💖 Kindness Creates Ripples

Things I know to be True #2

Hello Restless Wonders,

Spring has come and gone in Gloucestershire and we’re back in blustery winter at the moment. I’m holding out hope for a sunshine comeback in time for the weekend. Everyone loves a comeback!

I’ve loved writing this week’s story for you — a post that’s part of series called: Ten Things I Know to be True. You can read Truth #1 here.

Before I launch into it, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to take break from writing the newsletter for the next month.

We’re off to the Bahamas! Only kidding…

I have two books ready to go into the editing stage, one on motherhood and another a Volume II of Bedtime Adventure Stories for Grown Ups.

But as I said to Jamie over an end-of-the-day glass of wine the other night ‘The math just ain’t mathin’. I have to carve out some time to actually put the books together, or they’ll never see the light of day.

I see this newsletter as a long game. I want to do it right, and to do it in a way that means I can keep going.

And that means taking a break. Gawd knows we all need a break sometimes.

I’ve decided not to pause the monthly subscription, because if you’re a Restless Rebel I figure you send me your £3.99 per month because you like my jam. As opposed to paying per piece I crank out.

That said, if you want to unsubscribe for a month — please do. I’d completely understand and I’m always super grateful for however long you choose to support.

For now, I’ll leave you with a lovely truth I’ve come to know about the world. And an event from last week that summed it up just beautifully.

Back in your inboxes on May 22nd.

I’ll miss you. Until then - stay restless ✌🏻

Anna xx

💖 Kindness Creates Ripples

It’s 10.15am on a Monday morning and I’ve just arrived at Gloucester Library with my three kids and a family friend, Megan. We’ve come into town to visit Gloucester museum, but learn it’s closed on Mondays, so we opt for the next best thing — the library next door.

Our arrival at the library is not discreet.

Tumbling into the entrance hall, the twins are shouting ‘We in Library! We in Library!’ At the top of their lungs and Storm is yelling over the top of them to ask whether I think there will be a book about a dinosaur who eats in cream here?

Once the kids catch sight of the rows of books, they get even more excited — bouncing between the shelves at speed, like balls in a pinballs machine.

I throw in a few ‘Ssssh!’s here and there, wondering if libraries are still quiet spaces these days and Megan and I shepherd them all into the kids reading area — a large open plan room at the end of the building, flanked on three sides by tall windows.

There’s a woman sitting alone in a red leather chair in the middle of the room. She smiles and says hello as we enter. I smile back.

I put her in her mid seventies. She’s smartly dressed in a brown silk shirt with blue paisley swirls on it, a beige collarless jacket and tailored navy trousers. Her hair is close-cropped, dyed blonde with grey streaks, and she wears red lipstick.

I wonder if she’s there because her grandkids are looking at books nearby, but the room is deserted, so I figure she must work here.

My kids don’t pay much attention to the woman in the red chair, instead they begin pulling brightly coloured books from the shelves, sitting on the floor and flicking through them. For a moment, there’s silence. I exhale.

Storm is looking at a book just behind the red chair, when the woman spins around.

‘Would you like me to read you that story?’ She asks. Storm glances over at me, unsure, and I nod. She smiles and hands the book to the woman — still shy as she does it, her tongue lodged in her cheek.

‘Well now! This one is about robots. That’s exciting isn’t it?!’ The woman booms, her voice theatrical and now the once quiet room crackles with energy. Storm looks up and grins. She’s a sucker for anyone with a whiff of the entertainer about them.

The woman reads enthusiastically for twenty minutes — Storm running off to fetch a new book each time she finishes the last. The twins’ attention span is too short to stay for more than a few pages, so Megan and I set up a colouring station for them at a nearby table instead.

It’s been a busy morning and, although it’s only 10.15am, I’m knackered. Having someone else read to at least one child is a welcome relief. Whoever this mysterious woman in the red chair is, I’m grateful to her.

Eventually Storm’s attention wanders and I can hear in the woman’s voice that she’s tiring too. After finishing a reading of Aliens Wear Underpants, she claps the book shut and places it on her lap.

‘Well. I’d say we’ve been on enough adventures for today. What do you think?’ Storm takes her cue and moves off to search for new books.

The woman lingers by the red chair for a moment before coming over to where Megan and I are colouring with the twins. She rearranges a few stray pencils on the table and, noticing that Rocky has filled up one sheet already, moves a blank sheet of paper closer to him.

‘Thanks so much for all that reading’ I say.

‘Oh, you’re very welcome.’

‘I don’t even know your name?’

‘Oh now, my name… my name… I can’t remember…’ she looks away, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but when she looks back, I catch a hint of mischief in her blue eyes. ‘It’s Pam’. She smiles.

‘Well, nice to meet you, Pam.’

Pam tells me she comes to the library on a Monday every week for a story time session. But that most weeks, no one turns up.

‘Well, I’m glad you were here today. You’ve made Storm’s morning!’ I say.

‘Oh, not at all.’ She shrugs off the compliment and rearranges a few more pencils.

‘And I’m sorry that no one normally comes to the session.’ I continue.

‘Oh, it’s fine. I don’t have to pay for the bus.’ She replies matter-of-factly, and that makes me smile, because I was thinking about the cost of her precious time and energy and she’s only factoring in the price of the bus ticket.

Pam tells me she used to work here thirty years ago. Her eyes brighten as she gestures around the space. ‘It all looked very different back then — there was a research area in the basement and no kids’ reading section at all. Can you imagine?’

We leave Pam at the library and head up the road and to a cafe on the high street for some early lunch. After choosing a table by the window (great for people watching), we order up a round of beans on toast with sausages and a few smoothies.

In between mouthfuls, the kids enjoy getting down from the table to press their sticky hands against the large front windows, offering Megan and me a running commentary of who’s strolling down the high-street.

‘Ooooh police officer!’ Rocky coos.

‘Baby in pram!’ shouts Jupiter.

‘Doggie!’ squeals Storm

Twenty minutes into our meal, Pam comes into the cafe.

‘Fancy seeing you here!’ I call out. She tells me that this is her favourite place to eat and that she always treats herself to Eggs Benedict. She hovers for a moment at our table and I wonder whether to invite her to join us, but then I consider that she might like her own space, and to not have her beige jacket spattered with chewed up bits of food.

I’m still mulling it over when Rocky throws himself off his chair and onto the floor. There’s a shout, I get distracted and when I look up, Pam has sat down two tables behind us. She smiles and waves. I wave back.

When we’ve finished our food, the kids run away from the table, one by one, heading for the exit with Megan. ‘Say goodbye to Pam as you go!’ I call after them.

‘Bye Pam’ says Storm

‘Byeeeeee!’ Jupes says.

‘See yoo lataar.’ Rocky shouts, charging past her and down the aisle.

I hang back for a minute — gathering up as many fragments of food as I can. Tidying done, I take a few paces towards the exit and stop at Pam’s table.

‘So lovely to meet you Pam, see you again so—’ before I can finish the sentence she reaches out, takes my hand, and pushes a folded up note into my palm.

I look down. Her hand is over mine, blue veins showing through a veil of translucent skin. The feel of that paper in my palm — smooth and then sharp at the folded corners, immediately transports me back to being a kid, and to the times my grandparents gave me money.

I remember the thrill of that feeling. That I had whole pounds in my hand and I could spend it on anything I wanted. Oh, the freedom. The possibility!

All of my grandparents died by the time I was a teenager, so those memories are precious. I keep them in a little vault in my heart — a vault which Pam has just cracked open.

A lump rises in my throat.

Pam looks at me, blue eyes unblinking. ‘Spend it on them’ she says. ‘My great grand babies are all the way across the other side of the world.’

‘Oh, that’s so kind of you.’ I open my mouth to say something else, but I don’t have the words. We just look at one another for a moment instead.

‘Go on now…’ she says, shooing me off. ‘You better get chasing them before they make it all the way home without you.’

I leave the cafe with a ten-pound note in my hand and find the kids fifty metres down the pedestrianised high street, watching a busker who has set up opposite a travel agent. He’s a Black man wearing a navy suit with a grey trilby on his head and a grey stubble beard.

The kids are transfixed and stand there staring at him.

‘Mum! Mum! Look — real life music!’ Storm says, pointing at the busker ‘Dance with me?’

I shove the note into my pocket and get swept up in dancing with the kids through renditions of American pie and Brown-Eyed Girl before the busker goes upbeat with La Bamba, Jailhouse Rock and Rockin’ Robin. We change the words to sing ‘Rocky Robin’ and Rocky beams every time we do.

Jupiter opts to sway on the spot, eyes closed, arms in the air. Rocky hops around the street like a bunny who’s had too much Haribo and Storm wants to be lifted and twirled. It’s a full workout for everyone.

At the end of an energetic rendition of Build Me Up Buttercup, I catch my breath. It’s only now that I notice how many people walk by the busker without giving him a second glance. And I wonder if he ever feels lonely out here — belting out songs surrounded by a sea of strangers.

He starts on another song and the kids and Megan continue to dance. Beyond them, I catch sight of Pam leaving the cafe. Torso angled forward, black bag in hand, she’s marching with purpose towards the bus stop outside the library.

It’s then a thought crosses my mind.

‘Spend it on the kids’ she said. They don’t need any more stuff. What they need is music. Connection. Movement. What they really need is to see that little acts of kindness can have a big impact on someone else’s day.

‘Hey Storm. That lady Pam gave me ten pounds for all of you to have.’

‘Really?’ She raises her eyebrows, arms still swaying.

‘What do you say that we give it to the busker, for sharing his beautiful music with us?’ I wonder for a moment whether she’ll protest. Asking instead for it to be spent on chocolate or a comic with plastic crap attached to the front of it.

‘Yes Mum! Great idea.’ She says without even taking a breath.

‘Do you want to give it to him?’ I hold out the note. She stops dancing and shakes her head. Too much, I think.

‘Okay, how about we do it together? You can hold it and I’ll come with you’ Storm nods and I pass over the note.

And so, with Rocky and Jupiter still swaying and jumping, we walk over to the busker. Storm’s hand in mine and her other hand outstretched — the folded note now tucked up, flat and smooth in her palm. She holds it over the busker’s hat for a moment, gives me a smile, and lets it go.

👆🏻❤️ P.S Tapping the heart icon at the top or bottom of this post means that more people will see it. It also sends magical good vibes through the ether. ✨