Adelaide Road

Workshop 7: Chalk Farm Library

On March 14th, I led a creative writing workshop at Chalk Farm library on the theme of betrayal. Participants were asked to write questions such as if betrayal was a type of weather what would it be?. If anger was an animal what would it be? If revenge was a season of the year what would it be? They also wrote letters and wedding invitations for consideration for inclusion in the Adelaide Road show. See below for some examples of work by participants -

Writing from Nick Durant

On Betrayal

If a promise was a time of day,
it would be two o'clock in the afternoon –
long enough into the day
to expect something of you –
and yet it's that risky time,
when your energy and your attention may flag,
and so you might forget.

If betrayal was a type of weather –
it would be hailstones
driving into your face, your skin –
each stone like a needle,
rousing your fury.

Anger is a polecat,
quick, sharp toothed.
Before you know it,
it has you by the throat.
A spitting, snarling bristling creature,
with a black and white tail:
there is only black and white in its world.

If you could hear a heart breaking,
it would be a shattering of glass,
like a great picture window collapsing.
Forever after, to hear just the name of the one
who broke your heart
would be like the rat-squeak scratch
of chalk across a blackboard.

Revenge is like deepest winter,
so cold that birds fall frozen from the trees.
An ice-storm comes in – minus 50 degrees.
The sudden cold snaps a high-tension cable –
the two ends slash and flail viciously,
20,000 volts will kill you dead.

The best way to defeat an enemy
is always to make them your friend.
So, if there is any cure for betrayal,
it's forgiveness –
at least to take them by the hand again,
if only for a handshake.

by Nick Durant

Letter from Joe

Dear Rosie

Alice rang me just now and told me you're in London, staying with her. I wanted to come over straight away – even though Alice said don't – I wanted to see you. But then I felt ashamed. Ashamed of myself, of my life, what I've failed to do – and especially that I didn't try harder to reach your Mam when she needed me – even though I didn't know just how much she needed me – when she was carrying you, my daughter.

But I didn't know about you until today –how could that be? Did your Mam not want you to know, was she angry with me? Did she turn up in London without writing, and see me arm in arm with Alice? She did say – in the one letter I did get from her – that she didn't want me to be lonely in London. But is that my male weakness talking again?

It's all too complicated to untangle on paper. Will you meet me? Do you still want to meet me after I've told you I betrayed your mother? If you do, I'll be in the Grafton Arms on Adelaide Road, at two o'clock tomorrow. I'll be nursing a glass of Guinness, and no chaser.

A thousand wishes that you will be there –

Your father,

Joe.

Letter from Rosie to Sam

Darling Sam,

My mind is in a whirl – like the gulls when my grandfather was gutting a mackerel down by the bay.

I've found him – my father. Do you remember, he's the reason I came to London in the first place – and I've still got to meet him – but I know I'm free now to take the next leap in life. And besides, the terrible tangle of missed opportunities and lost years and pain that I've found – shoved under the mat of my parents' generation – mean I know I've got to grab love in both arms when I find it, and I have found it – in you. Marry me, Sam.

(I do hope you're not old-fashioned about these things, macushla. It's 2011 and if a woman wants to ask a man to marry her, she will. And she won't have to dress up as a boy, like in a Shakespeare comedy!)

Love, and more love,

Rosie

Wedding invite, from Sam

Five – four – three – two – one…

This is a countdown to the wedding of the year – well anyway, it is for us:
Rosie O'Malley and me, Sam Winter.

Here are the numbers you need:
• 14 May – the date
• 3pm – the time

The place is the nature reserve, Adelaide Road.
Dress code: smart (it's a wedding, dummy!), but wear your wellies.

Wedding invitation, from Joe

To Mam – if she's still alive; to the lads in Arlington who are sober enough to come without disgracing me more than I will myself –

I have a daughter, Rosie, who I hardly know – but she's a wonder. And she loves a young man – Sam – who I don't know at all. But love moves the world, and they are getting married 14 May. Please come, but try to sober up first.

Oh, almost forget where and when: 2pm, at the nature reserve on Adelaide Road (I didn't know there was any nature on Adelaide Road!)

Writing From Ruth Smith

A Summer twilight is the time for promises, when the night is warm and we sit out under the stars, awed by the scale of things and meaning what we say.

Betrayal burns like a desert making the skin crack and the mouth go dry. A time of drought and searing heat with no mercy, not even in the shade.

Anger is a stumpy lizard with a bright blue tongue. The inside of its hissing mouth is shocking scarlet.

A broken heart makes a sound like the tearing of a thousand sheets of paper.

Revenge is midwinter cold, a shrinking time when all the warm emotions are stopped and everything is channelled into hate.

The cure for betrayal is a hot poultice of herbs administered by healing hands or a word in the ear by a very wise woman who had once been betrayed herself and in time, forgave.

Dearest Sam

Brace yourself! What should have been the good news is that I've tracked down my father. It all happened when Alice took me in and I found out that , not only was she acquainted with Joe – she'd been living with him until, that is, she threw him out. The next thing that happened was that I got a letter from him, the man I'd dreamed and fantasised about, my man in corduroys, the father every girl wants and most don't have.

Well, it turned out to be even worse. Joe is everything Alice complained about and he's gone downhill, living in a hostel for drunks and vagrants. He doesn't even seem to want to change!

The strange thing is that he's quite made up about having a daughter though there's no thought about what my mum went through. I feel like a wrapped parcel delivered to the wrong person. To be fair I suppose there is a glimmer of hope as he's talking about us getting together as a family – but what a family!

Oh Sam, I'm so sad but, brace yourself again my love. Yes, I did just call you that and I meant it. At first, finding my father was all that concerned me, but you've long ago replaced him both in my mind and in my heart. Now, after that letter of yours, that I repeat to myself every night, I'll decided to hold you to it, so let's turn sadness into joy. Let's do it. Let's get married my love (there, I've said it again) and all our troubles should be light when we're together.

Your own dear love

Rosie xxxx

Sam's invitation:-

We invite you with all our hearts to the Nature Reserve in Adelaide Road at 3pm on May 14th. to see Rosie and me get married. Wear your smiles but not your grandest clothes for there'll be dancing and you need to kick up your heels. Come with your neighbours, your babes in arms. Come with your fiddles and guitars and play us in.

Joe's invitation:-

A man made up and not in his cups (for once) invites you all to the wedding of my new-found daughter and my unknown son on May 14th, at 3pm in the Nature Reserve at Adelaide Road. May God bless them both! Bring the whiskey but not for me. I aim to be sober on my daughter's wedding day.

Writing from Dawn Brown

Betrayal
Who is to know who is betrayed or sitting in the Grandstand of Judgement?

Exercise: Promise

If a promise was a time of day it would come at the green flash vanishing point of the Sun on the horizon rarely seen but never forgotten.

Exercise: Betrayal

If betrayal were a type of weather it would be a scalding sun from which no shade could be sought.

Exercise: Anger

If anger were an animal it would be a sleeping fox rising when least expected in turbulent hues of red.

Exercise: Broken Heart

If a broken heart had a sound it would be the heavy tonal swing of the pendulum on a Grandfather's clock and I would sit in fear of its crescendo chime on the hour.

Exercise: Revenge

If revenge was a season of the year I would not recognise or see it coming or understand it's mists rising or bubbling from ancient primeval springs

Exercise: Cure

It would be healing the bruising of the psyche by leaving my body by holding the hand of an unseen Angel and touching the tear in my violet aura, caressing pure crystallised light, guided by a knowing presence until your imprint was no longer there.

Exercise:
I found I had a Bloody daughter. Jesus.
Joe's Plea

My head is reeling,
I did not have a clue,
Excuse my terrible writing,
Not then, not now. Not a bloody clue.
I should not swear my dear
But women have been the downfall of me
Cheating, lying bitches….betrayed by the lot of them I've been.
What do you want from me?
I have not got much, a few dirty coins left over from an honest hard week's work, and some coppers to keep that witch off my back, the 'Holy, holier than thou' Woman who threw me out on the street.
And anyhow, How do I know that you are mine?
Your smile, your black hair that's all your Mothers doing.
And for sure even I would not recognise me in you.
For I do not even recognise the man I was before my nose was broke, my teeth chapped and my back near broke from work.
A man my age has no strength for these surprises so don't expect me to carry you.
I'm sorry but hard as though it may seem, my daughter (or not) this conversation is through.

Exercise:
Love and rescue at last
Rosie's Plea

Sam you have to, have to, have to hold me TIGHT.
Wrap me in your arms.
I have drawn you a million times on the sand
And late at night sketched your face on the steam of the bedroom window of our cold croft.
My Mother was always waiting, waiting, waiting,
Wrapped tight in her strangling shawl of hope.
Not for me, that's not for me.
You have spun me round and unbound me and freed me from
The endless suffocating hope that Mother wove into my soul.
I don't need to wait or hope any more, at last I'm free.
You are more man than my Dad could ever be.
He's a jackass, a cheater.
No Ulysses
In his letter he stutters, stinks and swears,
The man's a sham
Marry me, I know, I now know for sure I have found my Man.

Exercise
Wedding Invitation

SHAMBLE DOWN
TO
LOVERS WOODS
AND
CATCH THE BREEZE
WATCH US SQUEEZE
OUR HEARTS TOGETHER
DON'T BE CLEVER
WE DON'T WANT PUNKS AND LEATHER
DRESS TO IMPRESS
AND
GOD BLESS

Cina Aissa's work for the Adelaide Road project

Love

What did your 1st kiss taste like?
Bitter

Touching the stars feel like?
-A bit wobbly, evasive and precious liquor.

What colour would your heart be if it wasn't red?
Diseased purple with specks of sizzling golden fragments floating in chocolate soup.

What shape would your heart be?
Square but expendable as the immigrant's luggage, always done, under the bed, the refuge of the cats of the world.

What is the smell of love?
Evolving stages of the roast chicken till it's left to rot and eaten by worms, bees and beasts everywhere, a feast of nature.

Perfect place to propose?
-Outside the school gates, sharing a kinder egg on a Friday afternoon.

If love was a journey, what kind of trip would it be?
-Right, up the stairs, first left, through the glass doors, follow the yellow path in the forest, greet the pack of hyenas in Swahili and turn around, pick up the eggs, at the end, you get a prize (maybe).

If you were to die for love, how would you die?
-Just lay in the middle of Euston Road on a Friday afternoon telling them that you're against it.
Come what may, a 168 or a pride of executives marching to their empty destinies, you will get crushed for sure, but I don't know if anybody will really notice.

Love letter to Rosie:

Oh Rosie, I need ya
Ei Ros' I love ya becos'
Ya keep me grounded
Am always ready to take off, me …
But you grow love roots all around me
Oh Rosie, my beautiful Rosie,
The Unique Rose in my garden of thorns

Betrayal

If a promise was a time of day, what time would it be?
-At dawn, when the birds all come out and announce what will be and what should have been.

If betrayal was a type of weather, what would it be?
-A sick torrential rain. In principle, we all need rain but it's not good being alone, naked and locked out in it.

If anger was an animal..
-As angry as a rhino, destroying everything in its passage, not looking back and moving town to create more destruction as a way of life.
Wild with rage, brutal abandon, dust never settles…

If a broken heart had a sound, what would it be?
-It would be a scratched CD stuck on the Beach Boys' 'Good Vibrations' opening moan (aaahhh) in front of the open coffin of an only child.

If revenge was a season of the year, what would it be?
-It would be winter where all promises have long been buried under a foot of snow and each person only thinks of themselves, abandoning family, friends, nature and even self behind the desire for more food, heat and sleep.

If betrayal had a cure, what would it be?
-To eat and vomit and vomit and eat, not stopping to change shirts or knickers, ever, until the taste of bile and eating more vomit and vomiting back more food would leave just a little lump behind, favoured by bees and a freshly covered grave.

Letter from Jo to Rosie:

Dear Rosie,
What a week this has been! First, I lose £20 at William Hill's (Bastards!), then I have a fag and get fined £80 for stubbing it on the pavement, then I go back to the hostel and Alice is outside (she's put on weight, bitch!)
When I saw her, I knew I was in trouble…she's always been bad news this woman, like, my life really started to go downhill ever since I met her… anyway, that's another story!
So there she is, waiting for me at reception and then, there and then, she drops the bombshell about you….
I've got a daughter!? I'm a daddy?! I've never had anything except for Hep'C! (just kidding love ; ))
But now I've got a daughter!? Yes, now we got each other, Rosie! I was a bit pissed off with Alice at first for hiding the letter but then, to be fair, I would've been a terrible father figure for you, Rosie, so it's a blessing that I wasn't there, really… I'm just getting my shit together with this hostel and the Methadone program, I even get to AA meetings every so often!
I want you to know that this is gonna be great, Rosie, you, me, your mum (we might even get back together, you never know…)
Until then, if you're in King's Cross, you can find me at Paddy Power from 12 onwards, I don't go to William Hill's any longer, they're a rip-off!
Love you lots
'Daddy'

Letter to Sam:

My darling Sammy!
How strange can life be!
Last week I was broken, yesterday I was walking but today, I'm flying!

I've done it, that's it: I've found my father!!!

Isn't that grand, he sounds like a gentleman and I cannot wait to have him back in my life…oh, this is gonna be wonderful !!!

Now, my life would almost be complete with my father but I need you to stay with us and be part of my family! Since I met you, I have been in disbelief of how you tick all the right boxes. You have helped me so much that I want our joy to last forever.
Please take my hand and never let it go.

Xxx Rosie

Sam's wedding invite:

Yo, this is Sam
With an invite
To come along for a bite and a whole lot of summer lovin'
With Rosie, my Queen.

When: 14th may 2011
Where: on the estate's tenants' hall.
Dress: Casual smart
Time : from early till late

Be there or be

Writing from Pat Harden

What is betrayal? betrayal involves deceit and personal mutilation, a chunk of self respect must be relinquished, is it more damaging for the deceiver or the deceived? if there was a cure for betrayal it would have to be a new life, a life lived with aforethought, the ability to think how it came about that such demented behaviour was possible.

the best part of the day is 3-30, the time when I was born,

Anger restimulates for me watching a poor skinny bitch by the roadside in Lesbos snapping at her litter which were trying to get some nourishment from her empty sagging teats, I am also a mammal, how angry with the world would I have to be?

I once won a prize at school for a Valentine card I had blanket stitched into the shape of a heart, it was fabric over card; a broken heart for me would be the stitching on such a card being torn apart, in despair? disillusion?

Revenge is hot, burning hot, too hot to even imagine, midsummer on the equator, dry as the devil's hair, hard as diamonds, hateful as horror and insatiable as my piano teacher.

.
Letter to a newly discovered daughter
You Rosie my dear, may I call you so? I had up to now no dream of. I try to imagine how this will be for you, my daughter. My life has changed in a heart lifting way; and you, will you accept me, wish to know me, will I enter your dreams as you have mine? Shall we meet, shall we seek and perhaps find a trusting relationship, will you be my friend?

A marriage proposal.
My love, I have an amazing experience to share with you. I have heard from a man who claims to be my father. I am depressed by it and need to be cherished. This stranger accused me of wanting money from him. He sounds disgusted with all women so why has he contacted me? I would not want him for a father, even should it be a true tale he tells.
I want to be comforted by you, only you, only you could cherish me for ever, will you darling, let us, like the lovers we are, marry and love each other rapturously.

I am a proud father. I am asking you to come and help me help my girl get fixed up with her Sam on the 14th, it'll be a party I'm telling you. Where it is to come later. Joe.

Writing from Lynn Marie Harper

Betrayal

Being betrayed was like being shot.
It was like the air was sucked out of the atmosphere.
The atmosphere became embedded with a kind of uncertainty that I don't want ever to feel again. This happens everyday in someone's life.
And why on earth did I continue with that very ill fated relationship? And why for so long?
What did I learn? What could I have possibly gained that was of any value at all?
And though life involves many betrayals it is to that one I go, instantly.

It would be 12.00midday, the time of promise, in stark blue light. The church bells would ring flatly, thud, thud, thud. It would hold no extra promise, just itself.

Betrayal would be flat grey stillness, no wind, cold and sweaty simultaneously, all sound sucked out of the atmosphere but not quiet or silent, rasping like the door hinges closing, then flying back upon itself.

Anger would be a fox crouching low behind the chicken shed ready to pounce, seeing it's own reflection in a puddle, jealously guarding its intentions from itself.

The broken heart's plaintive cry is human beyond any other note. A series of sneezes and in breaths and a long low sobbing wail. Hopelessness embodied, each one's precious child singing only to itself.

Revenge is the end of summer passing into autumn, the beginning of the closing of the light, the time when having forgotten that warmth and long days can end a whirlwind opens the cavernous door of the seasons across a silent divide, here in a contemptuous chalice is the world's revenge itself.

Betrayal's cure, what would it be? It would be human nature's raising itself beyond the limits of its baseness and how could this occur? It would be the cracking of the casing that illusion lives in and the seeing betrayal as something other, something unintended, something other than itself.

Dear Rosie

If only I'd known about you. I'm so sorry I didn't know about you. I'd love to see you.
I can't imagine you'd want to see me, there's so little left of me to see. Apart from seeing you there are no dreams left.
I hardly know what to say. I loved your mother very much though we became separated so long ago, first by me coming here and then all our communications went awry as finally I can see.
I know Mary's ill now and that's why she's telling me about you. And I know now that she tried to do that years ago but I didn't get her letter. Oh Rosie how I wish I had. I feel so ashamed that in all these years I have never been back. I've no money now and my health is shot.
Rosie you must take after your beautiful mother. Can either of you ever forgive me for not searching further, for just accepting Mary didn't want to see me as the truth?
What can I do to make it up to you?

And dare I sign this letter Love,

Your father
Joe

Dear Sam

I have heard from my father! Such a sweet simple letter, openhearted communication. You can't imagine how I feel. Perhaps you can actually because you know how I've been longing to find him.
He doesn't say much, past is past he points out to me with such clarity.
Sam I am so happy. I want you to meet him too since you are such an important part of my life now.
So important that I don't want ever to be apart from you, so important Sam that I want to be with you forever and always. Sam the man, would you be my man NOW, would you marry me?
I came to the planetarium and as we gazed up at the stars so infinitesimally small. I know that in this whole firmament there is no one in this world for me other than you.
My mother is gone Sam and I have found in words at least the father I have longed to meet for so long.
I never want to lose you Sam, I love you so much, please say yes, I know ours is a marriage made in heaven, let's seal it here on earth,

So much love I'm bursting,

Rosie

Wedding Invites

LOVES YOUNG DREAM WEDDING OF THE YEAR
MAY 14TH 2.00PM IN ADELAIDE ROAD NATURE RESERVE
SAM & ROSIE WARMLY INVITE YOU TO SHARE THEIR JOY IN THEIR
FAVOURITE EARTHLY PARADISE, UNDER THE HEAVENLY GAZE OF THEIR BELOVED PLANETS AND STARS.
Bring only yourselves, an umbrella and a blanket and your excellent good spirits and intentions to have fun!

Joseph McAllister warmly invites you to
The wedding of his daughter Rosaline and
Son in law to be Samuel on MAY 14th 2011 at 2pm
Please RSVP to Father Murphy's admin office
St. Gabriel's Church on Haverstock Hill London NW3.

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