I'll try to be as brief as possible, but this is kind of an ongoing story with so many spooky connections it still continues to freak me out slightly.
This part of it started about 3 years ago when I took myself out on a date. I'd been single for ages and going through some pretty lean times financially, so when I found myself with a spare £10 I decided to treat myself to dinner at a place in Manchester's Northern Quarter called Home Sweet Home. It was delicious - Loaded fries with melted cheese and "bacon rain" along with an Oreo Milkshake topped with whipped cream and an Oreo cookie
After thoroughly enjoying my meal I expected to just walk back to Victoria Station to catch the train home, but as it was a nice evening I decided to take a detour past Manchester Cathedral and went to sit down against an old oak tree that's since been removed. I leaned back against the tree for a little while, feeling it's "pulse" through my back and head, and when I got up from there decided that I'd take a further walk down Blackfriars Road to see the "pretty bridge" I'd found on a night out the previous month.
It's a railway bridge, and probably wouldn't be anything too spectacular except that it's lit underneath with pink spotlights and for some reason I absolutely love it. Once I'd passed under the bridge I thought I may as well pop to The Eagle Inn just around the corner as I'd been in there a couple of times during the day and the bar staff had been lovely and friendly on those two visits. At that point it was very rare for me to feel comfortable enough to go to the pub by myself but this one felt somehow special - and it's continued to prove itself to be so in the time since then.
When I arrived that night I ordered my drink at the bar, and then the barmaid said to a man standing behind me "Are you here for the poetry night?" at which my ears pricked up. "Poetry night?" I asked, "Is it free?"
She said she thought it was, so I made my way into the little venue attached to the pub - previously a terraced house but now gutted and converted into a great little stage and space for little gigs and events.
It turned out I had missed the bulk of the poets, but managed to catch the headliner, Sophia Walker, performing this poem. I can genuinely point at this and say "I was there!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D78SfHbS6XQ
She made me cry, and set off a train of thought about how I only had my teddy bear, Fred, from my childhood because although I wasn't an army kid my family had moved house a lot and I'd lived in 3 different countries as a child.
The next day my dad phoned me, the first time we'd spoken for a few weeks, and said "I've just found a load of your old books in my dining room"
I couldn't believe it! I'd never lived at the house where he'd found them, and hadn't actually lived in any of the same houses as my dad since I left home way back in 1987... So I asked him which books and once he'd rhymed off the list I asked for him to just bring my Bible. I knew I hadn't picked that up since 1984, and as it was from my time at boarding school I was interested to see what I might have highlighted or written in there. Plus, it was something from my childhood when I'd just been lamenting the fact that I didn't have much!
Many spooky connections came out of that Bible, including a little note written by my then-boyfriend Peter at the beginning of the Summer holidays of 1983 saying that he hoped I would have a lovely summer and would still be his girlfriend when we returned in September of that year. Peter's note was all the more special when I read it again in 2015 because his younger brother had told me Peter had died when he was about 30 so I knew there was no way I would ever be able to catch up with him again.
I saw Sophia again at the same poetry night when she was a headliner there again last year, and recounted the story of seeing her perform and what it had triggered off, including the Bible my dad had found in his dining room in Skipton, and she listened open mouthed to my story before saying "Wow that's an amazing story, but what makes it even more amazing is that I wrote that poem for a girl from Skipton"
This part of it started about 3 years ago when I took myself out on a date. I'd been single for ages and going through some pretty lean times financially, so when I found myself with a spare £10 I decided to treat myself to dinner at a place in Manchester's Northern Quarter called Home Sweet Home. It was delicious - Loaded fries with melted cheese and "bacon rain" along with an Oreo Milkshake topped with whipped cream and an Oreo cookie
After thoroughly enjoying my meal I expected to just walk back to Victoria Station to catch the train home, but as it was a nice evening I decided to take a detour past Manchester Cathedral and went to sit down against an old oak tree that's since been removed. I leaned back against the tree for a little while, feeling it's "pulse" through my back and head, and when I got up from there decided that I'd take a further walk down Blackfriars Road to see the "pretty bridge" I'd found on a night out the previous month.
It's a railway bridge, and probably wouldn't be anything too spectacular except that it's lit underneath with pink spotlights and for some reason I absolutely love it. Once I'd passed under the bridge I thought I may as well pop to The Eagle Inn just around the corner as I'd been in there a couple of times during the day and the bar staff had been lovely and friendly on those two visits. At that point it was very rare for me to feel comfortable enough to go to the pub by myself but this one felt somehow special - and it's continued to prove itself to be so in the time since then.
When I arrived that night I ordered my drink at the bar, and then the barmaid said to a man standing behind me "Are you here for the poetry night?" at which my ears pricked up. "Poetry night?" I asked, "Is it free?"
She said she thought it was, so I made my way into the little venue attached to the pub - previously a terraced house but now gutted and converted into a great little stage and space for little gigs and events.
It turned out I had missed the bulk of the poets, but managed to catch the headliner, Sophia Walker, performing this poem. I can genuinely point at this and say "I was there!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D78SfHbS6XQ
She made me cry, and set off a train of thought about how I only had my teddy bear, Fred, from my childhood because although I wasn't an army kid my family had moved house a lot and I'd lived in 3 different countries as a child.
The next day my dad phoned me, the first time we'd spoken for a few weeks, and said "I've just found a load of your old books in my dining room"
I couldn't believe it! I'd never lived at the house where he'd found them, and hadn't actually lived in any of the same houses as my dad since I left home way back in 1987... So I asked him which books and once he'd rhymed off the list I asked for him to just bring my Bible. I knew I hadn't picked that up since 1984, and as it was from my time at boarding school I was interested to see what I might have highlighted or written in there. Plus, it was something from my childhood when I'd just been lamenting the fact that I didn't have much!
Many spooky connections came out of that Bible, including a little note written by my then-boyfriend Peter at the beginning of the Summer holidays of 1983 saying that he hoped I would have a lovely summer and would still be his girlfriend when we returned in September of that year. Peter's note was all the more special when I read it again in 2015 because his younger brother had told me Peter had died when he was about 30 so I knew there was no way I would ever be able to catch up with him again.
I saw Sophia again at the same poetry night when she was a headliner there again last year, and recounted the story of seeing her perform and what it had triggered off, including the Bible my dad had found in his dining room in Skipton, and she listened open mouthed to my story before saying "Wow that's an amazing story, but what makes it even more amazing is that I wrote that poem for a girl from Skipton"
