Chris Ord's Blog

What research?

I'm spending some time in the Laing Art Gallery today. People often ask writers about how they do their research. I'm sure we all have our our own styles and preferences. My writing is inspired by people, music, and pictures. I see vivid images in my mind which I try to capture with words. I use music to generate the mood and atmosphere I am trying to create. The thread that binds the pictures together is plot and that's where imagination does its thing.When I wrote 'The Storm' I found historical texts of mid-nineteenth century village life dry and lifeless. They told me facts, but trying to translate that into story didn't work for me at all. Then one day I was wandering around the Laing and I noticed this painting. It's 'The Women' by John Charlton. The subject is self-evident and it was everything I wanted in the scene of the villagers hauling the lifeboat across the moor to launch from the East Sands beach in their attempt to rescue the crew of 'The Embla.' I spent many an hour sitting in front of the paintings of local fishing communities. These were my primary source of research, as they helped create the pictures in my head.I'm not sure creatives appreciate how much we may inspire each other. Clearly, writers will be inspired by writers, but my work is influenced by so much more. It's a melting pot of art, music, writing, film and theatre. I churn it all together and hope that what comes out is my own creation, inspired by, but in its own way greater than the sum of its parts. I love the thought we're all the part of one large community, feeding ideas, sparking new ways of of thinking, generating new work. I don't write for other writers. I write for my readers who could be anyone. However, as creatives we stand on the shoulders of one another. Not giants, just slightly strange people with a drive and compulsion to share our own vision of the world.

Sweet moderation, heart of this nation

Turn on the news, and it’s been another week of change and turmoil. The sweet moderation at the heart of this nation may have deserted us, at least for now. I found myself struck with an overwhelming sense of despair. In times like these it’s easy to just give up and think why bother? Two comments I heard this week defined the current polarisation of choice for me. Generation cynical versus generation hope. The first came from an aged white working class male who was asked whether he welcomed the appointment of Boris Johnson, albeit by less than one hundred thousand mostly aged white wealthy middle class men. His response was a resounding yes. Why? Because he looks after his own people and puts them first. I asked myself who are these people and who do we truly represent? The second comment came in the context of my work. I currently manage a youth programme called National Citizen Service (NCS). Its core value is to encourage greater social mix, to see young people of 16 and 17 year olds meet and make new friends with people from different backgrounds. It challenges them to push themselves, find their inner potential, and strive to be the best they can be. A lot of the young people on programme come from the mainstream, but in the North East we engage with a lot on the margins. We engage with young people from troubled families, disadvantaged areas, and those with learning difficulties and/or disabilities. These young people are a challenge. Simply getting them on the programme can be a struggle, but once they are there they are the ones that flourish the most. You see the difference the programme makes to their attitude and confidence. This week some of my colleagues and partners have worked tirelessly to get some asylum seekers on programme. This has involved sourcing extra paperwork, language interpreters and extra support. It has been difficult for them, and would have been easier to just say no. Yet, they have persevered with tenacity and guile and reached a point where these young people can take part. This was not because it was of benefit to them, but because they knew the difference it would make to the lives of these young people. They have seen it. They didn’t ask themselves are these my young people people. They begin with a belief that these are all our young people, and we have a duty to represent them all. They went the extra mile for strangers. This example of selfless sacrifice and determination was couple with a second comment that reminded me there is still hope. One of the youth groups had just completed a long, arduous ‘mountain’ walk in the lakes. The young people reached the top and collapsed with a flurry of complaints. A young asylum seeker in the group sat quietly to one side smiling and admiring the beauty of the view. The Team Leader asked if he enjoyed the walk to which he replied, ‘Yes, I have walked thousands of miles to be here.’Imagine what it says about our country when we are able to open our arms to our fellow human beings in trouble and welcome them to the comfort and safety of our communities. Think of all those people who go the extra mile so that they can give young people who have face unspeakable suffering and harm a new chance to find themselves. Those people that ask not what is in it for themselves or their own, but for us all. They understand that it is kindness that makes us beautiful, not cynicism and suspicion. For them there is no my people only all our people.When I drove home a song came on in the car. Many of the lyrics struck me as pertinent to these times. They reminded me, we have to keep fighting for what we believe in. Lose hope, lose passion, lose kindness, and you lose everything. Let us not lose who we truly are. Find our sweet moderate hearts once again:‘I kept the faith and I kept votingNot for the iron fist but for the helping handFor theirs is a land with a wall around it And mine is a faith in my fellow man.’

Reflections on social media

Social media has opened my eyes to the vast array of utter madness in the world. So much of our lives is now lived in the abstract, our discussions fuelled by the detachment of distance and screen. Debate has never been easier, but real engagement is dwindling. Perhaps we believe a few rattles and rants on a keyboard is enough? The volume of information and discussion on social media is overwhelming, but the quality is invariably poor. Technology gives ease of access, but it is unfettered and unchecked. We live in the age of bullshit, with discussion more disposable then ever. Nothing is sacred, everything is permitted.In the old days my circle of contact was limited and information gathered through traditional sources such as books. Though I traveled widely in my twenties, I have wondered since if my worldview was narrow back then and now I see more of how it is. Am I simply a voyeur seeing a distorted and absurd view of life filtered through a lens of click bait, self sanitisation, adverts, and inane drivel? Should I remind myself of the days when my life was mostly experiential not virtual. Do I need to connect more in different ways, and not through a screen? I love the fact I’m in contact with long lost friends again. The opportunities to organise events and interact with a wide range of people is breathtaking at times. However, for all we have gained, have we stopped to consider what we have lost?The worst thing about social media is the endless negativity. Never has this been more apparent in the rise of the ill-informed populist divisions around the Brexit debate. Someone highlighted a Stephen Fry comment that we are now more obsessed with being right than being kind. Engage with social media and you'd think the world is filled with hate. I don't believe that. Evil things happen, but they are the exception not the norm. We are kind, intelligent, loving creatures capable of wonderful creativity. The most beautiful expression of tenderness between humans is the act of making love. There are over 120 million acts of love making, and over 350,000 babies born in the world every day. This is the joy that never makes social media. The world is simply a culmination of every single human act. If we make our acts positive, kind, and loving and there is hope.What about our future? We are led to believe the most savvy and enthusiastic users of new technology, young people have never been more disengaged from contact. Endless studies report the increased use of social media by the young and its negative impact on well-being, mental health, body image, self esteem. This is leading to an alarming rise in self-harm and suicide rates. This is one of the most upsetting things of all. What does it tell us though? Have our young people given up hope and no longer care? Or do they simply feel there is no point? I work on youth programmes for the National Citizen Service where thousands of young people give up their time, energy and creativity to bring about positive change in their communities. They don’t have to do this, but they choose to and they make a huge difference. This summer over 4,000 young people will engage in social action across the North East alone, contributing well over 120,000 hours of their summer holidays to deserving causes. This is the equivalent of 3,000 working week of time and effort. This is positive, it is meaningful, it is real not virtual, and it is all being done by our young people. Across the world we are seeing young people refusing to go to school, and taking to the streets to protest about government inaction on climate change. They are inspired by the incredible Swedish girl, Greta Thunberg who has captured so many hearts and minds and shamed us all into asking questions of ourselves. Maybe the two most important question of all to spur us into action before it is too late. What legacy are we leaving our children Have we failed our young people yet again?So what have I gained from this reflection on the power of social media? As another old friend reminded me the other day. At its best anything can be a power for good, but only if we make it so. As in all life, it is down to us to make the difference and change starts with each of us taking personal responsibility for how we act. I believe, at their best our young people are showing us the way. Look hard enough and you will find plenty of evidence of this. So from now on I will have a simple mantra - find the joy, and try to be kind, not right.

Every child matters

Education will always be a priority issue for me. It changed who I am, helped me question, discover, see the world in a different way. Education is being destroyed. Teachers and senior leaders are leaving. Funding is being decimated. A lot of teachers I know are demoralised, disillusioned and depressed. My wife, Julie walked away from mainstream teaching last year. She’d had enough of the target culture, the micromanagement, the ticking of boxes. She had seen the profession she loved become prescriptive, a targets game, all about Ofsted, grades, and pass rates. The systemic failings and target culture have stifled talent, driven out creativity, and the joy of discovery and learning. Something has to change, before we lose a generation.Our education system is a sieve that filters the few and fails so many. All young people have a gift. It is the role of education to find it, nurture it, and provide those young people with the wings to fly. A failure to find that gift is a failure of the system not the young person. Every child has talent, but not all are academic. All parents want the best for their kids, but sometimes the best is different. It would be a dull world if we were all mathematicians. Good schools, excellent teachers, a rich and varied curriculum. At the very least this would provide the professionals with a chance to find that individual talent. Everything about education is moving away from this. The politicians increasingly serve UK plc, packing our kids into ill shaped boxes.Nowhere is this betrayal of our children more apparent than in the squeezing of the arts and creativity from the curriculum. Everything is about maths and English now, the fear of SATS and league tables. This is the driver shaping the world our children learn in. Despite its value, I can honestly say that maths has brought me no joy in life, and apart from basic stuff used for housekeeping, stats, and some economics I've never had to use it since I left school. That’s not to say maths doesn’t matter. It is important, but it isn’t the everything it seems to have become. Has my love of the arts held me back? Well I'm not rich in western terms, but I've travelled the world, had a lifetime of fantastic experiences and have always been able to follow my dreams. Most of my happiness and success has come through my love of music, words, and my relationship and family. Money, a career, qualifications, algorithms and UK Plc didn't give me any of that. We aren't cogs in a machine. We are creatures with special talents and dreams, each unique to us. We have to find our own passions and dreams, and education should help us find what we love and give us the courage to do it.Every child matters. Take away a child's chance of a good education and you remove their opportunity to find their potential. They suffer, and we all lose. This isn't about magic money trees. It's about a fair taxation system, an economic model that stimulates growth, and a shift in our priorities. There is no continuity in education policy. The future of our children is tied to the foibles of a political business cycle, and the changing whims of successive Ministers. Out with the old and in with something we had twenty years ago, but with a different name.Maybe it’s time education was given to a specialist parliamentary select committee. Cross party representation would depoliticise it, ensure there is more longevity to developments, and we can look to put learners at the core. There are so many initiatives I've seen money wasted on only to have them scrapped or strangled as soon as another government comes in. Education can still be dynamic in the context of long term planning and stability, but let’s stop Ministers playing political games with the lives of our children. Let’s have the courage to remove targets and put teaching and learning first. At the heart of great education and learning there must be great teachers. People are the secret of success for everything. They make the difference. Highly motivated, passionate, skilled people who are supported and empowered to make the best use of the skills they have. Nobody becomes a teacher unless they really want to. Believe me, I have stood in a classroom all day. It is mentally and physically draining, the hardest job I’ve ever had. Writing a novel was a doddle in comparison. We need strong leadership that is prepared to support teachers, and that will only come if we change the system and move away from targets. They are killing so much in our public services. Numbers and spreadsheets are not the answer, so let’s not allow them to govern all that we do to the detriment of creativity, passion and the quality of the human experience. I’d like to say thank you to all my teachers. I wasn't the easiest kid to have in a class. I was a bit messed up, struggled to focus, got bored very quickly. However, they stuck with me, and gave me something precious. They made me feel as though I mattered, I had something worth offering. To a miner's son from Northumberland that meant the world. A love of words and music were gifts they gave me. Those were my keys to happiness and my better life, the only things I ever cared about. They were my passion, my great love. I was blessed with some inspirational teachers who had the freedom to nurture those creative skills. They unlocked the doors and changed my life, and I can never thank them enough. Let’s ditch the targets and league tables and empower teachers again, so my children and their generation can look back and say the same.

Follow your dreams

Everyone around me is turning fifty. It will be my turn next year. It’s not something I’m concerned about, though it is a significant milestone, a time to pause and reflect on where I am, what I have and haven’t done, where I am going. I enjoy ageing. Not the slow dying, but the growing confidence, self knowledge, and the ability to not give a fuck anymore. When I was younger there was no bucket list, only an empty page waiting to be filled with dreams and endless possibilities, a story still waiting to be written. Time wasn’t a luxury back then, it was something I took for granted, wasted. Too much of anything can be a bad thing, and it is perhaps my one regret that I didn’t come to realise how precious time was sooner. As I approach fifty I’ve entered a different phase in my life. I’m trying to make sure I do all the things I still want to, while I am still able, packing in the life experiences while time and health allow. I’ve managed to achieve a few. I’m playing my horn again, and loving it more than ever. The highlights have to be playing at the Sage in Gateshead, and qualifying for two National Finals. Then there was my old school band reunion, that as something special. Music binds people in a way few things can. Springsteen describes it as ‘a communion of souls’ which captures it perfectly. Writing and publishing my novels is a lifelong dream come true. I wrote a couple of stories I love and from the positive feedback, reviews and messages other have enjoyed them too. This is all I ask. There are s few things still on my list - climbing Kilimanjaro, a skydive, writing my masterpiece. There is time yet, and that is something to be thankful for and make the most of. Ageing is not something I fear. It is a beautiful process, but with every loss and heartache I worry I might never get to do all I had hoped. I don’t want to pass with any regrets, no ‘if onlys’. I want to leave a mark, just a piece of me that might last beyond the scattering of the stardust. I want to matter.With each passing year I find myself asking - have I made a difference? Of course, we all do, to friends, family, maybe even in our work. I have my words, music, my boys, and the love of my life. Love. Now there is something to cherish and cling to. So many let it wither, or throw it away. What more do you need? It’s the meaning we are all searching for, whether we realise it or not. I’ve been blessed that from a young age I met my soulmate, the person I wanted to share all my experiences with, someone to have children and grow old with. I found the special person whose eyes I wanted to stare into when I die, the final smile I ever see.It’s been a difficult couple of weeks. Sometimes events happen which serve to remind you of all that you have, of the precious ones you could lose, how empty your life would be without those you share it with. We dangle by a thread, teetering over the pit of devastation. Life and death, each serving to give the other meaning and value. We often read mantras and memes on social media about us following our dreams. Maybe we see them too often now and they have lost their power and impact. As I’m reflecting this beautiful spring morning, watching the buds of new life breaking through, I’m reminded of the importance of chasing those dreams. Grab them, dear friends. Make them real. Embrace all the experiences life still has to offer. It’s never too late, but only when you realise the value of time and the gift you have been given. Follow your passion and your heart. You deserve it and you can do it. He not busy being born is busy dying.

Questions on writing

I had a message at the weekend from an aspiring writer. She asked about my approach to writing, seeking advice and putting me on the spot with a few challenging questions. Sharing my experiences, frustrations, and approach is something I enjoy. I think it’s important we learn from each other, and I’m humbled when people ask and value what I have to give. In this spirit of sharing I thought it would be worth putting some of the answers into a blog post.Q1. Do you find it difficult to plan your novels?The truth is I don’t plan my writing very much at all. I have four children so a lack of planning should come as no surprise. Rather than plan or storyboard, I start with a scenario and the main characters and let the story unfold. This makes the writing process more exciting for me as each day I come to it with fresh ideas. There are also no expectations about what I must write which I would find intimidating. I try to capture the excitement I felt when I was young and at school and the teacher wrote a situation or a sentence on the board and asked us to write a story about it. This became the essence of the joy of writing for me, the endless possibilities of worlds I could create. The only barrier were the limits of my own imagination. Writing is difficult, and it should be a challenge, but it should never be a chore. You have to love what you do, or why bother, and remind yourself that it is a true privilege to be able to create.Adopting this approach can be exciting, but you also need to be honest with yourself and at times ruthless. While I’m writing I become obsessed with the story and spend all my time thinking about what might happen next. Sometimes this leads me down dead ends, hence the need to be self critical and brutal. If something isn’t working I have to let it go, and I cull a lot of sections in my first drafts. The scenario approach I took from Stephen King in his excellent work ‘On Writing.’ It unlocked the method that works best for me, and I’ve tried lots of others over the years which haven’t. There is no right or wrong way to write though, only your way. The hard part is finding it.Q2. What is your most important strength as a writer? Whilst I may not plan, there is another weapon you must have in your armoury if you are to succeed. Discipline is the most important quality I believe anyone can bring to the writing process. I try to write as much as I can and when I’m working on a novel I set daily word targets. I record everything on a spreadsheet and give myself rewards when I hit key milestones. I approach each piece of writing as I would a project. The momentum this discipline brings means I can get a first draft completed relatively quickly. These drafts are raw and need a lot of subsequent work, but the energy and drive comes through in the writing. For me this momentum is vital. Some might argue this disciplined approach is planning, and I wouldn’t disagree. It is important to have structure and routine in your work. Give something time and it will reward you. There is no substitute for dedication and hard work. It is a talent more valuable than any other.Q3. How much research do you do for your novels?I do some, but for someone with a research background, surprisingly little. For ‘The Storm’ I researched the story of the attempted rescue ‘Embla’ from local history sources. I also knew a bit about Phillip Jefferson having been involved in the ‘Haalin’ the Lines’ project, of which he was a key character. I also visited the Laing Gallery in Newcastle where there are paintings of local fishing communities from the nineteenth century. These were invaluable in helping me paint pictures in my head so I could create authentic scenes and transport the reader there. Other than that I just make it up. I’m a writer of fiction and my imagination is my book of spells. The magic of the art is we are allowed to make things up.Q4. What is the your biggest obstacle to writing?Self doubt is the most crippling part of the creative process. This and the fear that someday you may have to share your work with readers. We all have these anxieties and every writer I have met talks about this. My most useful tip on this would be this. At the beginning of every session I write on a post it note ‘No-one needs to read this.’ I place it on the desk next to me. Once I remind myself I am writing for me then I feel liberated from the fear and doubt. If other people enjoy what I write it’s a bonus, the main thing is that I enjoy the process and all the challenges it brings. Don’t think of the tyranny of the blank page, see only the joy of the endless possibilities. It is your story, your world, your creation, believe in yourself and enjoy it.

Sleeping shadows

There is a disturbing tragedy unfolding on our streets and it is growing every day. As drunken groups of revellers stumble from bar to bar, and couples roll out of restaurants, doorways are filled with anonymous sleeping shadows. These are the forgotten, the ignored, our shame. As I wandered through Newcastle in the late evening I saw them everywhere. No street or underpass was untouched, even on a patch of grass next to the Civic Centre a battered tent was pitched. Oh the bitter irony. I was listening to Dylan as I walked, and was reminded of the line, 'How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn't see?' This is an indictment of our society. We should not allow it to happen. It is a powerful reminder we are failing.It is estimated there are over 9,000 people sleeping rough on our streets every night. Most likely there are more. That is more than the population of a town such as Alnwick. All happening without scorn or scandal in one of the world’s wealthiest countries. 9,000 individual human experiences, people suffering with mental health problems, addictions, abuse, or financial destitution. The average life expectancy of the homeless is forty seven. On a bitter winter night I wonder how any survive. Imagine these people crammed in a ghetto and left to rot. There would be a public outcry, but instead we continue to look away, pretend we don’t see. Their tragedy is lessened, widespread, dispersed, and easier to ignore. I have lived in Newcastle on and off for many years, and I have never seen so many people in such dire need. I lived in India in my twenties and saw this frequently. It shocked, saddened and angered me then, but I never thought it would become a common sight back home in my own relatively prosperous world. Why do we accept this? Maybe we have become desensitised, or feel helpless, guilt or even shame. Perhaps we judge, seeing the drug addled symptom and not the human suffering or the desperate cause. It is said we are all only a couple of tragedies away from the streets. Job loss, illness, a breakdown, or divorce. Many of us have friends and family to offer support, not all are so lucky. For some family is their biggest threat and the very thing they are running away from.Society is measured by the value we place on life, not the life of the successful or the privileged, but the lives of the needy, the suffering, those without privilege. Society is judged by the warmth of the helping hand. Every person sleeping rough tonight, their value is our value. This is what defines a government, a community, what defines us all. When we reflect on who we are, as a community and a nation we should ask a very simple question. Is this the kind of society we want to live in? It's all about our priorities, our values, our decency. Is this what we have become? We are better than this. We have to be.

Do what you love

In 2015 I was looking for a new challenge. Disillusioned with my job, I was toying with the idea of packing it all in and taking a risk. I wanted to write, do something I loved, follow my dream. Then something special happened, looking back it may even have been something magical. One day, in between cycling to meetings I stopped off at the Quayside for lunch. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and I found an empty bench overlooking the Tyne. The water was still, like glass, a mirror. I looked down and beside me was a copy of Skellig by David Almond. One of my favourite authors, he is a local writer, brought up in Felling, Gateshead a couple of miles from where I sat. Almond is a master of the craft, one of the great writers of our time. Skellig is his masterpiece, a heartbreaking modern fairy tale. I knew it was an omen telling me what I needed to do. I handed in my notice at Gateshead Council the following week, and just over one year later published my first novel, ‘Becoming.’ I have never regretted that decision to follow my heart, and always look back on that day as the turning point. Writing is my passion now, and I can’t imagine a future without it. Sometimes we get these signs, more often we ignore them, occasionally we are brave enough to act. My dad had died a few months earlier, and he always wanted me to write. Perhaps it was his guiding hand, or that simply through his death I realised that time was precious and you must make every day matter. Whether you believe in fate or not. You make your own destiny. I made the decision that day. I took the risk. Do what you love.

'The Mighty Redcar'

I had a drive up to Ford Castle in the summer. I go there quite a lot with my work as we use it as one of our activity centres. It hasn't changed much over the years, I guess that’s the nature of historic buildings. It seems smaller each time I go, but everywhere does, once you’ve left and returned. This was something my Dad said to me when I first went to live abroad. He was wrong about a lot of things my old man, but not that. I always look forward to the journey up to Ford, of soaking up the dramatic scenery of North Northumberland. It reminds me so much of writing 'Becoming' as many of the scenes were inspired by time spent there in my youth. Memories flood back of a school trip to the castle in the 1980s, of messing about with mates, chasing girls and running from teachers, of a large group of us playing Ouija board in a cold, dark hall. Memories of a lifetime. Special ones. The ones formed in your childhood and teens. They seem to stay with you forever. This was another thing my Dad was right about. Maybe he was wiser than I thought.You meet many people as you meander through life. You make many friends. Yet, there is something deeper and more enduring about the friendships forged in youth. Perhaps it is those shared formative experiences. Or the hours spent together when time was plentiful and responsibilities few. It’s the time of hope, of endless possibilities. Some bonds are different, they last a lifetime, and will never be broken. Many of many special friendships were forged on those trips, in that landscape. I miss them.The other thing I cherish about the journey is the scenery. I have always found the beauty of my home county overwhelming. I love the isolation. In this world of infinite interaction I long for places to lose myself, the space and time to be alone. Age has given me the confidence to enjoy being alone, the realisation it isn’t something to be ashamed of, more to cherish. My favourite places are the beaches, with their miles of golden wilderness shared with only the few. Then there are the rivers, fields, hills and woods all offering so much joy, so many surprises. Every home feels special, but nowhere beats Northumberland.The trips remind me of something we take for granted. The North is often looked down upon or forgotten, particularly by the commuter classes and suits of the capital. We know something they don’t. We are the fortunate, we are the chosen. We have found a secret of the true treasury of life. One that is not found in money, property, or possessions. Our wealth lies in the fruits of our community, of love and beauty, of joy and shared experience. Our wealth lies all around us. To my mind this makes us the richest people on Earth.I sometimes think my school trip to Ford Castle had more of an influence on ‘Becoming’ than I first recognised. When I wrote the novel I tried to write about how I felt in my late teens, what my frustrations were, and how difficult it was to make the transition into the adult world. That’s really what the book is about. It’s about young people trying to find who they are, to become. The eighties were the years of my becoming. It was a difficult time in many ways. Being a teenager is tough, and being different at my school was perilous. You had to blend in to survive, and learn to be someone else. An old schoolfriend said to me you should never have to be someone else to survive. He’s right, but I was young and felt vulnerable, so I compromised. I lost myself. Some of the kids at our school didn’t, and they suffered for it.There weren’t many opportunities for young working class kids in the North East in the eighties. There was the strike, and the pits closing. The scraps of industry were in their final days of dying. The service economy hadn’t really found its way up north. It was a period of major change and education was my way of taking some control of my life and escaping. Education was everything to me. Looking back I realise how important it was, and how fortunate I was I made something from it.I’m watching ‘The Mighty Redcar’ at the moment. I think many of us are. It’s generating a real buzz. It’s a tremendous piece of documentary making. Gritty, real, powerful and touching. It is honest and true and doesn’t condescend or sensationalise. There’s a universality to its message. You are watching young people struggling to find themselves, to realise their dreams. At the same time, it reminds us of when we were young, and faced the same struggles. Some of us look back with regret, others with relief. The young people of the ‘The Mighty Redcar’ aren’t just the children of a small, seaside town in Teeside. They are much more than that. They are all our children. Like all great art, the programme is a mirror, giving us a reflection of ourselves. It touches something deep inside us all. Much as I love it, the documentary angers me. In the thirty or so years since I was growing up, the communities I know and love are still facing the same struggles, the same indifference and neglect. The documentary raises important questions, not least what kind of a society lets this happen? The measure of a good society should be the extent to which our young people find their dreams. Our goal should be to nurture and support them, give them the courage to find themselves, and the wings to fly. Society is about creating opportunities, for all, not just the few. If we fail our children, all our children, then we have failed as a society. Each episode leaves me with one overriding thought. We must be better than this.

No more heroes?

Like much of my writing ‘The Storm’ was inspired by music, people and community. My fascination with ‘Big’ Philip Jefferson began with a musical project ‘Haalin’ the Lines.’ Funded by BAIT in South-East Northumberland, the project was led by the remarkable performer and singer-songwriter, Tim Dalling. Tim was commissioned by BAIT to take historical accounts being gathered by the Newbiggin Genealogy Project and put some of the stories to music. The aim was to bring back to life the tales and oral histories of local heroes in the village. One of those heroes was ‘Big’ Phil, the first Newbiggin Lifeboat Coxswain who was awarded a clasp to his silver medal for an attempted service to the brig 'Embla' in 1854. As well as Tim and the Genealogy Project team, led by Hilton Dawson, the project also involved local choir, 20,000 Voices, Newbiggin soprano singer, Susan Robertson, musical arrangers Ken Patterson and Richard Scott, and members of Jayess Newbiggin Brass Band, for which I play solo horn. We delivered a number of acclaimed performances all expertly conducted by 20,000 Voices Musical Director, Graham Coatman. We even featured on Robson Green’s ‘Tales from Northumberland.’ A clip from the show can be seen here: The project and stories it revealed inspired me, but mostly the story of Philip and that night of remarkable heroism. I was humbled when I thought of the terror they must have faced, yet still they acted, still they risked their lives. It raised an important question: who are the real heroes? History is filled with tales of kings and queens, leaders and generals. This is the history they teach us at school. Is it an act of heroism for a general to give the order to send young men to their deaths? Is it heroic for a king or a politician to make decisions that impact on the lives of the people they serve? Does a hero direct or does a hero act? It stuck me the true heroes aren’t the ones I was told about at school, but that they all around us. They are the people who built our communities, who lived and died for our families, friends, and neighbours. They are the people who struggled in the face of deprivation and suffering to create everything that we are. As we played and sang in front of the community we celebrated and came from, it struck me how all of us are alive today thanks to the heroism of those people communities of the past. None of us would have been performing that day, if it wasn’t for them. In celebrating their acts we were celebrating life itself. We owe everything to them. What remains of those heroes is love and memories, and I realised how vital it is we keep those alive. Heritage is the best of history. It is not about harking back to the glory days of the past, and wishing things were as they were. It is about seeking out the lessons of the past, understanding what made us who we are, what brought us here, the acts that shaped us. Why? So we can be the best of humanity, and ensure our actions shape a better future for our communities and children. Writers, historians, musicians, artists and all creatives play an important role in keeping our heroes alive. They can raise issues, stimulate debate, and provoke challenging questions. I tell stories, I always have. Now I put them into books. I hope my books are more than just stories, but help people think and reflect on the world. Love is a key theme that underpins ‘The Storm.’ Love of family and community, and the lengths people will go to in order to protect that love. However, it is about something else, it is about love and strangers, how we view and treat them, especially when we think the people and things we love are being threatened. Philip Jefferson and those young men didn’t face the storm and risk their lives on that night to save their own. They, and the women who hauled the lifeboat to the water, risked their lives for people they had never met, for strangers. To risk everything for those you love is an act of heroism. To risk it to save those that others love and you have never know strikes me as the noblest of all acts. It is an example of the best that we can be, it truly is the best of humanity.My aim in writing ‘The Storm’ is to help Philip’s legacy carry on. It is a tale of selfless heroism, an inspiration not only to the people of Newbiggin, but to us all. Phil and his crew of young men attempted to save the ‘Embla’ that stormy night in 1854. This much we know. Their valiant rescue failed. The crew of the ‘Embla’ all perished, and were buried in the graveyard of St Mary the Virgin Church at Woodhorn. The rest of ‘The Storm’ is just a story, a folk tale, words conjured from the dark chambers of my mind, and sprinkled with my wild and fanciful imagination. I hope that in writing it I have captured some of the spirit of Philip Jefferson, and helped ensure he lives on in all who read it.