Raymond G. Taylor
Bio
Author living in Kent, England. Writer of short stories and poems in a wide range of genres, forms and styles. A non-fiction writer for 40+ years. Subjects include art, history, science, business, law, and the human condition.
Stories (156/625)
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Learning to fly: two
Having driven to Biggin Hill airfield for what he thought was a flying lesson in a light aircraft, Robert finds himself hovering on a broomstick amidst a hoard of Halloween witches. “Okay ladies….” Announced my companion, to the general throng behind her. “and... er… young gen’leman. It’s just about midnight, it’s Halloween… “LET’S RIDE!”
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Dark clouds gather part three
Continued from part two: Spaemann, Morwenna, and the circle of friends have gathered in Guildford Cathedral with Spaemann arriving shortly after, wearing a robe of plain hessian, with a sword held by the cord tied around his waist. None recognized it as the Sword of Avalon.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Deeper into the forest
As she continued to bask in the watery winter sunshine, Elha the she-wolf, rested. For some time, she slumbered, half asleep but alert to any change in sounds or scents. She was vaguely aware of the sound of crows squabbling and of the tall trees creaking and rustling in the winter breeze. The sun was falling in the sky and dipping toward the horizon. The late winter dusk gathered as the cold surrounded her and spurred her into action. She could rest no longer, dreams or no dreams. She must move on.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
A macabre profession
I crept into the crypt intent upon a grim and grizzly task. Having scaled the walls of the cemetery after darkness and prized open the door to the vault, I crouched just inside, silently waiting and listening for any movement outside. I could hear nothing but the wind in the distant trees and saw no sign that my nocturnal visit had been noticed. Leaving the door open a fraction, I cautiously covered the crack with my coat before lighting a small dip and venturing further inside. I did not want any patrolling rozzer to look through the graveyard gates and notice a flickering light from within.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Learning to fly
It was a crisp Autumn afternoon as I drove past the airport building and around to the side road where the private aircraft were kept. Biggin Hill Airport is a former RAF base just outside of London and you could still see some of the wartime barracks and the airmen’s chapel beside the more modern air terminal. I wasn’t interested in any of that. I was there for a flying lesson. My first ever flying lesson. An 18th birthday present from Mum and Dad.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Dark clouds gather - part two
Continued from part one: As Spaemann arrived home, he saw the jeweled case lying on the table, his black cat, Trinity, curled up before it. The ornate tooled-leather case was a thing of great beauty, adorned with swirling silverwork of breathtaking artistry and encrusted with every shade of gemstone. He marveled as he lifted the lid to reveal the Sword of Avalon.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Burial party at Beckenham Parish Church
Parson William Hogarth stood under cover of the lychgate, awaiting the arrival of the body of dear departed brother Jeremiah Stodart with some foreboding. The family were known to the good people of the Kent hamlet of Beckenham as drunkards and ne’er-do-wells and the affair was as likely to end in an unholy debauch as it was to be a sober and somber interment. It did not help that the heavens had opened up, and the parson’s cassock was subjected to considerable muddy splashings from the wind blowing in the torrential rains.
By Raymond G. Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
