Creative Writing Group

Welcome to The Creative Writing Group of the Sundial Centre. A small but enthusiastic group of writers currently compiling a major publication soon to be released on the unprepared world. (It is hoped that the book should be completed and on sale by the end of the year) Keep an eye on this page for updates.

Note from Mr. Bloggy: As the nuttiest member of the Creative Writers Group here at Sundial, I am discombobulated to be a part of the creation of this blog site.

The Writers Group consist of:

Janwillum van Den Bosch – Our Tutor

Mark for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Documentaries

Sally – The prolific Poet

Dorothy -  Writer with many stories to tell.

Anne – Story Writer with lots of memories

SAMPLES OF OUR WORKS:

THE HOSPITAL TOUR

By Mark Mapstone

When I first received my invitation to the tour, I was a little surprised. Why me I wondered. But I knew I couldn’t resist going.

The reception area was surprisingly quiet. As I signed the visitor’s book, I was given a sticky lapel label with my name on, which I put to its use.

I had only just arrived in time, and so was directed into a side room, where there were half a dozen others, also wearing their labels, and a young lady in hospital blues came out from the far double doors.

She introduced herself as Sandra, a surgery nurse, and gave us a rough outline of the tour on which we were about to embark.  She started by explaining that we were currently in the triage room, where patients will be prioritised, with the more life threatening cases being seen first. The room was spotless, almost like a small doctor’s surgery, with a desk and a large examination table.

We were then led through the double doors at the far end of the room, which led into what was a surgery scrub area. There wasn’t much more than a raised steel trough on the right, with half a dozen long-levered taps above, and with liquid dispensers between the taps. On the left was a bank of lockers and shelving containing sterile clothing for surgery teams. Sandra took a box from the second cupboard, and handed everyone a small pack containing thin blue plastic shoe covers, which she asked us to put on over our shoes. While we were doing so, she explained that once operational, this was as far as an unsterile person could go (other than the patient!}. Once we were all correctly shod, she led us across the scrub room, through an automatically opening door. On the other side of the door, we were welcomed to the anaesthetic room. This is where things started looking a bit different. On our left, was a huge assortment of plastic and rubber tubes and gadgets, all in their individual sealed packets. Arranged along the far wall was an assortment of anaesthetic machines. On a rack to the right was a large assortment of gas cylinders, of all colours and sizes. The dominating item in this room was the steel table in the middle. It was at least eight-foot square. Just when we were about to move on, Sandra pointed out the feature that we had all missed. In the ceiling, there was a trackway running from the double doors on our right to the centre of the table. It then changed direction ninety degrees and led out through the doors in front of us, to the next room, and we all followed it.

It was almost blinding. Everything was bright white, from the tiles on the floor, to the ones in the ceiling. In the middle of the room was an enormous white operating table, above which, attached to the trackway, is a white, clearly sterilised, pulley system, complete with strong chains and straps. On each corner of the operating table is an array of lights. Arranged all around the room every machine known to surgery was sitting patiently to attention, ready for use. This theatre would put almost any operating theatre in the country to shame. Once we had listened to the spiel given out by our guide, we moved on to the next room. Recovery.

This was where things certainly looked different to a normal surgery. Instead of rows of beds, there were at least twenty large, spacious, stalls, each allowing a patient to be supported using several means, leaving sufficient space for vets, students and nurses to work on them. Each stall had individual gas and oxygen supplies, and a small food basket, which was empty at the moment, as well as its own terminal to the overhead trackway.

After a short tour of a stall, we were all led through a small side door, where there were drinks and snacks laid out for us. Whilst drinking our teas and coffees, and eating our vegetarian snacks, everybody was pretty well saying the same thing. We all hoped if we were ever taken ill to the point that we needed surgery that our hospital operating theatre is as good as this service is for our horses.

THE END