Multiple Word Prompt Poem – In Marble Halls.

I wrote this poem in January, but today’s words of the day are Marble and Opulent and it seemed to fit:



I dream I dwelled within marble halls,

In sunlit splendour with contented sighs

The opulent gilded and painted walls,

Were a glorious feast for tired eyes.

In my sleep, I toss and moan and garble

For though I dream, I sense disaster,

In my dream, the walls are marble,

But in reality, they are but plaster.

I prefer my dreams, for though they lie,

They ease my pain and soothe my heartache

From wakeful worries where critics decry

The consequences of the choices I make.

In marble halls where my demons forsake,

And lie in dreams, from which I will not wake.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 21/January/2019


Today’s word prompts are Marble, Plaster, Dream and Derivative.

These made me recall an old lyric of a song written by Michael William Balfe with the word by Alfred Bunn in the Opera, The Bohemian Girl, written in 1843. It was later arranged and recorded by Enya.

Here are the Lyrics:

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and serfs at my side
And of all who assembled within those walls
That I was the hope and the pride
I had riches too great to count, could boast
Of a high ancestral name
But I also dreamt, which pleased me most
That you loved me still the same
That you loved me, you loved me still the same
That you loved me, you loved me still the same

I dreamt that suitors sought my hand
That knights upon bended knee
And with vows, no maiden heart could withstand
They pledged their faith to me
And I dreamt that one of that noble host
Came forth my hand to claim
But I also dreamt, which charmed me most
That you loved me still the same
That you loved me, you loved me still the same
That you loved me, you loved me still the same


And here is Enya singing it beautifully. 

FOWC with Fandango — Plaster




Sunday Tribute – Happy Sunday.

This week we heard of the death of Peter Talk (or was it last week, gosh the weeks go rolling by don’t they?) and in tribute to him and the fact that it’s Sunday, here are the Monkees singing Pleasant Valley Sunday.

If this link does work, it is rather a ‘Hissy’ recording but hey ho.

Have a great day.




More Relaxing Mood Music

I have been sharing with you some music I like to listen to in order to keep me calm and relaxed. It is a tribute to some great composers who have harnessed the magic of music to change moods and minds.


  1. This is the Adagio from the Concierto De Aranjuez by  Joaquin Rodrigo. This piece really taps into the emotions, it is calm and yet also rouses passion. It also beautifully encapsulates the essence of Spain.

2. By Contrast, this is a beautiful relaxing piece of music by the composer George Butterworth that is quintessentially English – The Banks of Green Willow

3. And it wouldn’t be a relaxing playlist without Enya, – Only Time.


I hope you like my selection.


FOWC with Fandango — Tribute


An Elfchen Challenge – A new creation.

My pal, Mel of the blog Crushed Caramel, has tagged me in a new challenge. See her post below:

Like Mel, I had not heard of an Elfchen. I flippantly thought it was what you got when you crossed an Elf with a Munchkin, possibly with a bit of Oompaloompah thrown in for good measure.

person holiday people cute
Photo by Public Domain Pictures on

Well, if you’d like an excellent explanation of what an elfchen actually is, click on Mel’s post, she explains it beautifully and wrote a lovely one to demonstrate.

Here is my attempt:



Create something

Worthy of adulation.

A tribute to God’s



I think that meets the requirements, and I am also quite chuffed that I have managed to include three of today’s daily prompts. I couldn’t hope for better. (Oh there goes a fourth 😉 )

I have just realised that this is also the challenge for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday’s Writing Challenge! Click the link below if you’d like to take part:

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge February 12, 2019

FOWC with Fandango — Tribute

A Tribute to Chas Hodges of Chas & Dave


A Music legend died yesterday on the 22nd of September 2018. He was 74 years old.

His name was Charles Hodges, (known as Chas) and he was half of a musical Duo that has been around since the late 1970’s, called Chas & Dave.

Chas Hodges and his friend Dave Peacock decided to form a band to write and perform songs in their native Cockney tongue, so if you want to hear what a proper Cockney sounds like, then have a listen.

Their music is a bit like the equivalent of Bluegrass. It is a remnant of a folksy tradition of singing around an old out of tune pub piano that came out of East London.

I don’t expect their music has travelled far afield out of the UK, but in tribute to Chas Hodges, I would like to share a few examples.

This one was their first big hit – Called ‘Gertcha’.


This is another typical example of their music.


And this one is my personal favourite, It’s a little bit more commercial.


It’s called ‘Ain’t no pleasing you.’

Any Rest in Peace Chas Hodges. Thank you for the music.


A tribute to Dame Patricia Routledge – (Still alive, as of this moment).


Most famous for playing Mrs HyacinImage result for patricia routledgeth Bucket in the UK TV Sitcom ‘Keeping Up Appearances’, she delighted us by playing the snobbish and overbearing woman. She was, however, more than just a comic actress. She was also a classically trained opera singer. I wanted to share with you these two clips that show just what she was capable of.

She is also, in real life, a very lovely and natural person, not at all like the character she so successfully portrayed.

I hope you enjoy these… 🙂



Death of a Notable – Murder Mystery, Part Nine

This is the Ninth part of a Murder Mystery that I have been writing. It is supposed to be in the style of the great Agatha Christie. In a way, Mrs Christie has been a mentor. I hope you can see her influence in this work. 

For those of you desperate for the end…we are almost there, I estimate just one more instalment and possibly an epilogue. I hope you are STILL enjoying the story.

This is the first part if you want to read it from the beginning:

At Scotland Yard, Inspector Thorpe was going over with Sergeant Sheldon all the information they had gleaned so far on the Dr Lancaster case. They had a large board up on the wall and had put up a list of all possible suspects, methods and motives with red string used to connect each combination, however likely or unlikely. When it came to the motives the Inspector had to admit they were a little but slack. One possible motive was that Mrs Winthrop had been having an affair with the deceased and her husband, in a fit of jealousy, poisoned the fellow. However, Mr Winthrop’s whereabouts on the evening had been thoroughly checked and he had a cast iron alibi in the pretty form of Miss Virginia Colt, an actress at the Dominion theatre.

Sergeant Sheldon gave a yawn, he wasn’t naturally a morning person.

At that moment there was a knock at the door and one of the forensic officers came in.

“We’ve tested the soup Sir. We took samples from the tureen and his own bowl. No trace of poison in either of them.”

“How about the bit that was spilled on the table-cloth? Did you take a sample of that?”

“Yes sir. It came back negative too.”

“Thanks Hoskins, leave the report with me. So, Sheldon, it wasn’t in the soup after all. What do you say to that then?”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me Sir. Not at all. What shall we do now?”

There was a slight gleam in his droopy, brown eyes as he replied to Sergeant Sheldon.

“Give Mrs Atwood a call and ask her if she would please come and help us with our enquiries at her earliest convenience.”


Audrey Patterson was just enjoying some marmalade on toast with her morning coffee, her husband having just gone to work, when the door bell rang. Tutting to herself, she put the toast down and got up to answer the door. They were quite comfortably well off, but unlike some of her friends, they just couldn’t run to having a lot of domestic staff. She had a Cook and a woman who came in to clean twice a week and that’s all that finances would allow. Lacking that tower of strength, the Butler, Mrs Patterson answered the door herself.

On the doorstep were two men. They were smartly dressed in black suits and brightly polished shoes.

“Excuse me, are you Mrs Audrey Patterson?” One of the men asked in deep tones.

“Yes, I am.” She replied, a little hesitantly. They didn’t look like they were selling anything, but they could suddenly produce the latest model of a vacuum cleaner and begin a demonstration at any moment. She’d had quite enough of that sort of thing.

“Can we come in for a minute? We have something important to speak to you about.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t need anything at the moment thank you.” She attempted to close the door, but one of them had put his foot in the way.

“We really must Insist on speaking to you Mrs Patterson.” Said the other man rather menacingly.

Stepping backwards, she walked into her hallway. The two men followed her in and closed the door behind them.


In a very plain interview room at Scotland Yard, Inspector Thorpe was sitting at a small desk. Next to him was Constable Chapman, efficiently taking notes in her notebook. Opposite sat Mrs Patricia Atwood, who was not really looking her best. Her dark grey dress was utilitarian but not really fashionable. Her make up looked as though it had been applied in a rush. Her painted on eyebrows didn’t quite match.

Inspector Thorpe used his silence method to see how Mrs Atwood would respond.

The sound of the clock ticking on the wall seemed to echo around the room, becoming almost like the chimes of Big Ben. Mrs Atwood didn’t break the silence, but her manner became more agitated as she fidgeted in her chair and twisted a silk handkerchief in her hands.

Suddenly, the Inspector asked “So, I understand you are teetotal Mrs Atwood.”

Taken by surprise, Mrs Atwood replied “Oh, erm, yes. I was brought up a strict Methodist. I never touch alcohol; not a drop.”

“Then why did you ask Hargreaves for a margarita. He told us you had one.”

“Oh, I was just being polite. It seemed like the thing to do. Didn’t want to cause any upset. I didn’t drink it.”

Her voice was quavering, she looked a little moist on her forehead and around the eyes. Of course, ladies don’t sweat, they glow. It looked like Mrs Atwood was starting to glow quite badly.

“But you upset Dr Lancaster’s cocktail, didn’t you? Why did you put Strychnine in your glass?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t. That’s preposterous.”

“Ah, but you see, you were seen doing it.”

Mrs Atwood looked up suddenly and her eyes widened. Her voice was rather hoarse.

“No one could have seen me. No one was looking, I was too quick. I…”

“Would you like to make a statement now Mrs Atwood, or would you rather wait until you have a Solicitor present?”

“I don’t want to say anything.”

Constable Chapman read Mrs Atwood her rights and detained her into custody.

Inspector Thorpe felt satisfied with himself. Of course, she was right, no one had actually seen her, but he had seen her in his own mind. It was a powerful thing, your imagination, when presented with all the facts, it often filled in the gaps for you. It wouldn’t, of course, be admissible in court, unless you got them to confess though. The Inspector went back to his office and as it was getting quite late, he prepared his report ready to file the next day.

Later, just as the Inspector walked towards his car, he was suddenly aware of two figures approaching him in rather a suspicious way. He turned towards them but one of them managed to get behind him and he felt a hard whack on the back of his head and he fell forwards, his head spinning. He was vaguely aware of being carried into the back of a dark van when he lost consciousness.


End of Part Nine….

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 05/May/2018


Death of a Notable – Murder Mystery, Part EIGHT

This is the Eighth part of a Murder Mystery that I have been writing. It is supposed to be in the style of the great Agatha Christie.

For those of you desperate for the end…we are almost there, I estimate just one or two more instalments. I hope you are STILL enjoying the story.

This is the first part if you want to read it from the beginning:


Mrs Patterson arrived in the afternoon. She looked much the same as before; an air of daring action about her. Perhaps a bit less fancy in her attire than the last time they’d met. She was wearing a smart brown jacket and skirt with a black roll neck sweater that set off her row of pearls nicely. She had on a matching brown pillbox hat with a black bow. As ever, it was her personality that shone through. Her cheeks had a pink flush, entirely natural, and she leaned forward in the chair she’d been invited to sit in.

The Inspector appraised her. He also deliberately didn’t say anything at first. It was a technique he liked to use. If someone has something to hide, the silence became deafening and most people just have to fill it.

Mrs Patterson just looked at the Inspector and said “Well? Your Sergeant said you wanted to see me. I presume that I was right, it was Strychnine wasn’t it? That’s why you’ve called me in, isn’t it?”

“How did you know it was Strychnine Mrs Patterson?”

“I knew it! I just knew it was, because of the contorted body and his face went purple, it was quite disfigured. I’ve read that Strychnine does that. Whereas Cyanide tends to smell like bitter almonds.”

“Where did you read that Mrs Patterson?”

“Oh, in my Agatha Christie books, of course. I am such a fan. Do you read Agatha Christie? You should, in your profession, you’d get lots of excellent tips. So, thank you for calling me in and telling me.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Did you see anyone drop anything into his soup, perhaps?”

“No, I didn’t see anything like that Inspector. I’m sorry I don’t know anything else.”

“Thank you, Mrs Patterson you can go now.”

Just as he got up to shake her hand, she turned and saw the bottle of Whisky he kept on his desk, for medicinal purposes, of course. Then she let out a little gasp.

“Are you all right Mrs Patterson?”

“Oh, I’ve just remembered something odd. Really quite strange now I come to think of it. Patricia was drinking Margaritas.”

“Why is that strange, they’re quite popular aren’t they?”

“Yes, but Patricia’s teetotal! That is the only time I have seen her with a drink in her hand. Unless it was tea or coffee. How very odd.”

“Thank you, Mrs Patterson, you’ve been a great help. I would appreciate it if you kept what you have told me to yourself for the moment. It may be absolutely nothing but it may be important.”

Inspector Thorpe rubbed his hands together, he finally felt he was getting somewhere.



Later, that evening, at Number 12 Cavendish Square, Mayfair, a domestic argument was taking place between Mr Algernon Winthrop and his Wife. Actually, Dorothy Winthrop was calmly looking at herself in the mirror and applying a cyclamen pink lipstick to her pouted lips. Her Husband however was talking in a rather agitated manner and at the same time trying to put on a bow tie.

“I have just given that Maid, Alice, the sack. She wasn’t doing her job properly, and I think she’s stolen my grey suit. I haven’t seen it since last Thursday.”

“Alice was the name of the last maid dear, you know, the one who left us rather suddenly and we agreed to tell everyone she left to get married?”

Mr Winthrop calmed down a little bit at the reminder of his past domestic indiscretions. His wife had been a tower of strength during that little ordeal. There could have been a terrible scandal if she had decided to divorce him.

“I wanted to say, old thing, how sorry I was about that Doctor chap. I know you were rather keen on him. Are you terribly cut up about it?”

Mrs Winthrop turned to look at her husband. He really was rather a dear. He had such an innocent mind. She was shaken at what happened, of course. It was a nasty shock. Should she tell her husband the truth, that there wasn’t anything really between them, or should she milk the jealousy for all it was worth? She could do with a new gown, this mauve satin one was so old fashioned. She’d get a bright red one next; scarlet or Crimson, she enjoyed playing on her husband’s guilt, or his jealousy.

Getting up from her dressing table, she helped her husband with his bow tie.

“Come on Darling, we’ll be late for dinner. Gerry and Jocelyn won’t invite us again if we’re too late.”

“Don’t worry about that dear. We’ve never been so popular since we had someone die under suspicious circumstances. Everyone seems to want to know the details.”

“Well I just hope they clear the matter up soon. We may have been invited out to dinner a lot recently, but no one’s been accepting our invitations. We may end up social pariah’s if they don’t get to the bottom of it soon.”


At number 37 Lorrimer Park Crescent, Chelsea, Mrs Audrey Patterson was waxing lyrical to her husband.

“You know this whole thing is completely fascinating. Something is definitely wrong. That young man for instance, I know I am a little rusty when it comes to science and at the time I wasn’t really paying much attention, but I’d swear now that most of what he was talking about was quite wrong. It’s very odd. Now I look back, nothing was really as it should be. There was Jane Courtney who was as much an empty-headed nitwit as usual, but can anyone really be that vacuous? Then my hostess, Dolly Winthrop, she used to be an actress you remember and she always seems to be playing a part somehow. Now Patricia Atwood, she’s the quiet one, and it’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch. I can’t forget that image of her in my head, standing there with a margarita in her hand!”

Mr Patterson looked up at his wife, a mixture of mild adoration and concern in his eyes. She always got herself worked up like this. Her imagination was limitless. Calmly he said “Look, love, I would put all this out of your head if I were you. There’s something about this business I really don’t like and I would hate to see anything happen to you. Keep your head down Audrey.”

She looked back at him and smiled. He really was a darling man, a bit dull perhaps, but a darling all the same.

End of Part Eight….


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 04/May/2018

Death of a Notable – A Murder Mystery.

“Won’t you come to dinner next Thursday? I’ve got Jeremy Lancaster coming” Blathered Mrs Winthrop to the other ladies in the lunch club.

“Sorry Dolly, but who is Jeremy Lancaster?” Replied Mrs Patterson.

“Oh My Dear, don’t you know? He is a most notable person. He’s been entertained at court.” 

“I’ve heard of him, Isn’t he that chap whose frightfully clever and invents things?” Said Mrs Courtney. 

“My husband was only talking about him the other day. Apparently the government had offered him a fortune to come and work for the War office but he turned them down flat.” Said Mrs Atwood whose husband was high up in government circles but she couldn’t talk about it, it was all very hush-hush. 

“All right, Dinner at yours next Thursday then. Shall we bring our menfolk?” Said Mrs Patterson.

“No, let’s make it Ladies only. Tell the men we’re playing bridge and they’d only be bored. They always take over the conversation and I want to thoroughly quiz our most notable quest” 

So it was all arranged that Audrey Patterson, Jane Courtney and Patricia Atwood would come to dine with Dolly Winthrop the following Thursday and meet this illustrious person of such note. 

At Seven o’clock on the dot Audrey Patterson arrived in her black sequined evening gown and gold lame cape at the steps to number 12 Cavendish Square, Mayfair. She knocked on the big black doors and they were promptly answered by the Butler, Hargreaves. Hargreaves was his usual taciturn self. He was tall and thin with short grey hair regimentally parted and was wearing the standard black tail-coat over striped grey waistcoat and trousers. She was shown into the main drawing-room to be welcomed by her hostess. Dolly Winthrop was wearing her mauve satin floor length gown. She really didn’t have the figure for satin, it showed every unsightly bulge from bosom to her copious back side. 

Audrey always thought Satin was the sole province of the young and svelte, not middle-aged ladies like them. Still Dolly had the guts to carry it off without a care. Dolly had been talking to a young man dressed in a grey suit, more suitable for day wear than evening. He had blond hair and black round framed glasses on a beak-like nose. Dolly broke off her conversation to greet her warmly.

“Audrey dear, so nice of you to be so prompt. The others haven’t arrived yet. My goodness but the clock is still chiming seven now.”

“Well you know me Dolly, I hate being late and I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Please let me introduce you to our illustrious guest, Mrs Audrey Patterson, this is Mr Jeremy Lancaster.”

“Doctor, actually. I have a doctorate in mechanical engineering” said Jeremy Lancaster as he gently shook her hand.

He twitched slightly and had an awkward manner. He seemed to be nervous of something. He reminded Audrey of someone on the edge of a nervous breakdown and very slightly unhinged.

Dolly had a rather tight look around the corners of her eyes, probably not liking to be so forthrightly corrected on his exact title by her guest.

Gradually one by one each of the remaining guests arrived each bedecked in their finest gowns of various hues and fabrics. Dolly had been the only one brave enough to wear satin.

Hargreaves had dutifully provided each of them with a pre-dinner cocktail and the conversation was gently effervescing. Except for Dr Lancaster, who seemed to lack the wit or inclination for small-talk. Without pre-amble he would launch into applied metaphysics without stopping to appreciate the rather overwhelmed countenance of his companion. Audrey herself had studied chemistry and had worked in a laboratory, long before her marriage of course, and so she could hold up something of a conversation with the rather clumsy young man.

The Dinner gong sounded and Hargreaves entered the drawing-room and announced in impeccably refined tones.

“Dinner is served.”

Dolly and Dr Lancaster entered the Dining room, Dolly sat at the head of the table and indicated that Dr Lancaster should sit at her right hand. The others sat randomly being rescued from the normal formality of having to go ‘boy, girl’ around that table being thankfully free for Males, with the exception of Dr Lancaster.

Audrey sat on Dolly’s left, opposite the good Doctor, with Patricia Atwood on his right and Jane Courtney on her left. They left abandoned the chair at the other end of the table in deference to Dolly’s dear husband who was probably at that moment hovering outside the back door of one of London’s theatres. Dolly didn’t complain, after all that’s where she’d met him, in her younger and slimmer days.

Hargreaves and one of the maids whose name she’d never bothered to learn began serving the beef consommé soup.

Dr Lancaster looked rather forlornly at his soup. Mrs Winthrop picked up on his expression immediately.

“Is there a problem with the soup Dr Lancaster?”

“I am sorry Mrs Winthrop, I should have told you, I’m afraid I don’t eat meat. It is a very strict rule of mine.”

“Hargreaves? Do we have any alternative soup for Dr Lancaster? He is a vegetarian.”

“Yes My Lady, I believe we still have some of yesterday’s mushroom soup, it should still be acceptable.”

“That will do nicely, thank you Hargreaves”

With an unreadable expression, Hargreaves removed the offending soup and in a surprisingly short time replaced with a dull grey soup of the mushroom variety.

Then began the rather entertaining ‘synchronised soup eating ritual’ as each person moved their spoons through their soup and to their lips in almost perfect harmony.

Dr Lancaster rather let the side down as he was several beats too fast. Then with a cough, he dropped his spoon into his soup, splashing some of its contents onto the pristine white cloth.

“Please excuse me.” Croaked Dr Lancaster, as he struggled to breathe between bouts of coughing. He was turning a nasty shade of purple.

He stumbled out of the room into the hall, then rather alarmingly he collapsed to the floor choking and kicking his feet.

“Quick Hargreaves, call an ambulance!” Cried Dolly Winthrop, but it was too late. It was abundantly clear the notable young man was dead.

The End…..Or is it?

I have now written another part of this story…


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 27/April/2018


via Daily Prompt: Notable

Remembering Beethoven

Today is the anniversary of the death of Ludwig Van Beethoven. One of the most inspirational and brilliant composers who has ever graced this earth. Who’s legacy still remains to enrich our lives and lift our hearts.

Ludwig Van Beethoven died on the 26th of March 1827 at the age of just 56. 

Although this was 191 years ago and therefore not a nice rounded number since his demise, his importance is such that this does not diminish the fact that remembering him today is worth while.

He was born on the 17th of December 1770 in Bonn, the city that at the time was the capital of the electorate of Cologne and of course this city became the capital of West Germany during the time of Germany’s unfortunate, but thankfully temporary, split.

In around 1790/91 he moved to the City of Vienna, such a bastion of musical enlightenment which includes Mozart and Haydn (among others) in its repertoire of musical notables that called Vienna home. 

Beethoven’s musical genius gave us the fantastic and inspiring 5th Symphony where the repeated notes (Duh, duh, duh, Dum) recall the knocking of opportunity, that sound that supposedly knocks for all of us at one stage of our lives and we ignore it at our peril.

He gave us the Moonlight Sonata and the piece known as Fur Elise, which are both staple diets for the practising pianists even to this day. 

He also gave us one of my absolute favourite pieces of music. His 6th Symphony, affectionately named The Pastoral Symphony.

He also left us many interesting quotes, although probably not as many as are attributed to him on social media that latch on to any name of the past to aggrandize a notable witticism. 

He said “Music is a higher revelation than philosophy”.

I think it can certainly be claimed that music and philosophy go hand in hand in inspiring our soul and lifting our spirits.

He said “Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.” 

What could be more true and appropriate?

He said “To play a wrong note is insignificant but to play without passion is inexcusable.”

This should apply just as much to life itself. We should grab the opportunity knocking and don’t stop to fear a wrong note, or mistake along the path, we should just enjoy life with a passion. No Life lead with a passion could ever be called a failure. 

Finally, on his deathbed, he apparently said “Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.”

“Applaud, my friends, the comedy is over.”

Well, my friend, we have never stopped Applauding.

Bravo, Beethoven, Bravo!


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 26/March/2018