Christmas greetings

For too many of us there will be an empty place at the table this Christmas and many of us will feel that there's little to celebrate just now anyway. In Wales yesterday we had flooding to add to the multiple problems that the end of 2020 has brought. But this morning the sun rose in the most beautiful dawn sky - here's hoping that it heralds a brighter time ahead for all of us.

Wherever you are, however you are holding on in the midst of the chaos going on all around, I'm wishing you and your families the best you can possibly make of Christmas 2020 - and an infinitely better one in 2021.

The Resilience Readings

I was only able to make one of the three Resilience Readings evenings last week but I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Organised by Freedom from Torture and supported by such national figures as Daljit Nagra, Imtiaz Dharker and Ian McMillan, the readings showcased the writing of survivors of horrific pasts alongside the winners of the Resilience poetry competition. My Women Aloud colleague Frances March had been highly commended in the competition for her beautiful poem Willowherb, written after hearing an interview with a Syrian refugee; it was lovely to hear her reading it.  But the highlight of the evening had to be the three featured victims of torture, who, through the organisation's weekly Write to Life programmes, had found the voices that had been all but obliterated in their own environments. Their testimony was incredibly moving.

You can find excerpts from all three evenings on the Freedom from Torture website; they're well worth having a look at. And you'll also find lots about the organisation's tremendous work in providing therapy and fostering hope for the future, a future too many of their service users almost never had.

A chance encounter

It's strange how we sometimes stumble by accident or coincidence on things that go on to become very important in our lives. People too at times, people we never expected to encounter but who we come across and who stay with us in one way or another. If I hadn't been researching a particular folk tale for a radio script last week I would perhaps never have come across a book that's affected me deeply - and through it met a family whose story is spellbinding.

The Life of Rebecca Jones was translated by Lloyd Jones from the book O! Tyn y Gorchudd by Angharad Price which won the prose medal at the National Eisteddfod in 2002. It's based on the author's own family history and centres on a farm at Maesglasau in mid Wales, spanning the whole of the twentieth century. The farm is as much a character in the book as Rebecca and her three blind brothers; the description of the hills and the crags, the valley and its stream, the vegetation and the wildlife has to be some of the best, most keenly observed nature writing I've ever read. The book brings Welsh history alive, a changing world seen through the eyes of a product "of a Welsh chapel childhood". And the last page - as I now know others have found it - was truly devastating.  A brilliant, brilliant book that I am so thankful to have come across.

In my own valley here autumn now feels as if it's beginning to turn into winter - the leaves no longer rustle under your feet but cling in muddy clumps to your boots and the mornings are decidedly icy. A walk on the Blorenge last week was exhilarating but very wet and windy - so I was amazed to spot wild swimmers braving the choppy waters at Keepers Pond! On my morning walk with the dog I leave the river to the ducks and just admire the autumnal mists from the banks ...

Row, row, row your boat ...

                                               

                                                

I was interested to read some research earlier this week about children's reading; apparently in one study children who had known eight nursery rhymes by heart by the age of four were amongst the best readers (and spellers) in their class by the time they were eight. There wasn't enough of a discussion in the article as to what other possible aspects could have influenced that achievement, and of course many nursery rhymes might now be considered questionable on the grounds of their approach to gender etc. but the underlying premise - that rhythmic recitation is actively beneficial as well as a fun activity - is one in which I firmly believe. Next week is World Nursery Rhyme Week with lots of activities planned for families all around the world. I have very fond memories of my own experience of nursery rhymes, both as a child and as a parent, and I'm convinced it laid the foundations for my love of language and poetry in particular.

Not that I want to think about Christmas yet (I'm afraid I'm a bit Bah, humbug! about it all) but I did come across a couple of other great ideas for children recently. The wonderful Cant a Mil Bookshop in Whitchurch in Cardiff is offering what it calls an Advent Calendar of Welsh Books, twenty four wrapped and numbered children's books (specially chosen with an individual's age and interests in mind) as an alternative to the chocolate variety. And a writing friend is writing and illustrating a special story for her children with chapters to read with them each day in December - perhaps a family tradition in the making there! 

Changes and chances

I've just finished correcting the proofs for my poetry collection, which will be off to the printers later this afternoon. Though when the book will see the light of day remains to be seen! Just as we here in Wales are almost out of lockdown, England (where the printers are) will be heading back into it. And I think the printers have only just cleared the backlog from Lockdown Mark One.... There are far more important things happening in the world just now of course, but it's certainly throwing yet more plans into disarray.

I'm part of a small peer group who periodically set themselves objectives for their writing which are shared and discussed with colleagues and then reviewed regularly - I find it a very useful focusing and motivating strategy. But over the last eight months my objectives have had to be very fluid; several  long planned projects have proved unachievable in the present situation (interviews and other research visits no longer possible etc). But when a project is completed - and the collection has been a work in progress for some time - it's certainly very gratifying. And the changed landscape has encouraged me to resurrect some old, shelved ideas - a couple of which, for example, have turned out to have life in them for radio scripts. So whilst 2020 has definitely not proved the writing year I'd hoped it to be, it's still proving an interesting, if challenging, one!

"No river like your first river"

Over the last couple of months I've been working on a series of radio scripts, looking at Welsh folk tales. It's been a very enjoyable experience and I've been able to link some of the stories with walks in relevant areas, which has made it doubly enjoyable. So many tales  (such as the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach, The Three Sisters of Plynlimon, Cantre'r Gwaelod) are associated with rivers, lakes or the sea; my favourite walks are always by water and through woods, so I've really been able to indulge myself !

I'm obviously not alone in my love of rivers. So many writers seem drawn to them. I'm currently reading a poetry anthology - The River's Voice, edited by Angela King and Susan Clifford - which spans several hundred years worth of river poems, with Tennyson and Wordsworth cheek by jowl with Ted Hughes, Carol Ann Duffy and Seamus Heaney. What is the lure of a river for such writers? The symbolic importance of its journeying? Its links with past and future generations? The vital role it plays in sustaining communities?

Most of my life has been lived in close proximity to one river or another. I feel at home by running water, inspired by its movement, its constancy yet its unpredictability. Last week I finished the Usk Valley Walk that runs from Newport to Brecon; I was born a stone's throw from the Usk, and to quote a poem I came across a few years ago, "There's no river like your first river". For a long distance footpath the walk is actually quite short - only 48 miles - but it passes through fantastic countryside and interesting villages and there are glimpses of a lot of industrial archaeology that have direct bearing on my family history. The walk utilises quite a bit of the towpath of the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal (or the Mon and Brec as it's known locally), looking down on the river; with the autumn colours and boating activity on the water it was both a relaxing and an energizing experience. The week before we had almost finished the Wye Valley Walk from Chepstow to Plynlimon (a more ambitious 136 miles) but time and the weather got the better of us. Still, only another five and a half miles to go there when we can resume next spring!

Reflections on "The Mon and Brec" 

 

National Poetry Day

The first Thursday in October has been National Poetry Day since 1994; it was begun, and continues to be organised, by the Forward Arts Foundation. Tomorrow sees this year's celebration across the country; the theme for 2020 is "Vision", with a strap line of "See it like a poet!" Perhaps we're all seeing things a little differently just now, and many of the live events that were planned have been modified, moved on line or otherwise changed in nature but there's no doubt that both the written and spoken varieties of poetry will be much in evidence here, there and everywhere - wherever enthusiasts can take them. Look out for your local events. 

A little ahead of the day, last Friday evening saw a great on-line launch for two collections by my friends and colleagues Derek Healy and Marilyn and Howard Timms. The evening was part of Cheltenham Poetry Festival's year round programme of events that has sprung up in the wake of Covid. It was very well attended, and well worth attending too. I've written before about Derek's second collection Home (Graffiti Books 2020) but it was a great pleasure to hear him reading from it; his poems are always thought provoking and not infrequently amusing too. Deciphering the Maze (Indigo Dreams 2020) explores Howard and Marilyn's early and shared lives, with very moving references to the cancers of which they are both survivors. It's another collection that rewards reading and rereading, with so much to it.

                                                           

Getting autumn underway

Radio silence for a few weeks as I've been away / unwell / inundated! But I'm home again now with things more on an even keel and trying to work through what should have been done but hasn't been yet. It does seem a rather strange early autumn though; usually by now we're settling into the September routine - groups meeting up again, classes restarting etc. - but this year it's just more of the same, with Zoom featuring large in most things we do, as it did all over the summer. How fortunate we are though that technology does afford us the opportunity to stay connected when the virus conspires against us.

One thing that has got done (at last!) is the final preparation of my poetry collection which should make it to the printers this week. It will be coming out shortly with Graffiti Books. On Friday my Catchword colleague Derek Healey (poetry editor with Graffiti magazine) will be launching his collection "Home"; I'm delighted to have been invited to read with him and Rona Laycock at the virtual launch. "Home" should have had its debut at the Cheltenham Poetry Festival in April but was a casualty of the lockdown, along with all the other events of the festival. Anna Saunders, the Festival Director, has been very successful however in arranging a year long programme of on-line readings, launches and open mics that has attracted a world-wide audience. Another silver lining. 

The best laid plans ...

We've recently returned from a trip to Mid Wales that didn't go quite to plan. Whoever would have thought that a walking expedition in Wales in August would have to be abandoned not because of rain but because of the heat?! We did manage two further shortish stretches of our Wye Valley Walk project but, when the temperature rose above 30 degrees and kept rising, discretion was the better part of valour and we opted out for the time being. That should have freed us up to carry out some research in the area for a new non-fiction book I've started working on (loosely based around my husband's family history) but of course all the relevant archives were closed because of the Covid-19 situation ...

In the event we actually had a very useful time pursuing some research from a rather more personal angle, and meeting some distant relatives in the process; that's led me to rethink the approach I'd planned to take quite considerably - and it will probably be a far more interesting book because of it! We met some very knowledgeable people and came upon some unexpected, fascinating places - none more so than the mill my husband's great great great grandfather worked in 1856! Hidden in a remote dell, miles off any beaten track, from the outside it looked virtually derelict; to our amazement, when we ventured up a rickety ladder, we found almost the complete workings still intact and looking as if they could be coaxed back into action tomorrow. 

Going rather more to plan has been the preparation of my poetry collection, which should see the light of day this autumn. It's had a long gestation and I'll be glad to see it safely delivered now. That has a poem in it about a mill, Clenchers Mill near Malvern, which has been beautifully restored and is occasionally open to the public - well worth a visit should you have the opportunity.

Give us this day …

Except for days like this

when history, briefly resurrected,

leaps into life to catch us unawares,

they’re stilled and silenced now -

wallowers, brayers, bridge trees, tuns.

Alien to our generation,

those names our great grandparents knew,

whose daily bread depended on them -

stone nuts, runners, damsels, shoes.

But in this soundscape of the miller’s world -

the clank of wheel, the scrape of stone -

we haul them back like sacks of grain,

dust them off, reclaim them for the moment -

launder box, penstock, layshaft, flume.

Copyright Gill Garrett 2020.

A sad situation

I was much saddened to read that the poetry component of some literature exams is to be dropped in the wake on the Covid-19 situation. I know I'm not alone in this - I've seen a lot on line and in print from other disappointed writers who feel that it's symptomatic of those in charge having little appreciation of the actual subject matter on which they're pontificating. Poetry is such an integral part of our literary heritage and we've recently seen a tremendous rise in the number of young people enjoying poetry, writing poetry, performing poetry. Yes, it can be quite demanding on students in an educational environment, but is that a reason to do away with it?

I've been very heartened to see the number of younger people taking part in workshops over the period of lockdown - and very impressed by their contributions. I recently sat in on a Writing West Midlands workshop at which Sara-Jane Arbury was the guest speaker. She was talking about her very exciting work with children and young people's groups; Writing West Midlands coordinates twenty two separate groups for 8 -18 year olds. Perhaps we are now going to have to depend on agencies such as these to keep the flame alight if schools are opting out - but how many youngsters, unable to access such opportunities, will that then exclude? 

A world away and nearer to home

Paradoxically, the lock-down has opened up the world in some ways. Having to use platforms such as Zoom to meet up with writing groups, attend workshops and generally keep in touch in the writing community, things have become much more international, with all the advantages that can bring. Last week I was in one workshop with participants from Uganda, Spain and Canada, earlier this week in another with poets from the States, Belgium and Ghana. I sometimes feel that groups can get more than a bit "cosy" and it's a breath of fresh air to meet and greet writers from very diverse backgrounds, with often very different approaches and viewpoints. Especially when they challenge your own!

Last Friday's Cheltenham Poetry Festival workshop with Rowan McCabe was fascinating. I'd not heard him read before and loved his perceptive but gentle take on everyday life. He's currently the poet in residence at Wordsworth's house in the Lake District, but Covid has obviously meant that's a bit of a sticky wicket at the moment. Undaunted, he's offering "poetry by post" in Cockermouth! Having been a "door to door poet" in the past (yes, that's just what it says it is!), he's now sending stamped addressed envelopes to random addresses in the town offering a poetry service by return - and getting a fair number of takers. If you've not come across his work, do look him up.

Now that the five mile limit has been lifted in Wales, we're properly underway again with our Wye Valley Walk project. Last week we were covering some of the ground so familiar from Kilvert's Diary. Rural life may have changed a bit since he was writing in the 1870s but the bones of the deep Radnorshire countryside have changed very little. No wonder it has inspired such fantastic prose and poetry - it really is exceptionally beautiful.

Builth Wells next stop ...

A different Ledbury 2020

We're getting used to having to "go" to festivals on line now, of course, but I shall miss a proper visit to Ledbury this year. I love the town itself - the beautiful architecture, the narrow streets and lanes, the shops with their festival contributions on display, the lovely old tea and coffee shops - and the poetry is never less than inspirational. This would have been the opening weekend in normal times; instead, this is it for this year, two days with nine events. But they should certainly be worth registering for - or you should be able to catch up on the Festival YouTube Channel afterwards.

There's a preview at ten o'clock this evening on Radio 3's The Verb, where you're invited to "celebrate the spirit of the Ledbury Poetry Festival".  Poet Laureate Simon Armitage will be opening the weekend itself on Saturday lunchtime. His session will be followed by the competition winner's event, Kim Moore celebrating European poetry, poetry films made by the Young Writers Collective, poetry of the lockdown and so much more. Do check the website and see what's on offer - and of course it's all free.

Independent Bookshop Week

In keeping with so many other retailers, bookshops have had a really tough couple of months. And re-opening isn't an easy exercise with social distancing a headache in small shops, often with confined space, and the tendency most of us have to browse through books before buying them meaning that items have to be quarantined before going back on the shelves. I've been so impressed by how some independent shops (such as Griffin Books in Penarth) have managed to keep a thriving, upbeat presence on line though, posting books out to customers and ploughing on regardless with launches, author readings and book clubs. Hopefully there will be lots of support all around the country for Independent Bookshop Week, which began yesterday.

Where would we have been without books over these weeks of lockdown?  With libraries closed, it's been interesting to see how communities have come together to ensure that anyone who wants a new book to read can access one. Yesterday we were walking a stretch of the River Wye and came across this in a bus shelter -

                                                           - a help-yourself-to-a-book stop, with a whole variety of 

genres to suit most tastes. Last week, walking by the Usk, we saw a book swap in a disused phone box. People have been nothing if not inventive through it all.

As you'll have gathered, walking has featured large for me recently. We're so fortunate to live in such close proximity to some stunning countryside. And, as always, the opportunity to walk has presented plenty of opportunity to think and plan. The main project on which I was working earlier in the year was derailed (temporarily I hope) with travel being out of the question and interviews and research I'd set up (not possible except on a face to face basis) having to be put on hold. But the time freed up has enabled me to pick up and run with an idea from a while ago that had never come to fruition - it's certainly making progress now and hopefully will see the light of day, initially on the radio and then in print, later in the year.  

Quick as a Flash

In haste! Just in case you 're not aware that today is National Flash Fiction Day. There are a host of activities going on on line this year including a Flash Flood (with a new piece being published every 5 - 10 minutes on the online journal), The Write In (a prompt every hour - use it to write on and you can then submit the piece until midnight tomorrow for a chance of publication) and the 2020 Anthology Launch (this evening from 7 - 10pm on the YouTube channel). There may be other more local activities in your area but these are well worth checking out. Enjoy!

Changes and chances

Today should have seen us off to Scotland, for a week walking in the Trossachs, a week pursuing some research for a biography I'm working on, a visit to old friends and a 70th birthday party. Needless to say, none of those will be happening in the present situation. Hopefully the visits and the walking can take place when life returns to whatever will pass as the new "normal" but the biography project will have to go on ice for the time being. This is particularly frustrating as it had a long gestation phase but has made significant progress over the last couple of months; most of that progress however has been based on historical records and others' accounts and memories. I really need to "walk the walk" and get a feel for my subject's original environment and experiences.

Looking at the positives, however - the Hay Festival this year is not as we have always known it but is freely available to everyone virtually. Do look at the programme if you haven't seen it. Starting today, I've booked for a dozen events to which I certainly wouldn't have had access in other circumstances. I'm really looking forward to hearing Mererid Hopwood and Ali Smith - favourite authors of mine - and I've also booked for a couple of sessions quite outside my usual sphere. A good opportunity to open up other horizons without feeling you've spent unwisely if they turn out to be ones you'd rather leave orbiting elsewhere!

Celebration or commemoration?

My father, Roland Garrett, in 1941

The period around the Second World War is one that interests me a lot and I've written a fair amount about it in both poetry and prose over the years. The war had only ended a short time before I was born and it was still having a massive residual effect on people's lives, both negatively and positively, throughout my childhood. So I'm perfectly happy that today, the 75th anniversary of VE Day, should be acknowledged and marked by present generations. But I see commemoration as a far more appropriate approach than celebration. .

Yes, our parents or our grandparents may have been celebrating that six years of hardship, separation, trauma and loss had come to an end, but more importantly they were looking forward to what they could now make of the world and their lives in it. Much of what we're seeing today, in the media and in the (socially-distanced!) street celebrations, seems backward looking, nostalgic, sentimental. We're dealing with our own crises at the moment and - with the evidence they've thrown up of so much inequality, mismanagement of services over a long period of time and so many other social injustices - we need to be looking forward, as our predecessors were in 1945, at what we can make of our world when they're all over. In no small part so that we can give the still-surviving veterans something much more tangible than the fleeting attention and praise they're getting today.

"April is the cruellest month ..."

What a strange month April was - in more ways than just having the unusually great weather! Our first full calendar month of lockdown and all that that entailed. Since writers so often bemoan their lack of time, you'd think we'd all be grateful for an abundance of it, but that's certainly not how it's felt. Dealing with all the additional on line activities the situation has generated seems to have kept me very busy, to say nothing of the NaPoWriMo challenge (thankfully now at an end, with several embryonic poems worth pursuing if not many completed). But the virtual workshops I have managed to make have at least kept me in touch with the wider writing community and a couple of acceptances of submissions for publication have cheered things along too.

What has really kept me sane in recent weeks though has been the availability of local walks  - within minutes of leaving the front door I can be on riverside or hillside, well away from the human world and very close to the natural. We are incredibly lucky to have all this on our doorstep and lucky that we can, in however limited a way, get out into it. My heart goes out to those in much less happy circumstances, in less conducive environments or confined completely to quarters for shielding, to say nothing of those personally affected by Covid-19. I realise every time I'm able to step outside how fortunate I am.

Light at the end of the tunnel?
A perspective on the Wye.

"These are the hands ..."

I'm delighted to read that These Are The Hands - Poems From The Heart Of The NHS  (eds. Deborah Alma and Katie Amiel, Fair Acre Press) is selling incredibly well. All profits are going to the NHS Covid-19 Emergency Fund. It's another small way in which we can support the outstanding staff who are risking everything to keep us safe. Having spent the whole of my working life in health care, I stand in awe of what those who have followed me are doing day in, day out with an appalling lack of resources. If you haven't seen the collection, do check it out - and if possible buy a copy.

NaPoWriMo

You would think that self-isolating would allow so much time for writing, making progress with projects, moving forwards. But I seem to be in the company of a lot of other writers finding that "having nothing on" actually means being quite busy with the minutiae of everyday life - and that the stress of the present situation isn't really conducive to ready creativity.

Five years ago I took part in NaPoWriMo - and vowed never to do it again! I'm not a fast writer and my poems usually need a long gestation before they see the light of day on the page. I'm always so envious of those who, after a twenty minute exercise in a workshop, can work a mini miracle! But I've decided to take the plunge again this year; I know it's only day five but I'm hanging on in there. If last time is anything to go by, the end of the month may only see three or four poems worth the name but a lot of writing from which to take ideas, to incorporate into other work. If you're doing the challenge too - good luck with it!

I'm very heartened to see that the BBC news website has had one poetry item each day lately - usually an actor or well known personality reading something appropriate to the circumstances. I was reduced to tears on Thursday by the television presenter Sophie Raworth reading the poem "These are the hands" - it was written by the children's author Michael Rosen for the 60th anniversary of the NHS, now himself hospitalised with Covid -19. If you're not familiar with the poem do check it out - it's very simple but an outstanding accolade to everyone who works in health care.

A strange Spring

I've been using my one permitted outing of the day for early morning walks with the dog in our local (deserted) woods.  This morning, with all the primroses, wood anemones and violets out, the birds in good voice and the sun coming up on the other side of the valley, it was as if the natural world was at odds with the social. Everything was so peaceful, so as it should be, yet only a short distance away health care staff are fighting for the lives of so many patients in this our worst-hit part of Wales.

But now it's back to the desk with an article to finish by the end of the day. There should be few distractions to keep us from our writing for the time being, of course, but the temptation to go for frequent news updates is difficult to resist - though it probably doesn't much help our mental health.  Better to immerse ourselves for a while in worlds of fiction, poetry or less depressing fact!

The written word

I was thinking this morning about the contribution of writers and the value of the written word in these increasingly stressful times - certainly to communicate accurate information but also to provide diversions from the seemingly relentless march of problems thrown up by the corona virus. Books, magazines and on-line reading materials will hopefully be good companions for many of us in our enforced isolation. The book I'm reading at the moment, "All Among The Barley"  by Melissa Harrison, is transporting me to the very different world of 1933. It was a world that had big problems of its own of course, but the book is beautifully written and the story of farmer's daughter Edie Mather's coming of age is captivating.

How important our own writing about the present situation could be too - our "unprecedented" situation, as we're continually reminded by the politicians. As a small child my father lost his eldest sister in the 1918 'flu pandemic and my father-in-law was only a year old when his young mother succumbed. There was hardly a family in the land, indeed in the world, that wasn't touched by the outbreak. There's plenty written in the medical and history textbooks about it but I've found comparatively little, other than brief mentions, in personal, family history accounts.  "This too shall pass" and, when it's all over, no doubt there will be endless dissection of the details in the press and the textbooks. But something so major, with such far reaching implications for our individual lives, surely deserves chronicling on a more personal level for our future family readers too.

International Women's Day

A great afternoon yesterday, celebrating International Women's Day at the Raised Voices event at St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester - female poets from all over Gloucestershire coming together to delight in and honour the contribution of women across time and place. The strength of women (like a "hornbeam leaning into the wind"), the struggles of women (miscarriage -"the reality no-one wants to acknowledge", "the full body armour" when fighting eating disorders), the endless caring for the young, the old and the sick; the day to day existence and the moments of transcendence  - all were expressed by established names and new-comers who had never before read in public. Moving testimony about undertaking the Hajj after a year in which the poet had lost her husband, a child and both parents; reminders of all the women who paved the way for the freedoms and rights we now enjoy; recognition of how much further we have to go to achieve the parity we seek - there was so much emotion and so much energy in the participants, it was incredibly inspiring. 

Another positive has been the improvement in the weather over the last few days - Spring does seem to be hovering in the wings now and putting a tentative foot forward from time to time. On Friday we did a few miles of the Wye Valley Walk we've been doing on and off for a while now; the sun shone and the countryside just north of Hereford, though still showing signs of the recent flooding, certainly seemed to be moving forward into better days. I have to disagree with Robert Browning though - perhaps you remember his poem "O to be in England"? He spoke of the buttercup as being "the little children's flower"; for me that will always be the celandine, which I loved as a child and which was growing in abundance on Friday with primroses and early violets in the hedgerows. Apparently the name celandine shares its root with swallow, and both are said to arrive in the countryside at about the same time. No signs of swallows around here yet though!

"There's a flower that shall be mine,
'tis the little celandine"
William Wordsworth

World Book Day

As a child I just took it for granted, the fact that my parents read to me, that our house was full of books, that birthdays and Christmases invariably brought more to go on my bedroom shelves and later to be squirreled away under the bedclothes, read by torchlight way after bedtime. I had no idea then how fortunate I was. But how I loved the books I had - witness the fact that several of the favourites are still on my bookcase now!

Recent research into the impact of World Book Day (which this year takes place on Thursday) shows that for almost a quarter of the children given their free £1 book token this marks their first opportunity to have a book of their own; amongst children having free school meals that's the case for a third of them. I think that there can be little doubt as to the real value of this charitable enterprise.

But I'm saddened to think of some of the activities that have grown up around World Book Day and the pressures that these too often exert on families. Going to school dressed as a favourite character from a book can be great fun - and I'm sure some parents and carers probably enjoy the challenge of putting together a costume for their child or children. But for those with little time or little inclination to design and make their own, the pressure to buy outfits so that a child or children fit in with their peers can be an unwelcome and expensive imposition. You only have to look at some of the costumes offered on line and advertised specifically with World Book Day in mind - a couple of the cheapest I've seen have been Alice in Wonderland ones at £19.99, Gruffalo ones at £24.99. For families in straightened circumstances, how on earth can that be justified?  How much better if activities can be planned that demand less and offer more.

Fighting the elements

Well, the waters may be receding but, in the Biblical phrase, there is no sign yet of "a rainbow standing across the land". For the residents of Monmouthshire, and those in Herefordshire, Worcestershire and Shropshire, the effects of the floods will be felt for a long time to come.  Living on a hill, we are very fortunate, having nothing more than a shortage of drinking water to worry about (the water treatment plant in Monmouth was inundated and is without power). But for those living closer to river level the last few days have been catastrophic.

I've written before about how the weather and people's fight against the elements feature large in so much literature. I was looking back last night over some of my writing. When I was researching the background to my own family history in Monmouthshire in the nineteenth century for my book "Digging Up The Family - A Lesson In Social History" I came across frequent references to the great flood of October 17th 1883. That evening a fierce storm was blowing up the Severn Estuary and it corresponded with the highest tide of the century; at 7pm. a tidal wave of water six feet high suddenly engulfed the land all along the Caldicot Levels. Miraculously, all eighty three men trapped in the shaft of the Severn Tunnel, then under construction, were saved by the heroic measures taken by their comrades above ground (a story well worth reading). My grandfather, aged five at the time, and his family were in a cottage in the direct path of the wave, which swept up from the wharf, through their garden and into the house. My great grandparents and the older boys grabbed the smallest children (it was a big family) and fled with them to the comparative safety of the upstairs rooms whilst the storm battered at the windows. The devastation awaiting them downstairs and outside next morning was unprecedented.

Perhaps we now have more sophisticated approaches to planning for and dealing with "natural disasters" but it's becoming glaringly obvious how much we have ourselves to blame for the frequency and the extent of many of them. Our tardiness at getting to grips with climate change, policies that sacrifice safety for profit (inappropriate house building on flood plains etc.) - I could go on.  The politicians' knee jerk reactions to the present crisis and their fervent promises of assistance in the media sadly give little hope for any meaningful, long term strategies. 

"Whatever the weather ..."

I'm sitting here in my study looking out on the very wild morning delivered to us by Storm Ciara. I took the dog out for a two hour walk early on, before the rain set in, as she certainly won't be getting much of a one later. We had the wind behind us to start with but coming back into a head wind was definitely a challenge - hardly the 86 mph gusts they've had at Capel Curig, but enough to take me off my feet at one point. Carys, of course, was fine - this is when having four legs and a low centre of gravity is really advantageous!

No wonder the weather becomes such a major feature - indeed a character in its own right - in so much literature. The effect it has upon individuals, decisions they make, their environments, on history itself  (the decision when to launch the D Day invasion for example) - it has tremendous significance. At the moment I'm reading "Twenty Thousand Saints" by Fflur Daffydd, a novel set on Bardsey Island; the elements rule the lives of those living on Bardsey and those coming, as do Daffydd's characters, for recreation, religion or less reputable reasons. The narrow straight of water between the island and the mainland and the winds and tides that govern it subtly dominate the narrative. It's an intriguing story on many levels - well worth a read.

 

Love and St. Dwynwen

In Wales we don't wait for Valentine's Day - we have our own patron saint of lovers, St. Dwynwen, whose festival we celebrated yesterday. History tells us that she was the daughter of a medieval king,  legend (probably originating in the eighteenth century) that she was spurned in love because of her chastity, but granted by God three wishes because if it. One of her wishes was that all lovers "might either attain the objects of their affection or be cured of their passion"; another was that she should never marry. She is reputed to have died a nun in the church named after her at Llanddwyn just off the coast of Anglesey.

I've been rereading some of my favourite love poems in Dwynwen's honour. A great favourite has to be the clear-eyed, down-to-earth "There's a kind of love called maintenance" by U. A. Fanthorpe (do read it if you're not familiar with it - this is about the love that lasts). And I'm very fond too of the poems in Carol Ann Duffy's collection "Rapture" - so many that most of us can identify with. Her anthology of love poems, "Hand in Hand", contributed by a variety of poets who chose one of their own and a favourite by another writer, also makes good reading. But there's one poem I always carry in my handbag, one that's really special - W. B Yeates' "When You Are Old"; to me that's the greatest love poem ever.

An Absent Love

In threadbare hours

my mind weaves stories -

stories to tell you on the shores of morning,

when the tattered curtains of night draw back,

when grey mists thin,

when a rising sun glints

on the straining canvas of full sails

carrying you back into the compass

of these dreamcatcher tales.

(copyright Gill Garrett 2015)

Looking forwards

A month's gap since that last post - let's just say the year didn't perhaps get off to the start it might have! But two thirds of January are now behind us, the evenings are gradually beginning to get just a little bit lighter and spring may not be so far off. In fact I saw this daffodil out on New Year's Day and over the weekend I found quite spectacular banks of snowdrops in the hedgerows when I was driving through rural Shropshire. The worst of the winter weather may well yet be to come but signs of better days always cheer me no end.


The other thing that has cheered me no end in the last couple of days has been planning a couple of new projects and arranging two visits to Ty Newydd, the National Writing Centre of Wales, over the summer. Ty Newydd has to be one of my favourite places on earth; I never fail to be inspired by my visits there. For various reasons I've not been able to go for a few years now, so I shall be delighted to get there again. One of the weeks I'll be spending there is dedicated to "Writing Wales" - fortunately with bilingual facilitators as my learner Welsh may not stretch to accommodating anything else quite yet!

In the meantime I'm well into the scripts for a series of programmes for Upbeat Radio which may appear at some stage in book form too. I'm looking forward to restarting "The Writers Room" broadcasts before long as well; the twelve month series which ran 2018 - 2019 was very well received and gave a platform to a variety of local writers. I enjoy the challenge of live radio work - though being expected to master the technology when working with community radio stations I sometimes find intimidating! No major calamities so far but quite a bit of flying by the seat of my pants ...