Pandemic Papers by Bucks Adult Learners GCSE Class of 2020

A unique collection of musings, lyrics, essays and memoirs from the GCSE English class of 2020

m e d n a The P

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Author / Editor Here Buckinghamshire Adult Learning

Contents and authors Introduction Instalments Instalment 1

Short stories

Instalment 2

A letter to my 16 yr old self

Instalment 3

Painting pictures with words

Instalment 4 From the ‘front line’ and virus reflections

Instalment 5 ‘Oh for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention’ Dedication The writers would like to dedicate this book to the key workers in hospitals, care homes, supermarkets, local authorities,schools and all the others who kept going to work during the pandemic of 2020..

Some of the writers come into this category.

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Contents and authors

A Happy Soul by Presanthe Ratanayake A Muslim Perspective on the Virus by Reshmeena Khan Anxiety and the Pandemic by Julia Parker Summers Baby Steps by Rose Crichlow Border Collies by Jade Gibbons But Sometimes it’s about me by Afreen Sultana Caring in a Care Home by Precious Vivien Aigboria Covid-19 - its effect on me by Lindsay Moore Dear Dumbass by Brett Fitzgerald Dear Me at 16 by Iliana Georgieva Fast Forward by Donna Winter From Your Older Self by Nina Baldwin Gone by Ruth Mehareb Good Morning Saiqa by Saiqa Bibi Gorgeous Boy by Samia Khan Guilty by Leila Wheatley Healthy Mind and Body by Ulfat Khan Hidden Health by Subhashini Janarthanan I'll Remember Him This Way by Eulalia Gonzalez Message to the Past by Edoardo Roche My Darling Daughter by Gill McCue My Friends by Beverley Brentnall 5

Not Bloody ABBA again! by Michelle Groves On the Supermarket Front Line by Nadezhda Tomayli Once, He Was Young by Saeeda Zummaid One Final Farewell by Peter Hearn Rachel Melincotte by Donna Winter Renter by Catherine Platts Secrets to a Language by Elzabe Santos Send it Back by Brett Fitzgerald Sending Them Back by Jodie Paige So, That Was It by Toni Ridgway Stillness in Movement by Jonathan St Brice The Eyes by Aaron Brock The Lower Alentjo by Elzabe Santos The Misadventures of the Minibeasts by Victoria Jackson The Unknown by Victoria Jackson Twenty Six Years Later by Donna Winter Value for Money by Saadia Abrar Vista Views by Colin Jarvis We Can Fight This and The NHS by Vivien Fisher WWWWW WOW! English by Karen Grayston

June 2020 © Copyright remains with the authors of these original pieces.

Photograph Nina Baldwin 6

Introduction It has been my pleasure to teach English Language this year at Bucks Adult Learning. The year was proceeding in perfectly good order towards the exams when ‌ the Covid 19 virus struck in late March.

Suddenly, the class had been torn asunder and the virus had cast its members into the winds of distance learning and isolation.

This last GCSE class was on the evening of Wednesday 18th March and I remember with poignant clarity packing up all the folders and papers at Quarrendon and wondering what was going to happen to us all.

It was shocking for a while, then I was in denial, then irritated and confused by the restrictions before I, like everyone else, began to test out how we could carry on learning and communicating before the exams. The exams were cancelled, and portfolios had to be finished remotely as we accepted the year was as good as over.

It was then that we decided to make a book.

It would be a celebration of the confidence and writing skills of all the learners. It was to be named the Pandemic Papers and the contributions started to come in.

The book took shape and here it is for your pleasure and interest.

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There was an open brief; the learners were asked to contribute whatever they wanted to share. Some of the pieces are particularly poignant and authentic and describe the lockdown experience, some follow a prompt to write a letter ‘to my sixteen-year-old self’ and some are original short stories.

I would like to thank every single one of the students who made each lesson special.and I hope you, dear reader, will understand from the pieces contained herein why it was such a privilege for me to be their teacher. The quality of the writing produced by these learners is a testament to their hard work and their commitment to the learning process after the lockdown – every one of the learners has ‘achieved’ and we are immensely proud of them all.

I would like to thank my colleague, Sarah Oliver, for the front cover and for help with editing and proofreading, Lynn Andrews for typing some of the handwritten manuscripts,Jay Tang for help with typesetting and Sarah Bradley for the template.We also acknowledge the Curriculum Manager for English at Bucks Adult Learning, Tessa Murray, for her help and encouragement to us all throughout this most extraordinary year.

English is great fun here - come and join us!.

Nick Andrews English Tutor Bucks Adult Learning All contributions are from GCSE English Language learners and Functional Skills Learners of English at Bucks Adult Learning

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Instalment 1 Short stories Mini Beasts

Victoria

So that was it

Toni

The Lower Alentjo

Elzabe

The Unknown

Vicky

Guilty

Leila

Gorgeous Boy

Samia

Gone

Ruth

Fast Forward

Donna

Rachel Melincotte

Donna

Creative writing is an important part of the GCSE course and these 9 delightful stories showcase the progress that the learners have made. We used a range of different techniques; sometimes writing at speed for first two, then five and 10 minutes, focussing on an everyday object and speculating the character it belonged to and then producing 6-word stories - eg.“For sale, baby shoes, never worn.�

Most importantly, we learned to trust our own creativity and to write with freedom and fearlessness.

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THE MISADVENTURES OF THE MINIBEASTS

By Victoria Jackson Once, there was a Forest. It was large, full of luscious trees and home to many an animal.

The forest was in the middle of the countryside, no busy roads to carry the deafening noise of revving engines, car horns beeping or the rancid smell of burning tires and exhaust fumes that plagued the surrounding air.

The forest was...quiet.

If you ever wandered into the forest, you would come across numerous flowers with such peculiar names, for example Herb-Robert. Now I have always known that herbs are used in cooking, and Robert is a name given to a baby, a dog, even a rabbit — but a flower? You would be mistaken then to visualise a young dog called Robert running around the forest with a saucepan cooking his dinner. Imagine that!

And the trees, oh the trees. Stretching up to the gods, leaves with colours resembling the rainbow, dangling within your reach for as far as the eye could see. Tree trunks as wide as your hand, trunks that could span a mile; the shapes and sizes were endless. Their green fingertips danced in the wind, some so mesmerised by the invisible force wrapped around them that they departed the comfort of their branch and continued their dance high into the sky until the music

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stopped. Then, slowly, but gracefully, they fell to the ground, where they would lay until the harsh autumn stripped the sheen from the leaf, and all that would remain during the cold bleak winter was a pile of tiny dancers that once caressed the warm forest air, now brown and decaying like fallen apples.

But within this forest lay a secret. There were animals that you could see and admire with the naked eye or from the lens of your overpriced camera. These were the animals who graced the forest with their presence, feeding off the ever-expanding shrubbery, and meticulously stripping every berry off the tree with a gentle yet forceful flick of their salivating tongues, each one leaving no time to chew whilst embracing the next berry with that long, pink, conveyer-belt of a tongue.

In the distance, the sound of water trickling could be heard. Making its journey across the long, winding evergreen carpet, the blue sparkle of diamond glinted and danced in the glare of the late summer sun. Beside the stream, a small mound of spotty mud appeared to be moving, ever so slightly.

It was harvest season by the stream. A time when all the minibeasts topped up their food storage, ready for when the cold, harsh winter would force them into their underground homes.

Alan was a small, brown, and fast Ant. He lived with the rest of his ant family, Alice his wife and their ever-expanding 12

family of baby ants, down by the stream, which was where the best food could be found.

Sometimes when the air was hot and bright, tall noisy things — he learnt from Frank, his neighbour, that they were called humans — would come to the stream where they would jump into the stream for ages and then throw a big blanket on the ground which only seconds later, would be a bustling, heaving haven of food. Oh, the food mountain, it was like heaven before your eyes. Mountains of sweet things, sticky things, and sometimes sickly things.

Alan only liked the sweet and sticky things; he found that the smelly things tasted horrible, and some of them made his throat hurt for ages. He was now a professional at finding the sweet and sticky foods.

It was a normal working day for Alan. The sun was shining; it was even stronger today, which was strange as the leaves were falling on the ground — ever so slowly — which helped him to remember that it would become wetter and colder. Then, once this stage was over, his home would be covered with a sheet of frozen water. He did not understand the process of snow, but was always amazed at how the water fell from above and stayed like a perfect blanket, undisturbed but deceptively cold. How could something so beautiful and amazing be so dangerous? He had only seen it once, and that was by accident. He couldn’t remember what drew him to look outside, but all he knew was that the vast sheen of white that was dazzling due to the sun shining may 13

have seemed like perfection, but he had never felt cold like that before. He never would feel cold like that again, if he had his way.

Alan was helping all the other workers to collect the last remnants of food that they could find. It was imperative they had full storage below ground if they were to survive until the ground became green again.

The line of workers was becoming smaller each day as the resources were becoming limited. Alan looked ahead at the line: berries, leaves, conkers, all being carried by the strongest of the colony, one by one, disappearing into the huge brown hill ahead. It was in that moment that something caught Alan’s eye. Beyond the mound, by the crystal-clear pond, he saw‌ heaven.

A family of four had decided to embrace the last of the warmer autumn air and sneak in a final picnic. They had laid out their purple blanket, which they then adorned with lots of exciting, flavoursome food. Once Mum had finished reading the chapter of her book, she called the children over to enjoy the feast, gently nudging Dad who had rested his shabby brown straw hat on his oversized nose.

They had decided to leave after they had consumed their banquet and cleaned everything up, and they walked towards their bikes, picnic basket in hand. Then came the slow, yet enjoyable, ride back down the slowly decaying archway of trees that in the summer would be flourishing and waving, begging someone to come and adore their 14

beauty, but which now hung, a decaying brown colour, clinging on for dear life, their branches hanging in shame at their fall from grace; summer was over for them.

There it was. One half-eaten cupcake. Of course, to you it would not be appealing, but to Alan it was perfection.

As he glared, he could feel his tummy starting to growl like a lion, and his mouth started to twitch as the saliva gathered in his mouth like guests at a wedding buffet.

He could not resist the brown, crumbly base that lay half-eaten within the crumpled folds of the wrapper. The white icing that once dripped but was now frozen, hanging just gently off the side of the wrapper, all carefully arranged under the reddest, roundest, and most rigid cherry he had ever seen. He had to have it, there was no doubt about it.

Suddenly, the line in front of him disappeared; all that was in his line of vision was the cupcake. He visualised a long, velvety carpet leading up to it, ants lined up either side, clapping and cheering him on. He started to walk, waving at his friends, clasping his hands in the air, a smile reaching ear to ear: he felt like a champion, a warrior, a hero.

Alice, together with all the other ants who weren’t needed for food collection, was busy getting the colony ready by making sure there were no holes within the mound, and that everyone had somewhere to stay; no ant would be left behind. She was also the ant who would make sure that the outside was cleared up, ready for the strongest ants to seal the colony up. Any prying eyes would just see a lump of 15

mud, nothing else, but to Alice this was their home, and she was entrusted with keeping it safe.

As she climbed the steep, solid path of mud, her head peeking out of the mound ever so slightly, she saw the ever-decreasing line of ants, bravely carrying their treasures to the storage area of the mound. As she looked proudly along the line, she stopped. Alan. Where’s Alan? Maybe he was further back with a heavier load, yes, that must be it.

Her gaze diverted back to the opening of the forest — nothing. All she could see were trees, standing upright, she did not know how tall they were, but she knew she did not want to climb to the top. That would be dangerous. Her brother, Sam, had decided to climb one when they were kids.

She had begged him not to do it, telling him that Mum and Dad would be so angry, but he did not listen. He strutted over like a boxer walking to the ring, over-confident. She watched him cling to the protruding bark that provided him with the perfect stepping-stone, his legs moving up the tree like a hot knife gliding through butter.

It had happened so quickly: one minute he was there, the next… falling through the air, hitting the ground, out of sight.

Alice had run as fast as her legs could carry her, stopping sharply when she saw his body lying in the grass.

If only he had gone up the tree’s the other side, the lake could have 16

been his saviour.

Sam had been laid up for days, although Alice believed it was more out of shame than pain. Luckily for him, he had fallen through some bulrushes onto a mound of grass. But he was never the same again; he never went outside. He stayed within the colony to protect those inside. Too scared to venture outside again, his memory of near-death experience cast a shadow over his home.

Then Alice glanced towards the lake. There was Alan.

Walking in a straight line, away from the other ants. What was he doing? Alice glanced further ahead. It was only then that she saw it. Fear started to rise throughout her body; she became rigid, unable to speak. Inside, she felt herself screaming at Alan, but the words did not come out. *** Jake was a fan of the outside life. He had been cleaning rubbish up for many years now, twelve, to be precise. He always found that he could lose himself within the wilderness, not a care for what happened within the hustle and bustle of the city. His friends preferred to work in the city: “Breakfast, lunch and dinner is available on every corner,” they said. “All you have is your stupid lunch box out in the sticks.” But a lunch box was all he needed.

When it came to his lunchtime, he could just sit on a park bench and have a view, a view of the whole wide world, right in front of him. He could take a deep breath and would feel his lungs fill, enveloping him with the smell and taste of 17

freshly-cut grass, tickling his senses with the beauty of the flowers, embracing his inner core with the sounds of the birds going about their daily business. Yes, this was heaven.

He decided to start at the picnic area just off the park by Lake Elizabeth which, of course, had been named after our Queen, although she hadn’t officially come down to do a naming day; it was just named by someone many years ago and kind of stuck. The weather was due to turn tomorrow, so today would probably be the last day for locals to sneak in a last-minute picnic and sunbathe before the area became desolate — that is, until the sun was strong enough to entwine its arms around the trees, and the ground had absorbed enough nutrients to cultivate and flourish the barren landscape into a heaving bosom of green grass and a sea of mesmerising flowers that would make even the greatest gardener and florist ravenous with envy. *** “If I could just get that cherry, Alice will love me even more,” thought Alan, as he continued to walk in a daze towards the cupcake that had become his new obsession.

Just one cherry, that was all he wanted; it would be the perfect addition to their home. As he edged nearer, all senses focusing on taste, he salivated at the thought of that cherry — sweet, plump and juicy — and he visualised the gruntled expression on the Queen’s face as he raised into the air the most prized possession, the holy grail of food, that would last the whole colony a long while, providing it was distributed fairly.

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Whilst he was busy dreaming of the party of all parties held in his honour, he didn’t notice the tall, heavy-set figure walking towards him, a big, bulky black bag in one hand and the other hand flicking back and forth with what looked like a long, sharp-toothed stick. As Alan grabbed the cherry, he started to fall backwards, never losing the feel of the cherry in his arms. As he lay on his back, his gaze diverted from the royal red prize he had just acquired, he saw the shadow coming towards him, and as the sweet smell of the cupcake filled his nose, his body froze in fear: was it coming for him? “Is this the end?" he wondered. In slow motion, he saw the long toothed stick open its mouth wide before taking a huge bite into the cupcake. It started to move upwards, going towards the bulging, black bag before dislodging the cupcake out of its long, rounded teeth and ejecting it into the sack. It then turned its attention to Alan, scrutinising Alan — or was it the cherry? Alan knew that if he did not move, he would end up in that sack, falling into the cavernous, blackness that would become his end of lifesaw the long toothed stick open its mouth wide before taking a huge bite into the cupcake. It started to move upwards, going towards the bulging, black bag before dislodging the cupcake out of its long, rounded teeth and ejecting it into the sack. It then turned its attention to Alan, scrutinising Alan — or was it the cherry? Alan knew that if he did not move, he would end up in that sack, falling into the cavernous, blackness that would become his end of life 19

.

He took a deep breath and decided he would have to make a run for it. It would be dangerous, but the cherry would go with him for as long as he could go. Rolling his eyes, he saw his mound, his colony, his home. Visions of Alice filled his eyes, slowly being erased by the fogginess of the tears: “I have to do it for Alice.�

He diverted his gaze back to the sharp toothed stick, took a deep breath, and ran.

Alice could hear her heart beating, pounding in her chest all the way to her ears, pounding so hard she did not hear the voices screaming at her. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to find something reassuring within the green landscape that separated her and the shadow. The voices were screaming at her, echoing all around her, whilst Alice was frozen to the spot, only her eyes moving, looking for hope; ants were grabbing all they could and running into the mound, panicking like it was the end of the world‌ but then it stopped. Silence.

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Something was moving, the grass flicking back and forth, and there it was, she could just make out the lower half of an ant. Legs moving fast, but what was that on the top? It started to move, high in the sky, above the head of … Alan. He was alive!!! He was running for dear life, moving through the bulrushes, when suddenly he got dark, the ball above his head turning from red to black. As her eyes moved up, she saw the what can only be described as a long, sharp toothed stick that was moving down, down to the ground, down to…Alan!!! *** Jake was a lover of nature; he always drove slowly in the countryside; “Never know what’s going to come running out of the bush,” he would tell his kids as they drove to the park. He was not, however, a fan of insects.

From a distance, he could tolerate them, but when they invaded his workspace, that was another matter!

“Leaving food all over the place only invites trouble, next thing you know, that half-eaten cupcake will be crawling with ants. Yes, they’ll eat it and save on the waste, but what’s next? Next, they will be moving in, setting up home, taking over the park — my park. Well, not on my watch.”

And with that, he grabbed the cupcake and stuffed it firmly into his bag. Next, the cherry, but that would prove difficult as, for some reason, it was…moving.

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“That …is…it! It’s started already. First one ant, next, hundreds. Come back here, you little—’ and with that, Jake extended his trusty grabber, and aimed for the red cherry that was being transported at a medium speed between the bulrushes. But if Jake had his way, it would not get very far at all. *** Alan’s lungs were working overtime, the air entering and escaping like a pump desperately trying to inflate a tyre, his blood pumping all around his body, building up inside like a volcano waiting to explode — but he couldn’t stop, he had to keep going. The mound was coming into view, chaos all around it as ants scattered, one on top of the other, trying to get into the colony.

As he was surveying the best way to go, his eyes fixed on one motionless ant, standing there, no movement, except a barely-perceptible movement of the lips. It was Alice. “Oh, Alice, I’m coming,” he thought. The ground now shaking and pounding. Alan took a quick glance backwards and could see the long toothed stick coming towards him; he was so close to home, so close to Alice, and yet so close to death. As he spun his head around, still clutching hard onto the red cherry, he realised that in a split second, he could lose everything. Alice would be watching her past, present and future being elevated into the air between the teeth of this giant stick, to then watch as he would be flung like a rag into the dark, never-ending pit grasped between the shadow’s 22

chubby fingers. As the teeth came down, they firmly clasped the cherry, and with a squeeze, Alan felt the sweet, juicy success drip down his face, as the cherry slowly rose through the air. Alan took a deep breath, held his gaze with Alice, and let go. The cherry was now moving at speed, going higher and higher into the air, past the black bag, going higher than he imagined, until it came into the bulky, bloodshot view of the shadow’s eye. The shadow twisted and turned the long beast that had snatched the cherry into its grasp, and looked around for something other than the dripping, squashed mess that had once been a succulent, seductive cherry gracing the shoulders of a cupcake. *** He’d got it, he’d got the cherry and whatever had stolen his rubbish. He’d made sure that no one had got away with this, no matter how small they were. As Jake started to look at the cherry, his expression changed from victory to bewilderment. Where was it? It was here a minute ago! Did he imagine it? The cherry was definitely on top of some type of vehicle; they don’t move on their own, do they? Confused, he stuffed his grabber into the black sack and released the grip so that the cherry would fall into the abyss of the rubbish, making his park a better, cleaner place.

“Not today, Minibeasts, not on my watch!” he yelled, as he turned his back and started to walk away. *** 23

As Alan ran towards Alice, he could feel the ground getting quieter; the pounding bass had started to decrease, and within seconds, the ground felt soft, like home. He ran straight to Alice, gripping her as tight as he could, never wanting to let go. Tears streamed down Alice’s face, slowly flowing down Alan’s shoulder before disintegrating into the air. As she moved her head, she took his hand and led him into the colony.

No words were needed, Alan knew. This had been too close for comfort. He had all he needed, his Alice, his kids, his home.

That was the last time Alan had ever left the safety of the colony. From now on, he would stay with the line. His family meant more to him than any sweet treat.

His family was his sweet treat.

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SO, THAT WAS IT!: A short story by Toni Ridgway My dream was becoming a reality…….at last!

As I collapsed to my knees on the the golden sand, my hands still slowly shaking, I took a deep breath in, filling my lungs up with the sea air. I blinked a few times and carefully rubbed my eyes to check it was real: I was not dreaming. A single tear ran down my cheek, slowly dripping down onto the dry, warm sand beneath me, quickly vanishing as the penetrating sun beamed onto it. Within seconds it was gone.

The sea was a beautiful turquoise colour, crashing against the nearby harbour wall; I could hear the splashing of water punching against a tiny cove in the wall, desperately trying to get in, then rushing back out even faster. It was like the sea was playing a game with the tiny hole. A dripping sound could be heard above this. There must have been some rain in the night, making the hills above the harbour moist with water, and it was slowly trickling down as the day passed by, almost like a trickling tap that hadn’t been switched off completely.

The sea salt was gently spraying over my face, the aftermath of a wave crashing up, making me feel as relaxed and refreshed as if I was standing under a cool shower trying to wake up. The coolness of the water soon disappeared, with 25

the warmth of the sun drying it up.

As I turned my head, I did a quick scan, first to the left and then across the horizon to the right. I noticed I was alone.

All the memories came flooding back to me. I could remember as a child coming here, standing in this same spot, and remembering how quiet it was then, all those years ago. It hadn’t changed.

I took my time to admire the view, the green shrubbery hanging down from the steep hill that led over the cliff edge, eventually leading to another beach. There were cows were grazing in the field; a few of them were going right up the the edge to get the last bit of fresh and invitingly long grass to chew on.

On the other side there were a few cottages, sitting pretty on the cliff edge. Most looked empty and tired, with their paint starting to wear away and their roofs covered in seagull mess. Either they had had a hard winter, or the projects for the “summer season� had not started yet. Not a lot had changed over the years, only cottages looking tired, and a few rocks crumbling down by the cliff edge. You could see the difference in the colouring of rocks between old and new; it was almost like time had stood still.

I got a warm, tingling feeling through my body, the same feeling I had had as a child standing here. This was why I loved it here so much: I felt at home and safe here!

It felt like it had taken me ages to arrive, but it had only been a five-hour drive. I had packed the car up with some of my 26

belongings, having to decide what I’d really need and what I would have to do without; not everything could fit into the boot. It was a new start, so I decided that even my clothes and belongings could change: if I could change, then so could they.

I had decided to set off late the previous night. I did not want the stress of busy traffic and stupid drivers adding to my anxious mind. The only form of company throughout the journey was the radio playing in the background, a dull sound projecting around the car. I was not listening to it, as my mind was going over and over the one question that played in the back of my mind after all this time: was this the right thing to do?

Thankfully, the roads had been quiet, with only a few lorries passing, trying to get to their destination before sunrise. It was a clear night, the stars twinkling in the darkened sky and the beautiful, bright, bold moon beaming down on me like a torch guiding my way. My hands felt tight; I looked down at my knuckles and they were as white as snow, cold and stiff. I loosened my grip on the steering wheel and started to relax a little, and eventually smiled.

The colour started to appear back in my hands, and I knew I was going to be all right.

As I sat here in the sand, deep in thought, I could hear the squawking of two seagulls fighting with each other, chasing about in the sky, and diving down to escape from one another. I could feel the warm sun caressing the side of my face, and I turned and squinted towards its direction to enjoy

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the full beam of it: the sun was looking down and smiling at me.

My thoughts quickly passed as I heard a noise. I tensed. I looked down slowly to see what had made the noise. To my relief nothing or nobody was there. I gave a huge sign of relief — I just wanted to enjoy this moment all on my own.

I heard it again, but this time I was not lost in my own world of thoughts and noticed it was in fact coming from me; my tummy was rumbling away. It had been such a long time since I ate, not stopping on the journey in case I changed my mind and turned back.

I remembered passing a little shop as I walked down to the beach. It had been closed, but hopefully by now the doors would be open and I could at least grab a tea and something to tide me over. I stood up, brushing all the sand off my legs, and then rubbing my hands to get the last remaining bits off. I walked slowly off towards the shop, noticing how not only had I got a spring in my step but a big smile on my face too.

Thankfully, the shop now had an open sign on the door.

There were benches, tables and chairs set up outside. I could not recall seeing them earlier, but I had been in a daze. I carefully chose a table near the back, so I did not have to make conversation with passers-by. A cheery lady came out and took my order, my tummy continuing to rumble while I waited. Only a couple of people walked past and entered the shop; they were around retirement age, probably popping for a paper and a daily natter.

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Finishing my tea and bacon sandwich, I left the money on the table and decided it was time to move on. I walked briskly up to where I had almost abandoned the car all those hours ago, not quite remembering how unfit I really was: the hill back up was steep. I finally reached my car and froze. In front of me was the beautiful cottage. It had symmetrical windows with old fashion lead criss-crossed through the panes, and a bold green door with a tiny bell to one side. In a well-maintained but small garden, a few daisies peeked cheekily through the grass. In the corner of the garden there was a blossom tree full of buds bursting to open.

I took a deep breath and slowly opened the gate; it was slightly stiff to begin with and it made a creaking sound as I pushed it open, so I knew it had not been used much. I walked along the tiny cobbles to the front door, my eyes constantly focused on the door. I gently reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, shiny, silver key. With shaking hands, I gently guided it into the lock. Slowly I turned the handle and pushed the door open.A gush of warm air passed me with the smell of fresh flowers; sunshine was beaming through the window onto the hallway floor. Everything was peaceful and immaculate. I decided to take a slow walk around the cottage, checking everything was in place.

I peered out the window to the back garden; it was like I was staring at a painting — it was perfect! A tiny log burner was situated in the sitting room, and how I longed for dark, cold, wet winter nights so I could be sitting in front of that roaring fire.

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There were two tiny bedrooms with low ceilings. I decided to choose the back one; not only could you look out onto the beautiful garden, you also got a view of the sea.

This thought pulled at my heart, and made me feel warm.

My mind was made up.

After having a look around, I went out to the car and started to unload. It took a few trips back and forth, but I wanted to get it all out and into its place. It took me a number of attempts to complete this, as I kept changing my mind about where things should go. I was not in a hurry to do it all in one day, but again, in the back of my mind, I kept thinking, “It needs to be done — I can’t change my mind and head back.”

After it was all completed, I sat down at the kitchen table.

When I had arrived I’d noticed that, perched in front of a vase of beautiful purple tulips, there was a note. I hadn’t want to read it straight away; I hadn’t want to stop myself in my tracks in the task ahead, so I’d pushed it to one side of my mind and continued to empty the car.

I walked slowly to the fridge and took out the bottle of Cornish cider I’d put there earlier, and poured it into a glass. I nervously picked up the letter and headed towards the little door to the back garden. I stood still, staring out towards the view of the sea; the tide was on the turn now and was heading back into shore. I took a few minutes just standing, taking in everything going on around me: the birds tweeting, the sea still churning, the smell of the flowers and cut crass, the coldness of the glass in my hand.

I took a deep mouthful 30

of my cider. Oh, how I longed to drink this now after the long day I’d just had; my tastebuds felt like they were exploding in my mouth! I then gently placed the glass on the petite wooden table by my chair.

I then opened the envelope and read the note…….

Dear Toni, I trust you had a safe journey down. I hope everything is just as you requested.

If you have any problems, please feel free to call me.

Wishing you all the best of luck on your new adventure!!

Best wishes Jayne x This was it; it now started to feel real. I had done this!

For tonight, I thought, I’ll relax, enjoy the rest of the cider while admiring this beautiful view, and then have a nice long soak in the bath before an early night, because tomorrow is when the new chapter in my life starts.

I knew I’d have to deal with a new routine, try to make new friends along the way and fit into the close-knit community — and inevitably answer lots of questions, as people would be wanting to know about me and why I was there. And believe me, there was one big story to tell.

But not just yet!

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THE LOWER ALENTEJO: A short story by Elzabe Santos

A murderous sun assaults the earth, causing ripples of heat over the black, snaking, melting, scalding hot tar road, as it travels through a deserted landscape. Small elevations are dotted with simple, low, white dwellings. Out of the baked earth sprout forth dull-green, silvery olive trees, embraced at the trunks by golden ears of wheat. A golden patch of sunflowers, with their black epicentres and a flurry of deep, dark, yellow petals, worships the sun, their master, by following its slow movement during the day.

A relatively flat, monotonous landscape meets the eye, while we travel through this southern area of Portugal. The winding route is interspersed with long, level stretches of road; the surrounding farmlands alternate with small hamlets, villages, and towns. Here and there we find a small shrine, dedicated to a loved one whose life was stolen at that site; flowers and a cross or the patron saint fills the space, guarded by a glass covering, reminding us how fragile life is, how it can be shattered and destroyed in an instant‌like the glass.

Hamlets and villages sprout and grow next to the road, then extend out to the backs of the existing buildings. The houses are shuttered, with small windows and thick white walls that shelter the interior from the summer blaze and the winter ice.

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The pure, blinding white contrasts sharply with blue borders, the blue and white tiles that decorate some houses, set on cobbled streets. Brown wooden doors spew the residents straight out onto the street or onto the narrow pavement; having a front garden is a luxury, enjoyed by very few inhabitants in the area. In the backyards you find chicken coops, rabbit runs, washing lines and fruit trees all mingling in a chaotic vision of texture and colour; animal smells and rotting fruit perfume the heavy air. A small vegetable patch, where the leafy cabbage stalks are grown, sits next to the outhouse, leaning onto the garden shed, spilling wood into the yard.

The immaculate white church stands on its own, apart from the activities of the inhabitants and their dwellings.

Reaching towards the sky, on a low hill, the tower, with its clock and bell, calls the faithful to worship. The sanctuary is the guardian of the village and it jealously protects the departed souls in a white-walled enclosure, secured by a black iron gate. The bell also announces the departure of another mortal soul, calling on the living to support those who mourn the loss, to ease their bereavement and to guard the body until it can be returned to the earth from which it sprang.

The square is the social hub of the community, and also a commercial space at times, used for festivities, markets and gatherings of all kinds. In the midday heat, only a few dogs are sleeping in the scarce shade against a wall. There is hardly a movement — it is siesta time, and behind closed doors and shuttered windows the village restores its energy.

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In the early morning the square is a bustle of movement: goats and sheep being herded out to the pastures, men and women going to work on their allotments, vendors of bread, cake, fish and vegetables causing a cacophony of different horns, and vendors calling out their wares to attract the clients. Young people rush to the bus stop to get their education in the town. At a more relaxed pace, the young ones drag their feet on the way to the local school and pre-primary; mothers and grandmothers, aunts and uncles become impatient with the snail’s pace of the chattering, arguing, whining kids. The school is enclosed by a low, white wall, at the one end of the village, sitting on the main road.

Contrary to the pub culture we know, the Portuguese go to the café or the tavern, establishments that serve mainly espresso and alcohol. Sometimes there might be some snacks or typical food, like snails. Opening hours are mostly at the discretion of the owner, so you can have a coffee and a hard liquor at 6am if you wish – many men like that – or some wine to go with the bread brought from home. Nobody blinks an eye when a wife or mother delivers a meal to the drinking partners in the café or tavern. Women will go in pairs or small groups to have a coffee after lunch, but only to the cafes; taverns are rough, and not seen as a fit place for a lady.

Each village usually has a few shops selling general merchandise, basically everything from a pin to a policeman.

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Self-service is not a habit, and the shopkeeper serves as butcher, baker, pharmacist, postmaster and much more, even veterinarian. Only recently have the old scales been replaced by electronic ones, and now all shops have to have a computerised sales system, linked to the Revenue system. Shops rarely had a cash register; the sheets of paper in which products would be wrapped were used to calculate the sales. All local shops had a credit system, pieces of paper hanging on a hook behind the counter, with names on them showing how much each one owed. Fresh produce like milk, meat, fruit and vegetables were not delivered daily. The shopkeeper would go to the market twice a week to stock up on fruit and vegetables, while meat ordered by clients would also be fetched, together with a few chickens or other meat for those who needed it. Milk was delivered once a week and had to be ordered in advance, or a standing order set up. Bread and bread rolls had to be ordered the day before. Most villages have a local bakery, but with limited opening hours. If you are a good client, you could at times persuade the baker to sell you a hot bread at 11 pm.

Village shops sell local produce, like goats’ cheese, chorizo, and blood sausages, as well as other regional cheeses, depending on the supplier, and prices and quality vary. It’s possible to buy fresh goats’ or cows’ milk from locals in the village, as well as fresh and cured goats’ cheese. Fresh eggs are sold by locals who keep chickens. Some villages have a big vegetable and fruit enterprise, a family-run establishment that sells fruit and vegetables in season and freshly picked.

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Imagine going to the patch and choosing which lettuce, cabbage, or tomatoes you want!

Summer is the time for feasts, processions and dancing in the street; June celebrates the different saints, with other traditions also upheld at those times. The villages have collective festivals, but also street feasts, where locals compete against each other to have the most decorated street, and the most traditional music and food. The main dish is grilled sardines with cornbread. Fat, glistening, round-eyed sardines grilled over the coals and served on a slice of cornbread, rubbed with garlic and a drizzle of olive oil: the taste of heaven! Each village has a patron saint, in whose honour there is a procession. The figurine of the saint is placed on a wooden support, lifted upon the shoulders of six bearers and paraded through the streets of the village, with villagers faithfully following the statue, singing hymns and holding candles, honouring the saint.

Bearers take turns — those statues are quite heavy, and it is no easy feat to carry one while walking on uneven cobbled stones.

On the subject of traditions, there is the bullfighting. I am not an aficionado of that blood sport, but it is a part of life.

There is a saying that no matador worthy of that name is absent from a bullfight on the 15th of August. Even the smallest village will have an amateur bullfight, sometimes even in the water. The amateurs can be fun to watch as they are in more danger than the bull; no blood is drawn, and the youngsters use the occasion to demonstrate their manly courage.

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Like all regions, the Alentejo has its own culinary delicacies. Being a producer of wheat, as well as olives and grapes, bread is a staple in the diet, and forms the basis of many dishes. Pork products, cheese, olive oil, garlic and bread are an integral part of the daily meals. Tomatoes are produced in large quantities and used for soups, hot and cold. Fresh coriander, lemon, parsley and paprika, as well as oregano, are fundamental in the regional cuisine. This is one of the poorer regions of the country — the stepchild of Portugal — and development is delayed, with industries not allowed to build big plants; neither is there encouragement for any industry to be established in the region. The daily dishes reflect the economy: cheaper meats are used, or eggs from their chickens. There is still a culture of barter in the region, and instead of a cash reward they will pay with home produce, eggs, vegetables, melons, or olives being common payment methods.

Food waste is not tolerated; they make use of everything.

Stale bread is transformed into steaming soups, rich and filling, with an egg added to each bowl of broth. Other ways bread is used is in making a crumbly mixture which is fried in the fatty residue of fried pork, or soaking the bread in boiling water, beating it to a pulp and adding garlic, olive oil and oregano, as an accompaniment to fried fish. An extraordinary combination of pork meat and clams is a taste explosion on your mouth, making the taste buds tingle.

A climate of opposites is difficult to get used to.

Midsummer can yield 46 degrees Celsius in the shade, inflated by the hot 37

winds from Spain, causing dehydration in man, beast, and plants, and culminating in death and destruction. On the other end of the scale, negative temperatures are common in winter. It is a climate of extremes, causing hardships to the locals.

The Islamic and Moorish influences can still be seen all over the area, while Roman artefacts and architecture can be admired here. Archaeologists’ excavations opened up a myriad of finds, dating back through the invasions of Julius Caesar, the Moors, and the Spanish. It is almost unbelievable to use a road built by the Romans, or step over a stream using a bridge built hundreds of years ago. Some castles and defensive towers and walls are still in place, reminding us of the era when the Moors invaded the peninsula. Some cathedrals started as mosques, with the alterations and additions marked in the current building: unique architectural specimens were created this way.

The village of Mertola, on the banks of the Guadiana river, is classified as a museum, its antique mosque housing the biggest collection of Islamic religious artefacts in Portugal.

Excavations around and under the Moorish castle unearthed Roman artefacts and structures indicating a settlement in Roman times. The mill still works as in times gone by and the river yields eels, a sought-after delicacy, while the wild asparagus makes a traditional omelette. Wild mushrooms are picked in abundance in shady woodlands, reasons to live off the land. In this quaint village-museum, the old and the modern co-exist in harmony, forming a mosaic of patterns and colours, glass and stone next to each other.

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The Moorish influence extends into the confectionary. Almonds in all forms and textures form the base of the “Convent confectionary", sweet creations produced manually by nuns and novices. Sweet ecstasies furnished with impressive names like “Dom Rodrigo” and “Queijinhos de Amendoa” (literally meaning almond cheeses), these rich tastes are made with love, dedication, and a lot of eggs, principally the yolks. The exquisite marzipan fruits, filled with sweet egg ribbons, and the pigs, shaped from marzipan and stuffed full of egg filling in a variety of sizes, are displayed next to the seven-layer honey and nut cake. You will be spoilt for choice when you are confronted with a counter bursting with such heavenly temptations.

Even the wine is shrouded in tradition, the 11th of November being the date on which Saint Martinho is celebrated by the drinking of new wine and the eating of chestnuts. Speckled over the Alentejo you will find small wine cellars, where individual winemakers produce and display the fruit of their labour and experience. The cellars have a large public area with seating and an open fireplace.

Men usually go in small groups to a cellar to taste the wines before buying the products. The wineries do not provide any food; therefore, the open fireplace is used to grill some meat or sausages, accompanied by chunks of bread, cheese and olives to ensure some degree of sobriety is maintained.

Each group decides on what food they are taking, and many times different groups just put out what they have and all share 39

what there is. The wine-tasting season is usually from November to January, the cellars charge a small fee to take part in the tasting experience and it is a social event.

Another social event is hunting, from October to December, for doves, hares, rabbits, partridges, and wild boar. The opening day of the season is a spectacle that I found hilarious. All the bulky men in camouflage, with bullet belts over their chests and armed to the teeth – for what? To hunt rabbits. I walked into a hunting party at a cafÊ early one Sunday morning, and jeeps, 4X4s and other trucks lined the street; inside, the counter was packed with these men, resembling an army regiment. They never forgave me for shaking with laughter at the display of firepower.

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THE UNKNOWN: A short story by Victoria Jackson

As I lay within the comforts of my warm, cosy duvet, my eyes still closed, I could hear the orchestra of birds singing their songs into the morning air. Their sounds enveloped the air like a warm hug, giving me the feeling of being in a beautiful place, a place that was safe, a place that was welcoming.

As I slowly stretched my body outwards and downwards, like a rag doll being pulled between arguing children, I could feel the warm sunshine announcing itself through my window. As I slowly opened my eyes, the room was alight with vivacious colours, the sun enhancing the brilliance within everything it touched.

I contemplated staying within the comforts of my room, with no one to disturb me, just the gentle songs of the birds to keep me entertained.

Growl !!! My tummy was now awake, making a noise like a lion who has been disturbed from his slumber. I hadn’t thought about food, so why was my tummy …? Aaah, that’s why! The smell seductively climbing up the stairs had caught the attention of my fully alert nose: toast. Although I was awake, I wasn’t fully awake; toast didn’t quite have that effect on me. Pancakes, mmmm, now that is something that

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would get me out of bed, and rather promptly. It was then I realised it was a Monday, and Mum hadn’t been shopping, hence the toast. Tuesday was pancake day — oh, how I loved pancake Tuesday.

As I tried to manoeuvre my arms into my oversized red jumper, I could hear my Mum shouting my name for breakfast. I grasped the railing to the stairs with a tight grip, as I'd been deceived by its security once before, and ended up at the bottom of the stairs quicker than I could have ever imagined. I took each step carefully, one step at time, like a child trying to see Father Christmas on Christmas Eve. As my feet hit the bottom step, I heard Mum shouting for me again. I had no energy to keep shouting that I was coming, so, with a deep sigh, I composed myself and walked into the kitchen.

Mum stood smiling at me, gesturing for me to sit at the spot she had chosen, laid out with the toast standing up like a tower — she knows I don’t like it flat on the plate, as the heat turns to water, making the toast all wet and soft. I liked my toast crunchy, really crunchy.

I started to eat the toast, which was piled high with raspberry jam (did I forget to tell you that raspberry jam is the best? Well, now you know!). Anyway, Mum started to pour some orange juice into a tall, sparkling glass, the condensation from the bottle dripping onto the table, making little splashes at the end of its journey, when I glanced at her face. Although her face was expressionless, I could see how 42

beautiful she was, is. She was still young and had a smooth, pale complexion pierced with deep blue eyes. Her lips were a pinky red colour that was not enhanced with any products.

She had a porcelain-like face which made her beauty stand out even more. All this beauty was within a frame of straw-coloured yellow hair that was pulled into a distressed pony tail, with strands of hair flying into the air; this, of course, didn’t make any difference to her beauty — and I wasn’t biased, no I wasn’t. I had seen her when we walked down the road to the shop, and on a busy day she could make a million men turn their heads toward her, but she never did it intentionally; in fact, she never actually noticed.

As soon as the last crumb of toast had been devoured, Mum said I could go and play in the garden, but I was not to get to dirty. Her face was sullen when she spoke, whereas normally she was graceful and smiling. But not today.

I sat on the swing, cuddling the chain as I tired to catch my breath, thinking of the adventures I had had with my toys.

They had spent the morning saving me from the wilder beasts of Africa, the aliens from Saturn and the Shark King from under the sea. It was then that I noticed Mum looking out of the window at me. As I waved she gave back a half-hearted wave, and I looked harder, my eye brows meeting in the middle, and I could see her wiping her eyes and composing herself. Was she crying?

Mum came down the garden towards the swing that had been my companion for the morning, my toys strewn along 43

the path, now resting after the exciting morning I had had with them. Her eyes were red, more red against her porcelain complexion, taking away the attention from her smile that seemed to move upwards although rather hesitantly. She held out her hand and beckoned me with a tilt of her head. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do, but I always knew I would be safe with her. Everything she did for me, she always did it for the best. She always told me that although we didn’t have much we had enough to keep going, but no matter what, all we needed was love.

Holding my hand, she grasped it with a firm grip so hard I could feel the pulse in my wrist throbbing away almost like someone was using a sledgehammer within my skin. We started to walk towards the front garden. For as long as I can remember, we have never gone out the front, we had always used the back gate to exit onto the lane.

Mum never said why we always used the back gate, I always thought it was normal, and that the front was just for decoration.

As we came from behind the tatty, brown shed that had been in our garden forever (although I never actually knew what was kept in it), I could see the road was busy, busier that it normally was. Most of the time you would see a few people walking to go to the shops, but today, there were adults walking without their bags, just their children being dragged by the hand as if they were walking too slowly.

Walking down the road, I could see the faces behind me, staring forwards, looking bleak and forlorn, young faces 44

looking puzzled and concerned. The air was tinged with silence, with only nature continuing as normal, the leaves rustling in the mid-afternoon air. There was the shuffling of feet grazing the pavement, and stones hitting the ground from heavy feet that had scuffed them into the air.

We turned onto Jenkins Street and came to a stop. As far as the eye could see there were bodies, standing motionless, and not a whisper could be heard. All you could see were the different coloured heads of hair gently flickering in the wind, the odd shuffle where someone moved from one foot to another. I had never heard this street so… quiet. Gone were the children zooming around on their bikes, using the curbs as skateboard ramps, gone were the girls covering the paths with chalk rainbows and the odd words that were quickly turned into a smudge before anyone could see. But it was the noise that reminded you that you were on Jenkins Street: screams of laughter, screams of brakes, screams of children. But now … nothing.

My heart was in my throat, my hands dripping in sweat, my legs feeling like a bowl of jelly being shaken vigorously by an over-excited child at a party. I had heard stories, but I always thought they were stories. Grandma always liked to tell a good story, especially those that made you jump, but I always thought they were just stories.

As I slowly shifted my weight from one leg to another, Mum tightening her grip around my small hand, crushing it like it was in a vice, I heard a muffled sound. It didn’t come from 45

behind or around me, it came from the front. Anxiety taking over my body, my senses became alert.

And then I heard it, a sound that ripped through my body like lightning ripping through a tree, piercing my ears with a shriek I had never encountered before. All the hairs on my neck stood to attention, my arms frozen with fear.

This wasn’t a story, this wasn’t a tale, this was… real. And it was happening to me.

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‘GUILTY’: A short story

By Leila Wheatley

The last few months had been very tough, being a superintendent on a murder enquiry so it’s been very tough, the investigation had really taken its toll on me. I drove home from work, the sun was shining and thoughts of the recent murder investigation were going through my mind, longing for some much needed ‘down time’ to chill and relax.

As I pulled up on the drive I sat for a while thinking about what I was going to do with my leave from work: gardening, taking our beloved dog Marley for long walks in the countryside that we were so fortunate to live in. I gathered my thoughts and belongings, I got out my car and put the key in the lock and heard the sound of the children, getting ready for their busy day ahead at school.

My wife Winnie and I had been married for twenty-five years: we had three children, Milo - ten, Maisie - sixteen and Alfie - fourteen. So, as you can imagine it was sheer and utter caps. Alfie shouting “Mum, where’s my games kit?” and Maisie having a meltdown because her hair won’t go right, Milo complaining he can’t find his coursework.

Mayhem!

Complete mayhem. - then Marley barked to go for a walk.

“Hang on, hang on, old boy” I said hanging my coat on the hook.

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Winnie was in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs, the radio playing. “Morning love,” she said as I entered the kitchen.

“Morning, need a hand? “I asked.

“No, ya alright, nearly done, wanna cuppa?”

“Ah smashing” I said as I sat at the table, thinking about my day ahead and what I was going to do with my much needed time off. Long walks with Marley, visiting my mother who now lives alone since with father passed away a year last May. With me being her only child living near, the brunt of looking after her is now mainly down to myself and my wife.

Quite a burden with my job being so demanding, but she is my mother after all...

Summer was beckoning and we were all looking forward to some family time. We had a holiday home in Cornwall, a lovely little cottage we’ve owned for around ten years. We spend much of the summer there, or Winnie and our children do and I join them when I can.

“Love, your cuppa” my wife chimed, bringing me back to the present.

“Thanks love” “You were miles away, anywhere interesting?”

“No not really love.”

Marley was at my feet clearly waiting with bailed breath, to go for a lovely long walk, just the two of us.

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“OK Marley let me drink my tea and then we will go” Once the kids and Winnie were all gone and the house fell silent, I got up, changed into some casual clothes and got Marley’s lead. I decided I would take him in the car and take him to the lake, give him a proper run around. It’s beautiful up there this time of year.

“Come on Marley, get in. Good boy” As I pulled away I felt a sense of ease and joy. Little did I know that the day would turn out to be not quite the day Marley and I had planned.

It took us the usual ten-minute drive. I pulled into a nice spot under a tree, opened the boot to let Marley out. As usual he went mad running around like a mad thing.

“Here boy” I shouted.

He came barking like the obedient dog he is. We walked around the lake, I threw the ball for him and he raced back and forth bringing it back, went for a dip in the lake, chasing the ducks. After about an hour, I decided to get a coffee. There was a little coffee shack that sold all sorts of refreshments.

I sat for a while and had a chat with some of the locals. It was getting busier so I decided to head home. I dried Marley off and put him in the boot.

I suddenly felt so, so tired, I wondered if I should take a half hour nap before heading back, but I decided against it, something I will very much later come to regret...

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As I drove through the wooded area with the trees leaning over the bumpy winding roads I could feel my eyelids getting heavy.

The drive felt long and slow and as I came to the end of the wooded area, approaching the main road, suddenly...

BANG, THUD, CRASH. “Jesus!” I shouted “What the bloody hell was that?”

I couldn’t focus. I had my head on the steering wheel. I sat there staring, wondering what the hell had just happened, I thought maybe I had hit a deer or something. Slowly, very slowly, I managed to move myself and get out if the car and to my utter amazement couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.

My hands covered my face and I feel my knees give way beneath me. I managed to move very slowly forwards.

There was a young girl lying on the road, her bike on top of her.

“What the hell had I done? Please god don’t let this be true.” I was frozen to the spot.

A car pulled up and a man and woman got out, they tried to ask me what had happened, but it was as if the words wouldn’t leave my lips. They must have called the police and an ambulance as the next thing the place was swarming with sirens.. A couple of the officers knew me, they put a blanket around me and sat me in one of the many police cars.

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I so wanted to speak but I just couldn’t. I could see the ambulance crew seeing to the young girl, I desperately wanted to know how she was, but still I couldn’t speak. It was like I was drifting into a parallel world. And it was one which was very alien.

The next thing I remember was entering the police station.

But this time not as a detective accompanying a criminal but as the criminal himself. This must be some sort of terrible nightmare, please let me wake up soon.

Winnie ran to me and hugged me tight, almost bringing me to the present.

“Oh Bob” she cried “What happened?”

But still I couldn’t speak. I was taken into an interview room and given hot, sweet tea. I tried to drink it but it was like my mouth wouldn’t work properly.

I was told to try and get some sleep; so I lay down on the hard bench, just staring into space.

A couple of hours later a detective and a police officer came to try and interview me.

I found my missing voice, it was like bile rising from the pit of my stomach. “I didn’t see her” I shouted - over and over and over again.

“I didn’t see her, she came out of nowhere.”

I broke down and cried like a baby, I cried like never before. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

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The next day they told me to take a shower and my wife bought me a change of clothes.

Then the interview. The questions, questions, questions and more questions. Although I knew they were only doing their jobs, like I have done so many times before, it all just seemed so wrong.

How can I now be the one sat with a solicitor by my side, being asked all these questions, being made to feel like a criminal? I felt scared, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

I wanted to run and run and keep on running until I left this terrible nightmare behind.

But I knew it was real and there was no running away. This was an accident, a horrible accident. I knew this was going to be a long hot day, My mouth kept drying up so they brought me water to wet my mouth and coffee to keep me awake. After what felt like an eternity, the detective decided to call it a day.

Another long hot, lonely night in custody on that hard, cold bed. I felt so desperately lonely.

I lay there in the dark, my thoughts going from Winnie, to the children, to Home. My mind was racing, from this to that and ‘what if? I started to sweat, my heart racing like a formula 1 racing car.

“Dear God help me,” I said as I knelt by my bed head in my hands, ‘please God I’ve never asked you for much, but please help me’. Tears ran down my face, tears of deep regret.

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How could I have been so irresponsible? How could I have not seen her?

The family. Oh My God, the family. I put my head in my hands and wondered what they must be going through, how angry they must be. Their hearts must be breaking.

Who was she? Who was this girl I had not seen but had mowed down and killed? Who was she? How old was she?

Did she have siblings? I just needed to know about her.What a mess, what a bloody mess.

Before I knew it the sun was bursting through the bars of the tiny window. The hatch of the cell flew open, then the door opened, and an officer came in with some breakfast, which I didn’t feel much like eating. I was told to eat it as it was going to be another long day of being interviewed.

At ten thirty I was taken to an interview room and was met by my solicitor and the detective and the Chief Inspector.

The recorder was rolling ready to record my statement.

“Tell us from the beginning exactly what happened Bob, we know this is hard for you, it isn’t easy for any of us, you are our friend and colleague” “I - I don’t know is all that I can say, it happened so quickly, I just didn’t see her, it’s like she just come from nowhere” “Take your time Bob and think, think long and hard” “I am. I honestly am, but that’s the truth of it, it happened so quickly”

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“We know you weren’t speeding, or that you had been drinking. We feel that it was just a tragic accident, from what you have told us and the evidence.”.

There was a knock on the interview room door, an officer passed a note through.

“It seems a witness has come forward” said the Detective.

“Yes, a young man driving in the opposite direction, we will suspend the interview for now. Time - twelve seventeen … pm” They needed to get a statement from the witness before carrying on with my interview. I wonder what the witness will have to say I thought. I wonder if my account of what happened that fatal day matches his? My mind raced at a million to one. What if it was different? What if it was all my fault? I know that if that was the case I would never be able to forgive myself ,or live with the fact I had taken a life. The more I thought the more it made me made me physically sick. I needed to be strong and stay focused.

At around two thirty, I was taken to be interviewed again, they had interviewed the witness. We all took our places at the table, myself, my solicitor, DC Cook and Inspector Moorfield. Once again, the recorder was rolling ...

“Are you sure what you have told us so far is correct? It’s just the witness statement is very different to yours. He says you were recklessly speeding Bob, is that true? “ I sat there literally not being able to comprehend what was being said.

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“Speeding?” I said “Speeding? No, that’s not true, I told you I just didn’t see her, she came from nowhere.”

I put my head in my hands. “You have to too believe me.

I’m a superintendent, I’m a decent person, you know me for God’s sake, you know me.”

How can this be happening, it was like everything around me was falling, my voice, my account of what happened, why was the witness saying this? Why? I just wanted it all too end, the whole damn thing, I wish I never went to the bloody lake, I wish I had just gone home and slept like I so nearly had.

I honestly did not see her, it was all over so quickly. I felt like I just wasn’t being heard.

Then I remembered something, tiredness. How terribly tired I had felt. I had taken the coffee by the lake to combat my tiredness. So that must be it. I was too tired to drive. Deep down I knew I had to tell the truth.

So, I just told them the truth, exactly how tired I was and that I had the coffee at the lake because I felt so tired. I told them how I had regretted driving and wish I waited longer before leaving to go home. So many regrets, so many lives ruined.

I asked how old the girl was that I had mowed down? What was her name? Who is she? They told me her name was Adelle, and she was 16 years old. 16, Oh my God, just a child.

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So now I knew that things were about to change. I had driven knowing I was too tired, and I should have known better. “Yes, Bob Taylor”, you should have known better!

“Jesus Bob, what on earth were you thinking of? How many times do we talk about this, driving whilst tired?”

“I know, I know, I just don’t know why I felt the need to drive home when I did.”

They called time on the interview, and off I went back to my holding cell that was becoming too familiar.

I just wanted to go home to Winnie and the kids, my familiar surroundings, and the things I know and the people I love. I knew that it wouldn’t be any time soon. Another long, hot, restless night, on that hard-narrow bed.

Staring up at the barred window I must have dropped off. I was woken by someone bringing me breakfast and informing me I would attend court to see if I would be granted bail. I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee.

“What time is my hearing?

“Ten thirty, get yourself washed and we will bring you a shirt and tie” At nine forty-five on the dot, I was taken to be Town Court.

I was nervous but tried to be positive.

Yes, I was going home! , well for the time being, but I felt a sense of guilt and sadness because young Adelle won’t be going home and that was all down to me. My heart was heavy and full of sadness.

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As I walked through the front door my thoughts went straight to that fatal day. I was pleased to be home but I felt so guilty. Winnie made dinner but couldn’t bring myself to eat much, I felt sick, I just wanted to lay on my bed and be alone.

“Come on Bob, It’s your favourite” “I’m not hungry love, sorry” and with my head hung low I headed up to the bedroom.

I laid down and just cried, tears were running down my face like a waterfall. They just wouldn’t stop once they started.

I lie awake once again just me and my thoughts. Although Winnie was lying next too me I felt so terribly alone. My conscious mind took me back to that terrible day. I could feel the sun on my face, I felt like I was driving far, far away, like I was lying on a raft on a river. For a moment I forgot.

Then I’m driving, I’m driving really fast through the forest area.

“Slow down Bob,” I said to myself but I kept driving faster and faster. Its hot, I’m thirsty, I’m tired. I just want to go home...

BANG! I’ve hit something. Oh God I’ve hit something, I’m sweating, the sweat stings my eyes. I’m panting. I can’t get my breath, I’m screaming but nothing is coming out.

Then all of a sudden I sit bolt upright, I’m shaking, rambling, sweating like I’ve run a marathon, my heart is racing.

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“Bob, Bob, wake up what’s the matter? Bob you’re sweating and shouting”.

“I’ve killed her, I’ve killed her, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to”.

“Killed who Bob, who have you killed? “.

“The young girl on the bike, the sixteen-year-old girl” “Bob what are you talking about? You haven’t killed anyone, you have been having a night -mare, you’ve been tossing and turning and shouting.”

“So, I haven’t killed anyone?”

“No Bob, like I said it has all just been a bad dream, you poor thing.”

I had got what I had wished for - it was all just a nightmare.

So why do I feel so guilty?

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GORGEOUS BOY: A glimpse in time by Samia Khan

There she was, a timid young girl with gorgeous long, beautiful hair, just as you see on these fictional mermaids, luscious locks down their backs. Her eyes sparkled like the sun reflecting on the clear blue ocean. Though if you looked deep enough, her eyes were windows to a broken soul. Nonetheless, she carried herself with high respect and class.

Angela was only eighteen years of age and swayed her attention in her education. She found herself easily distracted by her friends and would lose focus when she was surrounded by her humorous and immature friends.

Angela struggled to maintain several tasks at the same time and everything would begin to become like a clown juggling in her mind.

She went to college most days of the week.

She sat in her English class trying not to allow herself to be distracted by the two small birds tweeting along the fence, she imagined the white, fluffy clouds to be funny shapes and characters in her creative mind.

As she gazed away there was a loud knock against the old, hard, wooden classroom door. The whole class gawped at the clear small window in the door to see who it was. As the teacher opened the door, Angela was blown away by the 59

boy or young gentleman standing there. He looked a little nervous but at the same time he had this inner attitude where he seemed to be quite confident and charming as he asked if this was the class he was supposed to be in.

Mrs Fromen, a strict and controlling teacher, promptly asked if his name was Joshua Brett and he proudly responded "Yes".

"Take a seat" the teacher instructed.

Angela began to look around the classroom and saw a few empty chairs. He started to walk towards Angela's table and, of course, the chair was looking empty like a mother who lost her child.

Her heart started to beat as and her breathing started to quicken. She tried to calm herself and feel a little more relaxed but then her breathing started to quicken again. She gasped for air as he asked "Is anyone sitting here?"

Terrified to answer, she nervously responded, "Yes. Actually no. No one is sitting here". Angela's friends looked over in frustration not understanding the situation and why Angela was acting funny.

The truth was she was lost in his eyes and could smell the sunshine from his presence. As he pulled out his brand-new notebook and a fresh pen, Angela couldn't help but gaze into his beauty.

Joshua had the most attractive glowing sun-kissed skin. His body was muscular, none of the other eighteen year olds had a natural build like this! Joshua's arms rippled through his jumper.

"Ah", she sighed. "Dream on!"

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GONE: A short, sad story

By Ruth Mehareb

The couple flirted at the edge of the lake, gazing longingly and lovingly into each others' eyes. Their adoration is still as strong as the first time they danced; just a couple of children, lost in innocence.

The night's sky brought a chill in the breeze and his image began to flicker, she tried to bring him back to her but it was too late. He was gone.

Too soon.

The pain brought an icy stab to her heart yet again; how many more times could she take it? Painfully trying to bring him back, she tried so hard and it hurt so much, but it was of no use.

Sadness crept in with the clouds and snatched away the moon. She was left in darkness, with only the gentle softness of the stars to comfort her.

With terrifying thoughts of an uncertain future, a tear dropped gently into the lifeless lake and the ripples drifted away.

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FAST FORWARD short story from the future by Donna Winter

Everything was flashing by as if someone had left their finger on the fast forward button. Time ticked too swiftly.

People rushed about their daily lives without a second thought for others in the sun-bathed foyer.

As I stepped out of the bustling building, blinking back tears from the bright, burning ball of fire over-head, cars sped through the sky. If I stayed here long enough, the sun would rise and fall within minutes. Wait? What? Cars speeding overhead? Where was I? More to the point, 'when' was I? I stood on the pavement looking dumbfounded, into the air as the chest-rumbling, ground shuddering hum of hovering engines raced above me. I reached down into my back pocket for my trusty companion ducking every now and then as a louder rumble shot over. Whenever I needed to know anything, my phone was my first port of call and so, placing my right index finger on the biometric sensor on the reverse of the device as usual .... nothing. Strange. I tried again.

"Fingerprint not recognised".

Confusion oozed over me like a wave of molten lava and I began to tremble. I wiped my sweaty hand down my trouser leg and anxiously tried for the third time. Yes! 62

"Phone unlocked". Now, where to begin?

With my phone unlocked, in my shaking hand, my mind scrambled and searched for what to do. I had no idea what to 'Google'. The date! Of course, I needed to know the date. My hands were shaking even more now, as if I were under-dressed in the middle of an arctic blizzard, except the weather was fair and the scenery, strangely familiar.

I opened my calendar and froze, staring, shivering, shaking my head.

"That can't be right".

High-lighted in bold, right before my eyes, the date, April 9th 2222.

"Great", I thought to myself, the last update couldn't have worked.

"Google, what is the date?", I questioned with a frown across my brow.

BING! "Today's date is April 9th 2222".

"Hmmm, she would say that, she's synced to my calendar" I realised after a short moment. Opening Chrome, I searched 'BBC News' and instantly the link to today's headlines showed the date ... exactly the same!

Whoops.

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RACHEL MELINCOTTE A short story by Donna Winter

Rachel Melincotte sat staring up at the screen; waiting for it to tell her, her flight was on time. The bustle of the airport had fallen silent while her mind whirred and she nervously fiddled with her ticket, turning it over and over between her trembling fingers. She wondered, for what seemed like the millionth time, if this was the right thing to do. The people waiting for her across the pond seemed nice enough over the phone and in their letters, when they’d been persuading her to visit, but what they were really like was playing on her mind, and why wouldn’t it? She was thirty years old and everything she had known had changed.

All the things she’d grown up feeling secure with were, well, lies! Deep down, she knew she hadn’t been lied to intentionally, but what had happened in contrast to what it felt like, were two entirely different things.

“BING BONG! Good morning ladies and gentlemen.” Rachel froze, “This is a boarding announcement for WestJet flight WS276 to Halifax International.” She leant forward and held her breath, listening to the announcement. “We are now inviting passengers with small children, and those passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding. Please have your boarding documents ready. Regular boarding will commence in approximately fifteen minutes time. Thank you. BING BONG!” 64

Releasing her breath, Rachel sank back into her seat and watched those passengers who qualified, gather their belongings and make their way to the boarding desk. They all appeared smiley and happy, and seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t know what to expect. She’d never flown before and here she was, flying half way around the world, on her own. Her ever supportive brother, Peter, had driven her to the airport but had to leave her to figure everything else out for herself, after dropping her off outside. How she yearned for someone to have made the journey with her. The company would have been great at taking her mind off things for a start and getting lost in the airport wouldn’t have seemed nearly as alarming with a companion in tow!

A second announcement came over the tannoy a short while later, asking the remaining passengers to board.

“This is it.” She thought to herself, “There’s no turning back now.” Rachel sighed deeply as she stood up, taking hold of her hand luggage in her left hand, double checking she was still clutching her boarding card and passport in the other, and nervously joined the queue of travellers. She’d never felt so small and alone in the world. Yes, she was only 5’2” but she felt small in an insignificant and unimportant way. None of these other people around her had any idea of the enormity today would pose. No one else was there to share the momentous occasion and that made it feel even more unreal.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, although Rachel was sure it wasn’t - she just wanted to get on that plane and get going. She’d waited three months for 65

this day; crossing off each one on her calendar after breakfast; excitement building from the time she’d walked down to the travel agents - on that cold, rainy Saturday morning - to book her return flights.

Finally, she was at front of the line.

“Good morning!” the blonde-haired lady greeted her with a great big gleaming smile, “May I please see your travel documents?” Rachel fumbled and dropped them on the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed as she bent down to pick them up, “I’m so nervous! I don’t really know what I’m doing!” Rachel’s face was burning and her heart was thumping so loudly, she could hear it in her ears, like a bass drum thudding rhythmically.

“Don’t worry,” replied the lady, now with sparkling eyes too, “We’ll look after you. Just make your way along the passenger boarding bridge to the plane” she gestured towards the door, “and my colleagues will show you where to go from there.”

“Thank you so much.” Rachel heaved with relief, before moving along.

The walk from the desk to the plane only took a few seconds, and before she knew it, Rachel was sitting in her window seat watching the miniature people outside, rushing around readying the plane for take-off. *

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Throughout the uneventful fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight, Rachel’s mind ruminated over the people she was going to meet at the other end, and how it had all come about.

Five and a half months previously, her nephew’s daughter had given birth to her first child. The baby, a happy healthy 7lb 1oz boy, born to his barely seventeen year old mother, was illegitimate, but she had chosen to keep the baby and bring him up with the help and support of her family.

Rachel couldn’t help but wonder if her life would have been different if being born out of wedlock was socially acceptable in 1955, like it was today. For a start, she probably wouldn’t be making a lonely 2,700 mile trip across the North Atlantic Ocean to Canada, if it were.

In the 1950’s, Rachel discovered that illegitimate children would have been put up for adoption after the mother had been to a mother-and-baby-home, to finish carrying her baby and give birth, in secret. Being an unmarried mother was not only socially unacceptable, it brought shame on the family, something nobody sought to bring into the home back then. Rachel had also learned about teenage girls who were pregnant outside of wedlock, being sent to evangelical homes where the nuns would look after the baby after it was born. The girl would work her knuckles to the bone to repay her “debt” and pay for her “keep” after having the baby. Then one day, while the girl was laboriously undertaking her work, the baby would be taken away, without notice, by a married couple who’d paid

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for the privilege. Typically, this would be a rich American couple who, for whatever reason, couldn’t have children of their own. The child would then be taken back to the USA to live.

Even though her story wasn’t like any others she knew of, Rachel already knew a lot about the people she was going to meet. People…She needed to stop thinking of them as “strange people”. They were her family. Just not the ones she was used to. She didn’t know her full story yet and was virtually unaware of anything out of the ordinary before Gem (her nephew’s daughter), had given birth. Of the conversation she’d overheard at the time of finding out about the new addition, “She won’t be the first, and she won’t be the last” stuck out in her mind, even more so now, than ever before.

Rachel was the youngest of nine brothers and sisters, born to Gerald and Emily Melincotte, Toxeth, Liverpool. Deidre was the eldest, born in February 1930, followed by Harold (’33), Peter (’36), Pauline (’38), Thomas (’42), William (’43), Rhoda and Malcolm (’47) and finally Rachel, in June 1955. The family had suffered the loss of only one baby girl throughout the years, in September 1935. The sister, named after her mother, only lived for 3 days, but was remembered by the whole family, every year without fail and though Rachel never knew her sister, she felt the sorrow and heartache of the loss each time they attended St. Margaret’s Church at the end of the street, to pray and light candles for her.

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Boasting typical Melincotte wavy, auburn hair, Rachel’s cascaded down her back and was made up of brilliant red streaks in the bright sunshine. Her mother had always put it into ringlets when she was small. One of her earliest memories was of her tearing pieces of old, un-saveable sheets into strips for the rags to tie it up after her Sunday night bath in front of the fire, in the back kitchen. Being the youngest, Rachel was always last to bathe, when the water was no longer crystal clear and barely tepid.

By the time Rachel was born, her eldest sister, Deidre, had married her child-hood sweetheart, Richard, and had two children of her own, James born in October 1947 and Mary in July 1950. If truth be told, Deidre couldn’t wait to get out of the cramped two up, two down, so almost as soon as they said “I do”, in the church, at the end of the street, they moved into number 12 Mill Street, just four doors down from her parents.

Even though Deidre longed to get away, she continued to look after her younger siblings while her mother worked the early morning shift at the local biscuit factory, on Melling Road. Emily had to go out and find work after her husband had been injured by a falling crate at the Brunswick Docks where he worked for many years.

The accident had left Gerald’s leg so badly injured it had to amputated just below the knee, so his wife working along with the help from Deidre, were very much necessities.

Gerald was a proud man, who never let his true feelings be known other than his gratitude for his eldest daughter.

When his grandchildren were little, he loved nothing more than to tell them stories of his past and play snakes and ladders at the

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table in the back kitchen, a memory that Rachel also held dear in her heart, given her similar age.

Deidre didn’t mind helping out though, she would pop in and out of her parents’ house a few times a day, making sure her father had all he needed, from cups of tea to making his way out to the toilet in the back yard, safely.

Deidre would be there first thing in the morning to make breakfast and get her siblings fed and ready for school on time, before returning home and seeing to her husband’s breakfast, after he’d arrived home from his milk round.

Being around the same age as her sister’s children, Rachel ended up very close to them. Especially Deidre’s third child, Jessica, who was born just two years after Rachel.

Neither of them really understood the intricacies of the family tree. They were family though, and that was all that mattered.

Growing more aware of her surroundings as she got older, Rachel noticed her relationship with her sister Pauline became increasingly detached. She didn’t recall doing anything to upset her - other than having to share a bedroom, which all the girls did - but there was no animosity between Pauline and Rhoda. In fact, even though Rhoda was nine years younger than Pauline, they were particularly close. Maybe it was because Rachel was the baby of the family now, claiming that position from the twins? Could Pauline really resent her because of that?

Whatever the reason, it hurt Rachel greatly to be snubbed so often by a member of her own family, so she confided in her eldest sister, Deidre.

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“Oh, yu know what she’s like! Forever makin’ a mountain-out-of-a-molehill, that one!” Deidre told her, looking a little uneasy, “Juss ignore her; she’ll soon forget whatever it is tha’s gor up her nose.”

Rachel wasn’t appeased by her sister’s explanation, so she contemplated confronting Pauline but could never find a good time to broach the subject. Living in such a small, busy house, there was always someone else in the way.

Reluctantly, Rachel left the idea and decided to try and do everything she could to make Pauline like her.

“Can I make yer a cuppa Paul?” she asked when her sister came home from work one evening.

“I can make it meself, can’t I?” she’d snap back.

“I juss thought yu’d be tired after work, tha’s all.”

“Well I’m not am I?” Pauline barked before pouring herself a cup from the pot.

Pauline loved a good cuppa when she came home from work, but she was picky about the way she liked it. Rachel convinced herself that must be why she didn’t want her to make it.

As time went on, it was Pauline’s turn to marry and moved out of the family home. Rachel felt emotional every time one of her older siblings moved out and this was no exception. The family dynamics had changed beyond recognition now it was just her Rhoda and Malcolm living at home. She didn’t see Deidre nearly as much now either, even though she was still living at number 12. Her parents 71

were aging and Gerald’s health was failing him.

Rachel worried about him being on his own more often, but his prosthetic leg had meant he could at least get around the downstairs by himself these days. Emily had still worked in the biscuit factory, as a shift supervisor, until recently, but it was becoming too much for her as she matured, so she took the difficult decision to retire her position and pass it on to a younger, fresher girl from the factory floor.

Not long after her retirement, Emily’s vigour declined quickly, like the life had been sucked out of her and it wasn’t long before she sadly passed away with her family surrounding her on the eve of her and Gerald’s wedding anniversary. Gerald was left completely inconsolable by the loss that ripped his life apart and three weeks later, he too passed.

The hole that had been left in Rachel’s life was all consuming. She couldn’t concentrate. She didn’t want to eat, couldn’t sleep. There was no reason to do anything anymore. She had no children of her own to keep her going like her brothers and sisters did. She was an orphan. Living in her parent’s house. Alone. A burning anger swelled inside her. She became angry that she’d been left alone. Angry that she’d never asked those burning questions.

Before Rachel went back to work after the funerals, Deidre came round to number 8 to help her sort out some of their parent’s belongings. Of course the house had been left to all of the siblings, but other than Rachel everyone else had their own homes, so they all agreed that the house be passed to Rachel. As they were sorting through the side board in the 72

front room, Rachel came across a battered worn metal box, slightly bigger than her hands. Deidre quickly suggested she put it one side and leave it for another time but Rachel was too curious. She grasped the lid, carefully popped it open, and looked through the pieces of vigilantly folded paper inside. Her mother had kept all of the children’s birth certificates together in this old biscuit tin. Everyone’s was there, Deidre, Harold, Peter, Pauline, Thomas, William and the twins, Rhoda and Malcolm. But where was hers?

“That’s strange,” she mumbled to herself.

Deidre stopped what she was doing, her eyes moving slowly towards Rachel. She knew exactly what she meant. Her heart pounded. Now was the time for Rachel to know.

“Rachel…” she started, staring at her little sister with deep sorrow in her eyes. “I know yer’ve probly ‘ad yer suspicions...”

“Stop.” Rachel interrupted shaking her head slowly in disbelief, “I know what yer gunna say.”

Deidre carried on regardless, “…yer not me baby sister.”

Rachel froze.

Everything went silent except for a deafening rush of blood to her ears. Rachel shook her head quicker to clear it and tried to speak. Instead, stood up, ran outside and violently threw up on the pavement. Her vision blurred, her throat burning, she slumped to the ground and sobbed so heavily, she made no sound.

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* Bing! The fasten seat belt sign illuminated overhead and the captain could be heard declaring that they would soon be landing. Rachel returned her seat to the upright position, tucked her book into the side pocket of her hand luggage which was under the seat in front, fastened her seat belt and felt surge of nervousness prickle throughout her whole body. In due time, just a short time now, she was going to meet her biological mother.

Arriving at passport control, one of the guards stopped her and questioned why she was visiting Halifax.

He asked to check her documents and was satisfied enough to let her continue. He motioned for her to move on through to the baggage hall, which was buzzing with an energetic flare that Rachel had never experience before. Once she discovered the correct one for her flight, her bright red suitcase was the last one to come round on the carousel, meaning she had to grab it and get it onto her trolley by herself. “Thank goodness I didn’t buy the bigger case” she thought rather smugly. As she approached the doors at the other end of the baggage hall, with her trolley wobbling from side-to-side, they made a swishing sound, and opened up like the curtains at a theatre show.

That’s when she saw them. The “strange people” she’d waited so long to meet, her family. And there, right at the very front, behind the barriers, waiting anxiously with a concerned look on her face stood, not her sister, but her mother, Pauline Melincotte.

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Instalment 2

Message to the past Dear Me - at 16 I'm you, just 26 years later Dear Dumbass and Send it Back Good morning Saiqa My Darling Daughter From your older self

Edoardo Iliana Donna Brett Saiqa Gill Nina

During lockdown one of the prompts we used was Mary Schmich’s ‘Wear Sunscreen’, which I have included here*. It had a particular resonance during this time that we were separated from so many family and friends.

The learners produced some very emotional and authentic pieces as they reflected on the letter they would write to their own past.

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MESSAGE TO THE PAST: A Letter to my 16-year-old Self

by Edoardo Roche Live with no fear, look at the road ahead of you, take the first step on it and start walking; keep walking, and never stop.

If an obstacle comes up, do not avoid it, do not try to go around it, just stop. Look at it, explore it, listen to it, and feel it. When you have done all that, take a closer look again, learn from it, embrace it, make friends with it. Trust me: you can be sure that this obstacle will show up again.

Only then, move on, keep walking.

Learn as much as you can: knowledge is like a fantastic toolbox; each skill will be indispensable to fix, to mend, and to improve the way you will take your steps in life.

Everything is worth knowing.

Knowledge will also allow you to explore a subject: a matter that started to tickle your interest will be transformed into a nourishing passion that will coexist with you for the rest of your life. A passion that you will be able to share and transmit, or that you will discreetly keep for yourself, cherishing it like a secret treasure.

If you do not know which path to take, it’s fine, it’s normal — even if some people will expect you to.

Remember to try as many things as you can; that little taste of something you 77

tried could be enough already to individuate what you don’t like, and that knowledge will gradually lead you towards that path — the one that will be ready to seduce you, the one you may want to take and explore.

Even if you are not there yet, just the fact of stepping towards the right direction will fill you with satisfaction, joy, perspective, and pride. It will reinforce your determination, no matter how far you are from your objectives, and how long it will take you to get there.

Learn to be patient, and be proud of your hard work, mostly if you do not enjoy it; it shows your strength and resilience, and your achievements will only taste better.

Accept ignorance, crave learning new things. Do not be afraid of asking questions, thousands of them, endlessly, and improve every time an answer is given to you. Let knowledge stimulate your curiosity: the more you learn, the more you will be realising that there is still an infinity of things to learn out there… So, love learning, as it is a fabulous addiction, an unquenchable thirst, a continuous vibrating flow that will stimulate and nourish your spirit and your body, as if you were absorbing a magical nectar.

Learn about yourself: you will realise that, most of the time, the weaknesses, the obstacles, the doubts that make your life hard, they all come from inside yourself. Accept them, embrace them, and master them…

Our qualities are intimately linked with our faults, and you

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are the only conductor of that beautiful, powerful symphony composed by your feelings. Let them out, those feelings; express them out loud: delicately, romantically, wisely or without control; at the end, they are the only ambassadors of who you are!

Get out of your comfort zone as much as you can.

Live in excess, overdose on the pleasures of life, travel a lot and meet as many people as you can; absorb them, and don’t miss a bit of it; treasure those experiences… Safely and always respecting the others and yourself.

One day, you will be responsible for your family and — with no regrets — you will be able to taste with delight the flavours of a delicious past, of another you, in another life.

When you most need it, your memory will be the softest cushion to land on.

Don’t be afraid of exploring darkness. It will be unpleasant, destabilising, sad and frightening, but at the end of the journey, the light will look brighter, and life will have a new fabulous taste, the taste of gratitude, the taste of real life.

Eat well, drink well, make your own bread, and cook! This is the best way to honour what mother nature feeds us with.

Each season has its own flavour to “sing’’, and they all sound so delicious. Drink a lot of wine, but only the ones you like… Share with everyone you love. Believe me, besides language, eating around a table together is the best way to communicate.

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Most of all, dear young me, never stop loving: unconditionally — passionately —romantically — excessively — obsessively — à la folie!

Love and cherish your life partner, love and cherish your children, love and cherish the ones who gave you the gift of life: love your family. Love yourself with all your soul, love everything you do, love what you are about to do; feel it in your guts, in your heart; let it slide under every inch of your skin, let it possess you, and never expect anything in return…

Remember that without that burning flame in yourself, everything I’ve just mentioned is pretty much pointless.

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TREASURE YOUR TEENAGE TIME: A letter to my 16-tear-old self

By Iliana Georgieva DEAR ME AT SIXTEEN, You are about to embark on the adventurous and multi colourful ride of your life journey! What you need to do is to put on your seat belt and savour every single minute!

You will graduate with a Masters degree, will get engaged and then split up after being poisoned by the lies of a cheat, you will go through an even harder time of four miscarriages but…

EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON You will realise that your current husband is The One That Had To Be, the One Looking Out For You and your children, the One That Loves And Cherishes You. You will finally rejoice with the long waited second baby, your special God’s gift sent on your Fortieth Birthday.

You will keep your passion and aspiration for learning, singing, dancing and still multitasking…

BUT TILL THEN… ENJOY THE LIFE OF YOUR YOUTH! Now, I am writing to you at a time when I am wiser, braver and calmer, so please read my advice and take it into consideration.

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DO NOT RUSH THROUGH LIFE’S STAGES I still remember when you were at nursery; you were so impatient to start school, when at school, impatient to start Uni, then to marry, then get a job, then have children…

Rushing, rustling and running restless like the wind…

STOP, BREATHE AND ENJOY! Be mindful and live for the present moment, make the most of it without constantly looking behind or ahead, planning and worrying for the future.

Now is the time to enjoy life, now is the time to use your energy for good!

WORRY AND STRESS LESS, RELAX MORE Things are not that bad as you think they are; learn to let go and unwind. Stop fretting about everyone and everything.

Focus on being young and carefree. The years of great responsibilities are yet to come, so use this time to enjoy!

Do not allow worries to be an obstacle to follow your dreams. Do not allow the stress to steal your stamina, energy and health (As it did, unfortunately, ‘rewarding’ you with an autoimmune condition)!

Do not let fashion magazines and the Internet intoxicate you with unrealistic images. You decide the way you should look and behave.

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RESPECT YOURSELF AND OTHERS Love yourself, your body, soul and mind. You are designed

by God and his creations are perfect with no mistakes. You are unique and precious! You are His ideal masterpiece so esteem yourself and others.

TREAT THEM THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED Behave in a manner that is polite, kind but robust. Accept that you are not always right; accept criticism and learn to live with it.

TIME FOR “YES” AND TIME FOR “NO” Be wise and thoughtful to decide when to accept and when to refuse. There is time for everything, as long as you are healthy (so look after yourself)!

Try to choose the healthier options: quality food, exercise, rest, sun, water…

I urge you to say “NO!” to cigarettes and harmful drugs (as well as harmful relationships and friends). Preserve your body and mind for years to come, as you will need them.

Stupid decisions can leave a lasting impact on your life, so choose carefully, sensibly and judiciously.

Keep saying “YES!” to the unexpected, advantageous opportunities that come your way. Keep being fearless and bold. You will see so many exciting things, travel to new, amazing and charming places.

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Embrace the rainbow of feelings and know that if you struggle or feel overwhelmed it will not last forever!

Tomorrow is a new day, a new beginning with new opportunities, so please do not despair!

Amazing, stunning and unique people and things will happen, so look forward!

READ WATCH LISTEN LOVE PRAY It will make a huge difference in your DAY! FOLLOW YOU DREAMS AND GOALS At the beginning of each day think about your education and aims and work hard and efficiently try achieve them.

Cherish these dreams and do not lose your focus. Studying hard will get you closer to achieve your objectives. Fight for your dreams but accept what you cannot change otherwise you will fight against windmills.

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FAMILY TIME Treasure and appreciate the guidance, love and support you get from your family. You should know they love you unconditionally! The same LOVE you will have for your children, but I am sure you will not be able to fully understand that until you have them yourself!

Only then, you will appreciate Mum’s sleepless nights and worries when you were sick and unwell.

Only then, you will realise how hard was for Daddy when he lost his job and faced challenges to support your study.

Even then, they tried their best this arduous period to pass unnoticeable for you as you were away to study in another town.

Only then, you will recognise their sacrifice.

So now is the time to cherish the moments shared with family, friends, and classmates but always put your Family First!

DEAR ILIANA, LIFE IS SO PRECIOUS AND IS SHORT AS A BLINK OF AN EYE, Do not wait to realise it in 2016 when you will lose your Daddy or in 2020 when your little bundle of joy is already One, speedily growing and impatient to discover the world around and to fly away one day.

Please do not wait until 2040 either, when possibly and hopefully your precious boys will be at Uni and you will feel 85

extremely lonely, desperate, dismayed and will pray and hope they will not follow their parents’ steps and relocate abroad, leaving you empty nesters.

That is why my final words for you lovely are: LIVE IN THE PRESENT MOMENT, TREASURE and LOVE FAMILY and FRIENDS, EMBRACE THIRSTILY EVERY SECOND as becoming an adult is not easy with much more responsibility and things in your “To do list”.

NOW IS YOUR TIME TO SHINE! AND KEEP DANCING, oh! SWEET SIXTEEN.

With love from your future.

Iliana

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TWENTY SIX YEARS LATER: A letter to my sixteen year old self

By Donna Winter Right, this might come across as brutally honest, but knowing you as well as I do, I know you’ll appreciate that more than pussy-footing around.

As you’ve probably guessed…I’m you, just 26 years later!

And while you still don’t know what you want to be when you grow up, don’t worry, I still don’t know either, but listen up; I have some advice you’re really going to want to pay attention to.

Firstly, let me tell you that life isn’t always going to be sunshine and rainbows! It won’t apply all of the time, but there are going to be times when you’re going to think to yourself “What the hell? …Why me? ...What have I done to deserve this?” and unfortunately, those times are going to start soon. I mean really soon. But hang in there, kiddo!

I’m not going to give you too much of a glimpse into your future because I don’t want you to do anything to change it, that would impact on everything else and…well trust me, you’ll see.

Look after yourself better than you’re going to. You’re the sportiest girl in your year right now and I don’t want you to give that up – keep the love and enjoyment of taking part because you know what watching sport is great but losing weight is hard!

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Read more. I know you hate reading right now, but just do it! Read your English books! Don’t just thumb through them and guess how long it’s going to take you to get to the end of the chapter Mr Tombs asked to read for homework - you’re not always going to be able to ask Anna what happened because you “left your book at school again”.

Ask that question! I know your maths teacher put you off asking questions with her “your brother doesn’t ask stupid questions” comment during that lesson you didn’t understand however, before that, whilst maths was never the easiest thing in the world, at least you weren’t forever living in the shadow if being “Kevin’s stupid little sister”.

You’re not stupid. You never were. You just needed it explaining in a different way. Nobody is stupid for needing to ask a question and more often than not, someone else is going to be sitting there thinking the same thing as you, so pull your big-girl pants up and ask that bloody question!

(Oh and by the way, “You’re not always going to have a calculator in pocket” won’t be drilled into kids for much longer!).

Oh! And by the way, life isn’t going to treat you like a loser if you don’t get those GCSE grades. You’ll get by, and eventually, you’ll find the courage to try them again. The life skills you’re going to pick up along the way are going to be the stepping-stones to getting you where I am today.

Being respectful to others was never an issue, and you know what? It never will be (well, at least until you’re 42, after that’s out of my hands!). Mum and dad did a great job at teaching you respect. Sure, they didn’t always do everything right, but don’t hold it against them, being a parent is tough

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at any age! You’ll always live near each other and their support will be invaluable to you – make the most of it because unfortunately, it ends too soon. But you know what? Along with that respect, you’ll gain mum’s strength (yes that feisty 4’11” northern lass has passed that on to you), and dad’s determination and those two things are going to get you through some of those tough times I’ve told you about. You won’t realise it at the time, but when you come through the other side, you’ll see! Love yourself Donna. You’re a strong-willed, kind-hearted person who’s going lose herself for a bit after being hurt but fear not, your knight in shining armour is out there - you just won’t find each other for a bit. So hang in there kiddo!

Everything’s going to turn out alright.

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A Letter to My 16-year-old Self

by Brett Fitzgerald Dear Dumbass, First off: grab a camera and take more photos, in the future you and others will enjoy looking back at teenage Brett. Take lots of zesty-animated-shots looking fresh back when you had hair. You will lose most of it by the time you’re 30 (don’t worry you look fantastic with a bald head) You’re 16 now; you failed at School, you have messed up your education, learn from those mistakes. Time to get online, identify some subjects and courses that interest you, then do your best impression of a sponge and soak it all up.

Knowledge is power!

Party hard, but try to pick the right venues, surround yourself with kind, warm, genuine, people. No good will ever come from sitting in dingy-grey-rooms, with bland company, ingesting shit chemicals that cause nothing but paranoia. Ride the tangential wave called life with your real friends.

Use your instincts to eliminate all toxic associates.

“If you are not for yourself, Who will be for you?

If you are not for others, What are you?

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And if not now, when?�

Enjoy being healthy and stay that way by getting deep into swimming.

Learn about other cultures, especially; hate, prejudice, wrong-doing they have faced, and continue to face. This will inspire some of your best work.

Take care buddy, and may those pictures be full of joy.

With every best wish from the future, your future.

Always yours, Brett

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SEND IT BACK

by Brett Fitzgerald

You can educate yourself to be a better person.

Learn from experience.

Think about every mistake you make, safely store the love you appropriate, leave no empty space: no place for

hate.

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GOOD MORNING SAIQA, it’s your 16th Birthday!

By Saiqa Bibi

Thank you for joining.

Today I am going to tell you how to succeed in your GCSE exams.

Firstly, I would like to advise you that you should study, don’t delay.

Take it seriously. You should keep yourself as’ busy as a bee’.

Make a realistic timetable for yourself. Give each subject equal time. Do not spend too much time on one subject. I am sure you will agree with me.

Secondly, I would like to mention that you should be thinking to put away your laptop now. Is it not good to focus on your studies more? The time you spend on your laptop could be spent on your studies.

Furthermore, I would like to add that if you feel that studying with a friend could be an advantage for you then why not!

Go ahead!

Remember, first ask a friend, arrange the time which suits both of you and then work together.

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Finally, I would like to say that if you do not understand a question, rephrase it in your own words. Otherwise it would be as difficult as nailing a jelly to a tree. You would not be able to attempt the question properly.

In addition, you need to practice exam papers so you could be familiar with its format. This would be a great benefit to stop panicking during the exams. How easy would it be for you to pass the exams by following all this?

I hope all this would be helpful for you. Thank you.

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MY DARLING DAUGHTER: A letter for your 16th birthday

by Gill McCue If you are more successful in life than I am, I will be well pleased. I am so proud of the woman you are becoming.

Intelligent, beautiful, forthright, and yet sensitive.

Do not let anyone deceive you with evil intent; always have your wits about you. Be mindful of those who would bleed you dry and use you. I know you will, but I had to say this to you out loud.

Use your attributes wisely. Make them work for you, and when you have a family of your own be sure to impart your learned wisdom to your children. Then you, too, can set them free in the knowledge that you have built within them a sure and firm foundation for the lives ahead of them in this ever-changing and unpredictable world we live in.

There have been times when you have wanted to talk and air your frustrations, and I listened but did not hear you as I needed to.

I am so sorry for the times when I became frustrated and barked orders at you, when I should have taken a deep breath and talked with you rather than at you.

Please forgive me, my darling Daughter. I love you with all my heart, and treasure every moment of precious time spent with you. And please remember that I will be here for you, until the last breath that I take is spent.

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A LETTER TO A YOUNGER ME

By Nina Baldwin

Dear Nina, This is your older self writing to you. Don't worry, you're not in trouble.

I just wanted to write to you to give you some reassurance, a little advice and a few tips on how to survive life being Nina.

It's summer 1991, school is over for good and after the summer holidays you will be starting college. I know school wasn't exactly your favourite place to be, having to deal with some not so nice girls and all that work that just baffled you at times.

Well you haven't got to worry about that anymore because you'll be at college and college is just great. You're going to meet some great people and your lecturers will be like your friends. Sorry but I can't reassure you that there won't be any 'not so nice girls' but please don't waste your time worrying about whether they like you or not and why they do what they do because catering is what you are meant for.

It's going to mould you into a confident, strong, able, respected, hardworking and liked person that you're so longing to be.

You'll be learning something that you've chosen to learn and want to learn and you're going to be great at it.

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You must try not to doubt yourself or waste time on what others think. You can't control other people’s thoughts and does it really matter?, try really hard to grow a thicker skin.

Work hard, listen attentively then you'll be able to follow out instructions well which will take you far in life and within your chosen career.

Take more time to really get to Know your sisters. Yes, I know they can be difficult but learn to tolerate them more and understand they're different to you and each other. But when you need them they will always be there for you and you for them.

Take more opportunities to travel. Make sure you get that skiing holiday in and that adventure to Canada before you truly decide to settle down, otherwise you'll be waiting a really long time to fulfill those dreams.

Take more risks, don't be afraid of the unknown because sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side.

And last but not least don't worry about what your exam results will be because your life is going to be good and happy and satisfying and you can always go back and redo some GCSE's, if you really want to and the learning as an older student will be far more enlightening and satisfying.

Be safe, enjoy life, relax and don't take things too seriously.

Love from....you...me...Nina....Older Nina xx

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Wear Sunscreen

by Mary Schmich ( adapted for Bucks AL by NIA ) Ladies and gentlemen ...Wear sunscreen If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.

A long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists Whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable Than my own meandering experience, I will dispense this advice now Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth, oh, never mind You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth Until they've faded, but trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back At photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now How much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve a maths equation by chewing Bubble gum The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind.

The kind that blindsides you at 4 p.m on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

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Saying that, don't be reckless with other people's hearts and Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours Floss!

Don't waste your time on jealousy Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind The race is long and in the end, it's only with yourself Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults, if you succeed in doing this, tell me how, Please !

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements Stretch Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life.

The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives Some of the most interesting 60-year-olds I know still don't Get plenty of calcium Be kind to your knees You'll miss them when they're gone Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the 'Funky Chicken' On your 75th wedding anniversary Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much Or berate yourself either Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's 99

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can Don't be afraid of it or what other people think of it It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your own living room Read the directions even if you don't follow them Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good Be nice to your siblings, they're your best link to your past And the people most likely to stick with you in the future Understand that friends come and go But there will be a precious few, who should hold onto Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle For as the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young Live in New York City or London once but leave before it makes you hard Live in northern California or leafy Bucks once but leave before it makes you soft Travel Accept certain inalienable truths Prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too, will get old 100

And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young Prices were reasonable, politicians were noble And children respected their elders Respect your elders Don't expect anyone else to support you Maybe you have family money, maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse But you never know when either one might run out Never mess too much with your hair Or by the time you're 40 it will look 85 Be careful whose advice you buy but be patient with those who supply it Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past From the waste bin, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts And recycling it for more than it's worth But whatever else, trust me on the sunscreen !

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Instalment 3 Painting pictures with words The Eyes

Aaron

Vista Views

Colin

Once, he was young

Saaeda

One Final Farewell

Peter

We used prompts to stimulate our writing, sometimes pictures, sometimes music, sometimes objects.

Here are four lovely examples and the pictures we used.

Peter’s piece was prompted by music, Ravel’s Pavane for a Dead Princess.

When asked what we are doing when we write like this, we most frequently say “We are painting pictures with words”.

What pictures do you see in your mind’s eye when you read these carefully crafted words?

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THE EYES : Reflections on a picture

By Aaron Brock

The deep, dark and despairing eyes, two helpless wells that are too dry.

The deep crass cracks of wrinkles that separate each hydrated well.

Wrinkles rising and falling like hills, perfectly tipped with a wire brush for eyebrows; sharp, unruly and defiant. The rise of each indentation, more perforated than the last, cutting deeper as if into furrows of dense, dark, empty soil.

Heavy empty bags hang under each eye, weighing down each cheek.

The eyebrows have grown down to the moustache. An unruly, straw-like mess; no uniformity, no direction, no meaning. From black to weathered grey into rich white.

The magnificent bush, crying out for some love, comfort and attention.

The shadows creeping in, under the cover of darkness, prowling; stripping the face of it's very life.

The cracks, the craters that were once young pores are scattered all over now.

It is all over.

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VISTA VIEWS: Looking out over Paris

by Colin Jarvis

A feeling of vertigo overwhelmed the tourists occupying the viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower. The vista was unarguably spectacular. The elevated position the tourists' enjoyed thrilled them. The deep blue of the cloudless sky contrasted starkly with the metropolis the tourists' viewed, beginning at the horizon.

A very sharp-eyed tourist spotted the solitary bird of prey circling the public square, occupied by the people on terra firma. Even from their lofty perch, the tourists at the top of the Eiffel Tower could clearly observe the commotion and excitement the lone-wolf bird of prey was causing among the ground-based crowds.

One of the tourists scanned the horizon where the solid shapes of the buildings were abruptly cut off by the dominating blue of the sky, to see whether the solitary falcon had an accompanying partner, who had yet to glide on the air into the centre of Paris to meet up with its mate.

The solitary falcon then saw the solitary tourist‌

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ONCE, HE WAS YOUNG : A reflection on a picture

By Saeeda Zummaid The picture of the old man took me back in the past when I was a child and to my grandparents, who were very kind to me. They obtained knowledge from their lives.

This old man, with the white beard and wrinkled face, looks like a sick man. Once he was a young man and had no worries about the future. Everything was exciting for him but with the passage of time he saw and experienced lots of 'ups and downs' in his life.

He had a happy family and friends and neighbours but now he looks alone. He lost all in his life; firstly his childhood and then his loving, caring wife.

He looks like he was doing a job in the army and had faced fights or wars. He does not look optimistic, he is just passing his days.

He looks like he is homeless and has not enough food and shelter. He has lost his kids, parents, home and future.

He is giving a message that everything finishes in time, so this means we should not believe that we will live long and always remain young. He was once young like us but now he is old and waiting for help.

Once he was rich and used to help the people but now he is old and waiting for help. It is only now that he can explain about life and death.

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ONE FINAL FAREWELL: On hearing Pavane for a Dead Princess by Ravel

By Peter Hearn The mist hung over the mountains as if in mourning, like an ethereal veil between life and death. As the horse-drawn carriage traversed the steep mountain road, villagers lined the grassy verge in quiet respect for their beloved Princess.

As she made her final approach to her resting place even the animals and birds seemed to still themselves.

The castle drawbridge came down and dignitaries assembled in their hundreds; the horse-drawn carriage would be crossing for one final time.

Even the elements seemed to show their respect, the mist lifted and the kingdom was briefly lit by a golden hue that glistened on the lake.

One final farewell.

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Instalment 4 From the ‘front line’ and virus reflections Sending them back

Jodie

A Muslim Perspective

Reshmeena

Covid 19 - its effect on me

Lindsay

Anxiety in the Pandemic

Julia

We Can Fight This & The NHS

Viv

Caring in a Care home

Precious

My Friends

Beverley

Hidden Health

Subhashini

On the Supermarket Front Line

Nadia

This writing barely needed a prompt. Two of the pieces come from what has now become known as the ‘frontline.’

Precious and Nadia, work in social care and a supermarket respectively and offer us insights into recent events from the perspective of a key worker.

The other reflections show the wide range of life experiences that our learners bring to their studies and one can only applaud the honesty and authenticity contained in these pieces.

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SENDING THEM BACK

By Jodie Paige

What a strange time this is for us all.

We're all in the same boat. However, we all have different situations that impact on our lives. It feels like a nightmare we all just want to wake up from, with everything normal again.

The Government has announced that Early Years, Reception, Year 1 and Year 6 should return to school. We ask ourselves, How do we all feel about that? Is it safe to send them back, or are they ready to go back? What will it be like, what safety steps have been put in place to ensure our children are safe? The children need education, they need friendship and they need interaction. We as parents need to get back to work, get the wheels turning, get the economy and life back to some sort of new normal.

But only when it's safe to do so.

I don't think it’s a good idea to send them back. I feel it’s too early. I'm worried for their health, I'm worried for the teachers and I'm worried about the impact it could have on everyone. Asking young children to keep their distance, not play with certain toys? They might be asked to sit apart from each other, but they will feel alienated! So if I can keep my children at home and safe for a little longer I will, which 110

would then help the teachers and the community, meaning fewer people in and out of school and around the area.

I can't wait for this to be over and everything to return to some sort of normal, the new normal! But there again — what’s normal?

Stay safe, all of you.

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RAMAZAN : A Muslim perspective on the lockdown

By Reshmeena Khan

The blessed month of Ramazan is celebrated all over the world with great integrity and devotion. During this holy month Muslims all over the world fast from sunrise to sunset. Ramazan is the nineth month on the Islamic calendar and have great significance for Muslims as fasting is one of the four pillars of the Islamic faith.

For Muslims fasting is not just about staying away from food and water, it teaches many important lessons: it teaches to be thankful to what we have, to be respectful of what you are, to share with others the countless blessings bestowed on you, to be forgiving and seeking forgiveness for wrong doings intentional and unintentional from Allah as well as mankind.

This year all over the world Ramazan was observed in very different manner. We are in the middle of a global pandemic. A lot of people are affected, a lot of people are suffering. Special prayers had been made throughout the month during fasting for everyone’s welfare and for this virus to fall off the face of the earth for good and claim no more lives than it already has.

This Ramazan had been very quiet and lonely. Normally there is a lot going on in Ramazan. We have iftar parties, where close friends and family are invited and we all share food and breakfast together and offer the prayers together.

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Mosques, which are vital part of the Muslim faith, were closed as well with the rest of the worship places important for people with different religion. For Muslims mosque is not only a place of worship, it is a place where we come together as a community, it’s a place where most elders socialise, it’s a place where we chat with each other, have a laugh, let go of our problems and find peace and security. Muslim prays five times a day but during Ramazan there is a special prayer observed at the end of the day called “Taraveeh”. In Taraveeh the Quran holy Muslim book is read in such a way that the entire book is finished by the end of the month. This year we did miss all the hustle and bustle and time spent together at the mosque and scheduling everything in such a manner so we never miss a prayer at the mosque.

As a parent myself, juggling home schooling during Ramazan was hard with early rising and late nights, but on the other hand it has also been a bonding time as a family too. If I am helping one of my children my husband helped the other one while maintaining his own office from home.

I am not going to lie, it has been crazy messy; papers, books, pens, pencils everywhere but we all enjoyed learning and being productive together.

Eid has been different! We never started the day with the eid prayer and kids were disappointed as they were not been able to go out to spend their eid money. Lockdown is hard, not having the freedom to go out like the way we use to, being away from family, being away from friends. It has taught us a valuable lesson: to cherish the moments and 113

things in our life that we always took for granted and never paid attention to. It did bring our house together as a family and replace that which was lost in the digital jungle and robotic life.

As a wife I can imagine the pain of other women for whom lockdown sometimes seemed like a punishment in having a husband at home every single day of the week, but in many ways for me it’s a blessing and nothing else.

The way he managed the children and did chores together across the house, played together in the garden, played board games as family and had countless movie nights and not to mention watching youtube tutorials with the boys to solve GCSE maths problems had been frustratingly amusing.

Its been a bumpy ride but we are all in this together. We have made lots of prayers for everyone’s safety, health, wellbeing and welfare and for things to get back to how they were, and soon they will be.

IN SHAH ALLAH

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THE VIRUS AND ME: Reflections on the lockdown at Birchwood House

By Lindsay Moore Like with most people, being in lockdown has had its challenges. For me, I have found it extremely difficult.

Apart from not being able to have any physical contact with my family and friends, which I am finding the hardest part of all, it has brought about bigger changes for me than any of the other residents. This is mainly because I am normally out and about quite a bit and as I live in the independence flat, I am self-contained. I plan my own menus for the week, apart from getting a Roast every Sunday, and do my own shopping with support from my Mum. Now, however, I am having most of my meals with the others. This isn’t easy for me and it highlights the fact even more that, in a good way, I am different to them in many ways. Communication is difficult with the residents. There are only two that can speak, one of whom talks constantly making extraordinarily little sense! Having a normal conversation with the other one is fairly limited too.

I am so thankful that the weather has been good as I have spent lots of time outside reading. This really helps me as I can lose myself in a book and forget about my daily struggles as well as my thoughts about missing family and friends. Nearly every day, I walk around the block using my walker, providing there is enough staff on as somebody must come with me. I would love to be able to do it on my own, 115

but feel it would be too risky, plus if something made me jump, I could be in serious trouble!! Before lockdown, I only did this twice a week at the most.

Obviously with the lack of rain, the plants have had to be watered and I have taken this job on. Every evening after dinner. I go out and do three of the gardens in our block.

Stuart, the resident who talks a lot, likes to come and ‘help’.

However, he does not help at all! He either overfills the watering can so I cannot lift it, or he puts the tiniest amount in! Then he just follows me up and down the path, while I am holding a can and trying to manoeuvre my chair!

Music is a good escapism for me too, as well as being one of my greatest passions. I always have the radio or a CD on, for company as much as anything too. Another thing I am really missing is going to see live music with my friend. We have seen a lot of tribute shows at the Waterside Theatre in Aylesbury, including The Illegal Eagles, Crocodile Rockin’ and The Bootleg Beatles I’ve been meeting my friends, who I usually meet in Hemel or St. Albans, every Saturday on WhatsApp, which has been great. We were at school together, so we go back a long way. (There are many stories I could tell you about us three!) It is not the same, but we still have a laugh Quite often at this time of year, I enjoy riding along to my parents, spending a few hours with them, then making my way home. I have just tried to keep busy and get through it the best way I can. There have been lots of tears and down days, but everybody is in the same boat after all!

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ANXIETY AND THE PANDEMIC

By Julia Parker-Summers Life has thrown anxiety at me through many stages in my life, from bereavement, relationship break ups, pregnancy, miscarriage and bullying. My latest 'episode' started in October 2019. I was prescribed 'Citalopram' and have been on it ever since.

Roll on to Monday 23rd March 2020. Our Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, announced that the UK will be placed in 'Lockdown'. Feelings began to swirl around in my head; isolation, fear of the unknown! 'I won't be able to meet up with my mum', I won't be able to go out with my friends'.

My support network was broken, sadness kicked to not be able to meet up with them any more. I am blessed to be living in a lovely little 2 bed house with my husband and 8 year old daughter, but mum and my friends are also my rocks.

On 23rd March, I had finished my last shift at the job I loved. I am still employed with them, but was not required at work. This was the start of home schooling, pulling my hair out and arguing with my daughter about getting dressed and doing her school work and being stuck in 4 brick walls 24/7 was going to drive me insane.

How am I going to cope?

My mood sank rock bottom and I began binge on food. I got stuck in a rut. I couldn't be bothered to go out for the '1 hour of exercise' everyday with my daughter. I just sat on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself.

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At night was also a struggle. Tossing and turning.

Monstrous headaches hit me at 4am. Thank god for Sophie Kinsella and paracetamol! Reading is my escapism from all that is going on in the big bad world.

Next came the need to do the food shop. Crikey, how am I going to do that? I'm struggling to get out house, let alone have to go to a supermarket where it was all changed since my last trip before the pandemic. My anxiety kept holding me back. I'm having a feeling of dread. Daydreams of it being an image of a Zombie apocalypse.

After a long time of mulling and my husband talking some sense into me, I finally plucked up the courage to get out and head to the supermarket and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Phew!

After 7 weeks of feeling locked in, the greatest news was announced, I can meet up with 1 person from another household in a park. A change of face. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband and daughter to bits, but I needed the interaction of a female friend. It was also announced that we could go for picnics in a local park. This felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Other human interaction and can chill out in the park, without having to constantly check the time.

My anxiety from then has 'calmed' down and I'm feeling a lot more happier with life knowing that there is a light at the end of this dark time.

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A SONG LYRIC: If you are very lucky you will be with a younger person to sing it to

By Vivien Fisher Smell the flowers Listen to the birds tweeting The way nature takes you away to escapes the voices inside your mind Calms you down Wake up You’ve got this You can fight the monsters inside You will beat this We are in this together We are one You and I will fight this invisible monster That causes you pain will one day sound retret until its under control Cause all I want is for you to be happy You will come through this Wake up You’ve got this You can fight the monsters inside You will beat this We are in this together

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I will not rest until you are at piece and you’re not hurting Cause you are amazing That smile is perfect I can’t do this alone and I know that you try your best your very best Wake up You’ve got this You can fight the monsters inside You will beat this We are in this together I am here forever and always I’ve got you forever and always I will catch you forever and always Just know that you are not alone forever and always Even if the world is crumbling I am here forever and always

We are one You’ve got me and I’ve got you When there is trouble starts You are always the place I want to be When you are not here it feels like a missing piece to my heart

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NHS We are the children of England We take the pride in the things we do Like staying at home and washing our hands And having fun we take the pride in our NHS They all make us better We thank them very much Oh NHS we love you We love you through and through We promise that we only want the best for you We are staying at home and washing our hands Making sure that you don’t get overwhelmed We all want this to be as this to be a painless process We all want to be there for you We all are there for you in spirit We all want to thank you so very kindly for all that you do every day of our lives We are the children of England We take the pride in the things we do Like taying at home and washing our hands And having fun we take the pride in our NHS They all make us better We thank them very much Oh NHS we love you We love you through and through We promise that we only want the best for you We are staying at home and washing our hands Making sure that you don’t get overwhelmed We would never be the same without you We would never be the same without the work that you do You’ve got this and we’ve got you Don’t be afraid to sing

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Caring in a Care Home

by Precious Vivien I remember hearing the name ‘CORONAVIRUS’ on the news for the very first time as if it were yesterday.

Nothing could have prepared us for the invisible storm that was brewing nearby. For the next couple of weeks Italy and Spain dominated the news. At the time, I was still convinced that coronavirus was just a made-up story, fabricated to instigate fear amongst us.

Little did I know that the storm was about to hit so hard!

The early days of March were just like any other month, until one of our female residents became poorly. My co-workers and I did not think it was anything serious.

After all, the elderly are regularly coming up with one illness or another. And each time they have been poorly, 90 percent of them have got better after a couple of days. But, boy, was I wrong! this was not anything like we had seen before, and our lives were going to change for ever.

Looking back now, I realise that the symptoms were obvious. But because there weren’t any recorded cases here in the UK at that time, symptoms were overlooked. And these symptoms were not so different from flu symptoms which was common among the elderly at that time of the year. I remember thinking that the first person who showed symptoms was suffering from hay fever. Maybe this was because I still did not believe the dreadful virus was real, or because I refused to live in fear.

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As the days went by, more residents became poorly.

I started having second thoughts….“Could this virus be real? Are my residents suffering from coronavirus? No! It’s not true,” I remember saying to myself…but this was going to be the last time I had doubts, because the next couple of weeks was like a scene from a horror movie or war zone.

We were overwhelmed at the rate our residents’ health deteriorated. By now, we knew that what we were up against was something serious. The first coronavirus case was recorded in the UK and what followed next was a progressive never-ending nightmare of new cases recorded daily.

As viral as coronavirus is, PPE was not going to let it take all the spotlight! Our beloved NHS did not have enough PPE, so one could only imagine how most care homes struggled to protect their staff and residents.

Personally, I feel that the government cared less about the elderly, because we did not get any help whatsoever until a couple of months later.

Thank goodness we have a fantastic management at my care home. The team spirit and passion for the wellbeing of our residents gave us the zeal to keep pushing. I could tell my colleagues were stressed and anxious with everything that was going on; I was too, but that never slowed us down. I remember my seven-year-old asking me why I always shouted at her and her siblings each time I came back from work and they tried to hug me. I paused and tried my best to give a simple answer, but all I could come up with was “Mummy is dirty,” though she said she couldn’t see any mud on my body.

She was right, because the “dirt” that we feared so much was invincible, invisible, and far from muddy.

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Then came the social distancing rule! Social distance in a dementia unit?

“Hmmm, this is going to be tough,” I remember saying to myself.

Anyone who has worked or lived with a person living with dementia knows how difficult it is to change their daily routine. So, telling my residents living with dementia that “they could not live life like they used to” was the second phase of all the new challenges faced at my care home.

My heart broke into a million pieces every time my residents asked why they could not sit close to their friends, or why their family members were not visiting anymore.

We tried our best on many occasions to explain to our residents exactly what coronavirus was, only to be asked why the rules were changed a few minutes later. Their communal life and family ties were being stolen from them by this virus.

Sadly, we lost residents to the virus. The saddest part is that most of the residents who died did not get the chance to see, or say goodbye to, their loved ones because of the national lockdown. I take real pride in the fact that my colleagues and I did everything possible to make sure the elderly in our care were always treated with love and compassion. I try not to focus much on those we lost because it slows me down, but instead I focus more on those who are fortunate enough to still be here.

Thank goodness we are more settled now, as we can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have not had any new cases for some weeks now. Fingers crossed, the deadly storm is over, and we can all see the beautiful rainbow in the sky.

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There are so many lessons to learn; what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger and wiser! Future generations will look back at this time and realise how brave and resilient we were.

Hopefully, there will be no Phase 2 to this pandemic, because history does tend to repeat itself. But this is the one time I sincerely hope it does not.

Without our elders, we would not be here today. Remember: we are all going to become elders one day, and remember too that everyone is important, even if they are no longer strong and even if they cannot contribute to the economy.

Keep safe!

We will meet again!

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My friends: LOCKDOWN

By Beverley Brentnall

Love and live life to the full Why? I will tell you why. I am going to give you an insight into when the world was fighting for survival.

Midnight on the 1st January 2020, celebrations, music, friends, hugs and kisses. Not a care in the world. Chatter turns to looking forward to long summer evenings, holidays and BBQ’s.

Fast forward 3 months and there’s a deadly virus on the horizon.

Covid-19, Coronavirus. Everyday you hear the same words like groundhog day.

What is Covid-19/ Coronavirus.

Well no one realised it would change civilisation as we know it.

No more hanging around with your mates or BFF (Best friend forever) Just the immediate family you live with.

Lockdown rules, home schooling, social distancing, businesses closed, only travel if necessary and home working.

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The mantra “stay at home, save lives” Time was spent cherishing your family and loved ones in a bubble of hope. People reflected on what was important.

We marvelled in technology and facetime, zoom became our new best friend. Quiz night evenings in box sets of films became popular again.

The sun sparkled in the sea blue sky. Children’s voices could be heard from close and faraway. Birds' voices filled the trees with their beautiful songs. Wildlife flourished.

Gardening becomes a new hobby for some, and exploring the new outdoors on your 1 hour outside time. Bicycles were dusted off to see the light of day.

No one knows when it will end.

But! We stand together to be strong, we get to know our neighbours. Clapping ovation for our NHS and key workers for the exceptional work they are doing to beat this lethal virus.

In this moment of isolation, we must have courage and hope that we will turn the tide soon.

So I say to you all today and everyday tell your friends, family that you love them and make each day count.

I love you.

Thank you.

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HIDDEN HEALTH: Keep the storm outside

by Subhashini Janarthanan

If there is one thing I wished to change in my lifestyle is falling asleep late and waking up late. It sounds simple but it’s much harder than what you think it would be. It got even worse during this pandemic. Think for a second, how many times have we come across these words’ “pandemic”, “lockdown”, “quarantine”, “unprecedented times” in our life before the year 2020?

Now these words have become a part of our day-to- day life! Even though these words were brought in to explain the worst reality of the present situation, having come across these words innumerable times has become a part of our “new normal” life.

Checking for the number of people died today in the news has become a normal thing just like checking for the weather today. No wonder we feel anxious, worried and fear for the lives of our own or our loved ones.

But the negative emotions like stress, anxiety, fear, irritability, frustration, anger, confusion... are the by-products of keeping myself updated with the news, information, analysis, articles, social media posts, forwarded messages. They are related to coronavirus every single day, every single hour since the lockdown has begun.

Undoubtedly this habit has cost me sleep.

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Having negative thoughts in mind throughout the day eventually led me to insomnia- the sleeping disorder.

Getting enough sleep every night is crucial for human health. Yet 40% of adults suffer from insomnia at some point of their life. Sleep deprivation can cause issues like weight gain, weakened immune system, loss of memory, hypertension etc. This can have a knock-on effect on physical health and mental health.

Looking after mental health is one of the secret keys for physical health and well-being. People often ignore the importance of mental health. Mental health problems are easily unnoticed in most people. Unfortunately, it can’t be seen or felt by others until it gets worse.

Handling negative emotions like stress, anxiety and fear in an effective/ positive/constructive way is known as mindfulness. Being mindful in every single action we do can help us to avoid unnecessary parallel thinking.

Everyone reacts differently to stressful situations. How you respond to the COVID-19 pandemic can depend on your background, your social support from family or friends, your financial situation, your health and emotional background, the community you live in, and many other factors.

Here I am summarising a few points for you from how I managed my mental health, which in turn fixed my sleeping disorder.

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Take the following steps to cope with a crisis: e-Connect with others– Share your concerns and how you are feeling with a friend or family member through phone/text/video call. Maintain healthy relationships, and build a strong support system.

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Take breaks– Make time to unwind and remind yourself that strong feelings will fade. Try taking in deep breaths. Try to do activities you usually enjoy.

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Avoid too much exposure to news– Take breaks from watching, reading, or listening to news stories. It can be upsetting to hear about the crisis and see images repeatedly. Try to do enjoyable activities and return to normal life as much as possible and check for updates between breaks.

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Seek help when needed.

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Find a routine - A regular routine makes it easier to focus.

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Prioritise your health - Take care of your body, eat healthy and well-balanced meals, exercise regularly and get plenty of sleep.

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Build in regular exercise and get some fresh air. This is obvious but often not put into practice.

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Staying at home or working from home comes with a huge advantage of being able to fit in an online yoga class, a lunch time run or just some stretches when you are feeling stressed. (No excuses now!)

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There is nothing like a good read. Reading can benefit our mental health in many ways. Reading enables me to lose myself in a different world especially when things get tough in the real one. A good book feels like a friend. Bedtime reading helped me to fall asleep like a child.

Make a lockdown cookbook: Lockdown is becoming a time to get creative in the kitchen.

Working out what we can make from what’s at the back of the cupboard, adapting recipes to what we have got. After all, adaptability is the most essentially needed skill for people and business to keep the world going. Let’s start practicing that timely needed skill right from our kitchen.

So now is the time to put together your own lockdown cookbook. Write down the recipes, photograph the dishes, maybe even add a snap of everyone enjoying the results and create a record of your own quarantine cuisine.

Meditate to sleep: Meditation helped me to sleep better. As a relaxation technique, it can quiet the mind and body while enhancing inner peace. When done before bedtime, meditation helps reduce insomnia and sleep troubles by promoting overall calmness.

Let’s keep the storm outside not inside.

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ON THE SUPERMARKET FRONT LINE Key workers –

By Nadezhda Tomayli We live easily in this beautiful world and think that all-natural disasters, technological disasters or outbreaks of various diseases happen anywhere, but not here with us. We observe and sympathize with those who are in grief, but that’s all.

Only this time, trouble did not pass by, it came to us.

When I first heard about the emergence of a new virus in China, I thought that it certainly would not reach us. China is so far away! But not this time … When the first signs of the virus began to appear in England, I just went on a two-week holiday, but when I returned to work, everything had changed dramatically.

By the time I was back to work (9th March), I noticed considerable changes in the attitude of the customers. They were grabbing almost everything that was on the shelves in a triple amount, and it didn’t matter whether they needed it or not. The main thing was to manage to chuck something into the trolley. I got the impression that a hunger strike had begun.

I can still remember that feeling of frustration and panic that was overwhelming me. Also, I remember how I called my husband from work and with a trembling voice began to tell him what was happening in the store. I even burst into tears during that conversation. I was not ready for such a turn of events in our lives.

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I was terrified at times. I even had the desire to stay home.

Like an ostrich, I wanted to bury my head in the sand.

None of the retailers was ready for a pandemic, but the hard time has begun out of the blue. So, they had to react quickly to all these changes and to protect customers and colleagues from possible spreading of the virus.

For that reason we introduced the one-way system in every store, two metres distance allowing customers to shop safely and to have peace of mind. We installed protective screens at the checkouts, masks and single-use gloves also have been provided for colleagues.

Hand sanitizers have been placed around our store for customers and colleagues to use, as well as additional cleaning products to wipe down trolleys or baskets.

For some reason, people suddenly stopped using baskets for their purchases. Most of the customers used only big trolleys and spent 2-3 times more than usual. One of the customers said: “This is the price of panic!�

Also, to ensure more people have access to everyday essentials, a storewide restriction of 3 items per customer was introduced on every product line and multi-buy promotions were withdrawn.

Nevertheless, some of the customers managed to buy more than they should. I remember a respectable middle aged

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couple splitting so that one of them paid at the normal till and another one at the self-service so they could get even more of the restricted items.

Others began to resent the introduction of restrictions on purchases, complaining that they had large families, and some were generally rude and not considerate of the store staff.

For this reason, a few colleagues from our store decided to self-isolate as stress at work increased considerably.

Nevertheless, we have to support our customers, be patient and understanding of them, but we are human beings as well, so how to deal with that?

For that reason, access was provided to free digital mental health wellness tools to mitigate stressful working conditions during the COVID-19 pandemic. I use one of these mindfulness programmes for relaxation and meditation, and it does help.

Now, after almost three months of the “new normal” everything has started to settle down. People are already used to it and react accordingly. Our colleagues, who were self-isolating for 12 weeks, have begun to come back to work and what is most important is that almost everything you need you can find now on the shelves.

It’s been a challenging time for the whole country, but we are all committed to playing our part in feeding the nation and keeping everyone safe.

I’m proud of that.

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Instalment 5 ‘Oh for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention’

Border Collies Healthy Mind and Body Renter Secrets to a language WWWWW - WOW! Baby Steps Stillness in Movement I'll remember him this way Value for money?

Not bloody Abba, again !

Sometimes it’s about me A Happy Soul

Jade Ulfat Cathrine Elzabe Karen Rose Jonathan Lally Saadia Michelle Afreen Presanthe

These learners truly followed their personal muse and provide a wide range of writing styles and genres to enjoy. They have written freely and powerfully on a wide range of subjects.

A veritable potpourri to complete the book.

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BORDER COLLIES: An appreciation

by Jade Gibbons

I’m going to tell you all about border collies. I chose this breed of dog because I was brought up with them, and since I was child I have had a very keen interest in them.

Border collies are working dogs developed in the Scottish Borders. They are formally known as sheepdogs and are known normally for herding livestock. They herd all sorts of animals, mainly sheep, although they can also herd cattle, free-range poultry, pigs and even ostriches. They can take directions by voice and by whistle at long distances when herding, and have highly developed senses of smell and of hearing.

Borders collies are considered to be the most intelligent of all domestic breeds of dogs. They are extremely energetic and athletic, and need about two hours’ exercise a day. They are very friendly and obedient, which makes them good pets to have at home. But they will become distressed and frustrated if left alone for too long.

They are medium-sized, with a double coat that varies from smooth to rough, and that can sometimes be curled. They can have either quite long hair or coats that are short and smooth. They come in different colours, with the main colour combination being black and white, but they can also

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be brown and white, blue, lilac, red merle, blue merle, brindle and Australian red. Their eye colour can be brown or blue, though sometimes they can have one blue eye with the other brown. Their ears come in a range of styles: some have fully erect ears, some fully dropped ears and others with semi-erect ears.

The natural lifespan of the border collie is between twelve and fifteen years. A common health problem is collie eye anomaly, a mild disease that can make them go blind, but it is quite rare that this happens. It is an inherited eye disease affecting the retina, choroid and sclera. There is also epilepsy, which can cause dogs to have seizures, and which is caused by abnormal bursts of electrical activity in the brain. Collies can get them at any time and they can last from a few seconds to a few minutes. The leading causes of death in border collies are cancer and old age. But, as with any dog, it is important to know what diseases they can get, so you can make sure they have all the vaccinations they need, and having regular check ups will decrease the chances of them getting extremely ill.

I had three border collies when I was growing up. The first dog I had was a border collie called Katie. I had her since I was about ten years old and I completely adored her. She was black and white, and we got her from a farm in Ashendon. She didn’t really do her job properly, so we decided to take her home with us. Because she had been trained at a farm to herd sheep, she was very intelligent, very good off the lead and good at doing dog tricks, too.

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downside was that she didn’t like other dogs. We were not too sure what the reason for this was, so we had to keep her away from them. But she loved people, and loved having a fuss and a belly rub from everyone. Unfortunately, around the time I was in college, she passed away from old age. It was really difficult to deal with, as I had grown up with her all through my childhood. I really admired and loved her, but I knew she had had an amazing life.

The second border collie I had was called Floella.

She had originally been called Fly, but we decided to change it. We also got her from Ashendon farm and she was also black and white. She always wanted to get a stroke from everyone, but she was a bit scared of other dogs and seemed to run away from them all. She had some problems that made her come across as a bit dopey, so we took her to the vet who said that she may have a brain tumour, but we couldn’t get a scan due to it being so expensive.

Unfortunately, she ended up getting an infection and the vet needed to operate, but because of the suspected brain tumour they felt that she wouldn’t be able to survive it, so we had to make the tough decision to have her put down.

My third border collie, who I still have, is called Bauble.

We got him around Christmas time, which is where we got the idea for his name. We got him as a puppy all the way from Essex. He was very cute, but he was very disobedient at times. He used to escape from our garden quite a lot of the time — but luckily we got him back uninjured —and he also 140

used to try chasing cars when he was on the lead, though he’s not like that now. He is a brown and white border collie with bits of black. He is very intelligent and is really good off the lead. He loves people, and always gets really excited when we get visitors. He is very playful and loves playing with his toys. Just recently we got a bird, and he stares at it non-stop, wanting to play with it. He is about six years old, and now that we’ve had him a while I’m completely in love with him. I’m always going to him and giving him lots of cuddles when I’m feeling down. It lifts a weight of my shoulders being around him.

So, to conclude, border collies are very intelligent, energetic, very hard working and can be very playful. They are extremely friendly with other people and animals, and I highly recommend having a border collie as a pet. They are very loyal and loving and they will always stay by your side no matter what.

They are truly man's best friend!

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MIND AND BODY: A reflection for my younger self

by Ulfat Khan

Life is a gift, so don’t destroy yourself with hideous drugs; your body is a treasure for yourself, which you will only realise once you’ve destroyed the beauty of your flesh.

Understand the pleasures of the mind rather than being brainwashed by jealous idols. Take a deep breath, and cherish the values of life, many of which are hidden or buried between dust and dirt.

Beauty Indulge, and fall in love with, yourself; make-up and dressing-up are just the finishing touches. Searching for reality will never be easy as you’re lost in yourself, so start at the baseline. Hold your arms out wide, as hugs and kisses are built by affection, and step by step you will learn to love yourself through the little changes love tweaks.

Relationships Passionate love is built on compassionate love, and a partnership must never forget love, trust, and commitment, so find a partner who will return all that is needed. Haters will always hate, and cheaters will carry on manipulating the weak; however, positive bloodstreams will never allow water to mix and blend the good, bad and the evil. Sex is not only a pleasure tool; desires will lead you to a lonely road where parenting is the only vehicle.

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Exercise Taking time out will not only unwind your cognition, but focus on your needs, giving you the time you’ve been crying out loud for throughout most of your youth. ‘Me time’ is a runaway moment from the pain and misery which tortures the feminine existence. Here and now, upwards and onwards, life can only get better if you allow those rare opportunities. So grab the given dose — as it will surely eventually run low — before age becomes a factor of wasted human space on earth.

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Renter

by Catherine Platts

My husband says that as renters we are at the bottom of the pile, no one cares about us. It doesn’t matter that our rent is twice as much as your mortgage; the fact that we were not in a position to save money for a deposit speaks of our background and our worth.

I am generally not a jealous person, but I am envious of people who don’t have to move. People who can put roots down and stay in their house, which their children have grown up in, and whose walls speak of those memories. It is not a wealth thing, as I am jealous of those in council houses too! How nice it must be to feel that you have a safe, secure home for your family, and that your children’s lives won’t be turned upside down by being made to leave the only home they have ever known.

Because when you rent people think it is acceptable for you to live in a house which isn’t safe — and you are not allowed to complain, because it isn’t your house. They will fill you with empty promises of repairing it and investing in it if you stay, and when you don’t agree, they will take your money. Numb to the fact, you need that money to find somewhere else to stay so your children will have somewhere to sleep.

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I worry about the future; we have two months to find somewhere else and every day I check Rightmove, but nothing new comes up. Just the property which you fled and had a lucky escape from. Then when we do move, how long will we be there? Every year the rent goes up in Chesham, so every time we move we will be downsizing, just so that we can afford to stay in this town. A town that we have lived in for eight years, a town that we have made friends in and made our home. When this happens, you feel that the town doesn’t want you here anymore; the fact you cannot afford to live here means that you do not deserve to live here. How dare you want a nice home for your family and good schools for your children? You are a girl from Hayes who used to spend every evening of her life in a dirty pub! You have no right to ask for these things for your family!

I look at my son and see the dark circles under his eyes from where he isn’t sleeping. His sleep is being disturbed by bad dreams of people knocking on the door and trying to come in whilst we sleep. The dreams are a reflection that he is feeling unsafe and unsettled. I feel this my fault, and that I have failed my children. I try to make it up to them by letting them have too much sugar, spending time on their tablets and ordering them stuff they don’t need on Amazon.

I am trying to be there for them emotionally too, but sometimes I am so drained by their emotion I have to have some space.

But there is no space as we are in lockdown, so I wipe away the tear that has been desperate to come out and I carry on. I make a cup of tea, I read to them and we make cakes.

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I am strong and we will get through this! I keep envisioning Christmas, as I am sure things will be different then, we will have moved and we will be settled and happy. We will be gathered around our very beautifully decorated Christmas tree, and the children will have big smiles on their faces as we get snacks ready for Santa. The fear of being made homeless will just be a distant memory, until the next time‌

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WHAT ARE THE SECRETS TO A LANGUAGE?

By Elzabe Santos

Words?

Sounds?

No ‌. it is so much more than a random jumble of words and sounds. It captures the essence of the native speakers, their passion, their colloquial expressions, as well as their culture and history. Speaking more languages indeed enriches your life and experiences, you have more choices when reading or watching documentaries or other productions, as well as being able to communicate with a wider spectrum of people. Another reason is, you can read the original text and not rely on a translation, where the essence, the feeling and the implicit references are sometimes lost.

Growing up in South Africa, my mother tongue is Afrikaans, English is my second language, though I have been using mainly English and Portuguese for the last thirty-odd years. My sons spoke both English and Afrikaans until we moved to Portugal. At the time I decided to drop Afrikaans from their language skills, seeing that they would be schooling in Portuguese and living in a country where they had to speak, read and write a new language. I still 147

speak my mother tongue and since I have reconnected to my family in South Africa, I find that I have not lost my ability to communicate effectively in Afrikaans.

Sitting at my desk in an English town, looking out on a rainy garden and a glistening wet street while listening to a South African artist, singing one of his compositions. I realise that even if my sons could still understand the language; they would miss out on so much of the richness contained in it. It is so much more than words or ideas, it conveys the culture, the traditions, customs and history of a nation. If a person is not familiar with all those, they cannot understand a lot of the concepts, principally the colloquial language and regional expressions.

This specific song made me remember so much about my life and the people living in my country. I remember the days of soft, penetrating, continuous rain in February, soaking the rich, dark soil, ready for the winter crops to grow and bear bountiful fruit. The smell of fresh, homemade pancakes, oozing sugar and cinnamon is a part of rainy days in South Africa (thinking about it, that would be most days in England.) The making of South African peach brandy, called “mampoer”, is part of the culture and heritage of the country. Certain regions are famous for their copper stills, like Marico. The stills have helped farmers survive periods of drought or other disasters affecting their crops and causing economical adversities. A reference to “railway peaches” transport me to another era, another life: long trips on trains, pulled by steam locomotives, packed food. including fresh fruit. Stones of peaches and other fruits, discarded through 148

the windows, sprouting new trees, bearing fruit next to the tracks. The cycle of life.

Another song from a different artist, mentions a certain brand name, a household name in South Africa, but not in other countries. Should I ask for a drink, “karate water” in a British pub, the request would not be understood, even though it is a brandy with cola? Even English songs, written and performed by South Africans, can lose meaning and context when it refers to some exclusive South African custom, event, history or location.

I am sure that all languages have the same richness and depth, conveying so much more than just words. Thinking about some expressions and their origins, it became clear to me that just knowing how to speak a language is not enough, you miss out on so much of the essence, the implicit referrals and detail being expressed.

Language communicates the passion, the tribulations, raw emotions, turmoil, love, conflict and joys in the life of a nation… if you are privileged enough to understand and feel what is transcribed in those words.

From personal experience I can vouch for that, living in Portugal for many years, brought me a much deeper understanding of the language, the regions, their customs and circumstances. This enriched my experience of the country and the locals, getting a look behind the façade that tourists will see and skim over in their greed to take selfies and clicking away to post on social media, showing where they are, but not understanding what they see and experience …

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Wow,wow,wow!

By Karen Grayston Wow! Well, what, where do we go from here…

Who knows?

Does anybody?

Nobody knows.

People talk about ‘back to normal’ when will that happen?

Will it happen? I think not.

Life itself has changed beyond all belief like a full stop in the wrong place.

Covid -19 is a cataclysmic pandemic. Choking us all like the acrid smell of burning plastic, stifling us all, choking us all and it could attack us all.

We never saw this coming, were we all too busy, did we not care, there must have been signs, or were we all too busy, looking the other way?

Expecting, expecting, extending, extended, eruptions not of silent, simmering, smouldering volcanoes exploding into life. But eruptions of the human making, with clashes of Party Political Leaders too proud to back down, or just too stupid to use common sense.

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Break out, break out, break out of criticisms, conflicts, condemnation, war, racism, civil unrest‌.. break out and expand to engulf and destroy us.

Wow, Wow, Wow! It is only a virus just like hundreds of other viruses on this planet that can be a problem to us humans.

Is this all that it takes to undo all of mankind?

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One Offs One offs, there aren’t too many of them as we go through life The closeness between mother and pregnant daughter in the last few weeks Labour of first daughter to witness Birth of first granddaughter to witness First cry from granddaughter to hear, First glimpse of squashed up baby arriving in to the world First distinctive smell of babies head Covid 19, chaos, crippling, catastrophe caused!!!

Ivy is over two months old and I have yet to have time with her, I have had so many long awaited firsts flung fiercely away into the pit of desperate despair and acceptance that I will never have these firsts ever again. All is not lost though, looking to the future there are more firsts that this pandemic cannot take from me, I will not allow it.

First cuddle for my daughter becoming a Mother First cuddle of granddaughter Ivy First smile of Ivy First outing with IvyFirst sleep over with Ivy and me her proudest ‘Nana

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BABY STEPS: The challenges of raising a family

By Rose Crichlow I strongly believe it is absolutely essential for young adults to spend time volunteering with young children before they even think about raising their own family.

Let's face it, raising a child is essentially the female’s job.

Yes, I know, not all young adults are the same. I believe they are all talented in their own way. However, nothing can possibly prepare them for this. What I strongly believe is that every young adult should spend time volunteering with young children, only then will they begin to have an idea as to the challenges they will face.

Nothing in this world could possibly prepare you for having your own child.

Volunteering will provide you with the real-life experiences you can't get anywhere else. You will be able to experience all of the 'fun stuff' and also the challenges that come with being a parent.

Remember, once you have a child there is no turning back.

Your life is not your own. Every minute of every day will be devoted to your children.

Being able to volunteer will mean you have the opportunity to gain real life experience before something so magical. It really is a true blessing to be able to have a family of your own.

Don't miss this opportunity of a lifetime. volunteer!

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STILLNESS IN MOVEMENT: Delight in dancing

By Jonathan St Brice

Oh, what a lovely, glorious time of year once again.

The annual song, dance and art festivals are on at the theatres all over the country. It is so amazing to see how the dancers move so gracefully, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

It's almost like being in no man's land.

The music brings a chill to my body, watching these performances. I could hardly contain my emotions as I felt a sense of inner peace, a sense that the whole busy world had just suddenly stopped for a moment.

Stillness in movement.

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I'LL REMEMBER HIM THIS WAY: A reflection on my father

By Eulalia Gonzalez Every summer I came back with my family to the village where my parents were born. After ten months in the city spending July and August in that small place in the mountains, was the best part of the whole year.

Me and my father loved to run in the meadow, looking for wildflowers, ladybirds and then climb to the small mountains ....

It was marvellous to see him enjoying doing nothing, only watching the sunshine, nature ... he was really happy in that place and I'll always remember him this way.

My father ‌ R.I.P.

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VALUE FOR MONEY?

By Saadia Abrar

Hello everyone! Today I am going to be talking about the Olympics.

Today when I was coming out of the London train station, there were so many posters hanging everywhere, encouraging people to come to the stadium to watch the Opening ceremony.

From my point of view, it's a waste of time and money.

Who wants to watch the Olympics when children are in the middle of their crucial exams?

Being a Mum, my answer will be "No". I don't want to go out when my son or daughter is revising for the GCSEs or other exams.

I think the Government should stop these kinds of activities and use public funds somewhere else. Government should arrange free or, at least, less expensive arcades or play areas for kids so they can spend their time more usefully during the holidays.

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NOT BLOODY ABBA, AGAIN !!: a frustration

By Michelle Groves

It was the summer of 2019. I had just met the most handsome man, inside and out! He asked me out on a date and of course I said "Yes". He picked me up from the house and we drove to good ol' London town in a pitch black, supercharged, V8, Range Rover, complete with reclining foot steps!

I'm aware we are going for dinner and a theatre show. The excitement of this evening is evident in us both. After dinner at the London Waldorf Hotel we walk a short distance to the theatre; ABBA is the choice. I knew each and every word to the majority of the songs. There we were, third row in from the stage and we felt like we were the only ones there and the actors and actresses were there just for us. Wonderful times.

A few weeks later, my handsome man asked me to date him again in London, only this time it was to be a surprise!

Good oh!

Prior to this visit, I checked to see which shows were on; I was happy to note Tina Turner, Michael Jackson and Wicked were all available.

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Driving to London again and we parked up near the Hyde Park entrance and started to walk. Around the corner from ... ABBA!!? I was not aware that only one show was operating in the whole of London.

So there I am, all enthusiastic about the show; which one will it be? We get to the front of the line, collect our tickets and we get seated on the opposite side of the theatre this time; still third row in. I hear the theme song of bloody ABBA again.

"What is this about?" I ask my date. "Why are we seeing this show again when there are plenty of other shows to see?"

Secretly I was peeved because I had the babysitter looking after my children, my expensive make-up on and I've bloody well seen this show..

"Oh, but wait" he says, "I guarantee you, that there are parts of it you will have missed!".

It turned out I was wrong and he was right, there were a fair few parts to the show I missed. There was some wisdom to his madness after all ... but please, never bloody ABBA again!

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A STATEMENT: Sometimes it needs to be about me

By Afreen Sultana ‘The Learning process continues until the day you die’- I believe in this quote so deeply that I knowingly, or unknowingly, follow it in my life. This is one of the reasons I found myself in the GCSE English classe of Bucks Adult Learning Centre.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t finish learning in a normal way but I am still learning every moment in a ‘New normal’ way. In the last three months I have learnt a lot about CoronaVirus!

When I first came to this country from Bangladesh in 2011, I wondered why people always talk about weather in this country! Now I know that weather plays a very important part in the minds of people living in the UK. And ‘mind’ plays an important role in people’s life.

I studied ‘Psychology’ in my country many years ago and after lots of changes in my career, changes of circumstances and ups and downs in my life; I managed to do Counselling courses at Aylesbury College. I now work in a mental health hospital within the NHS. This time I aspire to use my experiences of mental health issues to become a Mental Health Nurse.

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Gardening and painting are my hobbies. I also love reading books and travelling but hardly get time to read a book. I can’t remember the last time I read a whole book. My favourite book is ‘Nondito Noroke’ by Humayun Ahmed, a famous Bangladeshi writer and novelist.

I am a mother of two beautiful young boys who have Special Educational Needs. My boys are the sunshine in my life! I live for them and my inner life is surrounded by them.

Every day I wish I had a forty eight hour time clock to keep the pace with the rest of the World. It needs to slow down but I keep wishing!

I am thankful to Allah (our God) for blessing me with so many beautiful things in my life; not least my friends and well-wishers that are with me through the bad times and the good.

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A HAPPY SOUL: With my 16 year old self when death is only hours away..

By Presanthe Ratnayake Sitting by the fire at the lonely hut thatched with mud and roofed with paddy straws I watched the weary golden sun dipping in the blue sea.

Loneliness overwhelmed my tired sobbing heart, as the darkness slithered like a ghost, towering o’er the sombre trees.

“Could you remember the vibrant days of your youth?” was the query of my 16-year-old self, sitting close-by and huddled in my warmth.

He watched me impatiently, struggling to keep the wavering fire that would soon dwindle.

“You were a careless, wild, selfish lad with least love and care for beloved parents.

You left them in lurch for your comfort and pleasure.”

I paused for a moment like a man aghast, as nostalgic memories sparkled in my weary heart.

The blazing flames danced vigorously making strange odd faces, while gleaming eager eyes of the 16-year-old self were upon me.

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“Oh, yes,” I whispered to him who’s all ears. “A daredevil was I! “At your age, the country was dark, dangerous, and different, wanting the youth to come forward, To defend the motherland against the brutal enemy.

“I was careless but thoughtful.

I was wild but wise.

I was selfish but considerate.

I left comfort and embraced a path that was not a bed of roses.”

“For what?” I asked him rhetorically, as he was looking at me with his gleaming eyes.

“For the country, for the people, for the future!” I cried triumphantly, with renewed vigour.

“Months of being at the war front made me a man, a man with a steel heart with no feeling for emotions, love, or bonds.

I was hiding in a shell of my own in a different world, away from my kith and kin.

Yes, I was careless but thoughtful!

“Days went by with no food in belly, sometimes eating ants and edible plants, dried lips craving for water but happy with my own piss.

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Yes, I was wild but wise to survive - to bring you the future you want!

“I killed before being killed when it was the last thing to do, but the injured begging for mercy were saved to see another day.

Yes, I was selfish but considerate!

“My limbs are weak and heart feeble, today I lie here fallen with no shame but pride. a man who’s done the duty for our motherland when she needed it most.

“Judge me not for who I am today.

A feeble old man, weary of life.

Judge me please for what I was yesterday.

A brave, young, patriotic soldier- with a purpose to live.”

Flickering flames faded and darkness engulfed nearby, as my frail body is down to one last breath.

With a well-pleased smile on my solemn face, I am ready for a deep undisturbed slumber.

A happy soul, after all!

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Disclaimer

Photograph by Donna Winter The views and opinions expressed in the Pandemic Papers (June 2020) are solely those of the authors and do not represent the opinion or policies of Bucks Adult Learning or Buckinghamshire Council.

Where the item is a work of fiction, names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct at the time of going to press,, the authors and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

Where advice is given this book is not intended as a substitute for the medical advice of physicians. The reader should regularly consult a physician in matters relating to his/her health and particularly with respect to any symptoms that may require diagnosis or medical attention.

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Buckinghamshire Adult Learning Courses

01296 382403 studentenquiries@buckinghamshire.gov.uk

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