The Flock

June 23rd 2016.
A narrow lane is bounded by high hedges and, beyond these, are verdant pastures where sheep are reared. In a field, elderly rotund sheep, blessed with luxurious fleeces, rest beneath the shade of an ancient oak. The tranquillity is enhanced by the barely audible buzzing of bees, the gentle snoring and breathing of some of the sheep, while others idly stare at the flock of younger sheep, further off, grazing. If it were a painting or lithograph, it would be by Samuel Palmer. 

Today is the day when citizens cast their votes in the referendum to decide whether the United Kingdom (sic) remains within the European Union or leaves it. Outside a polling station a throng repeatedly chant, Take back control! A man asks, Is the leader coming today?

A shepherd, David, with his dog, Sam, beside him, smiles and stares lovingly at the sheltering sheep, thinking, My grand OAPs. Well, he whispers to the dog, Sheep transporter be here soon. I’ll go and get the gate. Keep your eyes on them young ‘uns; don’t want them getting spooked. One of the sheep, an old ram, beneath the oak bleats. David laughs, They say sheep be stupid, but you ain’t, is you, Johno? 

Johno walks out from under the oak’s canopy and patiently waits until he hears the sound of a lorry approaching. Sam runs towards the grazing sheep until a shrill whistle calls him back to David. The driver of the transporter lowers the metal loading ramp and gives the thumbs up. Off you go, Johno, David instructs.

Outside the same polling station, police form a barrier between demonstrators, some waving Union flags and others EU flags. A man, protected by two large ‘minders’, joins the ‘leavers’ to a chant of Forage! Forage! A ‘remainer’ laughs, They don’t even know that bastard’s name.

Johno walks toward the flock that is already panicking, bleating at the sight of the lorry. Johno, next to a young ram, whispers, Trust me. You’re safe with me. Soon you’ll be resting without a care in the world. There’s no future here for the lambs. 

The ram, after a moment of hesitation, joins Johno and walks toward the lorry. Within moments the entire flock, with Johno leading, is safely locked inside the transporter. As the lorry moves off, some sheep panic; Johno tells yet more lies until they quieten.

Johno leads the panicking sheep out into the abattoir yard where they’re sorted into pens. One of the workers puts a rope around Johno’s neck and leads him out onto the road where the shepherd waits beside his Land Rover. The two men lift Johno into the back of the vehicle.

The worker laughs, You’ll soon be enjoying the silence of the lambs. Just as well you’ve a Judas sheep leading them into their doom.

In the referendum, as in the slaughterhouse, Judas won and, bloated with hubris, continued to mislead the flock without a single moment of guilt.


I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2025
Phil Cosker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved; no part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted by any mean, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

“PIGS IN HEAVEN”

pigs in heaven

Barbara Kingsolver’s novel ‘PIGS IN HEAVEN’ (1993) is intriguing.

Initially there is something ‘Updike-like’ about Kingsolver’s prose – sharp ironic writing laced with humour. Early on – “Alice wonders if other women in the middle of the night have begun to resent their Formica.” Later – “You might see things better on television, but you’ll never know if you were alive or dead while you watched.” But, unlike Updike there is a sort of inevitability, a preordainedness, here that is quite different from the tension of the Rabbit books. It’s not a tragedy but rather a celebration of love over adversity.

The portrayal of the Cherokee Nation as a haven of familial support, love and joy makes no substantial reference to the impact of significant poverty and racism instead representing an ideal state of oneness in ‘Heaven’ that it would be a joy to be part of (some of the time).

The plot – no spoilers – resolves itself as if by magic – which is what it is – a ‘romance’ in which the best of all possible worlds comes about through (apparent) serendipity aligned with the scheming of Ms Annawake Fourkiller and the finger of god suggesting the inevitability of the victory of good over evil.

This novel feels good and there’s little harm in that right now in the midst of Brexit and the idiocy of Trump. Nothing wrong at all with love winning the day, but … the pain that has been suffered, the legacy of sadness, to get to that ideal ending is but chaff blown away, and almost forgotten, in a gentle breeze from the idyllic world of the Cherokee Nation in Heaven. But rock on – we could do with more of it! I enjoyed it.

 

 

 

 

Brexit nightmares

Oscar Wile said, “the unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible.”

May is the unspeakable is in pursuit of the unacceptable.

Corbyn is the ‘acceptable’ in pursuit of what ????

Come on Labour get your act together or are you going to create an alliance with the extreme right believing that catastrophe will bring about a socialist revolution. If you are  – shame on you.

I am a member of the Labour Party