In this phase we partnered with Richard House, a hospice for children with life-limiting conditions, facilitating five writer/storyteller pairings with the parents and carers of children who the hospice cared for. Our institutional partner was the University of East London.
From the life of Ken Hay By Fran Brown — “Herewith, as promised, my story – but don’t expect anything heroic. I am no hero, nor was I ever.” Sure, Ken had never slain a dragon, defeated a troll or rescued a damsel in distress, but he had the courage to keep going, and to… continue reading »
I remember the day vividly, and of course I would, as my whole life shifted trajectory. I collapsed into freefall, and all I could do was wait until I found the bottom again. I woke up at six forty-five to leave by seven – any later and I would have been an hour late due… continue reading »
London, November 2016. Allow me to show you the kind of situation that I felt really mattered in my life when I was a young adult. Looking back I now realise how insignificant that and many similar situations were. They were mere inconveniences and in the grand scheme of things – they really didn’t matter…. continue reading »
From the life of Chris Coffey By Stevie Kilgour — Name – Chris Coffey Age – 76 Born – Cork, Republic of Ireland Lives – Hackney, London. Occupation – Retired Stonemason. A dull November night in Hackney, East London and Chris walks slowly and aided by an old walking stick to his regular table with… continue reading »
From the life of Pam Moore By Suzanne Wilson — A pretty young girl of eighteen stepped out of the front door of her family home in Bedford, clutching a small suitcase, and jumped into a taxi. Pam was escaping, ready to answer her calling to become a nurse. The taxi was only taking her… continue reading »
From the life of John Roden By Samuel Hardy — Hope: a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen. : John’s granddaughter’s name. *** The East End. The sixties. A small boy can walk around his street in Shoreditch and be assured that his neighbors will watch out for him, that… continue reading »
From the life of Gowhar Shaikh By Jack Pascoe — Sam and I reached Richard House Hospice at around ten o’clock in the morning. I hadn’t slept particularly well due to noisy neighbours. Also the noise of the planes taking off from London city airport that morning didn’t help matters. We signed our names on the… continue reading »
When I was four years old, we listened to Ska and danced in the living room. Our house, in the middle of our street… We wanted a fixer upper. Why don’t you have a job? Because I spend all day doing up the house for your mother. Mind your feet. Don’t be going around without… continue reading »
A Dreaded Time October, 2015. Trepidation gripped me once more. Worse than the making of the appointment; telling them your name and asking for a time and day is child’s play. I can do this. I can’t do this. I got there. I stood outside the daunting black gates that shielded the surgery from… continue reading »
The one thing about change is that you rarely see it coming. — Most of the time, it’s already here. First Beat – Sixteen Years Old When I found the first patch – just behind my right ear, concealed by the hair that would be there for a while yet – I… continue reading »
Meat City I didn’t think I’d ever been stared at more in my life. As I boarded the flight from Dubai to Beijing, the whole plane, consisting mainly of Chinese people, turned to me like I was a tourist attraction. I don’t mind it when somebody looks at me, but rows upon rows of eyes… continue reading »