# The White Feather



## Ian8777 (Jan 11, 2016)

After taking off their scarves and gloves, the three women who had just entered the pub sat in their seats next to the open fire and stared at the young man who was sitting at the bar. He was dressed in a smart blue suit and his hair was unusually thick and neat. 

    ‘Just look at him Wendy,’ said one of the women.

    ‘Please Shirley,’ Wendy said. ‘Can’t we just have a nice night?’ 

    ‘A nice night,’ Shirley imitated. ‘Have you heard her Alice? She just wants a nice night!’

    Alice, who was tall and skinny and wearing a polka dot dress grinned at Shirley’s impression of Wendy. ‘I bet there’s plenty of our boys wishing they could just have a nice night.’

    ‘Stop it right now,’ Wendy said. 

   At nineteen, Wendy was the youngest of the women. She was slender with red hair and her face seemed naive compared to the other two women. Wendy had met Shirley and Alice six months ago when she started at the ammunition factory. In that time they had become known as the troublesome threesome by most of the village and their reputation for mischief had travelled as far as Marlborough and Salisbury.

    ‘How about we play dominoes?’ Wendy said. ‘I could ask the barman for a set.’

    Shirley shook her head knowingly. ‘You’re not getting out of it tonight.’

    ‘It is your bloody turn Wendy,’ Alice said.

    Wendy folded her arms and sighed. She knew it was her turn because the others had done it several times before and they were sick of her excuses. Alice placed her handbag onto the table and took from it a large white feather. ‘I got this off dad’s goose,’ she said, waving the feather like a conductor’s baton.

    ‘I’m not doing it,’ Wendy said. ‘It’s a rotten thing to do.’

    Shirley sidled up close to Wendy. Wendy could smell Shirley’s violet perfume. ‘Poor Alan,’ she said. ‘Not twenty-one and up to his neck in muck and bullets.’

    ‘Yeah, poor Alan,’ Alice added. ‘Probably still a virgin as well?’

    ‘Unless one of them ooh la la’s has gotten to him,’ Shirley said, winking at Alice. 

    The pair of them laughed. 

    Wendy glared at Shirley. Alan was Wendy’s fiancee and unless he had had sex with a woman in France he was still a virgin, as was Wendy. They had made their promises before Alan left and despite being made several propositions from a number of well-to-do men, Wendy had kept her end of the bargain as she knew that Alan, wherever he was had done the same.

    Sensing blood, Shirley said, ‘Look at him up there with his whisky and his bloody pipe. What kind of man drinks whisky when there’s men dying tonight?’

    ‘Bloody coward,’ Alice said, loud enough to impress Shirley but not loud enough so the man could hear Wendy noted. 

    Shirley took Wendy’s hand and stroked it. ‘The thing is Wendy, those men are doing their duty and it’s our duty to make sure that men like him know exactly how cowardly they are.’ 

    Alice slid closer, sandwiching Wendy between herself and Shirley. ‘It’s for his own good,’ she said. ‘He needs to know that he’s yellower than these bloody hands.’ She raised her hands and waggled her fingers. ‘We’re all making sacrifices while he’s in here like the lord of the bloody manor.’

    Wendy looked at her own yellow hands. When she started at the factory she was told that the dye would not be permanent but she had tried everything to get her hands back to how they were before she started. She had scrubbed until her hands bled but nothing seemed to work and she had resigned herself to the fact that maybe her hands would be forever yellow. Her own scar of war. Across the lounge there was an elderly couple sitting in an alcove who looked like they could actually be dead. Opposite them were two old men playing dominoes who were too engrossed in their game to care about anything else. If she did do it at least there would be no one to watch. Better here than the market place or in one of the local shops where she might be seen by someone who knew her. There would never be a perfect place to do it, but this was as close to perfect as she would get. 

‘OK, ' she said, 'I'll do it.'

    Shirley clapped and kissed Wendy on the cheek as Alice presented the feather. Wendy took the feather and held it between thumb and forefinger. She twirled it back and forth and noted how the amber glow from the fire shone on the feather. It was almost hypnotic watching it spin back and forth and had this been another time she would have been glad to watch it for an hour or more. 

    ‘What should I say to him?’

    ‘Just let him know that he’s a coward, ‘Shirley said. 

    ‘Slap him if you like,’ Alice said. 

    ‘I am not going to slap him.’ 

    Shirley smiled warmly. ‘You just do what feels right ok?’

    Wendy nodded. She was nervous. More nervous than the time she met Alan’s parents and more nervous than the first time he had kissed her. She looked at the man and then looked at the feather. Poor Alan. Over there doing God knows what while this coward was drowning himself in whisky.
Wendy stepped away from the table and strode across the pub. She stopped behind the man at the bar,  pausing for a moment before speaking. ‘Excuse me sir.’

    There was no response.

    Wendy turned to face her friends who egged her on with wide eyes and hand-gestures. Wendy took another deep breath. This time she poked the man on his shoulder. ‘Excuse me _sir.’
_
    The man span around on his chair. Wendy gasped a little and stepped back half a pace. He was handsome with a strong jaw and dark blue eyes that stared at her. ‘Can I help ye Miss,’ he said in a loud Scottish accent.

    Wendy hesitated for a few seconds before raising her nose. ‘Yes, you can help me. Please give this to a brave soldier you…coward.’ She held out the feather in front of the man’s face. 

    The man took the feather gently and held it up to the light, spinning it between his finger and thumb.

    ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Wendy said. ‘Drinking whisky while young men are dying.’

    The man said nothing. Wendy turned and skipped back to her friends who embraced and kissed her. Wendy grinned. Her friends had been right all along. It did feel good after all.

    The man at the bar stared at the feather like a child looking at something for the first time. The feather fascinated him as he rolled it between thumb and forefinger. Eventually he picked up his pipe from the bar and held it up in his right hand. With his left hand he stuffed the feather down the pipe’s stem and pushed it back and forth until it was greasy grey and useless. The man sucked on the pipe and looked quite content while doing it. Far too content for Wendy who now felt twice as brave as she had prior to handing over the feather. 

    ‘That’s not for cleaning your pipe you coward,’ she said.

    Shirley rubbed Wendy’s arm. ‘Good girl.’

    ‘It’s very handy though,’ the man said. Standing up, he put his pipe in his pocket and finished his drink in one gulp. After doing up his suit jacket the man limped across the room to Wendy’s table where he placed the dirty black feather on the table. Shirley and Alice looked at the man and then looked at each other, grinning like schoolgirls. 

    ‘You should be shot,’ Alice said. ‘Your as yellow as my bloody hands.’

    The man smiled and walked over to the coal fire. He took the poker and prodded at the blackened log until it caught fire again at one of its corners. With the poker in his hand the man turned and faced the women. Wendy was incensed that the man looked so brash and menacing. How dare he! How dare he stand there when Alan and men like him where fighting in God awful conditions to make sure that she and everyone else back home could sleep safely at night. ‘I think you better leave,’ she said. ‘The stench of cowardice is making me feel quite sick.’

    The man sniggered to himself. He then raised the metal poker up to his face and when his eyes locked onto Wendy’s he smashed it into his right leg. The sound was like cricket bat on cricket ball and the man did not grimace in the slightest. There was no recognition of pain on his face at all. The man limped past the women to the entrance door and stepped outside. Despite the draft of cold November air, Wendy felt only the warmth of her cheeks. 


The End.


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## LeeC (Jan 15, 2016)

I read this a few days back and not having much to say moved on. Seeing no responses yet today though, I thought it deserved one. 

I think it's a nice little piece and the writing does it justice. The problem to me was I saw it as anticlimactic. That is it's easy to guess where it's going early on from the mention of the white feather, and their assumption of anyone not on the front being a coward. 

If one thinks about the piece, they might see a message about not making assumptions too quickly, but without more to immerse the reader in the story will the thought be more than fleeting? 



> ‘Unless of on them ooh la la’s has gotten to him,’ Shirley said, winking at Alice.


Think you made a typo in this sentence.

So all in all, nice writing, but the story is too transparent to me. 

Hope this helps in some small way 

May the pen be with you.


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## Ian8777 (Jan 18, 2016)

Hey LeeC...many thanks.... 

I have taken on that advice. 

I appreciate you taking the time.

Much appreciated.


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## Ultraroel (Jan 19, 2016)

I read this before too, but couldn't make much sense of it. 
Maybe cause I don't understand the feather part and the coward part. I guess it's something cultural or something?
I'm not very experienced myself and I like the way you build it up.. 


I just couldn't get the thing with the feather. I assume it has to do with the war and being a coward. 
It doesn't make sense to me to hurt yourself to prove you are tough though.. 


"Not twenty-one and up to his neck muck and bullets.’"

Should this contain an "in" ?

Not really good at critiques but still


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## LeeC (Jan 19, 2016)

Ultraroel 


Speaking for myself, not the author, maybe one of the advantages to reading widely, but I recognized the symbolism having read the book The Four Feathers by A. E. W. Mason (among other things). And as far as "hurting oneself" the man didn't, if you note the simile "like cricket bat on cricket ball." The significance being that the man had already sacrificed a leg ;-) Beyond that the gist was narrow minded people making assumptions and taking actions based on their ignorance of a situation -- something we see all to often ;-)


Hope this helps your understanding


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## Ultraroel (Jan 19, 2016)

Aaah.. So that's what was meant with the cricket bat.. i thought he was limping cause of pain, but I understand now. 
Now the entire story makes sense. I'll go sit there and watch the grown ups.


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## kaminoshiyo (Jan 20, 2016)

LeeC said:


> Ultraroel
> 
> 
> Speaking for myself, not the author, maybe one of the advantages to reading widely, but I recognized the symbolism having read the book The Four Feathers by A. E. W. Mason (among other things). And as far as "hurting oneself" the man didn't, if you note the simile "like cricket bat on cricket ball." The significance being that the man had already sacrificed a leg ;-) Beyond that the gist was narrow minded people making assumptions and taking actions based on their ignorance of a situation -- something we see all to often ;-)
> ...





Ian8777 said:


> After taking off their scarves and gloves, the three women who had just entered the pub sat in their seats next to the open fire and stared at the young man who was sitting at the bar. He was dressed in a smart blue suit and his hair was unusually thick and neat.
> 
> ...



I noticed the similarity in the story as well and the symbolism of the ending. It is well-written and flows well. The atmoshpere is easily understoood, and I really did get a full sense of the characters. Not bad. The ending, though, does leave a little ambiguity though, but it's good.


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## Ian8777 (Jan 22, 2016)

Hey chaps..

Thanks for reading my story. LeeC thanks for the explanation. I can't add to what you have written as you have nailed my story., I read about the whole white feather thing recently and in particular how so many women presented them wrongly to young men who were either on leave from the front line or who had been wounded. 

With regard to the writing I am trying to emulate a little Hemingway and his iceberg principle of having the reader work out what has happened without actually stating it..... Anyway, thanks to all for the interest.

Ian


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## JP-Clyde (Jan 22, 2016)

From a personal point of view, I think you could easily take this out and add details of the setting around the dialogue.



> After taking off their scarves and gloves, the three women who had just entered the pub sat in their seats next to the open fire and stared at the young man who was sitting at the bar. He was dressed in a smart blue suit and his hair was unusually thick and neat.



Start off instead with the dialogue:


> ‘Just look at him Wendy,’ said one of the women.



Except in this case, "Just look at him" her eyes scanned the busy, crowded, pub, staring at a man in the crowds.

That's just my personal preference though and you can take what I have to say with a grain of salt.

You have good technique. Good diction. Not very many technical problems that I could see. I look forward to reading more from you.


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## Abita (Jan 24, 2016)

Hi Ian, 

I agree that it was a bit too straightforward to stand on its own, but you could certainly work in more back story, or weave in a parallel story to complicate things. For example, maybe you could explore more of Wendy's experience of the war to help us connect with her, rather than simply judging her for making a quick assumption. I think you can definitely take this further and take the reader in a few different directions before you land on the "moral" of the story. 

Well-written and great descriptions. Just go back and edit for grammar, as I noticed a few typos, missing commas, things of that nature. 

Good luck!


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## Bard_Daniel (Jan 29, 2016)

I think that this is a very nice nugget of a story, a little gem that you could polish if you take the time to. The ending worked for me but I think it would all be in the presentation of it to make its full effect. I would suggest trying to lighten the amount of time they call/refer to the man as a coward and speed up the pace when you get to the latter part of your story. The dialogue could use a little more punch in the finale as well, as I felt that it was a little plain.

Just my two cents!

Cheers!


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## Ian8777 (Feb 1, 2016)

Many thanks to all! Great feedback and some points taken on board!


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## DATo (Feb 5, 2016)

I agree that the ending was somewhat predictable, but I liked the style in which it was written. I particularly enjoyed the manner in which the man reacted to the feather immediately after receiving it: I thought that was well written.

One way I might have played with this would be for the man, at the very end, not to demonstrate his handicap but to simply leave the bar after returning the dirty feather to the girls table. Then the saloonkeeper would start to laugh which would cause the girls to also begin to laugh hysterically. The saloonkeeper would then wander over to the girl's table and ask if he could take their picture and have the feather to frame and put with the picture on the wall behind his bar for patrons to see. He takes the picture and the feather and still laughing begins to walk away, stops, turns to face the girls and says, "It's going to make a great bar story for me to tell over and over again. How three stupid strumpets gave this white feather to a man who'd been awarded the Victoria Cross."


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## Ian8777 (Feb 10, 2016)

Hey Dato.... thank you for that. I really liked your ending to the story. My only concern would be that this is the first world war and I am not sure if people had their own cameras at that time.,..I will certainly investigate because I am currently rewriting the story and am as usual stuck for a satisfying conclusion. Thanks for taking the time....I will let you know how I go with it....Ian


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## Jack of all trades (Feb 10, 2016)

I rather liked the subtle ending. The implication of both the war injury and her embarrassment. I think it works well.


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## Tukkis (Feb 10, 2016)

I think this piece needs something more. It was kind of a predictable, boring read. Your style is fine, though.


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## lvcabbie (Feb 11, 2016)

Tukkis said:


> I think this piece needs something more. It was kind of a predictable, boring read. Your style is fine, though.



I somewhat agree with you.

I read the opening paragraph and it just didn't hook me. Telling and not showing.


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## Ian8777 (Feb 17, 2016)

lvcabbie said:


> I somewhat agree with you.
> 
> I read the opening paragraph and it just didn't hook me. Telling and not showing.


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## Ian8777 (Feb 17, 2016)

Ah the old show vs tell nonsense. I feel this story was pretty objective. Lots of showing with some telling. But after all we are writing stories and not screenplays so I think some telling is ok. It worked for Proust, Virginia Woolf and Hemingway so I am going to put my trust in them. 





lvcabbie said:


> I somewhat agree with you.
> 
> I read the opening paragraph and it just didn't hook me. Telling and not showing.


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## Glhadiator (Feb 17, 2016)

A fine story! I was transported to the pub , which was nice. The story line flowed well without any gaps.

The first half of the story didn't 'grab' me though. I easily predicted the plot and the forthcoming twist. That having been said, there was a clear plot woven into the story. That's a biased opinion as I understood the feather symbology. 

This is what the story said to me: Three young war maidens dealing with their sacrifices, wanting to confront those unwilling to courageously contribute to the war effort. The main character is swayed by peer pressure and ends up embarrassed by her actions.

I don't mind the telling in the story. It did feel somewhat labored though. Maybe do the telling part in the opening of the story to set the scene. I don't think the twist had enough impact. He didn't seemed hurt by her actions. The story left him strong and brave. The reader assumes his bravery from his obvious sacrifice, but the war took his strength and former stature. The girl managed to rob him of what little he has left and should have suffered more than slight embarrassment.

I love war stories that depict life in the towns and villages behind the front lines. I enjoyed your story.


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## lvcabbie (Feb 17, 2016)

One of the neat things about the arts is that they are objective. Each person views them different and receives different impressions from each.

As artists, it behooves us to accept this and realize the immense number of possible responses when we present something to others.

At least the author is DOING and not sitting around moaning and complaining.


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## Ian8777 (Feb 18, 2016)

Hey all thanks so much for the crits.....

One thing that has been brought up and something that plagues me constantly is the Showing vs Telling argument..... I always thought I understood this, but lately I am really confused as to what constitutes Telling. I also feel that its ok to tell as many many wonderful writers tell in their stories.

If I am writing as an omniscient narrator surely I know the whole story so will occasionally jump in and tell some things...I guess what I am saying is what is TELLLING?


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## The Idiot (Feb 18, 2016)

As a snapshot, a ten minute situation, I think it works quite well. Certainly in a piece this short you're limited in description, details and subplot. As a sketch, the characters and the situation come to life, the words are economical, but well chosen. I found the conclusion predictable from about half way. I think it's something that could be expanded on. Good luck.


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## Greyson (Mar 5, 2016)

I liked it a lot, really interesting story telling and I was driven to finish it before writing some comments. I think you did a good job developing for sure, I just have a few suggestions below that I think might aid you a bit!



> The pair of them laughed. Wendy glared at Shirley.


 I think it would maybe flow better to keep these two actions together since they relate to the same topic. If you do this, you might consider shortening the second sentence to make it more something like "The pair of them laughed; Wendy just glared" or something. 



> Alan was Wendy’s fiancee and unless he had had sex with a woman in France he was still a virgin, as was Wendy


 I would put some dashes in here to break up the momentum of the sentence a bit, so something like: "Alan was Wendy's fiancee and -- unless he had lain with a woman while in France -- he was still a virgin, just like Wendy. 

Also, small grammatical point, be sure to but a comma before addressing a person in dialogue. Like if Wendy were addressing Shirley about something you might say "You know, Shirley, I once killed a man with this finger" Wendy growled. Or, for an example from the story 





> ‘Just look at him Wendy,’ said one of the women.


 you should make this "'Just look at him, Wendy,'" said one of the women." 

Really interesting and well written, I would just suggest a little bit of editing for the commas and such. REALLY liked the moral that was presented. Fine job, good sir.

-Greyson-

Really like the story, well written and would most certainly like to read more on this, very interesting and quiet gripping. I think that over all there were a few grammatical errors you have to worry about, like in dialogue when addressing a person make sure you add the comma before the name (i.e. "'Just look at him, Wendy' said one of the women."). Also the feather was a bit confusing at first as it was introduced quiet briefly, but I think the mystery helps propel the reader on, so it could be just as good. Liked it a lot and would be open to reading more for sure.


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