People have always told stories, so after the December meeting I decided to have a go. I studied the stimuli on the eight strips of paper in the order we had chosen. Then I moved them around again to tell my Story.

– Pass through enchanted forest ( wood elves – spiders)
– The sea and sky are important
– Fairy godmother appeared and said ‘you shall go . . .’
racial abuse, maid has distant relative …They run away together
Spirit still soared high above everything
He becomes a teacher within the flock
– Returns to shine – settled but changed and wealthy
– Settled in his life
– Prominent in his community

“The children stared as lights twinkled from every tree. The trunk of the tallest tree formed itself into a face and the children stepped back, anxious, as the tree’s lips began to move, ‘Who goes there? Who dares to enter the Enchanted Forest?’”
Kwame’s uncle closed the book. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Kwame protested, “Oh Please , Uncle, just another chapter!”
“Tomorrow night. Sleep well.”
Kwame pulled the duvet around him and fell asleep, to dream of a land where every huge tree had a wrinkled, gnarled face. The place he came from was just a vast expanse of sea and sand under a bright blue sky, fringed with palm trees. How he missed his parents. He had been so excited when they told him to board the ship by himself, explaining that home was no longer a safe place and that they would follow him as soon as they were able. He’d spent most of the terrifying journey curled into a ball, unable to make sense of the confusion around him. It was dark and raining when the boat reached the shore and he was carried through the shallows to be passed from one person to another. Someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders then taken him to a brick building. So many grownups. So much talking but eventually he heard the words, “Kwame, this is Uncle and this is Aunt. You are going to live with them.”
Slowly he settled. He went to school. Every evening after supper, Aunt helped him with his homework then Uncle would read him a bedtime story. And he worked really hard at school, because his parents had told him to as they said goodbye. He worked so diligently that he won a scholarship to boarding school. It was just like in the stories- well nearly. It was not exactly a fairy godmother who had granted his wish but a bearded schoolteacher in an academic gown. And now he was kitted out in a smart school uniform, saying goodbye to Uncle and Aunt as they left him with the housemaster. “Bye bye, Kwame. Take care of yourself. We are so proud of you!”
Big boys do not cry. Anyway, there was so much going on.
Kwame settled happily into the school routine, making friends with two lads from his dormitory. Then it happened. He was hurrying out to the football field to join his friends when two prefects blocked his path. “Where are you off to in such a rush, Sambo? You should pack you bags and go back where you came from.” Kwame ducked under the prefect’s arm and scurried away. Every day, no matter how hard he tried, he could not avoid crossing paths with the prefect. In the dining hall his tray was snatched from his hands as the prefect presented him with a banana, making the pupils around them giggle. Kwame tried to explain to his Form tutor, but the tutor just laughed and said, “You are at big school now my lad. You’ve got to expect a bit of banter.” But it was not just teasing. Emboldened by the actions of the prefect, other boys joined in. They ruffled their fingers through his hair, laughing and joking about his thatch of wiry curls. They left bars of soap in his desk or tucked in to this P.E.bag together with notes reading, “scrub hard to be whiter than white”. They called him names. No matter how many times he repeated the mantra, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’ Kwame knew that they did hurt, they hurt so badly that it affected his work. He was on high alert the entire time for the next trick or taunt. Then came the dreadful day when he opened his desk to find a bottle of black ink upturned over all his books – exercise books and text books. He went straight to his Form tutor to protest. “Dearie me, Kwame. that is going to cost you a lot of pocket money in fines. How many text books have you ruined with your carelessness?”
“It wasn’t me, Sir.” Kwame started to explain.
“Nonsense, lad. Stop trying to blame someone else. Go and get a cloth and bucket from the maid and clear everything up.”
Fighting back tears of frustration, Kwame went down to the kitchen. The maid returned with him, saying, “I’d better give you a hand. You’ll just make it worse.” By the time she had finished, Kwame had told her everything. “I’d run away but where could i run to? I can’t go back to Uncle. He and Aunt worked so hard to help me get here.”
The maid looked thoughtful. “mmm! Think I can help you. My mother’s second cousin runs a Community Farm and school. You could go there. Go on the school bus into town on Saturday morning as usual, then slip away and wait for me on the Library steps. Put as much as you can into your backpack – your precious possessions, a change of clothes and your tooth brush. If anyone says anything about your backpack just say, “I’m going to the Library.”
Could it be so easy to get away? Kwame kept his head down for the next couple of days and on Friday night he waited until the others in his dormitory were asleep then packed. In the morning luck was with him and he reached the library steps as planned. But where was the maid? Kwame hesitated. Should he go in? Or wait? And if he was loitering on the steps wouldn’t people notice him? He sheltered behind a pillar and watched the constant stream of visitors passing up and down the steps. Then he spotted her. The maid was here. “There you are, Kwame. We have to take two buses and then walk.”
It was growing dark by the time the two of them reached the gate to the Community Farm and trudged up to the door of an imposing building. The maid rang the bell. “Grace! How lovely to see you! Come in. come in.” The maid explained Kwame’s situation and asked whether the Commune would accept him – the Community Leader agreed that Kwame would work on the farm in return for enrolment at the school. Before leaving on Sunday the maid asked Kwame to give her his Uncle’s phone number. “You can’t tell him!”protested Kwame.
“Of course”, she reassured him. “But I do need to let him know that you are safe and in good hands. And you should call him so that he can tell the school you won’t be returning. You needn’t give any hint about where you are. But if you don’t tell him, he’ll call the police.”
Kwame was shown the dormitory where the Community Leader introduced him to the other boys. “Patrick, you take Kwame to the Stables with you tomorrow. Turning to Kwame, the Community Leader explained, “You’ll be working at the Stables with time off if you are going to a school class.”
It did not take long for Kwame to settle into a routine. It was hard work mucking out the Stables but the reward for effort was a riding lesson. Chores completed, Kwame went to lessons. Pupils were free to choose which lessons they attended on the understanding that they attended every lesson, without fail, and that they completed the course. This suited Kwame, who had his sights on university. Although his spirits soared once more, high above everything, one thing bothered Kwame. Uncle. He felt that he had betrayed his foster-father by running away. If he posted a letter his whereabouts might be worked out and he simply could not face being sent back to boarding school. So Kwame joined the Saturday night queue for the school telephone and a brief call back home. It was such a relief to hear Uncle’s voice, “Don’t worry lad. We are behind you 100%. Just call every week. And we’ll update your Parents – they have not been able to leave yet”.
Kwame loved working with the horses. Even better were the riding lessons. His natural empathy with even the most fractious pony, alongside his riding skills were soon noted and Kwame began to assist with teaching youngsters who came to the stables for riding lessons. The fees from lessons contributed to the Community Farm’s resources. The credits he obtained from his academic studies qualified him for university and Kwame decided to train as a physiotherapist. While studying Kwame worked voluntarily at a local health centre, adding experience to his C.V. After university, Kwame settled in his life as a physiotherapist, balancing hours at the clinic with time to volunteer at the Community Farm where he returned to shine. And now he finally found the courage to face Uncle to show that he was settled, but changed and wealthy – not so much in terms of hard cash, but in terms of experience and relationships He was prominent in his community.

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