Today we are welcoming winter, and have adopted the Danish word ‘hygge’ for the event. It means cosy, comfortable, warm, perhaps with cake and coffee. I have looked up the pronunciation, and without getting into phonetics, the closest I can get is that it rhymes with cougar, the mountain lion, which is definitely not a hygge (hougar) creature, should one encounter one in the Rockies.
Jars are being decorated, leaves stuck on them and small candles put in them to give us lights around the garden, to give us the feeling of cosiness. But November outdoors is chilly. There’s no getting away from that. But at least candles look warm and we have warm drinks, soup and cake.
A group are making sock puppets. You start with the sock you have brought along, and stick on, or sew, eyes, a nose, a mouth. Or make a mouth by indenting the fabric. It’s a busy table.
At least, a hundred fifty are here. I don’t even try to count with all the milling about. Children are writing stories. They are given a first line, something like: It is winter and the most amazing thing happened. I say something like as I can’t recall the actual line. But that’s more or less it. I am surprised how popular this is. It is cold. I can’t write in the cold. I need hygge to get me writing. Right now, as I write this blog, I am in a warm room listening to Night Tracks on Radio 3. There’s little singing which I find distracting as the only voice I want to hear is my own.
Another writing group are taking inspiration from a Peter Bruegal painting of a winter scene. A river is frozen over and there are many people enjoying being on the ice, some are skating, some playing a game a little like ice hockey, though this is medieval days. Take a person in the picture, imagine what he is thinking. And write it down. The cold, the thrill of skating, racing your friends, throwing snowballs. They all seem to be male. You might wonder what the women are doing. Cooking, mending. Perhaps a girl is looking out of a window of the many houses along the river banks, envious of the men and boys.
I am telling a story in our new shelter. It’s from my book, the Magical World of Lucy-Anne. The book has six stories about Lucy-Anne. The one I am telling is called Lucy-Anne and the Snowman. The problem with telling a story, in an event like this, is that there is likely to be a wide age range of children, from three year olds to ten year olds. And that is difficult to cater for. The story I have chosen I have read to five year olds, and will work for older kids. It’s about a snowman who grows younger as the snow melts, starting as a grumpy old snowman, the next day he’s a mischievous boy, and the day after a snowbaby wanting ice cream and stories.
I say telling the tale, not reading it. It’s short, about ten minutes, and this week I have read it once a day every day. I don’t know it off by heart, but I know it pretty well. The reason I am doing this is to have direct contact with the audience. I won’t be holding the book. My hands are unencumbered, free to gesture as I tell the tale. I even try a bit of singing.
Snowman, snowman, cold and wet
How much younger can you get?
An hour later, I read a story, Jack and the Giant’s Child, about a bus driver who loses his bus. This one I haven’t prepared, but it works quite well as a reading. And needed no preparation.
We are selling plants too, by the front gate. We were given quite a few a couple of weeks ago, we’ve split them and potted them up. We’ll make some money on them as well as donations for food and drink.
As the event is nearing its end, the sun has set (16.18 today), and the candle lights appear brighter as night falls. Everyone is bundled up, we’ve eaten, had warm drinks written stories or listened to them, made puppets, and decorated lights. Hygge reigns in Forest Gate.
Comments 1
That was such a wonderful round up of the event. I would just like to add the veg scones went perfectly with the soup and the hot chocolate added that little extra bit of cosy-ness to the event.