The Origins of the Society

“At last”, he said. “We have been waiting for you for a long time.”

The woman felt a chill run through her. The events of the past few minutes had thrown her world upside down.

Recognising the woman was looking a bit perplexed, he offered her a cup of tea. Deciding the bookseller was eccentric but harmless – and hearing the torrent of rain continuing to lash down outside – she accepted.

Considering its age and fragility she thought it safest to leave it on the cash desk for the time being. She found a spare spot on the desk amongst the plethora of paperwork and books of every age, shape and size. With a sigh, she sat in a straight-backed chair upholstered in worn velvet that was placed next to the desk, and watched as the man shuffled back in to the dark alcove. The clink of cups and the rolling boil of the kettle prompted the dog to wander over to the woman, probably in the hope of a stray biscuit.

Books were everywhere, even stacked on the floor to relieve the overflowing shelves. She looked around her trying to find a place to set her wet umbrella where it wouldn’t get anything else similarly soaked and ended up stashing it under the chair, giving herself a mental note to remember to pick it up on her way out. The dampness of the weather outside added to the intensity of the mustiness in the bookshop.

Her handbag rested on her lap, and she reached in to retrieve her phone. A missed call, three texts, a few emails and social media notifications. She was about to open one of the apps to write about what had just happened but she paused, finger paused over the screen.

What would she write, and what was the point anyway? She had confided in only a couple of her closest friends when she joined the Society. Friends she knew she could trust, those who would not judge, pry, or ask too many questions. They knew she would give them updates, little snippets, when the time was right and she was ready to talk.

Everyone else? Well, they wouldn’t take it seriously, thinking she was just having a laugh, hence the secrecy.

With a frown, she locked the screen of her phone and popped it back in to her bag. Her hands tightly clenched the bag’s strap while her feet tapped up and down in a combination of excitement and nervous anxiety. The book – the book! – sat just a couple of feet away on the cash desk.

The dog nudged her for another fuss as the man reemerged with a tray bearing a tea pot, cups, a milk jug and a sugar bowl.

The crockery was old-fashioned bone china, delicate cups and saucers with a pink and green flowery print. Beautifully kept, with not a chip the china was clearly kept for best.

As he poured the tea, she leaned forward eagerly – but what to say, where to start? It would all come blurting out in a right old muddle – best to let the man start by saying what he knew.

A cup was set in front of her; the proffered milk was added, and sugar declined. “You might want some anyway,” he said. “You’ve had quite a shock.” After a moment’s hesitation she realised how light-headed she was and sweet, sugary tea always helped with that.

With shaking hands she picked up her tea; some of it spilled in to the saucer. Embarrassed about her lack of grace, especially during such a momentous occasion, she took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip.

With one hand on her tea cup and the other fussing the dog’s head, she watched as the man finally stopped fussing with the tea things and sat down on the other side of the desk.

The book sat between them. Both looked at it, cup of tea in hand.

Remembering the grunt of greeting she had received when she entered the shop, she realised she might have to start the conversation.

“I have been wanting to read about the origins of the Society for a long time. There are so few people involved in the Society, and not much is written down. There is so much hearsay, verbal history passed from member to member, so it is difficult to know what to believe.”

The man gave a barely perceptible nod, which she took as a prompt to continue

“I can’t believe I found the book here. I mean me! All these years, so many people looking for it, and I found it! Surely people must have looked? Most of the meetings are held in a place only down the road.”

Placing his cup back on his saucer with a gentle tap, the old bookseller gave a wry chuckle.

“That is because they think they know what they are looking for. You, by contrast, kept an open mind.”

“The book finds you.”

The events of this story happen directly after The Second Hand Bookshop.

Reading Through Hugo’s Legacy

Some of the funds raised in celebration of Hugo’s first birthday have enabled First Touch to buy some beautiful box sets of books for families to enjoy reading to their babies.

First Touch is the charity for sick and premature babies at St George’s Hospital, where my son was cared for.

Martin and I loved reading to Hugo in his incubator. Hugo loved it, too. Our son was comforted by the familiar sound of his parents’ voices in such an alien environment.

Reading to our boy gave us something constructive to do. As a parent of a premature baby, many hours were spent by our baby’s incubator, mostly feeling rather helpless. Reading stories to Hugo was something useful that we could do.

Mummy, Daddy, Hugo

We learnt that research had suggested that reading to your premature baby helps aid their brain development. So, with all these benefits to be gained from reading to Hugo, we read to him a lot.

Despite being told the reading material didn’t matter – it could be the newspaper, or the phone directory for all Hugo cared (his parents’ voices were more important to him than the content) – we preferred to read children’s books to him. It felt right, and to be able to do such a ‘normal’ task as a parent felt comforting in a world that had been turned upside down.

Both Martin and I are bookworms, and we’d bought some beautiful boxed sets of classic children’s stories for the baby we were expecting. The trouble was, they were at home two hours away (I’d been transferred from my local hospital in Bedford to St George’s in south London, a specialist hospital better equipped for how sick both Hugo and I were).

A lovely friend had sent us a copy of Guess How Much I Love You. It’s a beautiful story, and absolutely perfect for Hugo and me. I read it again and again and again. Improvisations were made, the pictures were described, and comments made about them. There were a few children’s books in the parents’ room for visiting siblings, and we read them until we were well and truly bored of them, too.

We especially enjoyed reading the couple of Mr Men books from the parents’ room, though.

One of my fondest memories is, ironically, from the day that Hugo died. After we had received the news that there was no more hope for Hugo, I had an epic three hour cuddle with him, skin-to-skin. Daddy sat close by, and read to us. One of Martin’s favourites was the Animal Bop, which is a numbers and counting book made fun through rhyme (Daddy loves numbers; Mummy, not so much). On that day, Martin somehow managed to make reading the book sound very silly, which made me laugh. Hugo liked that, too, and I remember him boogying and kicking his feet against me. It made us feel like we were a proper family, for a few precious moments.

Hugo was buried with a selection of favourite Mr Men books: Mr Strong, Mr Brave, Mr Happy, and Mr Tickle. Martin and I read them to Hugo before leaving them with him.

Books and some of the other treasures that help keep Hugo company.

The amount of money that was raised on the occasion of Hugo’s birthday exceeded our wildest expectations. There was lots of money over and above the original fundraising purpose (DVD players and headsets for information DVDs). While thinking about how the excess funds could be used in Hugo’s memory, I had a brainwave: to buy some box sets of classic children’s books for other parents to read to their babies. Hugo’s legacy could help other families enjoy such precious moments.

First Touch agreed. They ordered a box of Mr Men books, and the complete works of Beatrix Potter. There is a box each for the neonatal intensive care unit, which is where Hugo lived, and for the special care baby unit (they are part of the same ward, but in different units a short distance apart).

Mr Men and Beatrix Potter book box sets.

I would like to extend a HUGE thank you to everyone who has so generously donated to Hugo’s Legacy. The Just Giving page remains open. The money will continue to help sick and premature babies and their families, and we shall continue to keep you all up-to-date about how the funds raised are spent.

The Star Boy’s Presence Never Dies

Do you remember I told you about Star Wars, Hugo? I loved to read to you. We had only a couple of books and I’d read them so many times I’d got a bit bored with them.

So, I told you the story of one of my favourite films. I’d watched them so many times when I was a little girl, and looked forward to watching them with you, too.

Both Luke Skywalker and the baddie, Darth Vader, said they could feel one another’s presence. That’s partly because they are both Jedi knights (or Darth Vader used to be before he turned to the Dark Side, anyway), and they have special powers. But then we find out that Luke is actually Darth Vader’s son.

Being a Jedi is pretty special. The Jedi share a special bond.

But it’s not as special as the bond between you and me, Hugo.

Me and Hugo, on the day he died.

You could sense my presence when I entered the nursery. I had to wash my hands as soon as I came into the nursery, and on a couple of occasions when I paused to chat to a nurse or another mum before coming to your incubator you expressed your displeasure by dinging your alarms. You wanted your Mummy! And I wanted you.

My presence helped calm you. A touch from me, some words either spoken or sung would help make you feel a bit more settled. Skin-to-skin cuddles were even better. You should still have been in my tummy, present with me all the time, and those cuddles were the next best thing.

Hugo gripping Mummy’s finger.

Daddy and I would say you were like Yoda. Not because you were green with pointy ears, but because very strong and brave you were, just like the Jedi Master.

“Size matters not…Judge me by my size, would you?” said Yoda when Luke doubts he can lift his ship from the swamp. And so it was with you, Hugo. You may have weighed no more than a tin of baked beans, but your size belied your strength and courage.

All the strength and bravery in all the universes were not enough, just like with Yoda. You left us, a year ago.

You are not physically, here, Hugo. But I can still feel your presence. Even though I constantly feel like I have forgotten something, hold a constant sense of loss, there is always a heavy feeling in my heart, there is also a sense you are always with me. Always present.

You are part of the energy of the universe. Or, Yoda would describe it as the Force, of course:

For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship.

It’s a funny old world, Hugo. I chose your name from a baby name website. The name leapt out at me, intuitively I knew it was the perfect name for you. ‘Bright in mind and spirit’ it means, and it suits you perfectly.

Daddy and I were not to know how your name would ensure you made your presence be felt after you were gone, though. Your nurses nicknamed you Hugo Boss because of your feisty determination; I’d not considered the reference to the designer but again, it was perfect. That means that seeing Hugo Boss branding has the power to stop me in my tracks. The branding is there anyway, of course, but it now has such a special resonance. The other day a mention of Hugo Boss in a book I was reading took my breath away for a moment. I am trying to see these things as a sign of your presence.

A mention of Hugo Boss in a book.

Daddy and I like science fiction. Not just films like Star Wars, but science fiction books, too. Did you know that a prize given for science fiction books is called the Hugo award?

All of this relates to the symbol we have for you, Hugo – the star. The star came about because I sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ to you so often. It’s also because you are our special star. Daddy and I like to think you are having adventures among the stars, getting up to all sorts of mischief no doubt. Playing with all the other babies in the stars, but looking down on us too. We call you our Star Boy.

That’s why I cried when I watched Guardians of the Galaxy. The man’s Mummy had written him a letter saying he was her Star Boy, and that she was sure he was having adventures in the stars.

Your presence is everywhere, Hugo.

I always appreciated nature, but now the birds, the bees, the flowers and the trees are extra special. Your spirit flows through them all, their colours shine brighter because they make me think of you.

The yellow flowers, and name of the boat made me think of Hugo.

We have stars, symbols of you in every room of the house, to mark your presence even though you never physically lived here. Your hand and footprints on the star necklace I wear around my neck.

How much I wish you were present with me, so I could feel your strong grip, feel your warm little body, smell your skin.

All that remains of your physical presence are your little woollen hats (one of them goes with me everywhere). They still carry your smell. So, so precious. A lock of your hair, so rich and dark. Your hand and footprints. Photographs. So few things. But nothing would ever be enough.

Symbols of Hugo at home.

Mementoes of Hugo, me and the handprint star-shaped necklace I wear always.

It is a year tomorrow since you left us, Hugo. It is a year since the worst day of my entire life. Your physical presence left us. But your spirit will never die.

Your presence remains in your spirit, in your legacy, in how much everyone admires this beautiful little boy.

With all my love always (I love you to the moon and back a million times),

Mummy xxxxxxxxx

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An Emotional Week

It’s been an emotional week. Positive emotions, as well as sad ones.

Last week Martin and I travelled down to Devon and Cornwall to meet family, and friends we’d met on Twitter. Thankfully, none of the latter turned out to be axe murderers.

We had a lovely couple of days with my Mum. During that time, we also met up with two Twitter friends and their dogs on Westward Ho beach. It was blinking freezing, but good fun and wonderful to meet the two lovely ladies and their dogs in person.

Martin is a pet photographer, and got some fabulous photos of the dogs.

The next stop was Mullion, a small village on the Lizard Peninsula for the opening of our Twitter friend’s second-hand bookshop, Churchtown Books. We had met on our previous visit to Cornwall last autumn.  A number of other Twitter friends attended for the opening too. This group of Twitter buddies is amazing: we have a diverse range of backgrounds, ages, and we live in different areas of the country. We have got to know each other through a shared love of dogs (English Springer Spaniels in particular). All hail the magic of social media!

The shop opening went really well, attended by guests of both the two- and four-legged variety. Being a bookworm, I bought a stash of paperbacks, as well as a special antique copy of Jane Eyre.

The bookshop opening: instead of cutting a ribbon, the dogs bit through a row of sausages.

Me and Harry the spaniel.

We stayed in a room in the local pub, which dates from the sixteenth century. We had a gorgeous huge room with lovely views, but being a pub it was inevitably rather noisy on the Friday and Saturday nights.

View from our room in Mullion

Martin and I were keen to try and see a sunset over the sea. Our friend was kind enough to take us out and shiver with us while we waited. The cold was worth it: the sunset was absolutely spectacular.

The clouds above the setting sun were alive with pinks and reds, at some points looking though they were on fire. Rays peeked through the clouds. As the sun sank further, it became a glorious orange colour and seemed like molten lava melting in to the sea.

Our friend says he has seen many sunsets during his time in Cornwall, but none quite like that one. Martin and I like to think of Hugo playing beyond the clouds, up among the stars. For that reason, such a beautiful sunset made us both feel emotional with the thought that Hugo had helped put on such a show especially for his Mummy and Daddy who were watching.

Mullion Harbour

Martin and I in Mullion.

After a lovely few days spending time with wonderful people, Martin and I had a couple of quiet days to ourselves. We left Mullion and travelled to Looe.

The view from our room in Looe.

The B&B Martin had found, Schooner Point, was beautiful and the best I have stayed in. We had a huge room with such a pretty view of the river estuary. A bonus was the room was decorated in purple! Nothing was too much trouble for the hosts, who served us tea and cake on arrival. The room was equipped with lovely little touches like slippers, robes, and chocolates. They also served the best breakfasts – while Martin had the full English, I thoroughly enjoyed the banana stack – a delicious pancake and fruit concoction.

The delicious banana stack.

Our arrival in Looe coincided with Mother’s Day. Exploring the town, we discovered the beach which of course was full of families celebrating the day. They all looked so bloody happy and content doing just normal, simple family activities at the seaside. It all felt too much, and I had a cry. Writing about it helped a little, releasing those emotions is good therapy. The messages I received from so many people on social media and by text were also a comfort – remembering that I am a mother still, even though Hugo is not in my arms. A couple of the messages, saying they hope I remember how much Hugo loved me made me especially emotional. While I understand what happened is not my fault, Mummy guilt is still present, so being reassured that Hugo did love me means so much.

A view from the cliffwalk from Looe to Polperro.

The next day Martin and I went on an epic cliffside walk to Polperro. The distance is about 5 1/2 miles, but as it was up and down steep paths was hard work! It is a beautiful path, though, and completely worth the effort. Polperro is stunning. Looe is pretty, but a bit too touristy for my taste, whereas Polperro is more organic with its harbour and quaint winding streets. Before we set off on our walk we thought we might walk back too, but we were so tired we got the bus.

Polperro

A sweaty and tired Leigh and Martin arrive at Polperro.

Polperro – the name of the boat, and yellow flowers inevitably reminded me of Hugo.

We faced the epic drive home the following day, broken by lunch with Martin’s dad and stepmum in Devon.

We are now facing the anniversary of the most emotional, joyful, and sorrowful week of our lives. The first anniversary of being told Hugo was unlikely to survive was on Thursday. I cannot help every day but think of what we were doing on this day last year. On this day last year, we were actually full of hope because the steroid treatment appeared to be working for Hugo; after only 36 hours, his pressures and oxygen needs had improved dramatically. Sadly, that improvement was not sustained and a year ago this coming Friday (March 27) Hugo died in my arms.

It’s awful, wrenching, devastating to think about the events of the last week of Hugo’s life, even a year on. Every day brings different emotions.

You’re Never Alone With a Book

Reading is often called a ‘solitary’ activity.

Fair enough, it’s something you do on your own, without needing the company of others –

(sometimes, to avoid the company of others).

You are never alone with a good book, though. Many happy hours of my life have been spent with my nose in a book, enjoying the company of its characters.

When I am in to a good book, I feel like I get to know its characters. Just like in real life, I have my favourites, and those I don’t like so much. Just like in real life, I root for my favourite people.

There have been times I have missed characters and the world they are set in when I have finished the book, so engrossed have I been in it.

Some books are addictive page-turners. Just one more chapter…

There have been times when I have sacrificed sleep in order to find out what happens next.

Books can transport you to different time zones, different places, different countries, different planets, different universes simply by turning a page.

Books can educate. Not just textbooks, or non-fiction: fiction can inform, too. If I read a book that is based on fact or real events, however tenuous the link, I like to look things up, read around the subject to find out more.

Outside on a bright day, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin as you turn the pages.

Tucked up under a blanket on a chilly day,

Books can help you fill the time, to entertain

In the waiting room, on the bus, or on the train.

In public ignoring the strange looks when made to laugh out loud, or moved to tears.

Reading a book beats making small talk with strangers, though.

The book is good company.

Even in solitude

You are never alone with a good book.

 

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Linking up with Mum Turned Mom – prompt word ‘solitary’.