for Max (Ferdinand) Maxwell, by Zoe Mitchell One The bat is heavy in his hands. Max thumbs his way around it, searching for grip on that well-worn wood. It’s older than his skin, this bat – it’s been softened by other hands, other games played long before he was born. But, for Max, this all… continue reading »
for Sarah Bancroft, by Suzanne Wilson “I shouted at Dominic Cummings. He was in a cafe and I noticed him, so I shouted, ‘Ohh you horrible man, you!’ And he sort of…” Sarah mimics some grumbling-man noises, “…and off he went.” Imagining Sarah’s expressive voice shouting over the hissing of barista machines and general cafe… continue reading »
for Steve Brooks, by Sophie Brown As you get older you notice the minor changes. Things around you are so familiar, the streets are like the back of your hand, so when a new freckle appears you notice. Steve was sat watching TV when he spotted the change: media outlets playing down the onslaught that… continue reading »
for Miry Mayer, by Sam Dodd “So many times, assumptions are made. ‘We know better because we design the rules.’ But no, that is not how it works. People are not voiceless, faceless numbers. Listen to their voices, ask them what they need.” ~ Just before lockdown in March 2020, I started seeing someone, so… continue reading »
for Denise Arbiso, by Sam Dodd “I’ve been joyriding down the Roman on my mobility scooter. Gets me about alright, that thing does! Went to Toynbee Hall today – wasn’t able to go there all through lockdown. They’re so lovely there. You know, I’ve got a terrible memory. You may not get a lot outta… continue reading »
for Joan Barham, by Rowena Price ‘There’s nothing you can do ‘bout this, it’s just gotta take its course.’ ‘That’s a good way to look at it.’ ‘Well, there’s no other way to look at it.’ *** Resilience, for those of the generation who can remember the Second World War, is born out of survival… continue reading »
for Claire Chatelet, by Nic Peard When Claire and I have our first call, she is in a hotel in Folkestone, two hundred and seventy-two miles away from me in York. I can hear the gulls keening nearby as she tells me she’s just getting settled after walking like mad to keep our appointment. I… continue reading »
for Peggy Metaxas, by Nacima Khan “Hello?” The phone clicked quietly as Peggy’s clear voice echoed through the line. “Hello?” It was never a formal nor distanced hello, but one which always opened up a door into Peggy’s home, one which invited you in for a cup of tea, one which made you stop and… continue reading »
for Robyn Wells, by Marta Guerreiro It was being a mother that brought her the ability to adapt and adjust, Robyn told me. She does not remember always having this talent to accept whatever life brings, remembering that being a mother meant learning that not everything will always be perfect, that not everything will always… continue reading »
for Annette Morreau, by Jordan Aramitz During Covid-19, Annette kept sane through music. For millions across the world its power as a source of pure, unfiltered joy, might be regarded as a dependency. But so what? In this rapidly changing era of the 2020s, it is vital to have a dependable old friend. Annette comes… continue reading »
for Alov Odoglu, by Jack Pascoe “It’s always hopeless to talk about painting – one never does anything but talk around it.” ~ Francis Bacon Alov is looking at his laptop on the little dark brown wooden school desk he found on the street. Drops of many colour shades are spattered around the edges of… continue reading »
for Peter Shrimpton, by Imogen Ince Peter warns me, just minutes into our first conversation, that he’s a little old fashioned, a self-proclaimed old fogey and proud. Initially, I laughed this off as an amusing, somewhat throwaway comment, yet seeing how the world can change so drastically and so quickly, I’ve begun to understand what… continue reading »
for George Freeman, by Ersi Zevgoli Sitting at home watching the telly is not a state of being that comes naturally to George Freeman: “The television bores me stiff,” he tells me. No wonder, then, that when I ask him how lockdown’s been for him on our first call, he tells me that it’s been… continue reading »
for Johnny Besagni, by Erica Masserano (Dedicated to the memory of Clerkenwell historian Olive Besagni) Johnny walks round the back of Holborn. He’s been doing this two or three times a week the whole winter. He comes to Central to see some hustle and bustle; he likes that. Though he was born in Wiltshire, where… continue reading »
for Miles Davis, by Erica Masserano The part of himself that looked at the world like a child, because when you are a child, you do not see the world as you do now When you’re little you’re just like a sponge The fence that separates Harry Roberts nursery from Ben Jonson primary school, the… continue reading »
for Charlie Burke, by Elif Soyler The first time Charlie speaks to me we are about one hundred miles apart, but we share a grey, shadowy sky. Out of his window, in his flat in Stratford, the East London skyscrapers of Canary Wharf are smothered in a low-hanging fog. The neighbourhoods of the East End… continue reading »
for The Lowes, by Denise Monroe Irenee and George met properly at the Black Lion public house in 1967. They were both Canning Town born and bred, post war babies who had grown up only a few streets apart from each other. Irenee was a couple of years older than George and worked as a… continue reading »
for Eileen Wade, by Catriona West Eileen’s initial response to the coronavirus was that it was something happening in a far-away place, on the other side of the world, that would never be a problem here. In general, Eileen is not a worrier, and indeed she refused to worry about the virus either, even when… continue reading »
by Zoe Mitchell – an autobiographical piece On the first day of lockdown, I played four games of Mario Kart back to back. And then I cried for an hour. It’s weird, trying to understand yourself. When you decouple your actions from the context, step back into an objective side seat, you can rationalise all… continue reading »
by Suzanne Wilson – an autobiographical piece “Do you hear that?” “Yeah, what…?” I squinted with both my ears and eyes, “Hold on. What time is it?” “Eight o’clock.” My partner then understood, “God, they’re doing that clapping thing, aren’t they?” It was Thursday evening, and we had been watching something I can’t remember on… continue reading »
by Sophie Brown – an autobiographical piece It started as a rumour on the walkway, which turned into an email and finally a student’s nightmare. All face-to-face teaching just suspended, like a misplaced apostrophe, hanging in mid-air. Life cut off mid-sentence. No chance to cross the t’s and dot the i’s; a full stop so… continue reading »
by Sam Dodd – an autobiographical piece “Guess why I’m walking round in circles?” I look at him reluctantly. “Cos I’ve got all my spare change just in one pocket! Geddit? So I’m weighed down on one side. So the coins pull me to one side, and I keep going rou…” “Got it, yeah.” I… continue reading »
by Rowena Price – an autobiographical piece MARCH (GLOUCESTERSHIRE) The garden of my family home is graced with new growth: pale green shoots of daffodils and anemones. Last night the government told us that we can enjoy these green outdoor things on our own or with one other person, but only if they’re far away… continue reading »
by Nic Peard – an autobiographical piece The Department looks out over an artificial lake and acres of marshland. The marshland remains untouched for the most part. On some foggy, cold mornings, it seems like the marshland is only permitting the campus to come so far – or slowly stealing back. The lines blur. Nature… continue reading »
by Marta Guerreiro – an autobiographical piece With loose hands and bare feet, my home is my altar. I have always been like this, I want candles and incense, I want blankets and time to clean the house, if I am being honest, a lot more often than necessary. I like the world outside, but… continue reading »
by Lydia Morris – an autobiographical piece Light blusters in at such ferocity when she opens her eyes that she’ll later wonder – once her brain too awakens – how she ever slept through it in the first place. Though perhaps – she’ll reason – it’s simply commonplace now that she’s accustomed to sleeping with… continue reading »
by Jordan Aramitz – an autobiographical piece Lachesism is the desire to be struck by disaster: to plunge into a burning house, to rise from the wreckage of an earthquake, to drive towards a tornado in the storm-chasing frenzy of a bored life, salivating at the idea of adventure – even an adventure that might… continue reading »
by Jack Pascoe – an autobiographical piece Getting better all the time but never really reaching my prime. Something I needed was back where I left it never changed or even affected. April 24th 2020 Three in the morning! I hack out a chesty cough and try to bring my head to a decent distance… continue reading »
by Imogen Ince – an autobiographical piece My sister and I used to play a game, if you could call it that; we’d count the number of planes that would slice up our little piece of sky and, if we stayed up late enough, spot a satellite in the dark. I’d been jolted into this… continue reading »
by Denise Monroe – an autobiographical piece My husband came home from Italy in February 2020. He had been staying with his sister and her husband, a retired Italian doctor who had worked in Sierra Leone during the Ebola outbreak of 2014. He knew a thing or two about epidemics and what they could become. … continue reading »
by Catriona West – an autobiographical piece …room to the living room to the kitchen to her room to the garden to her room. Every day is the same. Every day is the same. Every day is the same. Wash your hands. Social distance. Stay 2 metres apart. Use hand sanitiser. Wear a mask. The… continue reading »