Work For You.

It’s great to find out a little more about Oliver Colvile, MP for Plymouth Devonport, and who knew that over the summer he was enjoying the hospitality of Japan Tobacco International at a Test Match at the Oval to the tune of £694.80? He was also sponsored £2,500 from Stalbury Trustees (an organisation which is devoted to the promotion of Conservative principles). Check out the register of interests for Plymouth Devonport MP Oliver Colvile on They Work For You.

• Got anything to add? Drop us a line! Comments below, please!

(image: Some rights reserved by Images_of_Money)

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The welfare state: diligent Tories are defending the welfare state from being… well… defended

It’s confusing times for South Devon Tories. Not only does Newton Abbot MP Anne Marie Morris complain about the private sector compared to the public sector, but one of her people has come out defending the welfare state from those who have never had to use it (and we thought that was the David Cameron, and his cabinet of millionaires).

Responding to our story saying he was criticising wee Rory Weal, Conservative, Unionist and Newton Abbot councillor Neil Wilson Tweeted that we’d missed the point. His meanness about wee Weal, was for the common weal, apparently.

“I AM defending the welfare state from those who glamourise it, yet have never had to use it.” He proclaimed (the capitals are his).

We’ll wait to see if the Newton Abbot town councillor is as keen to defend the welfare state from those who seek to destroy it, yet have never had to use it.

Meanwhile, it’s worth considering whether being mean about a 16-year-old does indeed help defend the welfare state.

And people ‘missing the point ‘ could well be a common theme for Cllr Wilson. We’re in high-falutin’ company, Yvette Cooper does it too:

Fail to see what is about Yvette Cooper that everyone finds so impressive. She misses the point everytime she opens her mouth.

He Tweeted.

Follow Cllr Neil Wilson’s chunterings on Twitter.

(image: Some rights reserved by Bettysnake)

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Westminster: the People’s Republic of South Devon’s influence reaches all the way to Westminster!

We’ve always known the PRSD was able to punch above its weight and get amongst it with the hoi oligo – a truth which is lately being reinforced by some po-faced comments on the site that seem to emanate from the Westminster Village itself!

Kudos to us for rattling some of the cages. And cheers to the commenter who has been taking their time to add their tuppence worth – see if you can spot who it is as you trawl through our comments.

It is all grist to our mill, and adds to the idea that the PRSD gets to places other independent left-leaning not-for-profit current affairs blogs of South Devon can’t.

If you’d like to contribute to the PRSD, take a gander at our guidelines and drop us a line with some biographical details. Or just comment on a story along with the Westminster élite.

(image: Some rights reserved by Seba Sofariu)

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Tourism Forum: Cllr Sylvia Russell, Teignbridge Executive Member for Tourism; and Anne Marie Morris Newton Abbot MP

Newton Abbot MP Anne Marie Morris doesn’t just get herself mixed up over whether privatisation of care and health services is good or bad [psst, Anne Marie, it's bad, just like you said], she’s managed to join forces with Teignbridge District Council and Visit South Devon to organise an event for South Devon tourism businesses.

Taking place at Newton Abbot Racecourse on Friday, October 21, there will be a number of presentations outlining the local council and national government objectives for tourism will be made and the event will also constitute an opportunity for those in the sector to share best practice.

Information about the support offered by tourism partnerships like the South West Tourism Alliance will also be available.

And there’s an opportunity for businesses to give their views to local authorities and decision makers in what organisers hope will be the first of many similar occasions for ideas to be shared between those in the local tourism sector, officials and elected representatives.

If you fancy popping along, we suggest you get in touch with Anne Marie Morris, Teignbridge District Council. And let us know if it’s any use.

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Toilet talks: Teignbridge council claims it will continue to provide services like public loos where they benefit residents and visitors

The Conservative-run Teignbridge Council has responded to claims that 20 toilets in the district are at risk of closure.

The critics of the consultation exercise say that the letter, which wasn’t sent to district councillors, asked parishes to suggest ‘alternative ways in which toilet facilities could be made available or you might be of the view that the provision of existing facilities is no longer justified’.

Cllr Kevin Lake, Teignbridge executive spokesperson for Environmental Services: “Like any responsible authority, from time to time we need to take a look at our facilities and make sure that the current arrangements are best for everyone. By working with bodies like parish councils we aim to help local communities have more say and take more decisions about local amenities.

“Absolutely no conclusions have been drawn, and in fact our recent letter to parish councils clearly says that we will continue to provide services like public loos where they benefit our residents and visitors.

“We are simply asking for local views on if they are used, and if there’s a better way to do things in the long run.

“If and when a decision is carefully reached after wide consultation then it will have followed a public and accountable process, as would any other important council decision.”

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Recycling: willl the commitment to the environment and recycling continue with the Tories?

The annual recycling figures have been released, and Teignbridge is top of the pile in Devon.

Enviro-campaigner Teignbridge and Devon Councillor Gordon Hook says on his site, ‘an increase of 0.83% in recycling/composting rate sees Teignbridge come out with a figure of 57.06% material recycled.’

Which is nothing to be sniffed at… no really…

He goes on to say: “Thanks to an excellent team of workers and the on going commitment of many local residents this makes us top authority in Devon. Congratulations and thanks to all concerned… keep up the good work!

East Devon was up to 48.42% (an increase on the year of 14.25%); Exeter 37.20%;  South Hams 54.94%;  West Devon 51.61%; and Torbay 39.45%.

Of course, the figures for Teignbridge are based on the last year of Lib Dem control of the district, and it will be interesting to see if the impetus can continue now the Tories – whose scepticism on protecting the environment are well known, are in charge of Teignbridge.

(image: Recycling 7 Some rights reserved by timtak)

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AV electoral reform: is not a “miserable little compromise” it is a dangerous diversion from true democratic reform

The “Yes to AV” camp loves to try and discredit the “No” campaign by mentioning the fact that the Communist Party is calling for a no vote in Thursday’s referendum.

“The problem with the mainstream No Campaign is that they have got their arguments wrong – the problem with the Yes Campaign is that they have got their facts wrong,” said Tim Gulliver, South Devon Branch Secretary at a meeting this week.

The Communist Party, which has supported changing the electoral system to a proportional one since 1944, has called AV ‘a red herring… entrenching the worst aspects of First Past The Post’.

As both the “yes” and “no” campaigns assert that AV will either give more, or too much, influence to the smaller parties, the position of the Communist Party may be surprising.

“In fact AV takes influence away from smaller parties,” Tim explains. “It will make politics a dull and middle of the road arena where politicians try and chase as many second choice votes as possible. Smaller political parties may pick up a few first choice votes, but these will quickly be eliminated and the same old parties will mop up the second preferences.”

The Communist Party rejects the mainstream “no” campaign’s fear tactics. AV would not cost a huge sum of money, nor would it hand power to extremists. AV does not undermine our democracy, nor does it improve it.

It is not a “miserable little compromise” it is a dangerous diversion from true democratic reform.

A fuller examination of the Communist Party’s policy on AV can be seen on the main website AV reinforces rather than undermines capitalism

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Great train journeys by sound according to two of the UK’s leading underground music producers Shackleton and Vengeance Tenfold

Pssht-y-coo, Pssht-y-coo… two iconic train journeys (and we say that advisedly) in Devon have interpitted and captured in sound and are free to download.

The trips, in South Devon on the First Great Western main line: Exeter to Newton Abbot and in North Devon on the Tarka line, start point Portsmouth Arms Railway Station, have been turned into an aural journeys by two of the UK’s leading underground music producers, Shackleton and Vengeance Tenfold.

The series is conceived and produced by sounduk and supported by Arts Council England, and was created in partnership with The Dartington Hall Trust and Beaford Arts in North Devon.

And, you can download the music for free from Friday, April 8 to Wednesday, August 31, on  www.sonicjourneys.co.uk.

For more details pop along to our ArtsCulture site.

(image: Cross Country 220019 rounds the bend at Langstone Rock near Dawlish, headed south  Some rights reserved by mattbuck4950)

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Documentary visits Soundart Radio: from left to right – Ronni Hale, Chris Booth, Jack Hale, Ashok Prasad and Kate Taunton (from October Films)

What happens to a young person with additional needs when they leave school to face the world of work? A BBC documentary will feature South Devon student Jack Haleand his mother Ronni, as they prepare for this major transition in a young person’s life.

Following Jack’s journey, October Films, an independent television production company, recently paid a visit to the Soundart Radio studio to film Jack as he gained work experience and learnt how to broadcast his own radio show on the Totnes community radio station.

The film, to be screened later in the year, follows on from the BBC film Tormented Lives, a revealing and moving documentary featuring disability rights campaigner and confidante of the late Princess Diana, Rosa Monckton, exposing the reality of life for people with learning disabilities facing hate crime.

The new film – working title Letting Go – will follow a number of young people as they and their parents explore their options as they leave the supported environment of school and move towards work and independence.

Jack’s love of music and dance gave him the idea to learn about radio broadcasting and producing his own music show.

They approached Soundart Radio after hearing about Soundart’s work supporting Bidwell Brook students in work experience placements at the radio station. The reality style format meant that the camera kept rolling as Jack learnt how to ‘drive’ the broadcast desk, check his levels and present his music selection.

Jack, when asked how he enjoyed the experience, said it was “Fantastic!”

Ronni Hale said: “It is so refreshing to find an organisation like Soundart Radio who literally do welcome everyone and give people like Jack the same opportunities as everyone else”.

Chris Booth, Jack’s trainer at Soundart, said: “Jack’s a delightful young man. He picked up the technical aspects very quickly and remained cool throughout – not everyone has a TV crew filming them as they learn something new and Jack dealt with everything  impressively.”

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March for the Alternative Cdemonstration has attracted widespread support throughout the South West, with four coaches readying to the journey from South Devon

South Devon is sending four full coaches to the March for the Alternative which takes place in central London on Saturday, March 26.

A spokesperson for Torbay & District Anti Cuts Alliance told the PRSD: “Government spending cuts will damage public services and put more than a million out of work. They will hit the vulnerable, damage communities and undermine much of what holds us together as a society.

“This is why local people are joining the March for the Alternative. We want an alternative in which individuals and companies have to pay all their tax, and where  the banks pay a Robin Hood tax.

“We need to create jobs and boost the sustainable economic growth that will generate the prosperity which is the only long term way to close the deficit and reduce the nation’s debt.”

In this video It Cuts Both Ways … the Alternatives actor Bill Nighy and Radiohead guitarist Ed O’Brien describe how a range of organisations propose alternatives to the government’s austerity measures:

It Cuts Both Ways…The Alternatives from Oonagh Cousins on Vimeo.

Torbay & District Anti Cuts Alliance can be contacted on their Facebook page

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