...and then it was over!

We cannot escape history.
~ Abraham Lincoln

We had queued in the rain, waiting patiently all morning and finally we got to see the flotilla. Jerry caught a glimpse of the Duchess of Cambridge and of course we saw the Queen with Prince Philip by her side. We were proud. You could see it on our faces; on everybody’s faces. The embankment was lined with people braving the elements of nature to show their support. If ever there was a picture of solidarity in support for a Monarch, it was today, the 3^rd of June; The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee.

Jerry had bought us some flags; a pound each. We waved them furiously, glugging our champagne from little plastic flutes, as the Spirit of Chartwell passed us by. The other boats went past, one by one, each holding their passengers, making history.

We clinked glasses, and kissed. When I opened my eyes it was over. We could hear the crowds cheering further down the embankment. Now there was nothing left for us to wait for; to queue for.  With the rest of the crowd that we had come to know, we made our way back home; our belongings held in a plastic bag.  The Jubilee pageant was over but its memory would stay with us forever.

No going back

Freedom is never voluntarily given by
the oppressor; it must be demanded
by the oppressed. 
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

I walked with the rest of them, down the path, away from the river. It was over. I had whiled away the morning waiting for the Queen of England. I hadn’t meant to. I wouldn’t call myself a royalist and I am definitely not British. I just happened to stumble across the festivities.

I can hear you laugh.  Yes, there were road closures. Yes, I had seen it advertised. It wasn’t as if I was living in a black hole. I had chosen to ignore it all. It was what I did best.

That Sunday morning when Tomasz drove his fist into my stomach, I ran. Out on to the street. I took the tube as far Central as it would take me. I managed to get out at Blackfriars and then unexpectedly I was caught up in this mass of people – all gathered to see the Queen. I tried to hide from myself in the crowd and watched the boats pass by. I saw couples holding hands and happy families celebrating together. I wanted a family too except I had none; an orphan child with an abusive lover.

I should have been angry. I should have been upset. But I wasn’t. Somehow here I was, caught in the celebration enjoying it for what it was. I realised then that it was the first time I had smiled in ages. The smile made me feel something inside - deep within. It was then that I decided I wanted to be free - I wasn’t going back. 

Liquid History

Water is the driving force of all nature.
~ Leonard da Vinci

A life source on its own - I look with admiration at the water that flows against the mossy green embankment. The crowd pushes gently but I stand my ground. A lady dressed head to toe in red, white and blue spills beer on her half eaten pork pie. But she does not mind; she continues to munch on the pastry and ground meat.  There is chatter all around me, excitement, boredom, anticipation. When will the flotilla arrive? I look at my watch – it is only two. I know we have at least another two hours to wait, the Queen is still to get on to her boat at Battersea.

Others are with family and friends - I am on my own. I don’t mind. The river is my company. I search the waters surface but I see nothing. No roach, no bream, no perch yet I know it carries more than this.  I envision the deep, below the murky depths: eels playing with plastic bags. 

The two hours feel like days, finally my watch tells me it’s almost four o’clock. Suddenly a trout jumps into the air as if it knows. The crowd cheers and I smile.  Any minute now the Queen on her Royal Barge will pass along this part of the river; sailing over 346 kilometres of Liquid History. 

Proud to be British

However British you may be, I am more British still.
~ Henry Thomas

We caught the ferry the night before and arrived in good time. Marcus wanted to camp outside. I said to him it was never going to happen, not in this weather.

We slept on the floor of Simon’s apartment that night. Four of us on the hard wood floor, up until two in the morning, drinking Jack and reminiscing about our university days. At eleven the next morning, we arrived at Embankment.

As we stepped off the bus the rain started. “A typical bank holiday then,” Ciara said and I shrugged.

It was impossible to get a good view of the Thames. I cursed Simon for not booking a riverboat. But looking around me, I knew that we were not the only ones who couldn’t see and that made me feel better. We walked from Embankment past the Strand and Somerset House down to Blackfriars. I envied the crowds standing on riverside apartment balconies, overlooking the Thames. I envied those dining in the Oxo Tower.

At noon, with still no place to stand, we found somewhere for lunch. Just a burger joint. But they gave us hats like crowns and free cups of hot tea. The Jubilee spirit was in the air, everywhere around us. As we headed back towards the river we could see that the crowd had swelled. The atmosphere was electric. We were pretty far off when the Spirit of Chartwell carrying its royal guests passed us by. We were cold and we were wet but we were proud to be British. 

King for a day

He wanted to be King. I frowned.

“There is no harm in a five  year old wearing a red velvet cape and a gold paper crown from Burger King is there?” my mother said.

“I suppose not.” I conceded. I pursed my lips looking at the joyous child.

“We are going to see the Queen, mummy. And I am going to be King.”

I raised my eyebrows.

All happiness unto my lord the King!
~ William Shakespeare

Josh stuck out his bottom lip.

I knew it was going to be cold and wet. I didn’t really want him with me. Yes it was a once in a life time experience, but one I doubted Josh would remember.  He would just get tired and cranky. He would slow me down.

In that moment I pined for his father. It would have been different if we could have gone as a family; if Mark was there to help me.

“You know Josh…” I started in my sweetest voice. My mother shot me a look.

“Okay you can come as a king.” I said and then he gave me that irresistible smile.

The Sunday came quicker than a flash. Together, we walked down the Strand, and in that crowd, without Mark, I was glad of his company.

Then as the rain started to fall, I held out my umbrella for Josh. After all he was King. 

About the photo: This photo was taken below Tower Bridge, at the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Celebrations on a soggy Sunday afternoon.

Waiting

I look at my watch. Still no sign of him. I pull my knees closer to my chest and huddle against the wall looking for some protection from the cold. April in Paris can be surprisingly cold. Much colder than London. He said one forty. It’s now two.

A man in a black jacket jumps up on to the wall. Is it him? I wonder. Should I say something? He does not look at me. Perhaps this is a popular meeting spot. After all I do not know Paris. I am sure that I would recognise Pierre. How could I not? After our endless conversations, late into the night,  I feel I know him like the back of my hand.

The wait is long, my dream
of you never ends.
~ Nuala O'Faolain

As time passes I begin to wonder if Pierre is in fact the man sitting beside me but his face is turned. I whisper his name but he does not turn.  Surely he would have recognised me by now. I take out my phone and read the last email exchange between us. I can’t help but blush. Yes I see that I have the time and the place right.  But my heart starts to sink– perhaps he will not come after all.

*

I have waited so long for this moment. To finally be able to meet Sarah, the woman of my dreams. I wonder if she will look the same as in her pictures?  We agreed one forty but she is not here yet. I hope she has not gotten cold feet. Perhaps I should have eaten first, my stomach reminds me that it is past my usual lunch time. But I wanted to show her Chez Michel, quite possibly the most romantic restaurant in the ninth arrondissement.

I look at my watch again and then over at the woman sitting next to me, or should I say teenager. She looks to be at that awkward age, she has not even learned how to sit yet.

Another half hour passes and I begin to wonder who the young girl is waiting for. A horrifying thought crosses my mind but I dismiss it fast enough. Instead I take my 

                                                                                                mobile phone out of my pocket and dial her number. 

About the photo: Its been taken across the road from the Notre Dame, two strangers lost in their own world.

Drunk

It is only noon and I know I have drunk too much already but it is summer in Madrid and what else is there to do? I spy an abandoned sofa in the middle of the plaza. I use the strength left in my body to push it to the edge of the square. The Españoles don’t like a drunk being the centre of attention but they don’t mind so much a quiet drunk  in the corner.

Happiness is not the absence of problems, it is the ability to deal with them.
~ Steve Maraboli

You see I’m not a bad alcoholic.   Some days I get work and I don’t touch the vodka till sunset but I’ll admit those days are now few and far between and in actual fact  they are verging towards non-existent. ‘Man should work’ they say and you can’t really do a proper day’s work with alcohol, but as I lie here sitting in the sun I realise I am at my happiest when I am intoxicated. Not to the extent where I make a fool of myself, like falling down and starting fights; just high enough to feel warm, alive and happy.

My mother doesn’t give up on me, she calls me every Sunday urging me to go to church with her.  And sometimes I go, just to see her smile. Elena  gave up on me a year ago. I didn’t expect her to stick around, I was lucky she married me in the first place.

“You should stop drinking,” everyone says to me and perhaps one day I will. But for now I am happy, lying on this sofa in the heat of the midday sun, drunk!

About the photo: I took this photo in Madrid on a warm February afternoon, with this man obviously making most of the unexpected sunshine.

Love Locks

As we left the Notre Dame and headed towards the left bank a reflection caught my eye. My gaze drifted towards the Pont de l’Archeveche. I smiled. The sun had burnt through the April cloud. François gripped my hand and led me towards the bridge. In silence I kept pace with him savouring the last hour we had together.

At the bridge we stopped and looked back at the Notre Dame. François wrapped me in his arms and we kissed. I couldn’t tell you how long we stood there for. Lips glued together like the world was about to end. When I opened my eyes Francois held out an open padlock. He rubbed his thumb over our initials which he had etched into the brass.

L'eternite, c'est long...surtout vers le fin.
~ Franz Kafka

It was only then that I noticed the other locks, ribbons and ties all marked with names or initials. François clasped the lock on to the metal railing, “Our love will be locked for all eternity,” he said before he threw the key into the Seine.

Now, two years later, I stand on the Pont de l’Archeveche on a beautiful summer’s morning. Our love lock is still there amongst the others. I wonder how many of those lovers are still together. My hand reaches out to hold on to the tangible evidence of what was my first love.

I feel his arm around me. I turn around. I want to hold him but instead François drops to one knee and only then do I notice a small blue velvet box he is holding in his hand. 

About the photo: I have been to Paris before but hadn't seen this bridge then. We stumbled upon this bridge as we were making our way from Notre Dame towards the Louvre.

Together We'll Change The World

It was a hazy day but it was our day. What did we expect, we were in Berlin on a spring day. The weather was unpredictable. Melanie followed us clutching my coat and bouquet.

Just days before our wedding, Lee suggested we walk part of the wall that still remained. “We are in Berlin” he said. “We may never come back. Think about it. Who else gets to do that on their wedding day.” 

I laughed. “You can’t be serious. It’s our big day. Nobody does something like that on their big day.” I said. 

A dream you dream alone is only a 
dream. A dream you dream together 
is reality. 
~ John Lennon

But Lee was adamant, he had that look in his eye. “And we are not everybody. You and me - we are different! Together we are going to change the world.”  There was a moment’s silence between us but I knew I had to compromise on this point. Lee was a true revolutionist. “I won’t be able to wear heels.” I said conceding.

Lee smiled, “I know you hate walking in heels.”

We had twenty minutes to ourselves in between the service and the reception. It was a casual affair, a handful of friends and relatives. They didn’t see me slip off my pretty white heels and put on my boots - Melanie following closely behind.

We walked up to the wall. Lee put his hand out and touched history. The wall of shame that divided families and showed the German post war government for what it really was.

My husband caught my hand told me he loved me - I felt the passion in his voice. I hitched up my dress already dirtied by the street. A smile spread on my lips, “we are going to change the world”,  I mumbled as we headed to our wedding reception. 

About the photo: Berlin is amazing, it has more character than any other place I have been. This photos was taken at the East Side Gallery.

Secrets

I sat in the rocking chair on the veranda, soaking up the Spanish sun. Looking out onto the vast lawns that stretched before me, a smile formed on my lips. I couldn’t quite believe that all this was now mine.

I could hear my mum and sister in the kitchen putting lunch together. Some Serrano ham, salads, a loaf of bread from the baker and a pichet of Tempranillo. My mouth began to water in anticipation.  At least mother and Chrissie had got used to the idea that the estate was mine. It wasn’t as if I was going to be a strict gatekeeper of the house. It was here for all of us to use – I was the last person to put down any restrictions. But I suppose it was the principle that stung them. Why did Aunt Mathilde leave her house to me and not to Chrissie and me or even just mum, after all she was her only sister.

Nothing weighs on us so heavily 
as a secret.
~ Jean de la Fontaine

I got up from the rocking chair and started to set the table. I used all my energy to shift the heavy marble stand to a shaded area of the balcony. Mum was never good in the sun.  It was then that I noticed the shadow cast on the orange pillar that framed the veranda. I looked to the right to see where the shadow was being cast from and located it just meters away from where I had been sitting. How had I not noticed this before? The shape was most definitely that of Mathilde! I walked over to it to examine the bust further. It looked like it had recently been moved.

The face looked intense like Mathilde was trying to say something. The gaze of the statue pointed me towards a large cicada in the garden. I don’t know whatpulled me towards the tree, but I walked several meters over to it and in the trunk there was a hole. Instinctively I put my hand through the space and felt around. There was something in there: a letter. I pulled it out and held it in my hands. ‘Angelica’ was scrawled across the envelope in Mathilde’s hand; a letter addressed to me. 

I looked back up towards the balcony; Chrissie and mum were waving me over. I turned back towards the tree and slit open the letter with my fingernail. Slowly, I read through the sheets of onionskin paper carefully put together by my aunt. Once I read through them I read it again. unable to believe what she had said. I heard footsteps behind me and quickly slipped the letter in my pocket.

“Come on Ange, didn’t you see us calling.” It was Chrissie. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh nothing. I just wanted to see the garden.”

“Well come and have lunch. I am starving.”

Chrissie put her arm around me as we walked back towards mum.  I no longer had an appetite though  because now I knew why Mathilde had left all this to me.


About the photo: This photo was taken at the Alhambra in Granada on a crisp December morning.