A collection of real stories that inspire me and my work.
At the still point of the turing world
I was on a walk early one cold morning and I stopped to watch the sun rise over the hill. I took the time to pause and take in the simple beauty amongst the turmoil that we find ourselves in at the moment.
I could hear T.S. Eliot's poem 'At the still point of the turning world' echoing in my head. My Dad would recite it as I was growing up and in that moment I could hear it loud and clear, more poignant than ever.
'At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards;
at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered.
Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline.
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.'
HERstory inspires me.
108 years ago to this day, Emily Davison stepped off Bridge Street, Morpeth, into Number 29, E.D. Soulsby’s Menswear shop. She walked over to the counter and handed over a pair of gloves to be cleaned and returned later that week. My Great Great Grandfather took the gloves, giving Miss Davison a receipt as he did so.
Four days later, the activist, Suffragette and former governess died from her injuries.
Emily Wilding Davison will forever be known for her passion, independence, bravery and determination. The political intention of pinning the now icon Suffragette colours to the King’s horse’s bridle before it crossed the finish line was met with devastating consequence, but in doing so, she changed history for her peers and those who have followed.
Just nine months later on 4th June 1913, Emily Wilding Davison held a return ticket in her gloved hands as she boarded a train at Victoria station. She headed for the Epsom Derby along with 500,000 people, the King and Queen and a mass of film cameras and journalists broadcasting to the Empire. Standing at Tattenham Corner, Emily watched the first few horses gallop past her with a thundering of hooves. In a split second she had located the King’s horse Anmer and with a purple, white and green silk scarf held firmly in her hand, she ducked under the barrier and onto the race track. Woman and horse collided.