Colorful Book Spines

Debbie Chase - Writing is Good
A Bit About Me

My name is Debbie Spink (writing name Debbie Chase) and I have been writing for many years now.  Since I began writing I have achieved a Certificate in Writing for Children, Diploma in Copywriting, Diploma in Romance Writing and Editor's Choice Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry.

I have self published four novels which are available to buy on Amazon and other online book stores, these are, “You to Me Are Everything,” a novel part fact/part fiction, “I Wasn’t There,” a book of poetry, “The Confessions of a Pet Sitter” and “What a Catastrophe (Teddy’s Tale), both children’s books, although many of my adult friends have enjoyed them too.

I have had several pocket novels published with My Weekly magazine, DC Thomson & Co, “Planning on Love,” and “Romance on the Run,” and "Puppy Love" which was published in April 2021. Another pocket novel "Esther Baby" was published in August 2021 as well as "The Doppelganger" (renamed "Double Trouble") which was published in October 2021.  Another pocket novel "The Crying Game" is to be published in May 2022. World Castle Publishing in Florida have published four of my novels “Educating Maggie," "A Step Back in Time," "Ruby Tuesday," and my latest one "The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage," published on 6 December. Please visit their website at

I have also had many children’s and adult’s short stories published in magazines (Girl Talk and Fiction Feast) and many poems published in books and magazines.

Customer Review for "What a Catastrophe (Teddy's Tale) - 

"This book is a joy to read and is well-written and quite amusing at times!"

Customer Reviews for "The Confessions of a Pet Sitter" - "Well written book, great for animal lovers. Couldn't wait to read on to see what happened next."​

"If only they could talk! This book is a refreshing change from wizards & ideal for any animal loving children."

Customer Reviews for "You to me Are Everything" - 

"This is a really good book by a new writer - I think this book would strike a chord with most women. It deals with the death of a child, the affair of a husband and a teenager's first love. Very sad but at times very funny too!"

"I loved this book from beginning to end. The women in the story feel like living characters: their dilemmas, their choices, are totally believable, and as in life, it's not always obvious what the right path is to take. So I'm really rooting for them, I care what happens to them.

The book is a set of three first person narratives, by three women of different generations. There are a number of leaps backwards and forwards in time, it's not done in a confusing way though, and the narrative keeps its flow and its cohesion. Generally the structure is very well done. I would have liked a bit more of Jessie, as it's only in the final section that we become fully engaged with her story, but maybe I just need to read the sequel !

The author's command of the multiple interlocking storylines with her large cast of characters is impressive, and I particularly love the way that she gives us a soundtrack to each period that she writes about, by referencing songs that were in the charts at the time.

In contrast to the realism of the storytelling, we're presented with a symmetry in the three storylines: three accidental pregnancies for three 17 year old girls, who all have big decisions to make. Why the similarities in the stories, what's going on here ? One way of answering this would be to say that what's important here isn't the similarities in the stories, but the differences. Each woman has to face her own unique challenges, and make her own choices. In a deeper sense though, the similarities do matter. They're symbolic of a spiritual bond, stronger than their blood links, which unites the three women and makes us feel that their destinies are intertwined."

The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage.jpg
The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage.jpg

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Ruby Tuesday 200x300.webp

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Educating Maggie 200x300.jpg
Educating Maggie 200x300.jpg

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Ruby Tuesday

Chapter One

            “Just back off for me will you … please?” asked Rose.  “I’ll never get the job if you’re applying for it as well … “She must have noticed the mutinous look on my face because she said pleadingly, “Please Ruby …”

            I shook my head, “I can’t Rose … I really want this job.  I’ve always wanted to work in the school library and this is just too good an opportunity to miss … “I glance at her from the corner of my eye.  At her pretty face, light blue eyes framed with long black lashes set above high cheekbones, the lips shaped like a fancy bow on a gift, the lower one being as thick and fleshy as a seductive pout.  A face that I gaze at every day.  Oh … not Rose’s face, but my own, barely noticing it really though.  Rose’s face is my mirror.  Rose is my identical twin.  

            We’re in our home town, Emsworth in Hampshire, sitting on the harbour wall, our legs, long and tanned, dangling down.  A wrinkly expanse of sand spread with rock pools and seaweed sparkles in the sunshine and boats, lopsided and abandoned, patiently wait for the tide.  People carrying buckets and spades dig deep searching for seafood for tea and kids with massive nets try to catch scuttling crabs. 

  Seagulls squawk overhead, one flying low enough to try to steal the sandwich from Rose’s hand.  Horrified, she bats it away and ducks her head, as it gives a ghostly squeal and flutters into the clouds.  The sun, hot and yellow as a bowl of custard, scuds across the sky pushed by a salty breeze.  It’s almost June and we have the whole summer ahead of us. And today is Saturday which is even better.

            “Who’s to say you’d get the job anyway?” I ask her, taking a bite of my own food, and attracting unwanted attention from a mass of meaty gulls that hover nearby. “Maybe neither of us will get it.”

            “You’ve already got your foot in the door,” she whined.  “You’ve got a far better chance than me.”

            What she meant was that I already work in the school, a secondary school in Warblington, on the reception desk.  I enjoy my job.  I love greeting visitors, liaising with teachers and parents, talking with the kids and telling them off when they run along the corridors or push and jostle on the stairs.  I get on well with my colleague, Jo, who is super-efficient, smooth and in control.  I’d done okay exam wise at school then gone to college to do a computer course.  In between I’d passed my driving test which I was really proud of but, the downside, do you know how expensive it is to buy and run a car?

 Rose hadn’t done too well at school and had drifted from one low paid job to another before going to college to re-sit her failed exams while I’d gone on ahead and got a job.  A job that I could hardly believe was mine at the tender age of nineteen in a school with all the benefits it entailed including the holidays.  But now, three years later, Rose, successful exam results tucked firmly under her belt, wanted a good job in a school which just happened to be the job that I wanted too.   Surely there were other jobs in other schools? You’d think there would be wouldn’t you!

            I know that the two of us need the money, after all we are trying to save for a deposit on our own place. Being happy at home with mum and dad comes second to our need for independence and buying somewhere together is the only way we can afford to do it.

            “Will you think about it Ruby?” she asked swallowing the last morsel of sandwich and, crumpling the wrapper in her hand, slid down from the harbour wall and placed it in the nearby bin. 

            Reluctantly I nodded as we began to walk back down the High Street towards home, past the little gift shops, charity shops and cafes, mum’s work place as a PA, the solicitors “Butcher & Steele” and the two most popular pubs in Emsworth, the rough wooden seats outside already taken on such a warm day, the Bluebell and the Coal Exchange.   We attracted a lot of stares as usual from strangers but friendly nods and waves from the locals, with our identical looks and clothes.

  I always tried to dress in private, which is difficult when you share a room, even a room with a divider decorated with fancy butterflies and flowers set square down the middle, so that I could at least be different from Rose but as if by magic she always seemed to know what I would be wearing that day.  Ha, I suspected that she had some sort of physic powers. Today we wore matching denim shorts and tee-shirts with trainers.  “Do you spy on me when I’m dressing?” I asked her repeatedly, only for her to vehemently deny it.  Today, like a couple of gypsies, we wore large silver hoop earrings.  Now how could she possibly have known that without watching me?

            In fact, the only distinguishing mark between us is the large mole that I have to the left of my nose.  “Thank God for that mole,” Mum always said, “It was the only way me and your Dad could tell the two of you apart when you were babies.”

            Of course I’d been teased unmercifully by our so called “friends” at school.  “Oh you mean, Ruby with the mole that lives in the hole?” I remember Leanne saying in a sing song voice and Claire took great pleasure in calling me Simon Templar because the hero from an old programme in the seventies had a mole just like mine.  Mum and Dad laughed at that a lot.  “Look,” said Claire, showing them a picture on her phone, “I think he’s called Roger Moore.”

            “Yes,” agreed Dad, “He was Simon Templar, and the programme was called “The Saint”. One of my favourites.”

            “When you’re an old lady,” I remember Rose saying one sunny day as we played in the garden, “You’ll have long spiky hairs growing from your mole like a wicked witch.”  That comment made me cry and I ran to Mum in a frenzy, tears pouring down my cheeks.

            “You won’t say anything about the job to Mum and Dad will you?” whispered Rose, bringing me out of my reverie, as we walked up the garden path and entered the house through the wide open back door.  There was a lovely smell of cooking and Mum, May Deacon (named for the month she was born), turned from the stove and smiled, telling us that tea wouldn’t be too long.

            “We’ve just had a snack,” I told her, “So we can wait …”

            She frowned and I suspected was just about to tell us off for eating so soon before tea but changed her mind and said, “How’s Emsworth on this fine sunny day?” She peered over her shoulder and fixed us with her dark brown gaze, so unlike mine and Rose’s light blue eyes without a doubt inherited from our Dad, Doctor Stan Deacon, who was at work as we spoke in his small GP practice, just three partners, in nearby Havant.  Our dark hair definitely came from Mum though.

            “Crazy busy as usual,” we said in unison.

            “I’ll call you when it’s ready,” she replied, “When Dad’s home …”

            “Well?” asked Rose, as we climbed the stairs to our room, “You won’t, will you?”

            “No, I won’t say anything to anyone,” I whispered back, “But I need time to think Rose … I’m really interested in this job.”

            Sitting down on my neat and tidy bed, I noticed that Rose’s side of the room was a mess as usual.  Piles of books littered the floor along with screwed up tissues and empty chocolate wrappers (even though she said she was always watching her weight!).  It drove me mad!

 I went to the window and, opening it wider, looked out on the garden that was bursting with colourful flowers.  Bees buzzed amongst their silky soft petals collecting nectar for the yummy honey that I drizzled over my breakfast every morning. The lawn looked ragged, the grass being slightly too long and needing mowing which I was sure would be Dad’s first job when he got in from work.  Yeah, even before he sat down to eat which was just as well as the sandwich I’d eaten earlier laid heavy as a stone in my full stomach!

  Throwing myself back down on my bed I wished for the hundredth time that I had a room of my own but as we lived in a two bedroomed house, there was no chance of that any time soon.  Okay this house was only small but as it was in Emsworth and overlooking the harbour it was much sought after.  Mum and Dad had lived in it for years, even before we were born, when the whole row of two up, two downs were nondescript, tumbledown, even considered poor dwellings, but they’d done right to buy it as it was now worth more than double the original price.

   The smell of salt from the sea wafted through the window and something else too so I wrinkled my nose.  Mud!  Yeah streaming in on the breeze from Langstone.  Langstone on the mud.  We’d had fun there as kids squelching in the slimy stuff like basking hippos plastic shoes on our feet, or sitting with our cousins in an old discarded fishing boat, screaming, as crabs scuttled around in the water, and slimy seaweed long as a mermaid’s hair tangled around our legs.

“Have you got a text from Vanessa?” asked Rose interrupting my nostalgic thoughts.

Scrabbling in my bag for my phone I went to messages.  “Yeah, meet tonight in the Coal Exchange?  No … I don’t think I’ll go … not in the mood …”

Rose’s face peered, frowning, over the top of the divider, “Why?”

I shrugged, “Just as I said, not in the mood.”  I knew it would be the same old, same old.  Same old group of people.  Same old pubs and places.  And as well as that, even though I love my sister, do I have to go everywhere with her?  I’d tried getting involved with separate groups of people who had interests that I had like writing and art, but Rose always followed me, turning up unannounced and, being the more forceful personality, like an eclipse of the sun, she soon put me firmly in the shade.  I don’t think she meant to do it, but it always seemed to happen.

“James will be there,” she said cheekily.  “He really likes you, Ruby …” She paused for a minute and then said, “Don’t you think it’s weird that he likes you so much when we look so alike?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why can’t he settle for me?  What’s the difference?”

“Rose …” I said indignantly, “It’s not just looks, we have our own personalities of course …” and then as an afterthought although okay genuinely wanting to know, “Would you like James to take an interest in you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, “Although he is pretty cute, but too tall for me, I think my neck would suffer eventually and, anyway, I like shorter stockier men, but anyway, what’s the use, it’s you he likes. I think he’s turned on by your mole …”

I smiled and shook my head, God that mole! I’d thought so many times of having it removed but how would people tells us apart if I did? My thoughts turned to James.  James Lister. We’d known him and his sister, Lara, since school.  He lived nearby, only a couple of streets away and worked in an engineering firm in Emsworth called Sonic on the aptly named Seagull Lane.

 He was cute looking, and, as Rose had said, very tall, so much so that I always had to crane my neck to look up into his face.  A face that lit up like a switched on light bulb every time he smiled set with deep brown eyes and long long lashes, and all this framed with shoulder length black hair and a fringe that often grew too long so he was always nervously it seemed (especially when I was around) pushing it out of the way with his fingers.

 Yeah, I knew he liked me, but I was restless lately and needed a change and becoming romantically involved with a local boy was perhaps not what should be happening at the moment. Maybe it was a good thing that Rose wanted me to “back off” as she said from applying for the library job.  Maybe I should leave the school altogether and go travelling.

 A sudden idea came to me, exploding in my head like a firecracker, and I thought, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have to leave the school … the six weeks summer holidays are coming up very soon.  Instead of staying local with Rose and going on days out to places like Southsea, Hayling Island and the Witterings, or even  Prinstead, why don’t I go off alone to … I don’t know … several countries raced through my mind before I came to the obvious one, the nearest one, one that was easy to get to from Portsmouth … France!”

Excitement gripped me and my heart started beating really fast as if I’d been exercising hard with one of those kettlebell things, “Yeah, I could get a ferry from Portsmouth to either Caen or St Malo.  St Malo would probably be best, yeah, I’d always wanted to go there, and now this was my chance.”

 I glanced at the room divider, imagining Rose lounging on her bed on the other side, nonchalantly scrolling through her phone, head bent, staring at the screen, and making plans for tonight.  Thinking about what she was going to wear, wondering what boys would be there.  I knew that she quite fancied James’ friend, Steve, and would probably home in on him just to brighten up the evening a bit, while I was planning a holiday miles away from here.  What would she say?  I knew without a doubt that she would be mad, that she would try to stop me.  She wouldn’t be able to go with me because of lack of funds so I would have to keep it a secret.  My own little secret.

While she was out tonight, I would google ferry crossings, work out costings and travel dates, and look at accommodation in St Malo.  Yes!   A big grin split my features until I felt sure that I looked just like one of those yellow smiley face patches that mum painstakingly sewed on her jeans in the nineteen seventies and then, feeling eyes boring in to me, glanced up to see Rose  once again peering over the divider.

“What are you grinning at, Ruby Tuesday? You look like the cat that got the cream …”

“Maybe I have,” I said teasingly, feeling buoyed up with the excitement of my big secret, and then hearing the whirring of the mower, jumped up again and peered from the window to see Dad still wearing his suit trousers, shirt sleeves rolled up, trundling backwards and forwards, leaving smooth cut grass in his wake.  Our Dad who in his mid-fifties looked at least ten years younger and with his piercing blue eyes and razored greying hair bore the nickname in his little GP practice of “Silver Fox.”

“Dad’s obsessed with that lawn,” said Rose lazily, coming to stand at my side.  She stood quietly for a few minutes before saying, “James will be sure to ask about you tonight, as I said before, he really likes you … do you think he stands any chance at all?”

I glanced at her and said, “No, not at the moment, I don’t want a local boy … I …” Mum’s shout up the stairs telling us to come down for tea interrupted our conversation, although I just had a few seconds to change the subject and say, “I won’t stand in your way, Rose, I’ll back off from the library job as you asked me to …”

Surprise opening her blue eyes wide, Rose replied, “Oh wow, Ruby, thank you …”

“It doesn’t mean you’ll get it though, Rose, other people in the school, far more qualified people, are interested in it too you know.”

She nodded and squeezed my hand in another thank you as we left the room and sped down the stairs to the dining room. Thoughts whirred around in my head like washing in a machine.  An ugly green imp suddenly appeared on my shoulder, whispering in my ear.  “What have you done giving up on applying for the job so easily?” “You wanted that job, it could have been yours.”

Be strong I thought to myself as I turned my head and with difficulty glared at the ugly green imp, “Yes, but I might not get it anyway,” and “I need an adventure before I turn old and sour … France beckons …”

“You okay Ruby?” asked Rose, giving me an odd look, as we took our seats and gazed around at the dishes that stood on the table, steaming dishes full of vegetables and potatoes and the piece de resistance Mum’s special chicken casserole.  I nodded my head, “Of course I am.”

“Ha,” said Dad happily, clapping his hands together, a smile creasing his face, “My girls … my double the trouble …what adventures have you been up to today?” Yeah … double the trouble. The tale of Dad at our birth was legendary and had been told many times at many family gatherings.

 It always went like this with Dad holding a captive audience right in the palm of his hand, “Right in front of my startled eyes, the first one, Ruby, popped out (he’d look around at the audience then, blue eyes glittering, and say, “I knew it was Ruby  because of the mole) (this always got a good round of laughter) and, after peering closely, and shaking my head, I’d said, “Hmm … a girl … one is trouble …” and then the second one, Rose, slipped out and, peering closely at this one too and shaking my head again I’d said, “Hmm … another girl … and two is double the trouble …”

 Of course as Rose had been born second, she’d always been known as the after birth, the placenta  … which, not at all amusing to her, made me smile every time.   And then of course there’s our names.  I’m Ruby Tuesday because Mum and Dad have always been really big fans of the Rolling Stones and Rose is Rose Marie because of their love of country music!  “That’s not the only reason,” Mum always told us, “You were both so precious to us … and a ruby is a precious jewel and a rose a precious flower.”

“Well?” asked Dad, as Mum chivvied us to take plenty of vegetables.  “Adventures?  Come on girls, let’s hear about your escapades today …”

I had to grin at Dad’s word “adventures” … very apt. Excitement rose high up in my chest and into my throat just like Christmas morning as my secret impending adventure came to mind.  Rose, giving me a look which clearly said, “Don’t you dare tell them about the library job,” we began to tell him about our day, whilst helping ourselves plentifully to the good food.


Free Story and Poems for you to Enjoy!


Frankie enjoyed walking to work every day.  Even when his car came back from the garage, he decided to carry on.  He found that he felt much fitter and far more energetic but, more importantly; he wanted to continue seeing the beautiful girl who sat at the large bay window of Daisy Villas. It had all started with swift, embarrassed eye contact, then a tentative smile and had now moved on to a slight wiggle of the fingers.  Frankie was hoping and praying that today would herald the beginning of glorious unadulterated waving.

His eyes glistened hopefully and, with renewed vigour, he almost flew, like an ungainly angel, towards the house.  She was there, her dark head bent studiously over papers and books and her tongue poking endearingly from between glossy lips as she wrote.  Sensing he was there she looked up and the sun beamed into her eyes so that they glittered and sparkled like emeralds.  Without a second thought Frankie raised his arm and waved; a grin as broad as a weight lifters chest on his face.  The girl waved back, a proper wave.  It made Frankie’s day.


Sarah gazed out of the window for a long time after he’d gone, the tall man with fair, unruly hair and deep blue eyes.  Perhaps she shouldn’t have waved but he looked so nice and she could almost hope ... but no ... if he saw her properly, what would he think then?  Ever since the accident she’d hardly seen anybody and very rarely went out because, quite frankly, she found it a hassle now.  Angrily, she threw her pen onto the books and papers and manoeuvred the wheelchair away from the window so obscuring her view of the outside world.  The only way she could cope was by studying.  What she lacked in her legs she was determined to make up for in her brain.

At first Sarah wished that she hadn’t survived the accident.  A life without the use of her legs seemed alien, but as the long, dreary, but enlightening weeks in hospital passed, she tried to come to terms with her disability.  It was only at night, whilst drifting into sleep, that she still experienced the terrifying impact of the car as it crashed and felt the tiny, jagged pieces of glass slicing into her skin as the windscreen shattered.

She took a deep breath and then smiled as she heard Mum’s footsteps approaching.  She knew without even looking at her watch that it would be eleven o’clock.  Mum had made a special routine for the two of them now that Sarah was at home studying.  She bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with mugs and all the paraphernalia that went with making drinks.  Placing the tray on the coffee table, she frowned when she saw Sarah sitting in the middle of the room doing nothing and suspected that something must have upset her.

“Coffee?” After giving Sarah a pretty flowered mug, she sank gratefully into an armchair.  Clutching her mug in both hands, Sarah sipped the thick, black liquid, inhaling the aroma with pleasure.  “Thanks Mum.”

“Getting on alright with your studying?” Mrs Blackburn enquired, her head cocked to one side, shrewd eyes missing nothing, like a beady eyed bird.

“Well I was,” Sarah replied, “but ... “Her answer hung quivering in the air like a line of washing in a breeze.

“But what?” Mrs Blackburn asked sharply.  “Did he walk past again?”  Sarah nodded.  “He waved today.”

“Wonder what he wants,” Mrs Blackburn muttered half to herself, as she leant forward to pour tea, adding both milk and sugar to the mug.

“Why should he want anything?” asked Sarah.  “Perhaps he’s just trying to be friendly.”

Mrs Blackburn drank thirstily, then said, “The thing is, Sarah, how friendly do you want him to get?”

Sarah hesitated then bowed her head so that dark wings of glossy hair hid her face like curtains. “I don’t know ... I’ve changed though ... since the accident ... I feel differently now ... I waved to him today.”

Mrs Blackburn was aware that she was fishing in very deep, murky water, but said brightly, “Well in that case, why don’t you invite him in ... for a chat ... it’d make a nice change for you to mix with young people your own age ... you must get fed up with me and your dad.”

“No,” Sarah replied hastily, reassuringly, “You and dad have been brilliant, I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Mrs Blackburn smiled; then venturing even further into that murky water, said, “It’s been nearly a year, perhaps it’s time.”

Sarah looked up quickly and said, “Oh Mum, I don’t know ... I’ll think about it.”  Her expression was thoughtful as she turned the wheelchair back to the table to resume her studies.  Mrs Blackburn sipped her tea and looked sadly at her beautiful daughter, whilst furtively crossing her fingers and hoping for the best.


Frankie was early the next morning. He’d made up his mind, after an awful night in which he’d dreamed that the girl had disappeared from the window and couldn’t be found that he was going to knock on the door at Daisy Villas and ask to see her.  As he approached the house, Frankie saw her sitting in her usual place and, at the squeak of the gate, she glanced up and her pretty eyes grew as round as saucers.  He didn’t have time to change his mind, before he’d even lifted the brass knocker, the door opened.  He flinched when the saw the wheelchair, but Sarah sat gazing at him steadily with her green eyes.

His throat felt too small for speech but he swallowed hard and managed to say softly, “I don’t suppose I could come in?”

He followed Sarah into the sitting room where he could see the table littered with evidence of her studying.  Sadness for this lovely girl washed over him and impulsively he knelt at her feet, putting his arms tenderly around her waist.  “Please forgive me Sarah.  Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough, seeing you like this, and knowing that it’s my fault ... that I should have driven with more care?” He looked up at her, his blue eyes moist with tears.

“It wasn’t all your fault,” she admitted, her voice wobbly.  “If that car hadn’t pulled out so fast ... if the roads hadn’t been so icy ... I’ve had time to think, Frankie.  I was so angry before ... and afraid.”

“Take me back, Sarah, let me show you that wonderful world beyond the window.  Trust me again.”

Sarah smiled at him and as his lips met hers, she realised that her heart felt mushy, as if a layer of ice had melted at last, and that even though she knew it wouldn’t always be easy, there was a world out there and she was determined to enjoy it ... with Frankie.


Man on the Wall

Catch me now for I fear I may fall

In love with you, man on the wall,

Your sparkling eyes and ethereal face,

Your charm, your wit, your sexual grace.

Hear me now, but what do I say?

I don’t know you, so come what may,

Why do I have feelings flowing so deep

That wish you were mine to cherish and keep?

I dream of kissing your full soft lips

And feeling your gentle finger tips

Caress my skin, then stroke my cheek,

My body trembles, your eyes I seek.

I gaze at your picture for hour after hour

Til my passions rise as high as a tower

Which crashes and tumbles to the ground

So I scream and scream, yet make no sound.

For I realise, my love, my man on the wall

That I’ll never know you, no, not at all,

Though you seem familiar, you’re a hopeless dream

If I sought you out, would you be what you seem?

Debbie Chase


Young Jack had an enemy, his name was Big James

He bullied the young ones and spoiled their games,

He pulled the girl’s pigtails and made them scream,

Then sat back and grinned like the cat with the cream.

It all came to a head one fine summer day,

Young Jack was determined to make Big James pay,

He confronted him, his fists clenched tight,

“Come on Big James, let’s have a fair fight.”

Big James sneered, “A fight indeed,

You’re nothing to me, you little weed,

I’ll get the better of you, easy as pie,

Come here Young Jack, be prepared to die.”

Big James struck out and gave Young Jack a punch,

“Hurry up,” he said. “It’s nearly time for lunch.”

Young Jack was angry, he gave a great thump

And Big James went down with a tremendous bump.

He lay on the ground not moving at all,

“Get up Big James,” he heard Young Jack call.

He tried to rise but felt too weak,

“You’ve won Young Jack,” said his voice so meek.

The children aren’t bullied any more by Big James,

They’re free to run and play their games.

Young Jack is a hero, his grandchildren he will tell

The story of the day that Big James fell.

Debbie Chase


This is the Princess Rapunzel so fair,

With long, silky corn coloured hair,

Who is locked in a tower that reaches so high,

It almost touches the blue of the sky.

This is the witch ugly and old

Who has captured the Princess so we are told,

The Princess Rapunzel who is so fair

With long, silky corn coloured hair,

Who is locked in a tower that reaches so high,

It almost touches the blue of the sky.

This is the prince so much in love

Who will rescue the Princess from above,

Who hates the witch ugly and old,

Who has captured the Princess so we are told,

The Princess Rapunzel who is so fair

With long, silky corn coloured hair,

Who is locked in a tower that reaches so high,

It almost touches the blue of the sky.

This is the window from which hangs the hair,

So the Prince may climb it like a stair,

Yes the Prince who is so much in love,

Who will rescue the Princess from above,

Who hates the witch ugly and old

Who has captured the Princess so we are told,

The Princess Rapunzel who is so fair,

With long, silky corn coloured hair

Who is locked in a tower that reaches so high,

It almost touches the blue of the sky.

These are the scissors which cut the golden locks

So that the witch could laugh and mock

At the window from which hangs the hair

So the Prince may climb it like a stair,

Yes the Prince who is so much in love

Who will rescue the Princess from above

Who hates the witch ugly and old,

Who has captured the Princess so we are told,

The Princess Rapunzel who is so fair

With long, silky corn coloured hair,

Who is locked in a tower that reaches so high

It almost touches the blue of the sky.

Debbie Chase

The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage.jpg

The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage

6 December 2021

This book is published with World Castle Publishing

When Chrissie Lewis meets the charismatic American, Richard Curtis, at Wigglesworth & Horner, Solicitors, it seems that a romance is meant to be. Yet who is the tempestuous Morgan Bloom that, because of her love of palms, potions, spells, and her black cat, Moses, is tried as a Witch by an unruly mob of villagers. Set in the historic seaside town of Whitby in North Yorkshire with its wild history of Dracula, Witches, Whaling and modern day Goths, Chrissie, newly arrived to live in the ancient Pear Tree Cottage finds herself going back to the 1700’s to witness Morgan Bloom’s dramatic downfall. A tale of love, desire, friendship, horror and intrigue that will send shivers running down your spine!

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Angel statue

I Wasn't There

I wasn’t there the day she went

I didn’t know she was only lent,

Like somebody quietly leaving the room

She went to her eternal tomb

Stolen by greedy outstretched hands

She was taken away to other lands

Angels posing as creatures of joy

Are like selfish children desiring a toy

From the day that she was born

They spied on her and said with scorn

“It’s written that one day without a fuss,

You will come and live with us.”

They have her now in a heavenly place

Where no one even has a face,

Like ghostly vultures in the twilight

They knew her fate at the very first sight.

Debbie Chase


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