Haven Hereford - Post Script

Self will intrude.  Friday February 15th 2013 saw my last workshop with the Hereford Haven and it was a bittersweet experience.

I have loved working with all the staff and visitors at the Hereford Haven. 

Visit  http://www.thehaven.org.uk/ for more information about this wonderful organisation.

There was also cake on my last day which mingled with tea and salt tears was a delicious solace. My special thanks to Sue's mum for going to so much effort.

Over the last few years I have worked with many wonderful Haven people who have enriched my life and I am sad to say goodbye but have an exciting new life in Scotland to console me. 

I can't name all of the people (you know who you are!) I have worked with but send special thanks to Sue, Yvette, Sonia, Annie, Helen, Rhian, Hilary and Siriol who shared wisdom and kindness with me during this last season of creative writing workshops. 

Sally 

Gardenstown
Scotland


I sign off with a Scottish poem:

The "Lay of the Last Minstrel" by Sir Walter Scott

O Caledonia! stern and, wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood Land of the mountain and the flood, 

BUT so far this sheltered corner of Caledonia is not proving particularly stern or wild compared with the rest of the UK this spring. Will I find poetic inspiration while enjoying soft and mild?   

Haven Hereford - Change 5 - Changing attitudes to Animals

The human animal is not always fair to other species.  In Britain there have been changes in the way we treat animals over the years and in the 20th Century we began to legislate to protect animals from exploitation. This is a huge subject so I decided to focus on bears! 

Here's a lovely short poem about Polar Bears:

The Polar Bear

Jack Prelutsky

The polar bear by being white
gives up his camouflage at night,
And, yet without a thought or care,
he wanders here, meanders there,
and gaily treads the ice floes
completely unconcerned with foes.
For after dark nobody dares
to set out after polar bears.

Not so very long ago men were still seen at fairs leading "dancing bears" on chains and making them "dance" as a spectacle in order to earn a few coins. 

This photograph was taken in England in the early 20th century.

Then we did a huge BEAR mindmap and talked about bearish things and especially all those fictional bears that have made us sentimental about this rather large and scary creature. There were some wonderful family anecdotes told about ancestors who had had dealings with bears. 

Fictional Bears 

include Winnie the Pooh and Paddington Bear who have both had phenomenal success in many countries and over many years. 

We discussed the motive for humans trying to make such a large wild animal seem small and cuddly.  Is it a need to overcome our fear of the wilderness or is it simply that the bear has such cool hair? 

Finally - if ever you need cheering up watch the Youtube clip of the splendid Michael Rosen performing "We're Going on a Bear Hunt".  

Haven Hereford - Change 4 - A Change of Scene

A change of air has always been considered beneficial and, if we can't travel, we humans have the gift of imagination:

Spike Milligan created a perfect escape from drab reality.

In the Land of the Bumbley Boo

Spike Milligan

(extract)

In the land of the Bumbley Boo

The People are red white and blue,
They never blow noses,
Or ever wear closes,
What a sensible thing to do!

In the land of the Bumbley Boo
You can buy Lemon pie at the zoo;
They give away foxes
In little Pink Boxes
And Bottles of Dandylion Stew.

We enjoyed describing our favourite escapes and many of us find that we don't need to leave home in order to experience a "change of scene".  Then we read this colourful poem describing the joy that the seaside can bring. 

Jack Mapanje -Poet, linguist and human rights activist, Mapanje has published about five poetry books and has poems in three anthologies of poetry from Africa.

 The Seashells of Bridlington North Beach

(for Mercy Angela)

(an extract)

She hated anything caged, fish particularly,
Fish caged in glass boxes, ponds, whatever;

‘Reminds me of prisons and slavery,’ she said;
So, when first she caught the vast green view

of Bridlington North Beach shimmering that
English Summer day, she greeted the sight like

A Sahara girl on parched feet, cupping, cupping,
Cupping the water madly, laundering her palms,

Giggling and laughing, then rubbing the hands
On her skirt, she threw her bottom on the sandy

Beach and let the sea breathe in and out on her
As she relaxed her crossed legs – ‘Free at last!’

Finally we read an extraordinary piece of travel writing by Dickens from "Pictures From Italy". I think that Dickens was what we now call a "thrill-seeker" and he thought nothing of climbing over the Simplon Pass at night in the depths of winter in a horse-drawn carriage. 

Pictures from Italy is a travelogue by Charles Dickens, written in 1846.

It was ten o’clock at night when we got to Domo d’Ossola,

at the foot of the Pass of the Simplon. But as the moon was

shining brightly, and there was not a cloud in the starlit sky,

it was no time for going to bed, or going anywhere but on.

So, we got a little carriage, after some delay, and began the

ascent.

It was late in November; and the snow lying four or five

feet thick in the beaten road on the summit (in other parts

the new drift was already deep), the air was piercing cold.

But, the serenity of the night, and the grandeur of the road,

with its impenetrable shadows, and deep glooms, and its

sudden turns into the shining of the moon and its incessant

roar of falling water, rendered the journey more and more

sublime at every step.

Soon leaving the calm Italian villages below us, sleeping

in the moonlight, the road began to wind among dark trees,

and after a time emerged upon a barer region, very steep and

toilsome, where the moon shone bright and high.

 By degrees, the roar of water grew louder; and the stupendous

track, after crossing the torrent by a bridge,

struck in between two massive perpendicular walls of rock

 that quite shut out the moonlight, and only left a few stars shining in

the narrow strip of sky above. Then, even this was lost, in

the thick darkness of a cavern in the rock, through which

the way was pierced; the terrible cataract thundering and

roaring close below it, and its foam and spray hanging, in a

mist, about the entrance.

Emerging from this cave,and coming again

into the moonlight, and across a dizzy bridge, it

crept and twisted upward, through the Gorge of Gondo,

savage and grand beyond description, with smooth-fronted

precipices, rising up on either hand, and almost meeting

overhead. Thus we went, climbing on our rugged way, higher

and higher all night, without a moment’s weariness: lost in

the contemplation of the black rocks, the tremendous heights

and depths, the fields of smooth snow lying, in the clefts and

hollows, and the fierce torrents thundering headlong down

the deep abyss.

Are you a thrill seeker or an armchair traveller?  Either way the power to transport oneself in the imagination is a valuable gift. 

Haven Hereford - Change 3 - Social Change: manners and morals

Courting and other rituals have changed greatly even in recent memory.  We enjoyed recalling the rules and etiquette applied by our parents/society only a few years ago and asked ourselves whether we'd have made good Victorians. 

Even earlier Burns was expressing tradional values very sweetly:

Robert Burns. 1759–1796

503. A Red, Red Rose

O MY Luve 's like a red, red rose
That 's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve 's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune!
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,	5
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;	10
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,	15
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

In the 20th Century Dorothy Parker had a new approach:

One Perfect Rose

Dorothy Parker

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.

   All tenderly his messenger he chose;

Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet

   One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;

   'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.’

Love long has taken for his amulet

   One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet

   One perfect limousine, do you suppose?

Ah no, it's always just my luck to get

   One perfect rose.

Haven Hereford - Change 2 - Personal Change and Identity

In  keeping with our theme our second session took place a week late as we cancelled January 18th due to snow! 

So our second session on "Change" took place on January 25th 2013.  We discussed the fascinating question of identity.   Our two main poems for the day were "When I was one-and-twenty" by A E Houseman and "Return to Cardiff" by Dannie Abse.

A. E. Housman (1859–1936).  A Shropshire Lad.  1896.

XIII. When I was one-and-twenty

WHEN I was one-and-twenty   I heard a wise man say, ‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas   But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies         5   But keep your fancy free.’ But I was one-and-twenty,   No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty   I heard him say again,         10 ‘The heart out of the bosom   Was never given in vain; ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty   And sold for endless rue.’ And I am two-and-twenty,         15   And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

Here's a sample of the wonderful Dannie Abse poem:

Return to Cardiff

Dannie Abse

   

'Hometown'; well, most admit an affection for a city:

grey, tangled streets I cycled on to school, my first cigarette

in the back lane, and, fool, my first botched love affair.

First everything. Faded torments; self-indulgent pity.

The last verse captures in words that sense of trying to experience the past in the present: 

No sooner than I'd arrived the other Cardiff had gone,

smoke in the memory, these but tinned resemblances,

where the boy I was not and the man I am not

met, hesitated, left double footsteps, then walked on.

Also in response to one of the quotations about change Hilary created a short story:

Change in Inevitable—except from a vending machine.

Hilary Robinson 

“What do you think you are doing?” the smartly dressed young woman—couture tweed coat, buckled high heeled shoes and massive and massively expensive bag, glared at the older woman (jeans, denim jacket, boots, long hair). The latter withdrew her hand from the station vending machine. “Look!” A bar of Kit Kat and a twenty pence coin nestled in it, “You see people are in such a rush they don’t stop for their change.”  

“But you didn’t put any money in. You can’t take that. It isn’t yours.” 

“I’d gladly give it to whosever it is.”

They looked up and down the empty platform, “Well I don’t want any of it.” The young girl almost stamped her well heeled foot.

“Please yourself but think of all the times a machine has gobbled up your money and not given you change.”

“I try not to use such machines. The chocolate is probably damp and out of date. Not that that bothers you!”

“Well no the date stamp doesn’t as you know. Your own common sense is better to go by. They just encourage waste, which I should think you were against, all that landfill when one can’t give it to the pigs anymore. Chocolate isn’t good for you I agree. We don’t eat it often. Things have changed. Of course when I was a child there was still rationing, so I guess we did go a bit crazy afterwards. When I was your age I was often too poor to buy chocolate.”

“That’s because you went on being a student for ever.”

“Don’t exaggerate. And we were poor.”

“Yes but you had GRANTS imagine that. Fees paid, Accommodation paid. No student loans for you. And you were never really poor as people are today. Families starving. And even student loans taxed.”

“Darling must we quarrel now?”

                   The young girl gave her mother a smile, “No of course not. But you were privileged not poor.”

   “Both I think. There were times when I couldn’t buy a train ticket home from University.”

   “I know and you hid in the loo until the ticket inspector had gone by. And jumped over a fence at the other end of the journey so as to get out of the station without a ticket. Disgraceful!”

    “I used to hitch-hike until it wasn’t safe. I only once gave the wrong name and address when I was caught by the inspector and didn’t have any money.”

   “Whereas today one  hands over ones credit card and pays with interest!”

                      The train chugged in to the station and stopped noisily. It was almost empty and they easily found their carriage and seats. “Why are the seats always facing the opposite way from what we book?” asked the daughter grumpily.

   Because the train must have been doing the journey the other way round. They’d be the right way if we were coming back. They just can’t work it out.”

   “Well I suppose we can sit the way we like as those facing us are empty?”

   “Yes let’s.” They stored their heavy cases in the luggage section, and settled themselves in their chosen seats. “Next stop Paddington! You were right to choose this train. It’s slower but that change at Newport is killing.”

   “It’s the end,” agreed her mother “we always have to change platforms, and if the lift isn’t working it hauling cases up and down stairs and the train will never wait. The number of times I’ve watched it pull out just as I get to the platform.”

   “And the announcements are always in Welsh which nobody understands, especially the Welsh!”

   “Well here we are.” The mother got out a book. The daughter got out her knitting, “Did you ever knit much?”

  “Only when I had to be in the house looking after you and then only if I was watching television. It seems strange to me how much you all knit today.”

“ALL OFF AT WORCESTER FOREGATE STREET.” Mother and daughter looked at each other in horror.

   “We’ve got to change?”

   “Seems like it.”

                 The train shuddered to a halt. “ALL OFF. THOSE FOR PADDINGTON PLEASE BOARD THE TRAIN WAITING ON PLATFORM 2.”

They found their luggage, dragged it off and joined a small group of people who’d been ejected from the next carriage. And the next…and the next…and the next. All were quite elderly, all clutching cases and all had chosen that train because it was a through train to London. Groaning, moaning, sighing, and almost crying, they struggled up the stairs and over the bridge. There was no staff to help. It was a strange journey across England with two more changes. Eventually, very late, the train drew into Euston Station. There were no announcement but one which said it was the end of the journey. Nobody knew about tubes or the underground taxis to Paddington where some were being met by family and friends; some had hotels booked around the corner from Paddington Station.

   “Have some Kit-Kat.”

   “Thanks Mum.”

They ate their chocolate pensively while they surrendered to the inevitable expense and joined the taxi queue.

   “You know Mum,” she sighed as she looked at her mother’s mountain of cases, “I hate to say this but in all ways, the less baggage the easier it is to change.”

.

Haven Series on Change 1 - Seasons and Cycles

Our new series for spring 2013 concerns Change 

The keynote poem for the series is "Apple Blossom" by Louis MacNeice.  It begins:

Apple Blossom

Louis MacNeice

The first blossom was the best blossom 
For the child who never had seen an orchard; 
For the youth whom whiskey had led astray 
The morning after was the first day. 

The first apple was the best apple 
For Adam before he heard the sentence; 
When the flaming sword endorsed the Fall 
The trees were his to plant for all.

If you don't know the poem it's well worth searching out.

Hilary was inspired to write this:  

The first blossom was the best blossom

For the child who never had seen an orchard.
Blue sky, high there, up above the pram
Branches waving in the blue, "Here I am."

Nature's own mobile, not from Mothercare.
Early Learning's not got a patch on these petals
See them there! Pink and white froth tossing
In the blue. Boats in the sea for him?

There was much discussion about change and how humans respond to it.  There are countless quotations about change; here is a tiny sample:

If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it.  ~Mary Engelbreit

Change is inevitable - except from a vending machine.  ~Robert C. Gallagher

Change always comes bearing gifts.  ~Price Pritchett

You never have a friend all figured out. Just when you think you know what makes them tick, they tock. ~Robert Brault 

The devil could change.  He was once an angel and may be evolving still.  ~Laurence J. Peter

The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me.  The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them.  ~George Bernard Shaw

Writing challenge for this week is a piece of Flash Fiction - around 500 words based on one of these quotations.

Next week - Personal change and Identity.