Herring House: Stories and Other Writing

  Taking a slow stroll to a peaceful place going with the flow of where my steps take me feeling lost but in a good way as I am on this beautiful world where there's light and wildlife,  nature and streams of water. And the clouds in the sky with the sunlight beaming through the hills I see roses and plants,  rabbits and wildlife and the land is all around me living in a moment feeling like I'm lost in the game of Skyrim walking further into the depths of the forest surrounded by trees and castles feeling the best I can be with my mindset feeling free. Tyson

  Standing on the edge of the falls, my mind was more active not because of the view but the movement.  I felt it all through my body, it made me feel unsafe but excited at the same time, surrounded by granite rock beaten by the torrent of rushing water which was wild then the water fell to earth. There was no big splash it just seemed like light mist falling on a still pond and disappearing into a small tame river. It didn’t make sense how could so much water came over the horseshoe shaped falls forever but leaves something so calm and beautiful.   Simon

  The table  that the blank white pieces of paper rest on that I can feel as my hand slides over the cold surface. The flowing lines of the tree that lived and reproduced on the surface is cold and reflects the light streaming  through the window. People walking past in silence the traffic drownuing them out. Do they notice me?  No I think not. But life isn't all about me. It is all about life on this little planet we live on  in the universe. Heather

Chloe was 19 years old and studying at Juilliard Ballet Dance School in New York City. She’s danced since she was four years old, her mother Alice, was a primary school teacher and Ted, her father was a piano teacher. Chloe was an only child, her family were quite well off, loving and encouraging. They cherished Chloe and supported her dreams. As a small child Chloe loved to dance around in fairy costumes and pretend to be a ballet dancer. She was never shy, but a lively, outgoing child. They lived on the edge of a big city on a quiet street where many families had settled to raise their children away from the hustle of the city. Chloe had a best friend from the age of six. Her name was Holly and she had a little pony, Jess, a happy go lucky Arab cross. The two girls had a happy childhood, one loving ponies and the other loving dancing and the ballet. It was a cold Friday morning in February and started off like any other day in Chloe’s life when she received an urgent call a...

  December 12th and everyone gathered - the trustees, the friends, the staff, the writers - the lights clicked off and we were met with a series of chilling tales.  It is after all close to Christmas, the nights are darkening, the sun rises late, it is the perfect time for a haunting story. Read these scary tales here - written by Simon, Dave and Alan - all linked to Great Yarmouth - itself a town of tales.  The Haunting of the Star Hotel By Simon   In the heart of Great Yarmouth stands the Star Hotel. It’s a grand building with a long and mysterious past. Overlooking the river it has grown derelict. I was a carpenter, a good craftsman and I can remember looking at the architecture of the place, still grand despite its neglect but inside. The heart of the hotel was empty as if it had stopped in time. It was up to me as the top carpenter to create a new heartbeat in the place. I thought this many times over the six months I was there. It was strange working th...

  The summer had come at last with long light days. This meant more time out of the houses we lived in or just stayed at.  This was because we were all related and lived in a close community as a family of travellers from Ireland.  We all stayed together. This was also the time to do whatever we wanted. There was a varied age gap between us all. There must have been about twenty of us and the age bracket was 8-12.  Me - I was ten going on twenty; just like the others, older than you would have thought.  So we could stay together and not get into trouble. We would go camping, never too far only two miles to the meadows and a wicked river with many things to do, including lighting a fire in camp which felt naughty because we were so young.  We could always go back and get food.  I was one of the youngest and I loved to get about so i would always go back and return with some goodies.  I remember one time I went back to see my Nan but she wasn't in s...

  We experimented by putting words and phrases randomly together making odd and sometimes lyrical connections - this was a favoured mode of expression for David Bowie who used it to construct his songs and many others. It was a favoured way of writing for the Surrealists and Dadaists.  This is one of my favourites by Mat. Limping postman slow pensioners I went to ask what mattered. Daylight, the clouds, the river silent and their tears in the middle of me.

  Actors Joanna Swan and Martin Kray performing the group-created audio drama - The Train. Sue - Lived Experience Coordinator introducing us all and the Lived Experience Collective. Rachel and Mel making the presentation. The audience who turned out on a fine Friday afternoon were rivetted. It was a very special event...thank you to St. Peter Mancroft Church...our actors and everyone who came. 

  This Friday, 8th August at 2 pm - there will be a presentation from the Lived Experience Collective and readings/performance of the Writing Group's Audio Drama at St. Peter Mancroft Church in Norwich.  Martin Kray and Joanna Swan will be reading from the book and performing the audio drama, testing their ability to come up with different accents. It will be GREAT! The event is taking place as part of the Homelessness Exhibition which is on show in the church as part of the HIDDEN installation by sculptor Peter Walker. It is a moving and powerful experience. 

  Herring House Trust is bringing its Homelessness Exhibition to St. Peter Mancroft Church in the centre of Norwich as part of the HIDDEN project in the church during the month of August. There will be the exhibition, a presentation by the Lived Experience Collective and readings from Untitled, Writing from Recovery, our wonderful anthology of prose, poetry and other texts written by the writing group at the hostel. The exhibition is in the church from Tuesday 5 th August until Monday 11 th August 10 am to 4 pm. The presentation and readings take place on Friday 8 th August at 2 pm where members of the group will be present and we will be selling copies of the book to raise money for more creative activities at Herring House Trust. Inside the church, ‘Hidden’ is an artwork by renowned sculptor Peter Walker exploring the concept of what is unseen or concealed in the world around us. It delves into the idea that things may not always be what they seem, encouraging vie...

  It's been a while but this blog is proud to announce the launch  of an anthology  of prose and poetry from Herring House Trust's writing group. There is in this collection lived experience, stories, poetry, a group-authored verse drama, a novel excerpt and many reflective texts. It is an extraordinary and very human book. It will be on sale to raise money to invest in more creative activity.  The launch is on September 24th - at 5.30 pm in Great Yarmouth Public Library.  The book is published by Red Herring Press and funded by Cultural Connections - it is a very local affair and thanks are due to all those who have helped to make this a reality. 

  The giant boy felt he had no place as he walked the fields on a still summer day. He noticed the windmills not turning, he went to the top of a hill and looked down at the motionless windmills. He took a deep breath and blew over the fields and all the windmills turned. The farmers were happy and all came out to cheer the boy and he felt, at last, he belonged.  Russell

I carried my wounds in the hole in my heart like a steel ball with a chain connected to my soul. It was with great regret I put it down and cut the chain; severing the umbilical cord of comfort it gave me. I dropped the ball that had filled that hole with great reserve...placed in a desert of regret.  I prayed for rain. The rain came with all its wrath, backed by the world, feeling the seed of discontent buried beneath the sands of my mind.  But I persevered with the strength drawn from others, those that had weathered the storm before me. The faeces this world threw at me becoming nutrients my garden needed.  I spend my days weeding the rich soil in the once barren desert as it becomes a garden.   From the fertiliser, humanity has given, all the while aware not to pull the plants that bear fruit, for they are what fills the whole. The chain becomes sentient as it lies in the Eden I have created, inching relentlessly towards my soul; its only purpose to recommen...

Last year as part of  Marsh, Arts and Us we visited Carlton Marshes. The banner was inspired by our trip accompanied by artist Ian Brownlie and writer Belona Greenwood. Together, we developed the artwork in a series of workshops held at PrimeYarc.  The project is part of the Norfolk and Suffolk Broads Authority’s Marsh, Arts and Us community arts engagement project and part of the wider Water, Mills and Marshes Broads Landscape Partnership scheme funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund.   Below is some of the writing that came out of the walking. It is beautiful and profound, humble and life-enhancing. Take a walk with our words.   ***  Carlton Marshes Sleeping water dragons Lazy path   Following the lazy path along the stream, the birds were singing in the background. I had decided to take a less travelled path today. The grass only slightly trampled from the marsh creatures frolicking in the night. I stumbled over something that was partia...

    3742501   ©   Kathleen Van Hoffen   |   Dreamstime.com Out of the car, stretching after the three hours sat in the backseat with my head on a pillow, wedged between the seat-belt and the window. The realization that we are here rushes into focus through bleary eyes. The wind cools the side of my face where I’ve dribbled down my chin. Then I’m on! Throwing the book in my left hand and the slime from the Ghost-busters figurine in my right, into the car door and slamming it shut, just shoving the pillow in at the last second before it closes on it. I run to the door wailing with pure excitement and total love. I lift up the letterbox and peer in poking my fingers through and shout “Wally, Wally” he runs to the door with so much energy and he bounces up and down licking my fingers as he reaches up. That familiar click of the lock and sticky foam round the edges of the door peeling apart, and the door opens. My Granddad standing there with his big smile,...

  6142879 © Christophe.rolland1 | Dreamstime.com I am in a cornfield surrounded by beautiful red poppies, then walking towards a thick group of trees which are all shades of green. I find a bubbling brook, the water shimmering as the water bounces over tiny stones. Stepping through the water it changes its path as it hits my boot. Something glints and catches my eye in the fine earth created by a busy mole last night. It’s a ring with a red and green stone. I pick it up and hold the gold band in my hand, looking at the delicate writing inside the ring. Looking up I see a cottage, white in colour with a picket fence. The garden is full of wild flowers of purple and yellow. Around the door are wild roses, shades of pink, bees buzzing and ants scurrying.  Slowly I approach the gate, it squeaks as I open it. A window to the left shows a figure inside. A large man who glances up as the squeaking reaches his ears. I duck down hoping he has not seen me enter. I look around searchin...

  3713026 © Lihui | Dreamstime.com Hanging by one finger, frantically scratching the smooth face of the mountain with the other hand for anywhere to grip on. Both feet slipping up and down like they are cycling the polished face of the mountain, granite shining like glass. Finally, after some tense moments, a small nook left by an old tree root, a small piece of what was once an ancient woodland remains in the odd piece of tree root and empty space they once occupied. Venturing further in Vernon discovers a cave going deep into the rock. The faint sound of water trickling increases the further he ventures in. Eventually coming to a hidden waterfall created from the melting ice high on the top of the mountain, he notices that the cave continues past the water and he proceeds onwards. Something glinting up ahead catches his eye as he approaches, and he can’t believe what he is seeing. The biggest diamond you could ever imagine, bigger than a watermelon, set into the skull of a sabr...

  I was walking the hills of the Yorkshire Dales on a bright sunny morning. I shuffled my way through the crowed trees and came across a small stream. I crossed the battered old bridge, the sun reflecting on the stream, almost glinting in fact. I continued my walk and came across an old farm, I peered through the window to see a man and his dog playing with a ball. I decided against giving the door a knock and walk through the door. I continued, instead, to walk around the farmhouse and on the other side were pigs in pens and other animals grazing. Jo