Category: Guest Blog

I’m still here you know.

Same shelf. Same room. Quiet as ever.

You don’t say goodnight anymore.
That’s okay.

I remember when you did.
Every night.
Sometimes twice if the shadows felt too big.

You used to tuck me in beside you, right under your chin. You said I made the dark softer. That I kept the bad dreams away.

I tried my best, I really did. I took your nightmares into my stuffing so you could sleep without fear. They’re still there, tucked between the stitches where you used to hold me tight. And when the night gets heavy, I carry them quietly, so you never have to.

You don’t reach for me anymore. It’s been so long now.
Your bed grew wider. Your hands grew bigger. The tears stopped spilling out loud, and the need for me faded away.

I don’t mind the quiet.
I just miss your voice.

Sometimes you stand in the doorway and look around, like you’re trying to remember something you lost.
Your eyes never find me.

But I see you.
I always have.

You sound different now.
Your footsteps drag where they once danced.
 You carry the weight of many things but hold little light inside.
Your smile has grown quiet and rare. Once bright eyes and rosy cheeks shadowed with fatigue.

I wish you’d let me hold some weight.
I was good at that, once.
I caught your tears before they fell, now you bury them deep in your pillow, where I can’t reach.

There may be dust in my ears now, and a little tear on my side, but I work just the same. I promise.
The very same me you called brave, the one who stood beside you through pouring rain and muddy adventures, never letting go.

Even when the light’s gone.
Even when no one remembers I’m here.
Even when the room is empty, and I hear the walls begin to close in.

I know you don’t think of me anymore.
I know the world is too big for things like me now.

But I think of you.
All the time.

I’m still here you know. 

June marks the celebration of Central Church’s fiftieth anniversary

This June, the congregation of Torquay’s Central Church are celebrating the fiftieth birthday of their remarkable building. Construction of the church began in June of 1975, and saw three older buildings removed to make way for the new site, which became the place of worship for members of two denominations, Methodist and United Reformed, to come together as one congregation.

Of the sixty-five active churches in Torquay, Central Church’s history goes back as far as some of the oldest. The church is one of three different backgrounds: one of these, Union Street Methodist Church, was established in 1807, over two-hundred years ago. It was in 1971, though, that Central Church was founded, when Union Street Methodist Church, along with two others, united into one congregation.

Their new building is famous for its pierced screen wall façade, the top of which forms the shape of three crosses, representing the three congregations that united to create the church. This design is a point of controversy for many. Nikolaus Pevsner, author of the ‘Buildings of England’ series, called it “forceful but rather crude”. Its modern style separates it from the many older buildings used by other churches in Torquay.

Although Belgrave United Reformed Church was demolished to make way for the new building, three of its beautiful stained-glass windows were saved, and can now be seen inside Central Church. The older building that these windows come from suffered from structural scars caused by its restoration in the late 1940s, after it was damaged by a bomb blast during World War Two. This was why the congregation were inspired to build a more modern, comfortable church where they could hold worship.

Central Church remains an active part of the Torquay community and has several events planned for the coming weeks. On July 5^th, the Torbay Police Community Choir and the Avon & Somerset Constabulary Choir will be performing there, and on July 25^th a Q&A session with MP Steve Darling will be held inside. Central Church meets for worship every Sunday at 10:30am.

How will you leave? Better than before?
From the hub of emotions with many floors

Running through hallways of thoughts and silence
Starting to pray to a new God for guidance

Rearrange and arrange the vase of flowers,
Contemplate for hour after hour

Thinking back to when it was better –
This is the start of the pain that may last forever

Many stories incomplete or at the end
Will they lose a friend? Or fall in love again?

Some on their knees, some sleep on the floor,
The world for some not the same anymore

Hands clasped tightly, words unsaid,
Hopes for the living, tears for the dead.

Each day, the pages turn unseen,
The outcomes blurred, the meaning between.

So how will you leave? Better than before?
On which side will you be of the revolving door?

By Jake Jones

I see others with heads bowed low,
candles flicker, they feel the glow.
Their minds drift skyward, far from here,
wrapped in the glow of something near.

It hasn’t hit me yet
Staying here by the skin of my teeth,
I hope for a sign, and a sense of relief.
The candles flicker as more wine is poured, 
I feel the need for something more.

I look to escape far from here,
wrap me in the glow of something near.

It hasn’t hit me yet,
but perhaps it will—
when the wine runs dry,
and the world stands still.

by Jake Jones

Image: ID 30043695 | Blown Out Candle © Sikth | Dreamstime.com

She opens up the fridge on a cold Christmas Eve 
Stands on tippy toes but no carrots can be seen
Opens up the milk that smells green and strange
No milk for Santa on tomorrows Christmas Day 

No decorations, the walls look bare and grey
She tries to open the jar of cookies, that have been locked away

Its so hard to sleep she prays and prays,
Praying for presents on Santa’s sleigh 

No presents from Santa in her stocking makes it harder to believe,
No presents for her under the imaginary tree

A different knock to the door,
words are not needed no more.

Send the kids out to play,
for they will not return children today.

No need for pen nor paper to write the date,
take away the empty plate.

Hear a silence not heard before,
as you close the microwave door.

Thoughts that never leave your head,
say goodnight to the empty bed.
Tomorrow will echo the same refrain—
the start of the quiet, endless pain.

I lost you once before but now I will never leave your side
Now I’m there for every birthday and every time you have cried

I waved you away on your first day at school
I told you that boy was a fool

I was there when you thought I wasn’t
and with you when you thought I was

Together we chose the bouquet
I walked with you down the aisle on your wedding day
I sit with you and watch the grandchildren play

Now it is your time
Your spirit leaves you as you climb
You smile and pass me as you shine
As you disappear, I will have no fear
Because a smile from you is all I need
To last me till eternity

by Jake Jones

Looking through unfinished albums on how our lives used to be
The work around the house was meant for you, we would always agree.

So I hang the pictures high where it was just empty space
I hang the pictures high to liven up the place
I will open up the curtains so the sun shines on you its gaze
I will decorate you with tinsel on a lonely Christmas Day
I might not always remember the words you used to say
So I hang the pictures high in pride of place.

I hang the pictures high for all to see
You reply with a smile while I make just one cup of tea.

I will talk with you until the walls fall down
Then rebuild them with my old weathered hands.

So hang the pictures high
Watch them age
Remember all the good old days.

Now its my time to go.
The pictures will show how I loved you so
So hang my picture next to yours
Around the person I adore.

Stand at the wall and you will see
That there’s a place for you and a place for me
Adding till eternity
On the great wall of family.

The birds talk to me, I just heard my name,
Flying up so high they will not be tamed,
Not scared of the creature,
but of what it can say, 
Can you work out what the chirps convey?

A coincidence too many times, 
The same bird ‘song’, line after line,
“Twit, twit, twit, it’s you” 
I can hear the voices, 
Can you hear them too?

Flaps in my ear, then the noise disappears,
They follow me everywhere I go,
Tune into the tune of the predictions of doom, 
Then life will go more with the flow,

The chirps of threes and fives, 
Tell me how to live my life
Pecking at my brain in a rhythmic way
Make sure you listen to what they have to say

But now I know they’re coming for you!
The birds told me and they will tell you too…

In the morning the sun was shining from a blue, blue sky, but the shadows were deadly cold and the wind like a flat blade of ice. Eliza had to pull up the collar of her sheepskin coat even further to keep out the wind. She had parked her car and was now looking out over the
landscape. Was it as she had remembered? She saw flat grass rising up into sand dunes that hid the pebbly beach. If she looked in another direction she could see over the river to the line of black fishermen’s huts. She looked behind her and saw the part of the village she remembered the best. The line of cottages, including the ferryman’s cottage, and the pub.

Eliza wanted to feel the same freedom she had felt the last time she had been here. They had taken nets, lines and baits and had sat on the wooden bridge with the intention of catching crabs from the muddy river. She had laughed as he had teased her about her fear as she picked off the crab from the bait and put it into a bucket. She had later screamed as they watched the side ways marching as he had tipped the bucket of crabs back into the river.

Eliza again wanted to play hide and seek in the dunes. She wanted to feel the laughter rising into her throat as she watched his latest trick of falling flat into the sand. They had then cautiously walked on the pebbles down to the water to swim in the freezing water. He would glide, then splash, while she paddled and kicked the icy cold sea.

She left the car and walked up in the direction of the village. She could see the glow of fires in the front rooms of the small cottages. The smell of the wood smoke was comforting. Where should she leave him? He had enjoyed the years of holidays they had spent here. She returned to the ferryman’s cottage and nervously knocked on the weather beaten
door. A man answered. She recognised him immediately.

‘I heard your sad news Eliza, I was hoping you would pay us a visit.’

He looked at the urn in her hands and led her down again to the water’s edge.