In the beginning

I began writing three years ago when hearing loss forced me to retire from teaching drama. It also meant I had to give up acting at the Little Theatre company I had belonged to for forty years. Having used the words of others in both of these capacities I decided to attempt to fill this enormous gap by penning some words of my own. I was lucky enough to find a brilliant creative writing group with a wonderful teacher and I now write each day. My newfound hobby has become something of an addiction! It seems sensible to put all my work in one place – hence this blog!


CRASH by J.M.Hulme


On a miserable, wet, Monday morning a thoughtless driver unwittingly causes an accident involving several vehicles. He drives away oblivious to the carnage he has caused behind him. However, his actions have been recorded on camera.

After the accident people are forced to take stock, resulting in radicle changes to their lives. For some the changes are positive, for others tragic.

Tensions build as one person takes their own life and another stands trial for murder.


CRASH! by J.M.Hulme


Becoming a published author is a dream come true – and it is also a little frightening. In my poem below I try to put into words my feelings.

Today I glow

My seeds unleashed take on new form in others eyes

Pages now exposed burst into life

The embryo fashioned in my mind  becomes real

Figments of my imagination live afresh, are reshaped.

Loved, loathed, laughed at, they rise,

Explain their problems, tell their stories.

Today I glow, as from the page my child is born.

Let’s Kick Bullying Out!



There’s something wrong with Danny, he’s become withdrawn,

He used to be so happy, now he seems forlorn.

Perhaps its the age he’s going through – we used to be so close,

He shuts himself away in his bedroom, appearing morose.

I only want to help him. I’m not trying to intrude

But if I ask a question he can become quite rude.


I can’t tell anyone and I don’t want to worry Mum

If I did it would only make it worse.

I don’t want to go to school. Why are they all so cruel?

What have I done to deserve this curse?

Today they tied me to a tree – used me as a target – threw mud at me.

I hear their laughter in my head each night as I lie in bed.

There’s someone watching from afar, knowing it’s not right,

Yet they don’t want to get involved, to help me in my plight.

Why won’t they stop them – be my friend? Why won’t they help make my agony end?

I just want to lie down and die – not pathetically cry.

People say, ‘Stand your ground, when you see the advancing crowd.’

But when its only you, you can’t!

They advise, ‘Tell the teacher of your class’, yet if you do they call you a grass.

I really don’t know what to do – no one knows what I’m going through,

No one cares how I feel inside.


Why did I let it happen? Perhaps I should have seen.

Maybe I could have done more for the lad,

But I didn’t realise it had got that bad!

I must share the blame. Its my job to protect –

Yet I’ve so much to do – I can’t be perfect!


It was only a bit of fun – a laugh to put on Twitter,

It wasn’t our fault he was so soft, or that he was a quitter.

He just let it happen; we didn’t inflict any pain,

We didn’t know he’d take his own life, that he wouldn’t play our game.


Today we are assembled to mourn the loss of Dan,

A lovely young boy – who will now never grow to become a lovely young man.

Many of you sitting here saw what he went through

And you’ll be asking of yourself, ‘Was there anything I could do?’

To stand aside – to see it happen – means we are all held to account.

Let’s hope we’ve learnt our lesson –

And let’s kick bullying out!


Dramatic – thoughts!

Today I am saddened as I read there are 1,700 fewer drama teachers in the UK than there were eight years ago. As a retired drama teacher I worry our children are getting a raw deal. I am not knocking our government, because this problem has been going on for years.

As soon as it is realised that drama benefits are for all – not just would-be actors – so much the better!

Although some children I taught went on to drama schools, most pursued other careers.

We live in an age when computers have become our chosen form of communication. Verbal communication seems to have been down graded, dismissed as if of no importance.

On the same day as reading about the drop in drama teacher numbers, I read how private Improvisation classes are helping those suffering with anxiety.

Perhaps if drama and improvisation were taught from an early age, anxiety would be lessoned and stressful life situations, found so difficult, could be explored and understood within a safe environment, before they become out of our control.

Such classes should not be available only to the chosen few! It is the responsibility of the government – of which ever political persuasion – to be aware of this subjects value!


I put flowers on their graves today


I put flowers on their graves today,

Recapturing Christmases past.

I recall decorating the house on Christmas Eve

Feeling excitement dancing inside – Hearing over exuberant children calling.

Now parents themselves looking to amuse their own

Creating new memories.

As life goes on.


Taking out decorations

Trigger more reflections – visions flooding my brain

More magical moments,

Images I can’t let go –

Won’t let go!

The singing snowman

‘Mr White Christmas’.

Santa sacks – now torn and threadbare

The warm smell of home-made fudge.

Sights, sounds, smells –

Christmas past.

Yet, also Christmas present!

Memories won’t stand still.

This year more will be made,

More to delight and treasure for our tomorrows.

I put flowers on their graves today.


Tomorrow is another day.


The bubbly blond with the big heart came rushing into the hospital, crashing through the doors in her haste not to be late again!

‘Please don’t let there be another ticking off from Matron!’ she thought.

The diminutive nurse took the lift and made her way up to Neurosurgery, where she walked briskly across to the nurse’s station. Her stomach felt less than secure after a night on the tiles and she hoped she’d be able to keep its contents from leaving her. Not a good image to have a nurse vomiting all over their bed.

‘Ugh! Never, never again!’ She told herself for the umpteenth time.

She passed Mrs. Bennett’s bed and waved a hand in her direction.

‘You look as if you should be in my bed my dear – another heavy night was it!’

Cathy put a hand on her stomach and pulled a face displaying to the lady she was right. ‘Oh god, even the patients know about my indulgent life-style! I must put my social life on hold for a bit!’ she chided herslf.


The deep thunderous voice of Matron echoed around the ward! Cathy took a deep breath. Oh well, here goes!

‘Nurse Jackson! Thank you for eventually dragging yourself into work, particularly as you’re not feeling up to the mark I see!’

‘I’m sorry I’m late Matron’ she stammered.

Matron’s beady eyes scanned Cathy Jackson.

‘Maybe you should first visit the Ladies Room and tidy yourself up. Apply a little blusher; it will make you look more like a nurse and less like a patient. When you’ve done that perhaps you will do me the honour of visiting me in my office.’

Matron actually rather liked Nurse Jackson. She reminded her of herself many years ago, before the NHS had knocked all the stuffing out of her. Nurses, she felt, needed to be spirited as well as caring to successfully deal with patients and all the problems that their treatment put before them. However she wasn’t going to tell Nurse Jackson that!

In the corridor outside the Ladies Room Cathy bumped into Doctor Green – or Mike as she knew him outside the hospital grounds. Her heart missed a beat – she’d give him bed room any time!

‘Good morning Nurse Jackson – in a hurry?’

‘Yes, late again I’m afraid Doctor Green. I’ve just been sent to tidy myself up before going to get a dressing down from Matron.’

‘You need to learn to pace yourself Nurse,’ he laughed, as she hurriedly disappeared into the washroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Ugh! Matron was right, she did look a sight. She certainly wouldn’t be whispering sweet nothings into Doctor Green’s ear looking like this!

Having spruced herself up she went to knock on Matron’s door to hear her fate – and after being well and truly disciplined she was given her duties for the day. She went across to bed 4 – Mrs Brenda Milburn – who was looking pale and worried as she fixed her eyes on the lights in the ceiling, her mind a million miles away.

‘How are you feeling today Brenda?’ she asked.

Brenda looked across at Cathy, seemingly confused as she came back down to earth, leaving her far away thoughts on the ceiling.

‘You’re having your Op tomorrow, aren’t you? Is anything worrying you?’

Mrs M nodded.

‘Can you advise me, my dear?Should something happen during the operation I don’t wish to be resuscitated.  Is there a form I need to sign for that?’

‘Nothing will go wrong!’ assured Cathy.

‘But if it does, I want to be prepared.’

‘I’ll get someone to come across and explain everything to you – but I’m sure you’re worrying unnecessarily! What’s made you feel like this?’

‘I’ve always been very independent, my dear. I don’t want to spend the days I have left having to be looked after. I would rather take the wonderful life I’ve had and leave it at that. I don’t want to be a burden to my family. I’ve had a good life and I want them to have the same – I don’t intend being the one to spoil it for them.’

Cathy squeezed Mrs. M’s hand.

‘I’m quite sure you’d never do that! From what I’ve seen they love you very much!’

‘That’s exactly why I need to do this. They do love me and would want to do all they could for me. I want to spare them that. If I don’t sign that form – and if it did happen that the children were put in the position of having to pull the plug – that would be unbearable for them! Can you imagine their guilt? Better it’s me than one of them.’

‘I’ll send someone to talk to you.’

Cathy was troubled. In a way she could sympathise with her patient. She’d seen, only too often, worn out carers trying to do their best for their parents.

Mike had just come onto the ward and she told him of Mrs. Milburn’s worries.

‘She wants to sign a DNR Mike. Can you speak to her? I didn’t know how to advise her.’

Mike walked across to Mrs M and Cathy watched as she once again explained what she wanted. He sat by her bed and talked to her, answering the questions she posed to him. Eventually he rose and came back to speak to Cathy.

‘Give her a minute or two and then go across and see if she took it all in – see if she’s understood what I told her. She’s a frightened lady trying to hide her emotions. Just give her time to absorb what I said.’

Cathy nodded.

‘Does she still want to sign the DNR form?’

‘Yes. She seems determined. Let’s hope her operation goes well and we don’t have to abide by it.’

At the end of a long shift Cathy went home to her little flat. She couldn’t get Mrs M off her mind. This was new to her. Most patients were only too happy to know the doctors would do everything they could to save them! She sat thinking. Would she also want to make this decision – could she be unselfish enough to ask for it? How will Mrs. M’s children feel when they know her wishes? Cathy knew she would always want be there for her mom – but will her mom always want her to be?

And WHY! Why did the poor lady have to make this decision now? Why couldn’t she just sign a form saying she wants out if or when her quality of life becomes too hard to accept? Why couldn’t they just give her a lethal injection then, if her suffering became too much for her? Why had she been driven to make this choice before anyone knew the outcome of her operation? Sometimes a heart can stop beating during an operation but often it resolves itself within a few days. The law had taken this option away from her. How could it possibly allow people to choose to end their life via a DNR but not to choose to stop the medication they need to survive when life becomes intolerable! As long as the patient was of sound mind and it was their decision, what was the difference?

When she arrived at the hospital next morning Mrs. Milburn had already been taken up to theatre and hadn’t returned by the time Cathy had finished her shift.

When she saw Mike later in the bar, he was laughing and joking, obviously the life and soul of the little group that stood about him. He saw her watching him and sent across one of his dazzling smiles. She wanted to go and ask him how things had gone with Mrs. M’s op but knew better than to ‘talk work’ with a group of medics out enjoying themselves. She’d wait until tomorrow.

She decided she didn’t want any more to drink and made her excuses to leave her group of friends. Somehow she didn’t feel like socialising tonight. As she got to the door an arm reached across her shoulder and pushed it open for her. She looked up surprised to see Mike standing behind her.

‘Had enough already?’ he asked cheerily.

‘Yes, not in the mood tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

To her surprise he followed her outside.

‘She didn’t make it Cath. I had to stand back and let her go.’

They stood in the drizzling rain, lit by a pool of street light.

‘I’m sorry Mike,’ she whispered.

‘It happens! We have to pick ourselves up. We can’t dwell on it. As they say, ‘tomorrow is another day.’

She nodded, understanding now that his life and soul mood at the bar was there to protect him, to protect him from getting too close – from feeling too much.

‘Do you fancy going for a bite to eat, I’m starving,’ he said jovially, apparently back to his old bon homme self.

‘That would be great!’ she replied.

Perhaps she would be hearing those sweet nothings after all!