Finding Treasure in a Notebook
Finding Treasure in a Notebook
I’ve used a notebook for years. I keep one by my bed in case Inspiration arrives in those drowsy times before and after sleep, and the dream state offers up the occasional gem. Of course, day to day observations and thoughts provide most of the little details that can be so useful when writing. If these gifts aren’t notarized quickly, I find they just float away and are lost. Sometimes the inspiration and ideas remembered by browsing through notebooks can be significant, even years after the original notation.
Fifteen years ago I was on a business trip to Europe, attending trade shows in Stockholm and Dublin. I had a few days between venues and decided to spend them in my boyhood home of London. Since my family had moved to Canada, I’d only visited there a few times and it seemed crazy to pass up the opportunity. An incident occurred on the London Underground that shook me somehow and I thought about it for days. Fortunately, it made its way into my notebook before the memory faded. Eventually, this experience strongly influenced a chapter in a novel.
I was travelling on the Victoria Line, heading back to my hotel in the Green Park area. It was a rainy Saturday and the Underground was crowded with tourists and shoppers. I was packed in and clutching a ceiling strap about ten feet from a doorway. The train rumbled into Oxford Circus, arguably one of the busiest stations in the system. The platform was packed with busy, hurrying commuters. The door closest to me slid open and a new mass of passengers wedged into whatever space they could find.
The last passenger to get through the door was a little boy of about six. He was all decked out in a yellow rain slicker, yellow Wellingtons and even a yellow sou’wester style hat. All of his rain gear was slick with moisture and his hat was still dripping. He jumped through the door gleefully, landing with a thump on his shiny Wellingtons. The broad grin evaporated instantly when he turned back to the closed door and saw the faces of his panic stricken parents on the other side of the glass. You could barely hear the father’s voice, but his message got through to a few passengers. He had mouthed the words ‘next stop’ with great exaggeration as he jogged along the platform beside the train.
Two young ladies comforted the terrified boy, and were soon joined by a male passenger who identified himself as an off duty London policeman. Together they took the boy off at the next stop and delivered him to a uniformed policeman and a transit official, presumably to wait for the arrival of his parents on the next train. I’m sure it was a joyful and somewhat tearful reunion.
It was easy to draw on the raw emotion of that young boy and his parents when I wrote a chapter for my World War Two novel Bravo’s Veil. The chapter described the fear and anxiety associated with a child being separated from his family during the evacuation of London. The scene would have been written anyway, but as a writer, I felt a surge of emotional empowerment from the notation that I think gave the scene more impact.
Even if you aren’t a writer, use a notebook to keep your experiences secure. These jottings can be a treasure for life. Don’t let the memories or lessons drift away. And don’t worry about perfection; just make notes in any fashion you chose. Life is rich in good times and in bad, and in the words of Plato or Socrates (both have been given credit for this statement over the years), an unexamined life is not worth the living. Examine your memories, make notes as they occur, preserve them and share them. It’s our birthright to tell and to hear stories, don’t let yours die with you.
Bravo’s Veil is currently out of print. Another edition will be published in March 2016.
—Michael Croucher