After the excitement of our annual AGM, we are back into the swing of writing again as our regular meetings take off. On Tuesday 15th September we enjoyed our first “Reading and Critique” session at Cusop Village Hall. Members responded to the writing homework on the theme of “Collectors, Collections and Collecting”. A wide variety of short stories, poems and descriptive prose pieces filled the afternoon and was much enjoyed by all.

We had our first new member of the year in attendance too, and with potentially up to five more new members joining us in October, it looks to be a busy and fruitful year. We can’t wait.

If you are thinking of becoming a member, we still have a couple of spaces left. Head over to our JOINING US page for more details and get in touch.

Fiction Competition 2026

Our Fiction Competition – The Frances Copping Prize, is open and already receiving entries. We are thrilled that our judge this year is Kathy Biggs. Head over to our COMPETITIONS page for full details.

A Short Story From Margaret Blake.

Introduction.
“For the last ten years, I’ve been actively involved with the local Sanctuary for Refugees group, supporting people seeking safety in South Wales. In the process, I have met many people whose personal experience could certainly resonate strongly with this fictional narrative.”

Exile by Margaret Blake

Hope flared. Its spark ran the length of the boat. Exhausted faces flamed into life. Land! Our long ordeal was about to end; freedom was at hand. I collapsed back against the rubber rim. Remembering. …

It was the year of the Arab Spring. People scented freedom, an end to tyranny. Protests blossomed. Repression swiftly followed. First, water cannon and beatings. Next, bombs and bullets. Arrests multiplied. Friends became part of ‘ the disappeared’ – incarcerated or summarily executed, their bodies never found. My husband was one of them.

In secret, I carried on advocating for freedom, for justice for the people. But inexorably, the surveillance net closed in around me. In the end, I could risk no more. My only choice was to flee … or die.

I sold all my possessions and made discreet enquiries; money exchanged hands. One dark night, I gently kissed my sleeping children farewell. I placed a note for their grandmother on the kitchen table; I knew she would take good care of them. I silently slipped through the back yard, hardly daring to breathe, I hugged the shadows as I crept through the deserted streets. Reaching the outskirts of town, I scanned the lane ahead. ‘Would my plan hold fast?’ I breathed a sigh of relief. There, in the darkness under a massive tree, stood a motor bike. Its driver looked at me and nodded; I climbed astride, and, with a throaty roar, we were off.

On sped the bike. The wind tore at my clothes, my hair, my face. Words were whipped away. I clung on in silence to my unknown driver. Out of the town, down deserted country roads we raced; into a woodland glade/ There, the engine was cut. Silence enveloped us. My unknown helpmeet indicated I should dismount. This I did, unsure of what would follow. Headlights suddenly blazed into life, framing us in their stark light. I froze. ‘Has the militia found me after all?’ I wondered. ‘Is it going to end like this? A shot in the night and a shallow grave?’

‘Greetings, auntie.’ Relief sapped the strength from my legs. I stumbled. Strong arms caught me, and a young voice reassured me. ‘This way. Quick!’ I was led to the back of a covered truck and ushered inside. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I realised that I was not alone. Numerous shapes shifted silently to make room for me; thankfully, I sat down on the floor. There was a sudden movement, a noise at the entrance. Wooden crates marked ‘Perishable Foods’ were being stacked, blocking the opening.

Then came the clanging of doors closing; of locks slamming shut. The engine revved into life and the lorry lurched forward. Tears coursed down my face as I thought of all I had lost: my home, my family, my Land.

Safety beckoned …. But exile had begun.

This coming Friday 25th October the first Write On! session at Hay-on-Wye Library – 2pm-4pm. Bring your own writing materials, imagination and the willingness to have a go. It should be fun!

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