This post is for the Writing Workshop a great invention fo Josie’s over at Sleep is for the Weak. I have used a couple of posts for this piece – Prompt 4 – a strong childhood memory & Promp 5- Storm



As it comes from water, I suppose it can be classed as  one of the four elements. It can bring life but it can turn & bring devastation. If you live in an area where you are a victim to all the elements then I expect you could fear it.

My story is about the fear I had. I didn’t live in the tropics or in the southern areas of the USA  or anywhere else where you have to factor the weather to your life beyond taking an umbrella if it looks a bit over cast.  I lived in England & I was about 12 I think. My memory is like many – loses great swathes of details but brings back those tiny vibrant pieces that stay for a life time. This is one such memory.

My next-door neighbour was Nigel & he was like an older brother which came in very useful for going on trips that I was just that bit too young to go on my own. He would take me to the ‘pictures’ or to the theatre to see many of the up & coming stars like Cilla Black & Dell Shannon.

I can’t remember what the purpose of this particular trip was but we’d had a good time & were making our way to the bus station to get the bus home. I suspect it might have been the cinema because it was daylight when we went in & a typical dark, miserable November evening was setting in when we came out.

It had started raining as we came out & I remember being a little nervous. My relationship with Nigel was not the sort that would allow me to hold his hand & anyway it was only going to be a shower. By the time we got to the bus station, it was pouring. You know the sort of rain that from nothing suddenly becomes torrential like stair rods, hurting your face as it falls.  That’s when the terror took over. I started to cry. Nigel asked what the matter was but was clearly uncomfortable at the thought of providing some support. For goodness sake, people will wonder what is going on!

It felt like the bus station was the only place of sanctuary in the world. Lots of people cramming themselves under a concrete awning to get some shelter from the increasingly persistent downpour.

My tears kept falling & my terror increased. I started screaming. They were almost in time with the torrent that we were looking out on. Nigel was beside himself with awkwardness & embarrassment. People around were beginning to look our way & one asked him if I was OK. What had happened? Had I hurt myself?

The poor lad was totally at a loss as to what to do with this heaving body producing almost as much water as the weather.

As often happens with those sharp showers the rain started to ease. It soon changed from an angry monster to a docile pet. With the stopping of the rain, so my tears stopped. I was calm enough to get on the bus & we travelled home in silence. When we got home & I thanked Nigel & went indoors. My mother asked about the trip & I just said that it had to started to rain. She went next door to explain to Nigel.

We didn’t know where it had come from, this fear of heavy rain. The only memory I have is of someone telling the story of Noah’s Ark but adding a warning – that it would happen again!


Post Script: My memory will not allow me to know when this fear subsided but thankfully it did. I remember snatches of visits to experts but nothing of any real consequence.

Now do pop over & read some of the others – Sleep is for the Weak

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