Mom’s Favorite Reads eMagazine October 2020 by Mom’s Favorite Reads

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Hawthorn:The Bride of the Hedgerow by Sylva Fae ................................................................................................................. 7

Eve’s War—Operation Broadsword by Hannah Howe .....................................32

Travel Writing Tips by John Greeves .................................................................. 14

More Than Waffles and Bacon by Sue DeCrescenzo ........................................ 22 The Phone Call by Val Tobin ................................................................................ 34 Finding the Woo by Shelly Knox ......................................................................... 42

A Sting in the Tail by John Greeves .................................................................... 59

Craig yr Aber South by Hannah Howe ............................................................... 26 Utah’s Majestic Lakes and Streams by Melanie P. Smith ............................... 52

I Love to Play Rugby by Shane (Age 8) .............................................................. 17

The Wild Hedge by Stan Phillips ......................................................................... 18 Passing Seasons by Stan Phillips ......................................................................... 39 Another Dream by Stan Phillips .......................................................................... 45

Iced Age by John Greeves ...................................................................................... 50 Hello Autumn by Stan Phillips ............................................................................. 60

Laughter is the Best Medicine! by Hannah Howe .............................................33

Six Months of Lockdown by Grant Leishman ................................................... 20 Classic Movies: Quatermass and the Pit by TE Hodden ................................. 28 Heroines of SOE: Anne-Marie Walters by Hannah Howe .............................. 40 Classic Movies: The Train by Hannah Howe .................................................... 46 Wealth and Heaven by Father Ian Maher ........................................................... 51 Things to Celebrate in October by Poppy Flynn .............................................. 54 Zoey by Keith Guernsey ........................................................................................ 58 Matchgirls Strike of 1888 by Sam Johnson ........................................................ 61

Mom’s Favorite Reads Author — Val Tobin ...................................................... 31

White Queen pinned to White King—Supplied by Chess.com .................... 19 Word Search by Mom’s Favorite Reads .............................................................. 48

20% OFF First Book Promotion with the Fussy Librarian .............................. 27 Connections eMagazine ......................................................................................... 49

Hawthorn: The Bride of the Hedgerow by Sylva Fae

Hawthorn is a fascinating tree, most parts of it are edible, it has many medicinal properties and it is steeped in myth and folklore - it is also one of my favourite trees. Hawthorn hedges protect my garden as well as mark out the boundary between my woodland and the fields beyond. It is known by many names – May, quickthorn, hagthorn, whitethorn, mayflower, the faerie tree and if you’ve ever seen a hawthorn in full bloom, you’ll not be surprised to learn it’s also called, the bride of the hedgerow. In Welsh, it is known as Bara Caws - bread and cheese, because of the taste of the fresh, new leaves.

The versatile berries can also be dried and added to muesli, preserved as a ketchup, added to chutney and relishes, or processed into a fruit leather.

The word ‘hawthorn’ comes from the AngloSaxon ‘hagedorn’ and old English ‘hagathorn’, which mean hedge thorn. This makes perfect sense as it was, and still is frequently used as hedging plant.

This year we made jam from the berries that are weighing down our garden hedge. The plan was to preserve the berries and have jam throughout the winter…it was too delicious to keep! My eldest daughter tried to describe the unique flavour and, after several spoons to make sure, decided it tasted ‘just like Christmas’! For those of you who don’t know what Christmas tastes like, imagine a mellow, fruity maple syrup, with a subtle hint of mulled wine spices.

Foraging Fun and Recipes (Never pick and eat a plant you cannot accurately identify.)

I’m not really a strict recipe follower, I’m more of a, ‘chuck it in until it looks about right’ type of cook. Anyway, this is my recipe and it works for whatever quantity of haws you manage to pick.

Hawthorn berries have many health benefits. They are packed with nutrition, and have been used as an herbal remedy for heart failure, digestive issues and high blood pressure, for many centuries. They are loaded with antioxidants, have some anti-inflammatory properties, help to lower blood pressure and may ease anxiety. In spring, we often pick the soft, spring leaves to nibble as we wander along the edges of our woods. I wouldn’t say they tasted of bread and cheese, but they’re certainly tasty. We add the leaves to soups and stews, and make ‘honey’ with the blossom. Come autumn / fall time, the boughs are laden with blood red berries – delicious as a jam or jelly. -7-

Here are a few recipes by my foraging friends that I’ll definitely be trying: Hawthorn, Apple and Hogweed Seed Ketchup

By Craig Worrall - Co-founder at The Association of Foragers at Edible Leeds - Wild & Wonderful This ketchup is fruity, zingy, aromatic and downright delicious. (Sylva edit: Could be made without the hogweed seeds if not available.) Ingredients • • • • • • •

Hawthorn Jam Recipe

By Sylva Fae of UK Bushcraft & Wild Camping Knowledge Ingredients • • • •

Hawthorn berries / haws Sugar – any but I like to use demerara for a richer taste Water Half a lemon or orange. The berries contain pectin, so there is no need to add extra.

750g Hawthorn Berries 2 Apples (large) 3 Large Pinches Ground Hogweed Seeds 350ml Cider Vinegar 300ml Water 150g Golden Granulated Sugar Salt & Pepper

Method 1) Strip the haws from their stalks, wash, drain & place in a saucepan. 2) Chop the apples and add to the same pan. Add the vinegar and water and bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer for approx 2530 minutes. 3) Remove from heat and using a wooden spoon or flexible spatula push the contents through a sieve to remove the seeds and skins. After this you should have a lovely magenta coloured pulp. 4) Add the hogweed seed, sugar, fresh ground black pepper and cook this gently for 10-15 minutes to thicken and to ensure the sugar dissolves. 5) Once happy with the consistency, add salt to taste, stir for a minute or so and then spoon/ pour into sterilised glass jars. Use as you see

Method 1) Thoroughly rinse the berries. 2) Put the clean berries in a pan and add just enough water to cover them. 3) Boil for around 20 minutes, adding extra water if necessary, to prevent them boiling dry. 4) The fruit should have fallen off the large stone by this point, if not you can help it along by mashing it with a spoon. (My children love this bit!) 5) Strain the mixture into a clean pan. I mash it through a fine sieve using the end of a soup ladle. If you want a more refined jelly, you could use a jelly bag strainer. 6) At this point, look at the volume of liquid you have collected, and add the same volume of sugar. Mix in the citrus juice. 7) Simmer until it reaches the consistency you require. As well as helping to run a bushcraft group, I also seek inspiration and expertise from a number of other bushcraft and foraging groups – no matter how much I learn, there is always more.

-8-

Hawthorn Syrup

By Wild_to_Wow Food and Drink. Their Facebook page is so informative, and the photography is stunning! Ingredients • • • •

500g/600g - hawthorn berries 300ml cider vinegar 150g/170g sugar 1/2 tbs salt 1/2 tbs pepper Optional: add dried, chopped chillies or powdered chilli for a kick!

Method 1) Remove the berries from the stalks and wash well with cold water. 2) Add the berries to a large pan also adding the water and vinegar. 3) Bring to the boil. Allow to simmer for approximately 30 - 40 minutes, until the skins of the berries begin to burst. 4) Take off the heat and push the contents of the pan through a sieve to remove any stones and tough pieces of skin, and to extract the pulp and liquid. 5) Transfer the liquid to a clean pan, place over a low heat, after 5 minutes add the sugar stirring often to dissolve the sugar. Once dissolved, bring to the boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes more, until syrup-like and reduced. 6) Season the syrup to taste with salt and pepper, then transfer to sterilised bottles. This is good to use for 1 year. Enjoy!

Hedgerow Ketchup

By Vickie Marsland of Wild Free Food in UK Ingredients • • • • • • • • • •

500g hedgerow berries (I used haws, crab apples, damsons) 300ml cider vinegar 170g sugar (I used half coconut sugar and half light muscovado) 1 shallot piece of ginger, grated 3 cloves 1 cinnamon stick 1-2 star anise pinch chilli flakes (optional) Salt and pepper to taste

Method 1) Pick all stalks and leaves from fruit/berries and rinse in cold water. 2) Chop crab apples in half, pierce damson skin, dice shallot and put in a pan with the haws. 3) Add vinegar and water to the pan, then add the spices, ginger and chilli flakes if using them. 4) Simmer until all the fruits are soft - haws will take a while and wait until their skins split. 5) Push mixture through a sieve to squash the fruit/berry pulp and remove stones, pips, skins and spices. 6) Discard the pulp and return the fruit ketchup mixture to a clean saucepan. 7) Add the sugar and heat gently until it dissolves then boil the mixture for around 5 minutes until thicker and glossy. Season with salt and pepper to taste. 8) Pour into sterilised jars and seal. -9-

Myth and folklore

Their roots entwined, twisting and searching out the cool waters of the little stream. Their leafy branches reached high, catching sunbeams in the daytime, and crossing into the land of dreams with the setting of the sun. They swayed together with the breeze filling the air with the music of the trees. It was a time of peace. It was a time of magic.

There are many myths associated with the hawthorn tree. It was considered good luck for a bride to carry hawthorn blossom, and the wood was burnt on funeral pyres to aid with the crossing into the afterlife. The word hag (witch) also comes from the same origin as hagethorn, and it is said that witches would ride along the spiky hedges to travel from one realm to the next. Traditionally it was thought that a hedge of hawthorn would protect the field and livestock, both physically and spiritually. The sharp thorns are certainly effective as a barrier! Related to this, the hawthorn tree was known as the abode of faeries, and stood on the threshold of the Otherworld. Anyone cutting down a faerie tree was doomed.

The May was the most magic of the three trees. She gathered in the first dew of the morning and soaked up the sun's healing rays, waiting for the perfect magical moment. Only the purest magic could create a tree faerie and that day was here. The sun and the rain clouds shared the sky above, casting twin arcs of rainbow light that came to rest at the base of the trees. It was a rare and beautiful sight. The May tree's roots were bathed in coloured light and sunshine twinkled off the many raindrops trickling down her leaves.

This is my take on the folklore of the faerie treeâ&#x20AC;Ś

May shone with glory as the magic stirred something below the soil. Slowly a green bud pushed through the surface. The outer leaves peeled back revealing a beautiful flower of snow -white petals. May shielded her precious bud, bowing down her twisty branches to shelter and protect it from the world beyond. Days went by, and the snowy bud grew and grew nurtured by the May tree. At her side, the Oak tree stood proud over her growing flower and the Ash tree waved gracefully as her willowy little flower swayed with the wind. Then one night, by the light of a round moon, the buds opened. The petals curled back as little arms reached through, stretching in the chilly air. Three tree faeries were born, created from the magic of the elements and each carrying a gift from their mother tree. The faeries lay in a nest of roots, twinkling in the moonlight as their delicate wings dried and unfurled. Faerie May was the first born, she carried inside her compassion and love, and the power to heal. Faerie Oak was next; he inherited strength from his tree, and the power of wisdom. And last was Ash, she had a heart of truth and possessed the power of enchantment. The three grew and played happily together. They danced in the meadow and flew between the trees of the secret wood. They bathed in the little stream, splashing each other with the cool water. Sometimes, they just lay in the grass casting spells to create creatures and castles in the clouds above. It was a peaceful time and the faeries knew only love and happiness.

The Children of the May

By Sylva Fae They say the May is a faerie tree, a mystical tree of magic and dreams, and she beats with a heart of secrets. Many hundreds of years ago, on the edge of the secret woods, Oak, Ash and May trees grew strong together. - 10 -

All that changed when the people came. They arrived tired and hungry and looking for shelter. The bedraggled group of families collapsed under the faeriesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; trees. The three faeries welcomed the newcomers, tending to their needs. Faerie May gathered the fresh new leaves from her tree's branches to feed them, Oak collected the fallen twigs and taught the men to make fire, and Ash collected water from the little stream to quench their thirst. The people gratefully accepted the gifts from the faeries and happily took shelter under the trees.

The faeries flew swiftly to where the noise had come from. Down in the hollow, the smallest child lay whimpering and holding his arm. Strong Oak carefully picked up the tiny child and gently hugged him close as they flew him back to the village to get help.

For a time, everyone was happy. The faeries had new playmates and delighted in sharing in the children's joy as they explored their new home. The fields rang with faerie laughter as they played with their new friends. While they played, the grownups worked hard to build solid shelters and plant crops in the field. Everyone worked together and shared out their food, and there was plenty to go round. Occasionally, new travellers stumbled across the little village on the edge of the secret wood, the faeries and the villagers welcomed them in. The number of shelters grew and the little village became a thriving community. For a time, the tree faeries and the people lived in blissful harmony. One day a pair of weary travellers stumbled into the new village. They were half starved and greedily ate all the food offered to them by the villagers. They weren't like the other people though; they took what they wanted and never said a please or a thank you. They snarled grumpily and often shouted at the noisy children and demanded they play elsewhere. Nobody really liked them but the pair had decided to stay and everyone was a little too frightened to stand up to them. The tree faeries were scared and confused by the grumpy pair; they had never heard words shouted in anger before, and couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t understand why they were not grateful for the many gifts given to them. The children had secretly nicknamed them 'the ogres', and despite their caring natures, the faeries joined in. The friends took their games further afield, well out of sight of the angry ogres.

Back at her tree, Faerie May looked at the boy and knew just what to do. Thankfully she'd never needed to use her gift before but now the magic of healing tingled through her fingertips. May picked berries from her tree squeezing their juice onto the lips of the littlest child to ease his pain. Faerie Ash looked round for the boyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parents but the only people close by were the two ogres. He shouted to them for help but instead of helping they turned on the faeries in rage.

One day, the faeries and the children were playing hide and seek deep in the heart of the woods. It was the children's turn to hide and Faerie Oak was counting. He'd barely got to ten when they heard a crash and a scream.

"You evil sprites have killed that child," roared the biggest ogre. - 11 -

"You'll pay for this," his friend agreed picking up his axe. "Once we've got rid of you and your wicked spells, this village will be ours."

Confused villagers came running from all directions to see what the noise and commotion was. They stopped in wonder at the sight of the fallen Ash tree, then noticed faerie May clutching the tiny child, his lips still red from the healing berries. The boy's mother ran forwards to snatch her son back from the scared faerie.

The shocked faeries cowered in fear. May cradled the hurt child, tears stinging her eyes, she winced at their harsh words. She couldn't find the words to defend herself but she knew in her heart, they wouldn't listen anyway. Ash however, was forced to voice the truth.

Before any of the faeries could explain, the angry ogres shouted to the villagers, "Look what these nasty sprites have done! We caught them trying to kill that boy, and when we tried to stop them, they cast their wicked spells on us.â&#x20AC;?

"The child had an accident. We only tried to help. It is you who need to leave, if this village is to be a happy place once more."

The angry villagers turned on the faeries. Oak quickly grabbed the sobbing Ash and together the faeries huddled under Mayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tree. The tree twisted and curled her gnarly branches over the faeries and sprouted fierce thorns to protect them from the angry mob. Ash wearily cast a second enchantment over the little May tree, a protection spell to keep them safe through the night. The faeries hid together frightened as they listened to the shouts of the villagers, spurred on by the nasty ogres.

The biggest ogre snarled menacingly and picked up his axe. He swung it at the trunk of the Ash tree with all his might, and laughed at the helpless faerie. Ash screamed and flew at the ogre but he swiped her away effortlessly. His cruel friend sniggered and swung his axe at the Oak tree. The two faeries cried out as they felt the pain of their mother trees, and as the graceful Ash tree came crashing down, Ash screamed and cast her first enchantment spell. The enchanted ogres froze, their axes dropped to the ground, and no matter how much they struggled, they were unable to move their arms or feet. They yelled and swore in rage at the frightened faeries, but Ash no longer heard their shouts. She crumpled, crying at the base of her fallen tree. - 12 -

The other children had abandoned their game after their friend had been injured, and arrived back to find their parents shouting at the faeries, over the fallen Ash tree. When they found out what had happened, they tried to explain about the boy’s accident, but the grownups were too angry to listen. By the time the ogres’ enchantment had worn off, the sun was setting and the villagers drifted back to their homes. The next day the faeries ventured out of their hiding place and quietly crept to the village. Hiding in the shadows, they listened to the villagers’ chatter; some sided with the ogres agreeing the faeries should be sent away, others listened to their children and argued that it was the ogres’ fault. Not one remembered that this had been the faeries’ home long before the people arrived. The faeries slunk back to the safety of the trees, sad that they were no longer welcomed by the people, and sadder still that the children had been forbidden to play with them.

From that day on, the faeries hid during the day under the enchanted May tree, only coming out to play in the moonlight as the village slept. The villagers continued their lives, blissfully unaware of their magical neighbours. The children initially told tales of playing with faeries in the woods, but the grown-ups just smiled and dismissed their childish imaginations. Soon, these children grew up and the enchantment of forgetting settled upon them. The children of the May were safe from harm, fiercely protected by twisty boughs and vicious thorns. To this day, the May tree still beats with a heart of magic, but she now shares the gifts of the Oak and Ash faeries: compassion, wisdom and truth. She still provides leaves to feed the hungry and berries to heal the sick, and if you peep under the branches, avoiding the sharp thorns, you might catch a glimpse of a sleeping faerie.

Time passed and the little child healed well after his fall, aided by the healing properties of the May tree. The villagers finally plucked up the courage to banish the ogres from their happy village. Things became peaceful once more but the faeries had seen how cruel people could be and it made them feel sad and unsafe. Some of the people no longer trusted the faeries, scared of their magic and enchantments. Anything that went wrong in the village, every failed crop, every sick child, was blamed on faerie magic. So, the faeries made themselves invisible to the villagers, and cast an enchantment of forgetting over the grownups.

Author's note Dear children, Faeries are magic and wise and know which plants are safe to eat. You should never eat any leaves, flowers or berries while you play out in the countryside, unless a grownup has told you they are safe to eat. Have fun hunting for tree faeries, but don’t be surprised if your parents can’t see them.

Sylva Fae is a married mum of three from Lancashire, England. She has spent twenty years teaching literacy to adults with learning difficulties and disabilities, and now works from home as a children’s writer and illustrator. Sylva has published several children’s books and also writes a blog, Sylvanian Ramblings. Her debut book, Rainbow Monsters won the Chanticleer Best in Category award. Discover more about Sylva on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/sylva-fae/ - 13 -

Travel Writing Tips by John Greeves

Travel Writing Tips from well-known writers even though many of us are homeward bound these days. How many of us yearn for that holiday abroad and a safe return to some sort of normality? Perhaps now, families will revert to the pattern of the nineteen fifties when ‘staycations’ was the norm although it was called ‘factory fortnight’ back then, with very few of us venturing abroad until the advent of the package holiday in the 1960s. Part of the charm of any travelling is to capture the experience and nuances of a place, the people and the way of life, but how many of us have really been remiss even about our own locality in visiting that location or place that foreign tourists flock to in our own backyard. We’ve all meant to... but for some particular reason, we’ve never got round to it.

Travel writing, needs craft and guile especially for those seeking publication, although there is no reason why many of us shouldn’t try to develop the way in which we see and react to different places and experiences through words rather than the indiscriminate eye (lens) of the mobile phone. Several top travel writers offer their top tips for successful travel writing whether you hope to publish it commercially or simply write for yourself.

Many of us take numerous photographs these days and then are unable to recall anything about the photographs, if we look at them six months later. How much better to record your travels in a personal journal, or in a compelling travel article or blog that others may wish to read and encapsulates an enduring image for you.

Andrew Eames is one of the most experienced and prolific travel writers around. He worked for The Times and went into guidebook publishing and was ranked 6th in the top 50 of travel writing. His advice is:

With journeying abroad limited in opportunities, in these difficult times, many spectacular locations in Britain exist to explore in Great Britain. We have for instance 136 permanently inhabited islands around our coast, tracts of ancient woodland, mountains moors and rivers, as well as 11,072.76 miles of mainland coastline. Then there’s history galore (take your pick) and actual physical experiences to rival any we may find abroad, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t try recording in words as well as in photographs what we really experience.

•

The idea is king: strong ideas sell articles

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Bite-size is the watchword these days.

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Make sure it is deliverable. If you promise a glorious article then find it can’t be done, that newspaper /magazine won’t commission you again.

Dea Birkett is a writer and broadcaster. Her weekly Travelling with Kids column appeared in the Guardian for over five years and is author of seven books including ‘Serpent in Paradise (short listed for the Thomas Cook Travel - 14 -

Book Award), about her time on Pitcairn Island, home of the few descendants from mutiny on The Bounty. Dea says: •

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Always take notes-everyday, wherever you are. You will forget otherwise. And you never know when material can be useful later on. Take notes about what’s happening inside you, as well as what’s happening out there. Every journey has an emotional as well as a physical trajectory.

Trekking with a mule through Ethiopia. Dervla’s top tips are to: •

Restrict yourself to one location. Don’t try to cover too many countries, use the six months or allotted time getting to know a place.

•

Travel alone, a solitary traveller is totally dependent on the locals and demonstrates his or her trust by entering the community alone. People are less inclined to approach couples or groups.

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Write it down every night regardless of tiredness or fatigue.

Make lists. List of place names, colours, birds, items on a market stall...Give yourself as much choice as possible about what you’ll include in your finished piece.

Mark Eveleigh has travelled the world on assignments for over 80 titles including Esquire, Geographical and the New York Times .Mark says:

Brian Jackman is an award –winning journalist and former Travel Writer of the Year who has a passion for travel and wildlife. His advice for a new travel writer is to: •

Read the great travel writers from Gerald Brenan onwards. Brian says he was influenced by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Henry Williamson (Tarka the Otter) Laurie Lee, Karen Blixen and H.E.Bates. If you do this then eventually our own style will emerge.

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Observe how different papers/magazines conduct their stories differently and see if you can specialise.

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One last thing, the farther you travel doesn’t necessarily mean the better your story will be.

Dervla Murphy is best known for her 1965 classic book Full Tilt: Ireland to India with a Bicycle. She followed this with volunteer work helping Tibetan refugees in India and - 15 -

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There’s no prize for second place so pick something completely original and slightly insane that nobody has done before.

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Set up your own travel blog, it’s part of the future.

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A good travel writer needs to be able to capture a sense of place. You need to portray what lies underneath in the heart and soul of a destination and communicate with the local people through their stories, thoughts and anecdotes.

Rory Maclean is one of Britain's most expres-

Horatio Clare is an author and journalist. He worked at the BBC, for national newspapers and has written several travel books including A

sive and adventurous creative non-fiction writers. His ten books, including UK bestsellers Stalin's Nose and Under the Dragon, have challenged and invigorated the genre. His new book Berlin: Imagine a City was described by Jan Morris, Sunday Telegraph as ‘a wonderful achievement.’Rory says ‘a good travel book is one written from the heart. As a reader I want to know how a journey affected the writer, what she or he has learnt through the trip, and how he or she has changed by the experience.’ His top tips for aspiring writers are:

Single Swallow, Sicily Through Writer’s Eyes and more recently Down to the Sea in Ships (2014). His top tips are to: •

Look for the unofficial line: a conversation at a bus stop will tell you more than a lecture from a guide.

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The best writing comes from passion; find something to love in a place.

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In the end the people are the place and people love to help. Tell them what you are doing, tell them what you need. Friendship, however new, however brief, is the best way in.

Barnaby Rogerson has written dozens of travel articles, book reviews and historical essays on various North African and Islamic themes. His work has appeared in the pages of Vanity Fair,

Record scent, sense, smell and touch.

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Realise discovery happens through the hesitant process of many conversations.

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Always try to describe the feelings and culture of others, not yourself.

Choose a subject or a destination because it moves you, not because of its perceived popularity.

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Engage your imagination and sense of wonder.

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Lastly don’t forget to check your spelling.

Justin Marozzi is a prominent journalist, histori-

Cornucopia, Conde Nast Traveller, Geographical, Traveller, Guardian, Independent, Telegraph, House & Garden, Harpers & Queen and the TLS. His advice is to: •

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an and travel writer. As a journalist, he worked for the BBC, Financial Times and the Economist. Justin believes the future of travel writing and the world and its people and places still offer endless possibilities for the travel writer to explore and have ‘little danger of losing its relevance’. His top tip is clear, simple and inspiring for any would-be writer: •

Travel, explore, write and ignore those who try to discourage you.

John Greeves originally hails from Lincolnshire. He believes in the power of poetry and writing to change people’s lives and the need for language to move and connect people to the modern world. Since retiring from Cardiff University, Greeves works as a freelance journalist who's interested in an eclectic range of topics.

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Sweet Sensation Submitted by Poppy Flynn Written by Jester Age 17

Quiet, Zephyrus breath forms a silent breeze, Ready to ease downy sleep aside And wake a peaceful world.

Dawn breaks,

Hoping for another mild, sunny day.

But the vast expanses never stir. Like a giant ogre, slumbering onwards.

Blowing the drowsy contours into a gentle smile

Silence.

And smoothing harsh features

The worlds mass oblivious to wakening life forms.

into a soft Autumn bloom, Brushed with subtle, russet colours

Silence.

So that nature wakes contented

No creature dares to stir the mutinous earth,

And births a bright and

Lest he wakes angry, with a roar.

peaceful day.

Vast stretches lie blanketed with thin muslin mist And a patchwork quilt of coloured, skeleton leaves.

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The Wild Hedge by Stan Phillips

The wild hedge And the roof tops beyond. The late evening sky turns gold. Almost ethereal it is with the fading of day, as I watch that patch of sky through my window.

With that glowing sky, Vincent yellow, filling me with wonder as this August fades easy into an unknowable September.

There is something wonderful about day's closing moments as night wanders slowly in. Soft evening. So gentle.

Like a sunflower turning it's head to greet each new dawn with a sigh of hope. Stan Phillips 2020 ©

Stan Phillips is an 80 year old poet, musical podcast maker, part-time wannabe male model, and occasional stand up comedian. “I used to be a psychotherapist/counsellor when I had an honest job. I was born into prewar London, and attended 17 schools (my father believed they couldn’t hit a moving target) and I eventually finished up here in Ireland. Still wondering what I will be when I grow up — but enjoying writing my quirky poetry as I do so.” Discover more about Stan on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips - 18 -

Chess Supplied by Chess.Com The white queen is pinned to the white king. Can you find the correct defence?

Supplied by https://chess.com the #1 chess website. Used with permission. For more chess puzzles please visit https://chess.com You can find answers for this activity on the Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/magazines/activities/ - 19 -

Six Months of Lockdown by Grant Leishman Okay, so we’ve just passed the six-month period, here in Manila, of being locked in our houses and forbidden to go out without masks, face-shields and a damn good reason. Yes, it is true that Manila has eased some of the restrictions around Covid-19 and we are now under what is known as GCQ (General Community Quarantine) which is the lowest of the various acronyms we’ve been under over the past six months. So, for some, life is (almost) returning to a “new normal”. We do still have a high infection and positivity rate in this country, so care is very much still required.

the news, I think we all realized that life, as we knew it, was going to change. For me, it didn’t seem a big deal at the time. I mean, I work from home anyway – as a writer and an editor, as well as doing VA work and to be honest I didn’t go out a lot before Covid, anyway. For Thess, however, it was a body blow. She’s a financial consultant and most of her days were spent meeting with clients and potential clients, all over the Metro and clearly that had to cease. That raised the spectre of how we would cope financially but, as always, we approached it from the perspective of positivity and the certainty that the Universe would look out for us. Six months on and that belief has not been shaken in any way, shape, or form. We’re not making millions but we are surviving and surviving comfortably. When I look around me, I can see many families struggling to make ends meet and we remind ourselves constantly just how grateful we are for our circumstances. We have a roof over our head, we eat three meals a day and (thank God) we can still afford to run the air-con in the bedroom. What more can you want from life?

However, because my wife and I are both over the magical age of 60, none of these supposed freedoms actually apply to us. Under GCQ, if you’re 60 and above or under 21, you’re effectively still locked down. After six months of only leaving our subdivision once (I snuck over the road to get my hair cut one day – naughty me!) and actually only leaving our house and yard on maybe ten occasions over the last six months, I thought it might be a good time to reflect on how it’s all been and how we’ve coped.

As I said, earlier, for me, it has just been just work, as normal. I write and when I’m fortunate I have client’s manuscripts to edit and proofread and

When the news of the lockdown first came, it was March 12th and the whole family was here celebrating my wife Thess’ 60th Birthday. As we watched

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when I don’t have any work, I read. Reading, for me, is and always will be my greatest pleasure in life. I so pity those people who have not discovered the joy of books. They open up way more worlds, for me, than any video game ever could. Life, for me, under Covid-19 really hasn’t been that different from life before this dreaded lurgy. Thess, on the other hand found herself with a lot of time on her hands. What to do? What to do? You can only clean the house so many times until it is so spotless you could eat off the floor – right? Thess has rediscovered her deep love of gardening. Now, the fact that we have perhaps just 2 square metres of land, at the front of our house, hasn’t hampered her green tendencies at all and every available space is now filled with pots and home-made containers filled with a wide variety of green-stuff. I have no idea what she is trying to grow out there and to be perfectly honest, even less interest. My “green thumb” must have been chopped off years ago. But what I do notice is the sheer joy and pleasure she gets from planting, nurturing, celebrating the successes and crying over the failures. I am in awe of the dedication she gives to these plants – the love and the care. Woe betide any snail or a caterpillar that fancies some lunch on Thess’ plants. I kid you not, she is out there at all hours of the day and night, scouring the area for creepy crawlies that might damage her precious babies. I have suggested she sets up a tent out there and sleep beside them or install CCTV so she can identify the miscreants and bring them to justice. That suggestion, I might add, was met with a slap around the ears. Her devotion to her plants has had an unexpected side effect for me, though. Gardening brings

her such joy and happiness it spreads to everything she does around the house. I can honestly say, since she took up gardening, our house has been happier, more joyful and full of laughter. That alone gets my wholehearted support for her venture. I’ve noted others have also found ways to keep occupied and even make money. My Facebook feed is full of people offering something for sale – their cooking, their baking, their plants, second-hand clothes, even appliances that used to be sold by the malls are now being sold by individuals on Facebook. We have become a nation of resellers and if it keeps people afloat financially, emotionally and mentally, then all I can say is – more power to them! Yes, lockdown has had its trials. I miss the grandkids something wicked, I miss our big, family, weekend outings and with Christmas just around the corner, we desperately want to visit Thess’ papang in the Province (he’s 84 now!). But it has also had its bonuses. Our marriage is closer, tighter and more loving than it was before, we are safe, we are healthy and we are alive. We couldn’t realistically ask for much more in these troubled times. My number one advice to everyone struggling through lockdown is to focus on the positive. We have two sayings: “This too shall pass” and “Something wonderful is just about to happen.” Both of these ideas always give us hope and keep us positive. Stay safe , stay happy, and stay alive!

Grant Leishman is a fifty-nine-year-old full-time author and editor, domiciled in the beautiful island of The Philippines. After careers in finance and journalism, Grant finally found his true bliss in life, writing. He is happily married to Thess and they have two daughters, Rose and Angeline. Discover more about Grant on the Mom's Favorite Reads website https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/grant-leishman - 21 -

More Than Waffles and Bacon by Sue DeCrescenzo “Look what the cat dragged in.” Candy greeted Ellen with a warm smile. “Where is Hubby?” “Oh, he left early this morning with the guys to play a doubleheader of ‘Geezer Softball.’ He’s gone until early afternoon, so I’m treating myself to breakfast,” Ellen explained. As Ellen walked towards “her booth” she thought Waffle Hut, no matter which one you enter they look and smell the same. As you walk through the door, there’s that familiar greeting by the staff, the 1950 diner décor, red booths, and the smell, hmmm the smell of eggs, sausage, waffles, and hash browns sizzling on the grill. Candy said, “We’re glad you did. Oh shoot, I haven’t cleaned off your booth. I’m behind. Marlene had car trouble again.” Ellen thought Candy looked a bit frazzled, and now she knew why. Since Candy was a kid, she had been a waitress in Waffle Huts all over the county. She settled on this one because she said, “I’m tired of moving.” The years weren’t kind to her face or her feet, but her smile was genuine. “No worries, Candy,” Ellen said. “I’ll sit at the counter next to Bubba. Move over you Old Coot.”

“Leave me alone, woman.” Bubba replied acting like he was mad, but he liked Ellen and was happy for her company. Bubba was a regular too. Bubba grumbled, “I left my old lady at home for some peace and quiet, I don’t need your lip today, Ellen.” Bubba smiled as he made room for Ellen at the counter. Bubba was born and raised in this town. He looked like a local with his baggy coveralls, sweat stained T-shirt and GA Bulldogs cap. You might not guess it, but he was a successful businessman, served on the city council for years, and once ran for mayor. Now retired, he chose to meet his “constituents” at the Waffle Hut counter. “Trust me, Bubba your wife is enjoying every minute you’re gone too.” Ellen told Bubba as she playfully elbowed him and sat down. Ellen and her husband met Bubba the first time they came to the Waffle Hut. They had just moved into town from up north. They felt like foreigners in this southern town, but they wanted to connect with the locals. Sparing with a former city councilman was something Ellen and her husband looked forward to every time they came to Waffle Hut. Ellen stated, “Isn’t it quiet in here today, Bubba? Did you run everyone off?” Ellen whispered, “I see Joe over there enjoying his waffles and bacon, but I’ve never seen that guy before. He looks nervous.” - 22 -

The new customer in his mid to late thirties was wearing jeans, T-shirt and hoodie. His baseball cap didn’t show any allegiance to a team, but Nervous Guy pulled it down low on his forehead. Ellen thought, it’s as if he’s trying to hide or disguise his face.

Bubba smiled and said, “Give it up, Ellen. You know I’m right. You just hate to admit it.” The tit for tat continued until they finished their breakfast. Cindy appeared just as they slid their plates towards the edge of the counter. Ellen raised her empty coffee cup and Cindy refilled it.

Just then Nervous Guy held up his coffee cup, motioned to Candy, “More coffee, please.”

The restaurant was getting busier, so Bubba and Ellen asked Cindy for their checks.

Candy replied, “I’m on my way.”

“Are you buying, Bubba?” Ellen asked.

After Ellen and Bubba traded a few more barbs, Ellen stated, “I’ll have the usual, Candy, except I’ll have rye instead of wheat toast.”

“No Ellen, it’s your turn.” Bubba retorted.

Bubba said, “Living on the edge today, Ellen?”

Just then, Nervous and Shifty Guys said, “Checks, please.” Shifty threw a few bucks down on the table and left. Nervous Guy slung the heavy duffle bag over his shoulder, paid at the counter, grumbled thank you; then left.

Just then, a guy came in carrying a heavy duffle bag and he slid into the booth with Nervous Guy. This guy looked rough around the edges, with tats and a nose ring. Candy walked over to their booth and said, “What can I get you?”

The guy carrying the duffle bag said, “Just coffee, I’m in a hurry.” Ellen looked at Bubba with a raised eyebrow; and whispered, “He looks shifty.” Bubba shrugged and said, “Anyone looks shifty at the Waffle Hut this early in the morning, even you Ellen.” Bubba lied. Ellen always dressed appropriately in slacks, a blouse, and a cardigan sweater. Bubba thought she looked like everyone’s favorite grandma.

“It’s always my turn, Bubba.” Ellen said.

Ellen whispered to Bubba, “Looks like Shifty Guy handed off that duffle bag to Nervous Guy.” Bubba agreed and said “hmmm, curious, very curious.” Ellen and Bubba paid and tipped Candy generously. Candy said, “Have a great day, Ellen. And Bubba you behave.”

In no time at all, their orders arrived, and Bubba and Ellen ate their breakfast arguing about city politics and ignored Nervous Guy and Shifty. “We’ll never agree on how to run this town, Ellen.” Bubba stated.

“You’re right, Bubba. And that’s because you’re wrong and I’m right. I’m just surprised after all this time you haven’t figured that out.” Ellen concluded.

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thumbed through an old copy of the local newspaper. Twenty minutes went by and Shifty Guy arrived. He slid the duffle bag under the table so Nervous Guy could easily reach it.

Candy said, “It’s been at least a month, so good to see you Ellen, and I see you brought your, handsome Hubby this time. Hey Bob. We thought you didn’t love us anymore.” Bob’s red hair was white, and so was his mustache and eyebrows. In his day, those blue eyes could have melted a few hearts. Now his heart belonged to Ellen.

Bob and Ellen ordered; then ate while they chatted about their day. Ellen tried not to stare, but she kept a wary eye on Shifty and Nervous Guys. In no time at all, Bob pushed his empty plate away and said, “That was good.”

Bob said, “You know I love you ladies. I was playing softball and got behind with the chores at home. Got to keep my bride happy too, right Ellen? This morning, I said, I have a craving for waffles and bacon, so here we are. Hey Marlene, nice to see you too.” Bob waved across the counter.

Ellen agreed and said, “We should go.” “Candy, check please, Ellen announced. We’re on our way to the grocery store before it gets too crowded.” Ellen turned to Bob and said, “While you pay, I need to use the lady’s room.”

Candy and Marlene both smiled, Bob and Ellen were some of their favorite regulars. They always acted like newlyweds and didn’t have a cross word for anyone. Candy grabbed a fresh pot of coffee, cups, and extra cream, put it on their table; then held up her pad ready to take their orders.

As Ellen got up, Nervous Guy and his newly acquired duffle bag almost knocked her over. Ellen muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Nervous Guy leaned close to Ellen and said, “Not as sorry as you’ll be if you say anything, understand?”

“Hey, Candy, Ellen leaned across the table and whispered, did our friends Shifty and Nervous Guy come back?”

Ellen, turned to Bob at the register and said, in a panic, “Let’s go, honey!”

Candy leaned in and replied, “They come in once a week, do the duffle bag shuffle and leave. When Nervous Guy pays, he leaves a big tip. Last week, he must have sensed I was going to say something because Nervous Guy slipped a napkin under his tip that said, Keep Your Mouth Shut!”

Bob said, “I thought you had to go to the bathroom?” Ellen said, emphatically, “Let’s go!” Bob shrugged and said to Cindy. “I guess we’re going.” In the car, Ellen told Bob what Nervous Guy said to her.

Ellen, whispered, “What the heck is going on, Candy?”

Bob said, “That’s it, I don’t care what Nervous Guy said, when we get home, I’m calling the cops.”

Bob looked at his wife shaking his head and said, “Keep out of this you two. It doesn’t sound like you want to mess with these guys.”

Candy watched from behind the counter. After 20 years of waiting on customers, she saw the look in Ellen’s eyes too and recognized fear when she saw it. She said to herself, enough is enough. As soon as Nervous Guy leaves, I’m calling the cops.

Candy nodded in agreement and said, “Now, what can I get you two for breakfast?” As if on cue, Nervous Guy arrived and sat in his corner booth. He ordered breakfast and - 24 -

The next morning Bob said to Ellen, “Are you OK, honey? Did you get any sleep?” “A little, Ellen said, I focused on the fact that the officers said they would be over this morning to take my statement. That made me feel better and I slept a few hours.” “Ah, the doorbell, Ellen exclaimed, I’ll get it.” Bob wasn’t far behind. Ellen and Bob ushered two officers to the living room. They were dressed in full uniform and their hats at first shielded their faces. “Good Morning, Officers. Ellen stammered, “Marlene, I thought you were a waitress? And Nervous Guy, I mean you’re the guy who threatened me and Candy at the Waffle Hut? What’s going on?” “Sorry to scare you, but I didn’t want you two ladies to blow our cover. I’m Detective Sommers, aka Nervous Guy and this is my partner, Detective Janet Milton aka, Marlene. I thought if I scared you, you wouldn’t do anything, but Candy called us too.” “Can you blame us?” Ellen said. “No, and we’re glad you did, Detective Sommers continued. We appreciate it when you see something suspicious, you say something. If it weren’t for good citizens like you, our job would be even more difficult. However, our intention was to buy time until we could build our case, not scare you.” Ellen asked, “And did it help?”

“Yes, tomorrow, you’ll hear all about it in the news. Detective Sommers added. “I can’t go into too much detail, but we caught a ring of drug dealers running a multi-million-dollar operation from here to Atlanta. And the guy who met me at the Waffle Hut was the bagman – his responsibility was to get, disguise, or launder the money. Due to some excellent undercover work, we heard that this ring was looking for someone. After we completed several deals with him, we arrested him; then offered him immunity if he helped us catch the leader. And we did.” Bob and Ellen looked at each other and sighed realizing how close they’d come to some dangerous people. Detective Milton concluded, “Don’t worry, that’s why I was working as a waitress. If we felt that the staff or the customers were in any danger, we would have ended the sting. And by the way, Waffle Hut management was aware, and we just filled in Candy too.”

They shook the Detectives’ hands, thanked them for their service; then Bob walked them out. When Bob came back into the living room, Ellen was sitting on the sofa. Bob sat down beside her, put his arm around her and said, “Honey, looks like you and Candy helped bring down the bad guys.” Ellen replied, “I know and I’m proud of that, but from now on, I think we’re eating at the Pancake House.”

When I was a kid, I told stories to entertain my younger siblings. Their favorite was “Peter the Garbage Man.” Time marched on. I completed a BA in Journalism from the U of IA and a MS in Management from Antioch New England. Professionally, I wrote operators manuals for heavy machinery, farm equipment, and computers. I ended my career in customer service. All this was a far cry from stories of Peter the Garbage Man – or was it? And now I’m happily retired, living in GA with my hubby and our newly adopted dog Zoey. And these are my stories………

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Craig yr Aber—South Wales by Hannah Howe

All images © Goylake Publishing

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Classic Movie: Quatermass and the Pit by T.E. Hodden Roy Ward Baker’s 1967 Hammer Horror, Quatermass and the Pit, may appear at first glance to be something of an oddity for the studio, usually associated with colourful and gothic horrors, with cod-historical settings, Christopher Lee’s magnetic presence, Peter Cushing’s nuanced performances, and bosoms heaving against blood stained corsets. This is unfair. Indeed, Ladies and Gentlemen, today I will not only make the case that Quatermass And The Pit exhibits the qualities of the studios greatest movies, with a nuanced script alluding to serious issues through the lens of a fantastical horror, but that it harks back to one of the studios most underrated legacies.

On August 26th, 1955, Hammer Horror began it’s long reign of terror over British Cinemas, with their first X-rated movie, the Quatermass X -periment, their adaption of the 1953 BBC serial the Quatermass Experiment. The movie was an eerie and effective monster movie, and cold war allegory, with a strong science fiction flavour, centring around the adventures of rocket scientist Bernard Quatermass, and his disastrous British space mission. Make no mistake, this was no also-ran, or foot note of Hammer pre-history, this was a popular and acclaimed movie. During the late fifties, this kind of movie was as much a staple of Hammer’s output as the colourful gothics we consider their quintessential style. It was followed in short order by X-The Unknown, an original story of national servicemen in Scotland falling prey to a radioactive mud monster, Quatermass II (the first movie sequel to use ‘something 2’ title convention), and the Abominable Snowmen (by Nigel Kneale, the Quatermass writer, with Peter Cushing as a scientist on a mission to the Himalayas).

So, fast forward to 1967. Hammer belatedly catches up with Professor Q, to adapt the third, and arguably the best, of his television adventures. Nigel Kneale takes on the task of condensing his six part television script into a feature length runtime, and Roy Ward Baker is tapped as the director, presumably on the strength of such visually striking movies as ‘A Night To Remember’ (about the sinking of the Titanic, based on the book of the same name). Hammer stalwart, Andrew Kier, took the title role of Quatermass, James Donald as the enthusiastic and gentlemanly Palaeontologist Roney, and Julian Glover as the starched and conservative Colonel Breen. Kier’s Quatermass is very much at home in the changing political landscape of the late sixties, disheartened and dismayed when his British Rocket Group is placed under military control, with the express purpose of establishing Britain’s imperial domain on the moon, with gunboat politics and orbiting nuclear weapons. - 28 -

When the work crews digging a new extension to the London Underground uncover first the fossils of a previously unknown hominid species, far older than was previously believed possible, and then what appears to be an unexploded V-weapon, Quatermass is put into direct conflict with his new Military overseer, Colonel Breen.

long history of the unexplained events, that begins again, increasing and accelerating as the Objects hold spreads out, reawakening as the scientists push deeper into the mystery.

The nature of ghosts, visions, and psychic powers are given an interesting Martian slant, but are no less unnerving or spooky for it. It is disturbing enough to consider the possibility of Quatermass’ theory, that human evolution has been shaped by the influence of the Martians, imprinting their own nature on primitive humans to spark our rapid development from hunter gathering nomads into the first stages of society, and with it imprinting the need for war and violence, to cleanse the hive and purify the race, rising up against the other in a continuing cycle of racism, xenophobia, and eventual genocide, that has been repeated too often through our history, and looks all too likely to repeat again.

Both are keenly intelligent, and rational men, and both are trying to interpret the discovery through the filter of their experience and expertise. Breen as somebody who spent the war bravely defusing Luftwaffe bombs, and Quatermass as… well… somebody who has twice before faced threats to this world from outer space. As the evidence mounts for the Object being something far older, and stranger, than a V weapon, Breen’s refusal to consider an otherworldly explanation becomes entrenched and confrontational, Quatermass begins to suspect the object may not be as benign or dormant as it seems, and investigates the history of ghosts, goblins, and the supernatural that has long cursed the area around the Pit.

But it is frankly terrifying to consider that Quatermass might be wrong. What if Breen is right, and all that is just…us? Watching the film today, it would almost be a comfort to see a flaming demon looming over the city. At least then we could consider the evils of our time, the hatred and intolerance that is growing in influence and growing supporters could be explained, as a malign influence outside of our souls, that can be fought against and resisted.

For all its science fiction trappings, Quatermass and the Pit is a ghost story, of the kind that Kneale wrote exceptionally well, and one that plays to his strengths as a writer, taking a look at the racial tensions in London, and elsewhere at the time, through the lens of an alien menace. As Quatermass delves deeper into the effects of the Object, he pieces together a

The alternative is far more terrifying. With this in mind, perhaps the most affecting change from the television serial to the movie is the last few moments. On television, the serial was bookended by an epilogue, some days after the final confrontation with the Martians, in which we can see order restored, rebuilding underway, and Quatermass addressing the public, with a warning that we must confront and question our prejudices, to learn to recognise the vile influence of bigotry before it boils over into violence, and seek a better way.

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The film chooses a far bleaker path, ending moments after the confrontation with an exhausted and grieving Quatermass slumping down to sit defeated, with only distant sirens and rolling credits to tell us that it really is over.

Over the years Kneale would return to some of the themes of Quatermass and the Pit in his other works, such as the Stone Tapes and Beasts, often to great effect. In recent years his writings have found a new audience, and taken on a cult appeal.

Ominously, the movie suggests the event is only over this time, that we have survived this cycle, but the pattern will roll on.

For my money, this is his writing at its best, with the depth of the TV serial, but the taut pacing and relentless atmosphere of a feature. It is neither better, nor worse than the TV version, it instead finds different strengths to emphasise within the same story.

When Kneale returned to TV with his final Quatermass story in the seventies, it would be a to a near future world, in which society was crumbling into violence and disorder. A world, in short, that may never have recovered from the wound dealt to it in the final act of the Pit.

It is, without any doubt, a classic.

T.E. Hodden trained in engineering and works in a specialized role in the transport industry. He is a life long fan of comic books, science fiction, myths, legends, and history. In the past he has contributed to podcasts, blogs, and anthologies. Discover more on Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/t-e-hodden/ - 30 -

Mom’s Favorite Reads Author Val Tobin Val Tobin, formerly a software/web developer, now spends her time writing. She is also a Reiki Master/Teacher and Angel Therapy Practitioner® with advanced training, certified by Doreen Virtue in Kona, Hawaii. She has written numerous novels and some short stories, available on Amazon and at other retailers. In April 2016, Val received her master’s degree in parapsychology.

NEWEST RELEASE You Again: A Second Chance Romance The man she never wanted to see again has returned.

“...a well done romantic suspense tale.”

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Valiant Chronicles Series

Earthbound: A Valiant Chronicles Prequel

The Experiencers Valiant Chronicles (Book 1)

A Ring of Truth: Valiant Chronicles (Book 2)

Nothing says bad day like waking up dead.

Not killing her might be the death of him

Some heroes come disguised as killers

The Hunted Storm Lake A Short Horror Story Storm Lake Book 1 Rachel and Jeff are just children. But Storm Lake’s monsters want to eat them anyway …

About Three Authors: Poison Pen

Injury Daniella wants her father back. Too bad he’s dead.

Writing can be murder.

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Rachel wants to help a reporter learn the origin of Storm Lake’s monsters, but someone wants her to fail ...

Gillian’s Island Fear isolates her. Desire sets her free.

Walk-In Evil lurks, and not everyone is what they appear to be …

Operation Broadsword by Hannah Howe

Operation Broadsword : Eve’s War (The Heroines of SOE Book 3)

Operation Broadsword is book three in the Eve’s War Heroines of SOE Series. The book can be read as a standalone. However, to gain maximum enjoyment from the series we recommend that you read the books in order. Eve’s War is a series of twelve novellas. Each book contains approximately 20,000 words and a complete story. Kindly note that the price throughout the series will be set at the minimum level and that Eve’s story arc will be concluded at the end of the series.

The books in series order: Operation Zigzag Operation Locksmith Operation Broadsword Operation Treasure Operation Sherlock Operation Cameo Operation Rose Operation Watchmaker Operation Overlord Operation Jedburgh Operation Butterfly Operation Liberty

PREORDER NOW>>> https://bookgoodies.com/a/B08F3LMQP9

OPERATION ZIGZAG (Book 1) I'm not one to do spoilers so let me say this one has a big fat twist that I was not expecting. A nice short read for a busy day or when you are stuck somewhere. Kept me wondering until the last page. Well done. - 32 -

Contributions by Hannah Howe Psychologist (psy-chol-o-gist) noun: A woman who watches everyone else when a handsome man walks into the room.

A client said to me, “My wife thinks I’m crazy because I like sausages.” “That isn’t a problem,” I said. “I like sausages too.”

A man walked into my psychologist’s office with a pancake on his head, a fried egg on each shoulder and a sausage behind each ear.

“Great,” the client smiled. “You should come and see my collection...”

“What’s the problem?” I asked. A Freudian slip is when you say one thing, but mean your mother.

“Well, it’s like this,” the man said, “I’m worried about my brother...”

A man walked into my psychologist’s office and said, “You’ve got to help me. I keep thinking I’m a goat.”

A woman sat down in my psychologist’s office and said, “You’ve got to help me - my husband thinks he’s a greyhound. He eats dog food, sleeps in a kennel and even chases hares.”

“I see,” I said. “How long have you had these delusions?” “Ever since I was a kid,” the man said.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I can cure him, but it might cost you.” “Oh, your fee isn’t an issue,” said the woman, “he’s already won five races.”

Remember: therapy is expensive, but popping bubble-wrap is cheap. You choose. - 33 -

The Phone Call by Val Tobin Hunched into a crouch, Dylan shoved the kayak off the dock and into the water and then tilted back on his heels to catch his breath. The simple act of lugging the craft down the rocks and to the water had sapped what little energy he had. His muscles were still weak, his limbs scrawny. He lifted the suede cowboy hat off his head and ran his fingers through the gray-flecked mahogany curls. Odd how his hair had grown back soft and curly after it had fallen out. Maddie, his wife, insisted it was sexy. Dylan agreed and checked himself out in mirrors and shiny surfaces whenever he passed by them. Secretly, he loved how young it made him look—not that fifty -five was that old. Still, if people mistook him for forty-five, he wouldn’t complain. He unfolded to his full six feet and scanned the lake. The mist had started to burn off already as the sun speared through the clouds over the eastern horizon. His target destination, the small island in the middle of the lake, looked farther than it had before. Only perception, he told himself. Fatigue always distorted perception. The challenge, to most people, would be easy enough: paddle out to the island, explore it, and return to the dock. For Dylan, it was the day’s major goal. Ever since his doctors had told him his cancer was in remission, he’d set increasingly challenging tasks for himself. Today, he planned to paddle to the island if it took him until sunrise tomorrow.

One day, hopefully soon, he’d return to his job at the factory, back to the assembly line, the piecework. It wasn’t what he’d dreamed of doing with his life, but it paid the bills and the people there were decent. After spending most of his days in the hospital, he’d welcome the

return to manual labour and ordinary problems. He glanced up toward the cabin. Nothing moved. Good. If Maddie caught him here alone, she’d fuss and coo over him as if he were a baby learning to walk. He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and grinned at how he’d had to skip his morning shave in fear of waking her. She needn’t worry—he wasn’t a fool. He’d worn his life jacket. Dylan gripped the kayak and slid into it. Lifting the paddle off the dock, he shoved off. With a deep breath in, he reveled in the early morning air and headed for the island. He rested often as he crossed, but he used these respites as an opportunity to check out the local wildlife—such as it was out on the water. He spotted fish in the lake and a loon drifting along the surface. It dove under the water, likely chasing those fish. A hoarse, barking croak sounded across the lake, and Dylan at first thought a dog might be in trouble. Then a great blue heron launched itself into the sky. Dylan followed its flight until it vanished into the trees on the distant shore. It wasn’t until after the giant bird had disappeared that Dylan remembered he should have taken a picture with his phone. Perhaps he’d get the opportunity on his voyage home. - 34 -

He reached the island after an hour of paddling. Once again, he rested before climbing from the kayak and dragging it up onto the tiny beach. The sun was well up now, and sweat trickled from under his hat all around his hairline. He removed his life jacket and set it on the kayak’s seat. Next he removed his hat and shirt, but put them on again when the bugs swarmed him. Large flies that bit. Maybe horse flies, maybe deer flies, Dylan wasn’t sure, but whatever they were, they annoyed him. Part of his mission was to have his morning coffee on the rocks overlooking the lake, so he retrieved the thermos he’d brought and poured. His first sip went down like honeyed milk from heaven. Dylan sipped until the first cupful was gone. He recapped the thermos, saving the rest for later. Time to explore the island. His cell phone rang then, and of course the call display showed Maddie. He answered on the second ring with a cheerful “Hey, honey.” “Don’t you ‘hey honey’ me. Where are you?” More worry than anger filled her voice, which made him sound apologetic and guilty when he replied. “I went for a paddle.” “What do you mean?” “I took the kayak out.” What else could that mean? “You”—she heaved in a sigh—“Why? Where? You can’t. You shouldn’t.” “I’m fine. Just across the lake on the island. Nothing will happen. I’m having a thermos of coffee, a little stroll, and coming right back.” “But you didn’t even leave me a note.” “Well, you could call me if you needed me.” Now anger crept into her voice. “What if something happened and you couldn’t answer the phone?” “You worry too much. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

In the end, she accepted he needed to do this— for himself, but not out of selfishness. He’d been sick for so long, in bed for so long, he needed to return to life again. This challenge was one way to show the cancer it hadn’t licked him. He’d beaten it, but he wasn’t satisfied with simply beating it. He had to get his life back. His vigor. Before he disconnected the call, he said, “You understand, don’t you, Maddie?” “Yes.” Her tone held reluctance, and he figured if their roles were reversed he’d react the same way. It was all for love. “But if you don’t come home at a decent time, I’m coming to get you.” “I love you,” he said. “I love you, too, you damn fool,” she replied, and he smiled. It was their routine whenever they argued and made up. Sometimes she was the damn fool. Time to explore the island and head home, triumphant. Dylan inhaled, drawing in as much energizing fresh air as his lungs could stand, blowing it out again slowly. With deliberate steps, he picked his way along the shore, following the circumference of the island. The beach was brown sand interspersed with large boulders and small stones, and he took care to place each step carefully. He allowed himself an hour of exploring the island and its smattering of evergreen trees, bushes, scrub, and rocks. Birds made nests in the trees here, and he watched them flit from tree to tree, though he couldn’t identify them. They were small, wrens, maybe. Or finches? When he went home, he’d look it up in a book. He should pay more attention to what surrounded him, learn more about nature. The rain hit all at once. One moment, it was bright and sunny, and the next, it grew dark as twilight and rain teemed down. The wind lashed the trees, and thunder rumbled in the distance, pounding Dylan’s heart. So much for the stupid weather app, which had told him it would be - 35 -

sunny today with a chance of showers. Did this look like showers to them? It was more like a hurricane. He could hear the waves roiling and pounding the shoreline.

It had all been so sudden. Maddie’s diabetes and heart problems slowly ran her down. Then the cancer had struck, and after battling it for weeks, this was the end. Libby took a leave of absence from work to care for her mother, but from the look of it, she wouldn’t be away from work for long. After only three days, Libby could tell Mom was slipping away quickly.

Maddie would be terrified, so he pulled out his phone to call her and assure her he’d be fine. The call dropped, and he couldn’t get through. The kayak! He ran, trying not to lose his footing on the slick rocks, but by the time he reached the shore, it already bobbed out of reach in the waves, carrying his lifejacket with it. He waded in, frantic to grab it before it capsized.

To Libby’s relief, Maddie answered, her voice a soft croak. “I’m up.”

***

Libby padded into the room and sat on the edge of her mother’s bed. She put a cool hand on Maddie’s warm, frail arm.

“Mom?” Libby stuck her head into her mother’s bedroom. “Are you awake?” She spoke in a low voice in case her mother was asleep, but hoped Maddie was awake. Just don’t let her be dead.

“How’re you doing? Get any sleep?” Libby frowned, letting the worry show through for a moment before getting control of it and replacing it with a fake smile.

Not now. Not yet.

“He’ll call today. This time, he’ll talk to me.”

Maddie was dying, and she didn’t need to see her daughter falling apart. But Libby had already lost Dylan, her dad, twenty years ago. She didn’t want to face the loss of her mother, too. Yet some things you couldn’t control, and Libby had to accept that, like it or not.

“Yes, Mom.” Libby didn’t ask who her mother meant.

Today was the anniversary of Dylan’s death. He’d perished in a violent storm on an island near the family cottage. Every year since then, Maddie insisted her phone would ring at the time he’d died, but when she answered it, no one was on the other end. - 36 -

Libby had been present once or twice when this happened. Nothing showed on the call display, and she wrote it off as a glitch combined with her mother’s wishful thinking.

“I’m making tea. Would you like me to bring you a cup?”

The moment Libby disappeared, Maddie’s phone vibrated. She picked it up and pressed it to her ear. “Dylan?” she whispered. She knew it was him. It was time he spoke to her. She’d hear him this time for sure, and she did, just as she knew she would.

“Yes, please.” Her mother smiled, but it twisted into a grimace of pain.

“Maddie.”

“Can I adjust your pillows for you?” Libby stood and leaned over her mother.

She answered, keeping her tone hushed. “You left me.”

“No. Just put my phone beside my hand where I can reach it.”

The years without him had been so long, so interminable. Sure, she’d had the kids, the grandkids, but she’d lost her soul mate. At first she’d thought she couldn’t live without him. When she discovered life went on regardless, and she’d survive the loss, she carried on, but with a void in her heart.

“Mom, you know I don’t like to leave it in your bed. What if you fall asleep?” “So what? What’ll happen? It’ll give me cancer?” She laughed, and that turned into a hacking cough. Every request from her mother was like a dying wish, so Libby complied. “I’ll go make that tea. You call if you need me. I’ll listen for you on the monitor.” “Like a baby you treat me.” Libby sighed. “The monitor’s convenient. That way you don’t have to text me or phone me.” And Mom was too weak to shout for help, a fact Libby didn’t point out. She left the room, heading for the kitchen. ***

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. But I’ve waited for you. It’s sunny here. Will you come?” “You know I will. The kids will understand. They know I’ve got to go.” She sighed, and it was heavy with pain and exhaustion. His voice gave her peace and filled the void in her heart with a longing that was as fresh as the day he’d died. “Let go, Maddie. Let go and come to me.” Maddie closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she found herself on the rocky shores of the island where the search and rescue team had discovered Dylan’s body. He’d slipped and fallen, his ankle twisting and catching in the rocks. Unable to pull himself from the water, he’d drowned as the storm raged around him. “Why here?” she asked him. “Well, it was my challenge, and I failed. When I spoke to you before the storm hit, you promised you’d come get me if I didn’t come home.” He took her hand, and it felt solid and warm.

She looked him up and down. “I’m old, Dylan, and you haven’t changed a bit. Why, you look even younger than when I last saw you. Strong.

- 37 -

As if you’d never even gotten sick.” She couldn’t wait to touch more of him, so she put her arms around him.

***

“Tea’s ready, Mom.” Libby entered her mother’s room and set the cup and saucer on the night table. For a moment, she thought her mother had fallen asleep again. She never stayed awake for long. The phone was on the floor by the bed, where it had fallen when the hand holding it had dropped to the covers.

“Ah, you’re but a young slip of thing now.” He chuckled. She pulled away from him and looked down at her clothes. The skirt she wore was one she’d owned forty years before. It was short, and the top she had on barely covered her belly button. Her legs were young and shapely. On her feet were sandals, and her toes were painted a bright pink.

She stooped to pick it up and noticed the radiant smile on her mother’s lips. Libby choked on a sob and snatched her own phone from the holster on her hip. She called her brother, the phone trembling in her hand. Now that it’d actually happened, she took charge. Libby needed to take charge.

“Are we staying here?” She drew his face down to hers, kissed him on the nose, and laughed because she could laugh now without coughing and choking. “We’re going wherever we want. Let’s walk a bit before we take that final journey. I want to show you the woodpecker. He’s in the tree right now. I love you, Maddie.”

“Hey, Lib. How’s Mom?” Her heart squeezed. It took all her effort of will to keep her voice from breaking and the sobs from escaping.

“I love you, too. You damn fool.”

“I’m sorry, Dave. She passed.” She looked down at her mother’s peaceful face and stroked her mother’s arm. “She’s with Dad now.”

He looked down at her and tweaked her nose. “Me? What did I do?” “Nothing this time. I missed telling you, is all.”

As Libby stepped away from the bed, her foot knocked the phone on the floor. “I think he finally got through,” she said.

They linked arms and walked away from the shore as if they were fit and spry, because they were.

Val Tobin writes speculative fiction and searches the world over for the perfect butter tart. Her home is in Newmarket, Ontario, where she enjoys writing, reading, and talking about writing and reading. Discover more about Val on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/val-tobin

- 38 -

Passing Seasons by Stan Phillips

My all too brief summer has slipped away. That bright white butterfly season of sun that kissed my days has bade me farewell.

All so sweet, but when I opened my eyes, it was autumn. The bright long evenings are now a memory. Crepuscular shadows tell of long nights, chilled air, and migrating birds that fly sensibly off to warmer climes.

It's as if I slumbered awhile neath the green leaved branches, with a soft drink by my side, and a book on my lap.

And I prepare winter clothes, and think of glowing fires, of hot stews, electric blankets, and, oh yes, next year's summer holidays.

Bird song serenaded my passing moments, and a small soft dream wandered through my holiday reverie.

Women of Courage: Heroines of SOE by Hannah Howe

Anne-Marie Walters

Anne-Marie Walters was born in Switzerland on 16 March 1923. Under the code name Colette she served the Wheelwright network as a courier. Twenty years old when she arrived in France she was, after Sonya Butt, the youngest female agent of the SOE. Anne-Marie was born in Geneva. Her mother was French while her father was F.P. Walters, Deputy Secretary-General of the League of Nations. The family left Switzerland for Britain after the outbreak of the war and Anne-Marie joined the WAAF in 1941. The SOE recruited Anne-Marie on 6 July 1943 and after a period of training she joined the Wheelwright network in France arriving on 4 January 1944. On 16 March 1944, Anne-Marie celebrated her twenty-first birthday. Her hosts provided a beautifully decorated birthday cake with twenty-one lighted candles. However, the candles soon emptied the room for they were pieces of detonating fuse painted pink by the group’s explosives expert!

After D-Day the French Resistance became bolder and the Nazis more brutal in suppressing any opposition. On 21 June 1944 an estimated 2,000 soldiers of the German army attacked a pocket of the Resistance led by Lt. Colonel George Starr. During the battle, Anne-Marie distributed hand-grenades to the Resistance and buried incriminating documents in a cave under a church. She also collected SOE money and took it with her when she and the Resistance withdrew from the village. During her time in the SOE, Anne-Marie clashed with section leader George Starr. Of him she later said, “He is strictly an agent and neither a politician nor a military strategist…the guerrilla action he commanded was most unsuccessful.” - 40 -

However, Starr, a controversial character who faced a court of enquiry when he returned to Britain, acknowledged Anne-Marie’s courage and willingness to undertake any mission. Anne-Marie left France in August 1944 and travelled through Spain en route to Algiers. In Britain she wrote a report. In her report she claimed that Starr accused her of having an affair with a fellow agent and of spreading rumours that he was having an affair with a female SOE agent. In 1946, Anne-Marie published a book, Moondrop to Gascony, detailing her experiences in the SOE. Her book, beautifully written, won the John Llewellyn-Rhys prize in 1947. Later, under her married name, AnneMarie Comert, she established herself as an editor, translator and literary agent. She died in France in 1998, aged 75.

In turn, Starr criticised Anne-Marie. He said, “She wore high Paris fashion,” thus violating his principle that couriers should be inconspicuous. He ordered her to leave France adding that she was “undisciplined, indiscreet, very ‘manmad’ and disobedient.”

Hannah Howe is the author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series, the Ann's War Mystery Series and the #1 international bestseller Saving Grace. Hannah's books are published by Goylake Publishing and distributed through Gardners Books to over 300 outlets worldwide. Her books are available in print, as eBooks and audiobooks, and are being translated into ten languages. Discover more on Mom's Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/hannah-howe

- 41 -

Finding the Woo by Shelly Knox Sarah sighed as the corner of her mouth turned up a delicate smile. Social Magazine released her first print article yesterday. The editorial group purchased her feature to replace a previous choice slated for this issue. The editor told Sarah her article was refreshing. Her pink nail ran across her by-line for the umpteenth time, as goosebumps peppered her arms. Sarah didn’t think anyone would purchase an outdated view on how the Millennials and Generation-Zs handle courtship; compared to the Lost Generation and the GI Generation, let alone be thrilled! She’d just enjoy it if the spotlight helped her find someone a little quirky like herself. Because, truth be told, she yearned for the courtship of those generations—when a man put forth the effort to woo a woman. She slipped the magazine into her satchel and headed off to her writer’s group meeting. Sitting in the overstuffed winged chair in the corner of the host's family room, Sarah let the steam of the lemon tea infuse her senses then took a sip. The tea soothed her throat as the sourness of the lemon ignited her taste buds. Several new faces stood out as the warmth of the chair’s fabric cuddled her. Jon opened the meeting. His loud, growly voice was a contrast to the short, effeminate man that stood before them each week. He introduced several new members; Gabbie, Mikaela, and Sam. Each new member stood up and shared a little of their biography; and the rest shared a brief reading of their writings since the last meeting. When Sam commenced, the smooth baritone of his voice caused Sarah’s heart to catch as their gaze locked. It may have only lasted a second, or two, but it was enough for the silver glitter to

brighten his indigo-blue eyes. After a brief pause, he finished his short biography. Sarah didn't know what happened. He didn't look familiar, it wasn't what he said; but it was as if she recognized his voice, the deep notes seized her retrospection and promised more. After the meeting, Sam approached her. “I know this is an old line, but have we met before?” He proffered his hand toward hers. His grip was gentle, just the right pressure. “It is a very old line, but I had thought the same during your introduction.” She finished stuffing her notebook and writing instruments into her satchel. After slinging his backpack over one shoulder, Sam asked, “I don’t mean to be forward, but, is there any chance I can take you for a cup of coffee so we can figure out where we met? It’s driving me nuts!” “I’d like that. There’s a nice place just a couple of miles from here called the Writer’s Nook. It’s a combination bookstore, coffee shop, and deli. I can give you directions and meet you there.” Sam agreed. - 42 -

An hour later, still deep in conversation with Sam, Sarah had about given up. Neither of them could find a reason why both thought they knew each other. “It’s obvious! We met in a previous lifetime.” She pulled her notebook from her satchel and a copy of Social Magazine slipped out, falling to the table. Sam picked up the magazine. I just read a fantastic article in this issue. It’s called, Missing the Woo. He flipped his fingers through the pages, found the article, and then folded the magazine in half showing it to Sarah. After a second, he glanced up and said, “You’re the author!” “I use a Pseudonym. How did you know?” “Your voice, your word usage, the tempo of the article; I remember because I read this article several times. It’s a great article and you nailed what’s missing in the dating world—both from the male and female side.”

The heat burned Sarah’s cheeks which embarrassed her even more. If she didn’t tap down her self consciousness, her cheeks would be a new color of red no one had ever seen.

“Would you like to go for a little walk in the park across the street. I need to move a little. I’m stiff from sitting for so long. We can toss our stuff in the car.” “Sure, a walk sounds perfect.” A half an hour passed hardly noticed. Sarah and Sam had kept each other laughing as they talked about their dating disasters. “All right, enough with the disasters. Tell me your best date,” Sam said as he took her hand in his and helped her up a rocky path.

- 43 -

“You’re Sarah Mitchell!” Sam took her hands in his.

“No, you’ll laugh—and not in a good way.” Sarah watched his dark brown eyebrows arch over his skeptical, deep, blue eyes that sparkled with specks of diamonds. Electrical quivers scuttled through every nerve ending the length of her spine. She froze as the déjà vu enveloped her.

His blue eyes answered her question before she could ask, but she asked anyway. “Sam? Is it really you?” "It’s been almost twenty years. I thought I’d lost you forever when my Dad transferred oversees. It’s so great to see you, to see my best friend again,” he paused as his eyes looked down at the ground, his hand stuffed into his front pocket and his mouth squinted to the side. “Of course, I always wanted more. I wanted to ask you to junior prom.”

Finally, after a couple of seconds, he shrugged and said, “Come on. I’ll tell mine afterward— and trust me, I have to go so far into my past ….” “Somehow I doubt that, but here goes. It wasn’t just one date, really. I was thirteen and didn’t fit in with any of the clicks in junior high. Yet, my neighbor and friend since pre-school and I were perfect for each other. We liked all the same things. Writing, reading, long walks … he even read me poetry!” Sarah’s thoughts drifted back ... She stopped walking. “His name was, Sam. Although his dad always called him …”

“Then why did you set me up with all those blind dates? All I ever wanted was to date you.” Her dimples dug deep into her cheeks as she laughed. “I wanted you to know how beautiful you are and that it wasn’t only me who knew it. Maybe we can start again, and I can woo you the way you deserve to be wooed.”

“Jackson," he interrupted. “How did you know?” Sarah really looked at him, remembered all the familiar notions that crawled along her memories and raised the hair on the back of her neck. The strong sense she knew him that had overwhelmed her … She took in a sharp breath. “Sam?”

The End

Shelly Knox has published over two-dozen short stories in National Magazines. In 2003, she took a break from writing to obtain her MBA in Healthcare Management. While she climbed the Department of Veterans Affairs’ career ladder in Research Oversight, she made time to obtain an MFA in Creative Writing. Retired now, Michelle has restarted her writing career, publishing three books: Twin Deceptions, Death Wore White and Betrayed. Her next book, Snatch and Grab will debut early 2021. Michelle lives in Georgia with her two Shelties. She hopes you enjoy her stories as much as she loves weaving them. Visit her at

www.shellyknox.com. - 44 -

Another Dream by Stan Phillips Do you recall those dawdling days of early long summer holidays that stretched out as if they would never end? Sunbaked and lazy they walked hand in hand with us along the seashores of early August. I do. I remember them. And, if I listen very carefully, I can hear the echo of those days, faint, like the soft tintinabulations of the creation of time itself. Soft breezes that shift the the ripening corn of the child stepping gingerly into life. All of my springtimes trembling on the brink in those long and indolent days, with nothing to do but watch those hours move slowly into lost yesterdays. Do you recall yours? Those dream flowering holidays of butterflies and bumblebees and candyfloss that swashbuckled off into the fabric of history? Do you? 'Cos I think I remember mine. Or just maybe, as I sit with early autumn stepping over the threshold of my world, might it all be just another dream? Stan Phillips 2020 ©

Classic Movies: The Train by Hannah Howe The Train, a 1964 Second World War movie, is based on an interesting premise: are great works of art more valuable than human life? Directed by John Frankenheimer and starring Burt Lancaster, The Train is an ‘industrial’ movie in that sweat and coal dust are never far from the actors’ faces. It’s also a stirring action movie with a number of dramatic, explosive scenes. It’s August 1944 and with the Allies closing in on Paris, the Nazis decided to transport, by train, the great art treasures of France to Germany. In the movie, the main protagonists are Paul Labiche, a railwayman and Resistance member, played by Burt Lancaster, and art lover Colonel Franz von Waldheim, played by Paul Scofield.

a dozen cameras en route. This left just one camera, buried in the ground, to capture the action, which it did to stunning effect, the wrecked train coming to rest above its allseeing lens.

Given that the Allies are approaching, the Resistance only need to delay the train by a few days, while protecting its priceless cargo. Although initially reluctant to participate in the plan, Labiche devises an elaborate plan where, instead of travelling in a straight line to Germany, the train travels in a circle. In all aspects, the movie is gritty and realistic. However, this concept does require a suspension of disbelief because the Nazis never suspect that the train is taking a circuitous route.

Due to a number of complex sequences, the movie overran it’s production schedule. Many of the French character actors in the film were committed to other projects. Therefore, director John Frankenheimer came up with a simple solution. As Resistance fighters, they were placed against a wall and shot by the Nazis. Historically correct, this explained their absence from the closing scenes of the film.

An agile performer, Burt Lancaster performed his own stunts. These included jumping on to a fast moving train and, later, being pushed off a fast moving train. He escaped without injury.

One of the most dramatic scenes in the movie is a train crash. This was filmed for real. However, the stuntman pulled the throttle back too far and the train travelled too fast, demolishing - 46 -

However, on a rest day he played golf and badly damaged his knee. John Frankenheimer needed a reason to explain Lancasterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s limp, so he included a new scene in which the Nazis shoot Lancaster in the knee as he makes his escape thus allowing the production to continue without further delay. With filming complete, John Frankenheimer showed The Train to the production company, United Artists. They realised that the movie required another action scene. Therefore, Frankenheimer reassembled the cast for a dramatic Spitfire attack scene, a highlight of the movie. At Lancasterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s suggestion, Frankenheimer also added a philosophical/romantic scene, which Lancaster largely wrote. This scene featured Lancaster and Jeanne Moreau, and is another highlight of the movie. Throughout the film, John Frankenheimer juxtaposed the value of art with the value of human life. A brief montage at the close of the movie intercuts the crates full of paintings with the bloodied bodies of the hostages, shot by the Nazis, before a final scene shows Lancaster as Labiche limping away.

Credits: John Frankenheimer Burt Lancaster Paul Scofield and Burt Lancaster Jeanne Moreau

- 47 -

Word Search—October By Mom’s Favorite Reads

You can find the answers for this activity on the Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/magazines/activities/ - 48 -

Brought to you by...

The August issue of Connections eMagazine is dedicated to the winners of our annual Reader’s Choice Awards. We had some amazing books from some talented authors. I hope you will take a minute to check them out.

Marketing seems to be one of those areas that every author struggles with. It’s the same struggle companies world-wide have been dealing with for decades. How do I get my product in front of my target audience? Connections eMagazine can help. The publication is free to readers, bloggers and to authors looking for a little extra exposure. Visit our website for details. https://melaniepsmith.com/

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Connections eMagazine is a FREE quarterly publication founded by authors Melanie P. Smith and Rhoda D’Ettore. It is currently produced entirely by Editor, Melanie P. Smith. Over the years, the magazine has evolved and it now features promos, freebies, blog articles, and short stories in every issue.

Discover more about Connections eMagazine on their website here: https://melaniepsmith.com/emagazine-landing/ - 49 -

Iced Age by John Greeves

When you come on Friday,

bring me a card stuffed with lions and wildebeests. My wife will be here, pouring green leaf tea.

We will sit eating dainty sandwiches and lemon drizzle cake

with voices that pebble skim seas; sipping tea and causing only minor ripples to arise.

We shall all pretend. I will inquire delicately about the passing years, your Neolithic husband, the young cubs, now hairy mammoths, if the cave prints are to be believed.

You and I, will play at Renaissance man, never revealing the plunging depths, we felt during the last ice-age, when fireside bodies merged, skin upon skin.

John Greeves originally hails from Lincolnshire. He believes in the power of poetry and writing to change peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lives and the need for language to move and connect people to the modern world. Since retiring from Cardiff University, Greeves works as a freelance journalist who's interested in an eclectic range of topics. - 50 -

Wealth and Heaven by Father Ian Maher In the second half of Matthew chapter 19 (1630) is the story about a rich young man. We can discern that he is rich from an attitude that becomes apparent in the story. This man approaches Jesus sincerely wanting to know what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus replies by telling him, in essence, to follow the commandments. From the man’s response it appears that he has been doing this, and we have no reason to believe that he had been living anything other than a good, upright life. The conversation with Jesus continues a little longer and, as usual, Jesus puts his finger on exactly what was getting in the way of the young man’s spiritual progress: his wealth. Faced with the challenge from Jesus to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor, the man goes away grieving. It was too much to ask. His wealth, it would seem, mattered more than anything. Jesus then goes on to tell his disciples who were no doubt witnessing this exchange with amazement – after all, wealth was generally seen as a sign of God’s blessing – how hard it would be for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Jesus even uses an amusing exaggeration to illustrate this point, saying: ‘Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God,’ Now what we can discern from the gospels and the rest of the New Testament is that Jesus

was not condemning wealth and possessions in themselves. Rather, his stark instruction to the rich young man was to confront him with the fact that his focus on keeping the commandments was preventing him from seeing how his possessions were, in fact, the most important thing in his life. This is why he left Jesus in grief. He knew, perhaps for the first time, that his attachment to those things was too strong. They held the place that really belonged to God. I like to think what Jesus said to him eventually took root. Who knows, maybe the rich young man became a great philanthropist. As ever, the gospel stories find echoes in our own lives. This particular story challenges all of us to reflect on the place that possessions occupy in our own life. It is not relevant only to those who might be deemed ‘rich’. Any of us can make the mistake of the rich young man by investing too much in the things we acquire and accumulate, and not enough in our relationships and responsibilities towards our fellow human beings. Remember, it’s not wrong to have things. Jesus is not saying that. But we do need to be careful so that they do not end up displacing the most important things in life: love and service to God and our fellow human beings. Perhaps the penny eventually dropped for the rich young man. I certainly hope so. Even more do I hope that it has dropped for myself – and for you.

I am a priest and minor canon at Sheffield Cathedral. My last post prior to retire-

ment from stipendiary ministry was as the Multifaith Chaplaincy Co-ordinator and Anglican Chaplain at Sheffield Hallam University, where I worked for 12 years. https://imaherblog.wordpress.com/ Twitter @IanMaher7 - 51 -

Utahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Majestic Lakes and Streams by Melanie P. Smith

- 52 -

https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/melanie-p-smith/

All images ÂŠ MPSmith Publishing - 53 -

Things to Celebrate in October by Poppy Flynn Every day of the month has some kind of official celebration and usually more than one! It might be big, it might be small…it might be wacky or downright bizarre! There are over 1500 National Days throughout the year, here’s just one observance of the many for each day in October 2020. October 1 - International Coffee Day st

In March 2014, the International Coffee Organization (ICO) created International Coffee Day and chose October 1 as the date to celebrate coffee around the world. The first International Coffee Day was held the following year. st

October 3 - Virus Appreciation Day rd

October 2 - World Smile Day nd

I’m not sure anyone appreciates Coronavirus so maybe Virus Awareness Day might be more apt.

Celebrated on the first Friday of October, World Smile Day is not the invention of dentists but is actually dedicated to the smiley face emoji with the intention that people perform an act of kindness to help people smile.

Unlike bacteria, viruses are not alive, they’re more like random bits of DNA which wander around with a bad attitude and a protective suit. But the truth is that many life-saving vaccines are born from viruses and that is the true purpose of this day. October 4 - World Animal Day th

Mission Statement: To raise the status of animals in order to improve welfare standards around the globe. October 5 - World Teacher's Day th

Launched in 1994, World Teachers’ Day commemorates the anniversary of the adoption of the 1966 ILO/UNESCO recommendation concerning the Status of Teachers. This recommendation sets benchmarks regarding the rights and responsibilities of teachers and standards for their initial preparation and further education, recruitment, employment, and teaching and learning conditions. - 54 -

October 6 - Mad Hatter Day

October 12 - Moment of Frustration Day

Created in 1986 and inspired by the John Tenniel illustration of the tea party in Alice in Wonderland. Celebrate by reading the book, watching the movie, wearing a hat or hosting a tea party.

Sometimes referred to as ‘Scream Day’ the concept is that at 1200 hours - Greenwich time, people from around the world will go outside and scream for 30 seconds to let out all their frustrations. Apparently screaming makes you feel better.

October 7 - National Frappe Day th

October 13 - No bra day th

Celebrate with the iced drink of your choice.

Established in 2011 and originally celebrated on July 9 , this day, designed to increase awareness of breast cancer, was later moved to coincide with Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

October 8 - Pierogi Day th

What is a pierogi, I hear you say. Well, that was my first question anyway. And for those of you who need to know, the answer is a semicircular dumpling made from unleavened dough originating from Poland. First they are boiled, then either baked or fried in butter to finish and stuffed with a variety of fillings such as cheese, ground meat or fruit.

October 14 - Be Bald and Free Day th

A day for celebrating those without hair everywhere. Don’t cover up - embrace the baldness. October 15 - National Grouch Day th

This Sesame Street inspired celebration has been observed since 1976. If you identify as a grouch, today is your day.

October 9 - Curious Events Day th

A day to celebrate all those curious events whether they be big or small. Does Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster really exist? Where do all the odd socks go that get lost in the laundry? Crop circles, the Bermuda Triangle, Ghosts, UFO’s, Roswell and all of those conspiracy theories.

October 16 - Global Cat Day th

Originally called National Feral Cat Day from its inception in 2001 through to 2016, this day is now dedicated to protecting the lives of all cats but with a specific focus on outdoor cats.

October 10 - World Mental Health Day th

First celebrated in 1992 at the initiative of the World Federation for Mental Health, World Mental Health Day is an international day for global mental health education, awareness and advocacy against social stigma October 11 - International Day of the Girl Child th

Every year on this day, since 2012, UNICEF launches an annual campaign to amplify the voices of girls and stand up for their rights. This year the theme is ‘My voice, our equal future’.

October 17 - Wear Something Gaudy Day th

Be bright and wear something loud today. October 18 - Chocolate Cupcake Day th

No prizes for guessing todays treat!. - 55 -

October 19 - New Friends Day

October 23 - Slap your Annoying co-worker Day

Does what it says on the tin. Celebrate today by getting to know someone new.

Yes, this really is a genuine day - but best be careful you don’t get yourself fired!

October 20 - International Sloth Day th

It originates from a 2009 episode of the TV show, ‘The Office,’ where Pam slaps Michael Scott for having the cheek to date her mother.

International Sloth Day was established in 2010 to raise awareness of these shy, tender hearted creatures and to try and prevent them becoming extinct.

October 24 - United Nations Day th

Observing the anniversary of the date the United Nations officially came into existence in 1945.

October 21 - Back to the Future Day st

Fans of the film should recognise this as the date from the digital dashboard reading. October 22 - National Nut Day nd

Created by the Liberation Foods Company to encourage the public to choose healthier snack options; treat yourself to some almonds, hazelnuts or walnuts today.

October 25 - World Pasta Day th

Forty International pasta producers joined together to establish World Pasta Day during the inaugural World Pasta Congress in Rome, Italy, on October 25, 1995 So, what’s for dinner tonight? Spaghetti? Lasagne, Ravioli? Cannelloni? Tagliatelle? The options are too many to list! - 56 -

October 26 - National Day of the Deployed

October 29 - Internet Day

Recognising all of the brave military personnel who have been deployed or have sacrificed their lives to defend their country.

Where would the world be without the internet?

On this day in 1969, Charley Kline, a student programmer at UCLA successfully transmitted the first ever message from one computer to another. The rest is history.

October 27 Black Cat Day th

Created in 2011 by Cat’s Protection to promote black cats and explode the myths surrounding them as being ‘bad luck’, something influenced by their ancient folklore heritage as being a witch’s companion. In fact, black cats take longer to be re-homed than any other type of cat.

October 30 - Mischief Night th

Known by a variety of names including Devil's Night, Gate Night, Goosey Night, Moving Night, Cabbage Night and Mat Night, this is a date when kids and teens traditionally engage in pranks. October 31 - Carve a Pumpkin Day st

No prizes for guessing how this celebration originated. Happy Halloween! Monthly observances include: Fair Trade Month, Global Diversity Awareness Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Vegetarian Month and World Menopause Month.

October 28 - National Chocolate Day th

I don’t think any more needs to be said - enjoy that chocolate treat without guilt today.

Poppy Flynn was born in Buckinghamshire, UK and moved to Wales at eight years old with parents who wanted to live the 'self-sufficiency' lifestyle. Today she still lives in rural Wales and is married with six children. Poppy's love of reading and writing stemmed from her parents' encouragement and the fact that they didn't have a television in the house. "When you're surrounded by fields, cows and sheep, no neighbors, no TV and the closest tiny village is four miles away, there's a certain limit to your options, but with books your adventures and your horizons are endless." Discover more about Poppy on Mom's Favorite Reads website:

https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/poppy-flynn - 57 -

Zoey by Keith Guernsey When our four-footed son Harley went over the Rainbow Bridge in May of last year, Susan and I were heartbroken. He had been the love of our lives for 10 years and he left a tremendous hole in our hearts that we didn't think could ever be filled.

We met Yonah (her name at the time) and took to each other right away. The young lady we met with told us it would take us three days to get used each other. It didn't even take three minutes! We rode home, let her out of her carrier and let her roam around the house.

After grieving for nine months we started talking about possibly getting another companion. Susan was ready but I still wasn't sure but decided to go along with the process and see where it led us. We realized after sheltering-in-place for so many months that we had grown tired of staring at our computer screens (and each other!) and got serious about finding another companion. Susan spent many hours on the internet searching for a dog that met our requirements (potty trained, house-broken, and fewer than 20 pounds). She found several that we thought would be a nice addition to our home but the time she submitted our application they were already adopted.

She has been a wonderful bundle of joy for the two months she has lived with us. Rambunctious, funloving, and the best 10 pound protector dog of all time. The only issue (and it is admittedly a minor one) is she barks loudly and continuously whenever anyone comes to the house. We are working with her constantly to teach her the difference between friend and foe. Every time I walk by her, she constantly rolls on her back and wants her belly rubbed and I am more than happy to oblige! Zoey has been with us for two months and it has been a blast! We are loving every minute of our time together and can't wait to se what the future brings!

But then we finally caught a break. She found this adorable little brown and white Chihuahua at the Gwinnett Jail House Dogs Program. Susan submitted our application but again by the time they received it, she too had been adopted. A couple of weeks later Susan received a call from the program, and as it turns there was another dog already in the house and the two dogs did not get along.

For more, please visit us on the web at; http://tinyurl.com/y6ut57ms We are honored to announce a joint promotion with the American Cancer Society where we will be donating 25 cents/copy for any of our books (including our newest "Overcoming the Odds") ordered between 8/26/2020 and 10/31/2020 to this wonderful organization.

So we had a second chance. We made an appointment with Deputy Walker of the Gwinnett Jail House Dogs and agreed to meet him at Society of Humane Friends in Lawrenceville. They filled us in on her past. She was a stray roaming the streets of Cumming, Georgia where she was hit by a car and suffered a broken right rear leg and dislocated hip. Fortunately the wonderful staff at UGA veterinary program was able put her back together and she is now healthy as can be.

Will you help us cure this dread disease today? Many thanks, Keith and the ACS 2X cancer survivor, Twitter=@thegurns #cancer #cancer cure

Keith D. Guernsey is retired and living on Lake Lanier with his lovely wife Susan and Zoey, his four-footed daughter

thegurns2005@yahoo.com Twitter=@thegurns https://www.amazon.com/Mr-Keith-D-Guernsey/e/B00PR51Q7Y

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A Sting in the Tail by John Greeves

Pedro Mendoza will sit with a glass of wine and explain how he’s become a wealthy man. His success is down to the Apis Mellifera, the honeybee. It has given him everything in life. You detect a mocking smugness in his voice since he has become one of life’s philosophers. Bees have taught him all he needs to know. The division of labour, the stratification of society into castes, market liquidity and of course protecting your assets from imminent take over.

Pedro Mendoza has built a spectacular house in his mountain village where he rules as king with his many queens. A great architect from Mexico City designed it for him with hexagonal cells, a structure so strong it will resist the one thing he fears in life – earthquakes. He says it with a whisper so not to wake the mountain spirits. He will show the superstitious peasants that by copying the bee he can resist the wrath of the gods, after all wasn’t it he who stole their ambrosia. He has surrounded his enormous house with beehives on every wall.

He believes in despotic altruism only as far as it suits his purpose and ensures the survival of his bees. There can be no room for sentiment and like the drone the unproductive of society must be purged from the hive.

Last month I learnt of Pedro Mendoza’s death not from the earthquake but from something I believe he said. His house stood firm just as he supposed, while the village around him was flattened.

On a lighter note he swears by the medicinal benefits of honey believing it to be the elixir of life, prolonging youth, protecting the skin’s elasticity and sheen, a tonic better than viagra, natures antiseptic and continued sweetener of his life.

When the last tremor ended Pedro Mendoza ran out shouting, “Didn’t I tell you,” for everyone to hear, when he was stung to death.

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Hello Autumn by Stan Phillips Even though September can often be a golden month filled, as it always is, with the trees turning to flame and great flocks of birds preparing to fly off to far away places. It is still, no matter how glorious it might be, the harbinger of things to come, like; The ending of Summer. That 'return to school' feeling. Clocks going back. The days growing shorter. And those wistful shades of Autumn that promise winter. And though there is much to anticipate in the months ahead.

Lots of deeds and doings and fun to be had in the magic of unfolding life. It is still a little sad as we watch another used up August shuffle off into memory. Taking the glory of summer, slowly, but surely with it. Stan Phillips (C)2020

Matchgirls Strike of 1888 by Sam Johnson The researcher, Anna Robinson, wrote an MA thesis: 'Neither Hidden Nor Condescended To: Overlooking Sarah Chapman‘. Anna also discovered Sarah's grave during her research - I’ll come to that later.

Sarah Chapman perspective It all started with a visit with my now husband, Graham, to his cousin in Biggleswade. In old papers, out slipped an Edwardian image of a young soldier, who it turned out was Graham’s Grandfather, Frederick Robinson Johnson, who died in the Battle of the Somme in 1916. No mention had been made of Frederick before. This got us irreversibly bitten by the family research bug.

Sarah was born in 1862 in Mile End lived all her life in the East End. Sarah was working as a Matchmaking Machinist alongside her elder sister Mary and her mother by the time she was 19. Many workers at the Bryant and May Match Factory in Bow were very young and endured long hours, On top of this, the matches were made using harmful white phosphorus that risked the workers getting osteonecrosis or ‘phossy jaw’.

I realised I should investigate my own lineage where I found wealthy landowners in Oxfordshire and a long line of silk weavers in the East End. Research is gripping yet time consuming so, reluctantly, I had to stop, as juggling it with a full-time job and two young sons was impossible. Move forward fifteen years and a family discussion led me to pick it all up again! In September 2016 I Google searched for my Great Grandparents, Charles Henry Dearman and Sarah Chapman and couldn’t believe what I found – an Ancestry.co.uk Message Board, appealing for information.

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The Matchgirls loved a night out. The following contemporary quotes provide a flavour of their antics:

At a Fabian Society meeting on 15th June 1888. Henry Hyde Champion proposed a motion to boycott buying Bryant & May matches. It was passed unanimously.

The Matchgirls wrote an unsigned letter to Annie Besant, which was published in The Link on 14th July:

The next day, Annie Besant spoke about their conditions and then published her ‘White Slavery in London’ article in her magazine, ‘The Link’. Bryant & May Directors were furious and threatened to sue Annie for libel and demanded their employees sign a document refuting the article. They refused. There followed a dismissal and on 5th July 1888, 1400 workers walked out on strike. - 62 -

The next day, around 200 workers marched to Bouverie Street to appeal to Annie and three were invited into Annie’s office (Sarah Chapman, Mary Naulls and Mary Cummings) and, despite Annie not favouring strike action, she agreed to help them. Plans soon followed to form a Strike Committee. 56 strikers went to the House of Commons, and 12 of them met MPs. Support came from the London Trades Council and Toynbee Hall. After less than a fortnight, the Matchgirls supported by the London Trades Council met Bryant & May Directors. All strike demands were met. A Union was formed and 12 women were elected, most of whom had been on the Strike Committee The following week, The Link reported the following from the enrolment meeting:

‘A break in the proceedings was caused by a very kind and pretty act of the girls, the presentation of a little gold brooch to Annie Besant, and of a scarf-pin each to Herbert Burrows and H. W. Hobart (unfortunately absent), as memorials of the victory-crowned struggle’.

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six children, three of whom pre-deceased Sarah. Unfortunately, we have few tangible links to Sarahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life aside from a few photographs but my Dad, Ken, recalls Sarah giving him a red train engine when he was young (he drew this engine from memory). He also recalls visiting Sarah in Bethnal Green, and going into a dark room with an aspidistra and antimacassars on the chairs and evocative smells of gas from gas mantles.

Sarah was elected to the new Union Committee and was their first representative at the TUC. She attended the International TUC in London in November 1888 and was one of only 77 delegates. Sarah then attended the 1890 TUC in Liverpool, where she seconded a motion in relation to The Truck Act. At this conference, there were over 500 delegates but only 10 women.

By April 1891, Sarahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Father had died and she and her Mother moved to Bromley-byBow. Later that year Sarah left the factory to get married, to Charles Henry Dearman, a Cabinet Maker from Bethnal Green. They had

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We also have a wooden box, made by Charles.

Following Anna Robinson’s earlier discovery, we visited Sarah’s grave in January 2017 – a pauper’s plot, at Manor Park Cemetery, Forest Gate. It is threatened with ‘mounding’ – a brutal process involving removing headstones, flattening the ground, adding new soil and then making new burials. We secured funds for a headstone for Sarah and have a petition, so please do sign.

We set up a charity, ‘The Matchgirls Memorial’, to raise funds for a statue to honour the Matchgirls. Website: www.matchgirls1888.org Twitter: https://twitter.com/TheMatchgirls Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ TheMatchgirlsMemorial/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ matchgirls1888statue/ Email: matchgirls1888statue@gmail.com Petition: https://bit.ly/SarahChapman

Editor In Chief—Hannah Howe The Editor-in-Chief is the key figure in every publication. Hannah Howe works closely with the editorial staff to ensure the success of each publication. She is the author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series, the Ann’s War Mystery Series and Saving Grace. Get to know more about Hannah, her projects and her work on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/hannah-howe/

Executive Editor | Graphic Designer—Melanie P. Smith The Executive Editor / Graphic Designer is responsible for developing the layout and design of MFR eMagazine. She also works hard to create new covers each month that captures the essence of each publication. In addition to the editorial staff of Mom’s Favorite Reads, Melanie P. Smith also produces Connections eMagazine. She is a multi-genre author of Criminal Suspense, Police Procedural, Paranormal and Romance novels. Get to know more about Melanie, her projects and her work on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/melanie-p-smith/

Managing Editor—Ronesa Aveela & Denise McCabe Our Managing Editors oversee the physical content of the magazine and coordinates the production schedule. There are two Managing Editors for Mom’s Favorite Reads; Ronesa Aveela and Denise McCabe. Get to know our Managing Editor’s on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: Ronesa Aveela— A freelance artist and author of mystery romance inspired by legends and tales. https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/ronesa-aveela/

Denise McCabe— A children's book author and blogger. https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/denise-mccabe/

Art Director & Proofreader — Sylva Fae Sylva Fae—Mum of three, fairy woodland owner, and author of children’s books. Sylva is is responsible for the amazing graphics that appear throughout the publication each month. She works hard to ensure the images capture the spirit and message our author's convey in their articles and stories. In addition, As Copy Editor, Sylva works hard behind the scenes to correct any grammatical, typos and spelling errors throughout the magazine. https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/sylva-fae/

Copy Editor / Proofreader — Wendy H. Jones Wendy H. Jones is the award winning, international best-selling author of the DI Shona McKenzie Mysteries, Cass Claymore Investigates Mysteries, Fergus and Flora Mysteries, Bertie the Buffalo children’s books and the Writing Matters books for writers. She is also a writing and marketing coach and the President of the Scottish Association of Writers. As copy editor for Mom’s, she works hard to ensure content is appropriate and free of grammatical and spelling errors. You can learn more about Wendy on her website: https://www.wendyhjones.com/

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Feature Editor—T.E, Hodden As Feature Editor T.E. Hodden works diligently to provide content that is interesting, informative and professional. He is a trained engineer and a life-long fan of comic books, Sci-Fi, myths, legends and history. Get to know more about TE Hodden on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/t-e-hodden/

Marketing Director—Grant Leishman Our Marketing Director, Grant Leishman, oversees marketing campaigns and social media engagement for our magazine. After an exciting career in accounting and journalism, he now focuses on his true calling—writing. Get to know more about Grant on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/grant-leishman/

Young Writer Content Editor—Poppy Flynn Poppy Flynn works hard each month to generate ideas, proofread submitted content, and provide stories, articles, poems and other pieces that are creative and relevant from young writers around the world. Get to know more about our Young Writer Content Editor on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/poppy-flynn/

General Content Writers Our Content Writers are freelance authors who contribute articles, short stories, etc. to the eMagazine on a regular basis. They work hard to make our magazine interesting and professional. Get to know our Content Writers on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: Val Tobin — https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/val-tobin/ Stan Phillips — https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips/ Father Ian Muher — https://imaherblog.wordpress.com/

Mom’s Favorite Reads eMagazine October 2020

Articles inside

Hello Autumn by Stan Phillips

Another Dream by Stan Phillips

Utah s Majestic Lakes and Streams by Melanie P. Smith

Passing Seasons by Stan Phillips

Finding the Woo by Shelly Knox

More Than Waffles and Bacon by Sue DeCrescenzo

Eve s War Operation Broadsword by Hannah Howe

The Phone Call by Val Tobin

Hawthorn: The Bride of the Hedgerow

I Love to Play Rugby by Shane (Age 8

The Wild Hedge by Stan Phillips

Travel Writing Tips by John Greeves

Laughter is the Best Medicine! by Hannah Howe