Dear Settlement Members and Friends,
I trust you have being enjoying plenty of activities at the Settlement recently. Amazingly, we are now on the brink of the second half of the spring term 2025!
The courses and the one event listed below still have, at the time of writing, some places available. Do book for something exciting now if you haven’t done so already!
Event: Saturday 22nd February
GeorgeGershwin – Letchworth Settlement 7-10:30pm
Derek Blyth, lecturer and musician, together with singer Rachel Thomas, present a lecture-recital on the life and music of the much-loved American composer, George Gershwin.
Starting Monday 24th February
Watercolours– Letchworth Settlement Explore the highly creative world of watercolours with tutor Sally Taylor. 9:30am – 12pm
GetWriting for All – Letchworth Settlement with tutor, Elizabeth Barber. 10am – 12pm
AbstractPainting – Letchworth Settlement Adopt a freer, less restricted, approach in this creative class with tutor Chantelle Stephenson. 12:30pm – 3pm
Introduction to Philosophy: Values and Choices – Letchworth Settlement Consider the concept of morality in the arts, and much more, with Dr. Lisa McNulty. 1- 3pm
Writingyour Memoirs – Letchworth Settlement Explore the themes and threads in your life so far in this creative writing group led by Dr. Sharon Priestley. 1- 3pm
Starting Tuesday 25th February
GetWriting for All Morning – Letchworth Settlement With tutor, Elizabeth Barber. 10am – 12pm
ChineseBrush Painting: Landscape – Letchworth Settlement Try alternative approaches to art in this practical class, suitable for beginners and improvers, led by tutor Marion Dearlove. 10am – 12:30pm
AppliedArts – Letchworth Settlement An experimental spirit extends over a wide range of materials and mixed media with tutor Chantelle Stephenson. 12:30 – 3pm
Olive,Again by Elizabeth Strout – Letchworth Settlement Explore this superb example of American contemporary writing with tutor Margaret Norwich. 1:30 – 3:30pm
WovenTapestry – Letchworth SettlementLearn woven tapestry skills at your own pace, with artist Lucy Sugden. 7 – 9pm
Starting Wednesday 26th February
FivePhysical Phenomena – Letchworth Settlement Hear Tim Parrott explain how the achievements of some of the greatest scientists of all time created what we now call Classical Physics. 10am – 12pm
GetWriting for All – Letchworth Settlement With tutor, Elizabeth Barber. 10am – 12pm
ContemporaryBasketry Improvers – Letchworth Settlement More construction techniques, with tutor Hazel Godfrey. 10am – 1pm
TheSketchbook – Letchworth Settlement Explore your own idea or theme with expert guidance from Chantelle Stephenson. 1-3pm
Yoga – LetchworthSettlement Raise your level of wellbeing with tutor Sarah Neale. 1.30 – 2.30pm
Starting Thursday 27th February
Portraiture– Letchworth Settlement Learn to sketch and paint vibrant portraits with tutor Komathy Cumarasamy. 10am – 12.30pm
ContemporaryBasketry Beginners – Letchworth Settlement Willow and other natural materials, with tutor Hazel Godfrey. 10am – 1pm
OilPainting – Letchworth Settlement Work from your own sketches, photography and still life – with tutor Chantelle Stephenson. 12.30 – 3pm
Genderand Relationships – Letchworth Settlement Deepen your understanding of the dynamics of human relationships. Tutor: Lesley Ayres. 7-9pm
Starting Friday 28th February
ExploringOpera – Letchworth Settlement Immerse yourself in the joyous world of opera with our deeply knowledgeable tutor, Derek Blyth. 10am – 12pm
WovenTapestry – Letchworth Settlement Learn woven tapestry skills at your own pace, with artist Lucy Sugden. 10am –12pm
GreekMyth – The Labyrinth of Myth – Letchworth Settlement Tutor Paul Drew presents the timeless stories of gods, heroes, and mythical creatures that have shaped Western culture. 1-3pm
Printmaking:Playing with Print – Letchworth Settlement Gelli plate printing, silkscreen, collagraph and much more with Settlement Assistant Manager, Carly Simmons. 1-3.30pm
Artists and Writer-in-Residence
Our two resident artists, Becky Ullah and Nade Simmons, have been contributing to the Settlement with their wonderful input all term. You may also have seen Pippa Harvey, our new Writer-in-Residence, in classes or in the Common Room researching material for future work, or chatting with people. Pippa has been active on social media too. Here is something she wrote recently – whist thinking about Christmas:
A Twist on Traditions
by Pippa Harvey
The card arrived that morning, after a difficult night clinging to the edge of the mattress while Rufus’ lolling torso and four legs claimed possession of the bed. Ruth was cross with herself for being so soft, knowing full well she’d allow him to take occupancy again that night and each that followed. David would have been dumbstruck by her lapsed dog discipline, but there was something reassuring about Rufus being close to her at night. Especially without David.
“Bloomin’ dog,” Ruth winced as her stiff body braced itself to pick up the usual advertising leaflets from the doormat – cleaning, tree-cutting and a particularly lurid one for pizzas and kebabs. She scooped up the whole stack for the recycling bin when she noticed the weight of the card between the thin papers. Dumping the junk mail, she looked down at it in her hands; handwritten address, the confident curve and slight tilt to the letters unmistakable. Still for a moment, her shoulders and neck hung heavy, the rest of her expression concealed by the mass of salt and pepper hair fallen across her face. With a sigh, she crossed the living room and propped the envelope behind a candlestick on the mantlepiece, partially obscured.
“Better crack on,” she said to herself, letting the dog out in the garden and pouring out his breakfast. But despite her best efforts to fall into her morning routine, the envelope nagged at the back of her mind and seemed to watch her from its perch like a CCTV camera. Finishing her tea, she tucked her chair under the table and swiped it from the mantlepiece.
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let your ruddy round robin ruin my day,” she grumbled, shoving it into a drawer out of sight in the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, she felt slightly better. Right, come on Ruth, Christmas decorations. Fetching the boxes from the loft was more of a struggle than she had reckoned. Did Faye help her last year? Must have done because she can’t remember lugging down such heavy boxes on her own. Well, Faye was busy making costumes for the grandkids’ school nativity, and Ruth didn’t like to ask her daughter for help unnecessarily. Eventually she devised a system of supporting the boxes out of the hatch until they reached the end of her fingertips and then letting them slide down the rest of the ladder, trying not to flinch as they landed with a thud at the bottom. It wasn’t her best idea; opening the boxes in the living room, some of the baubles splintered into sharp shards.
“Bugger it!” One of the pieces cut into her palm. Rolling open the drawer in the kitchen for a plaster, the letter stared back at her. “I know, I know. No doubt you’d have done a better job of it!” She slammed the drawer shut, feeling a little childish. Just open the damn thing! That’s what David would have said. And she would have done, if he’d been around, because it wouldn’t have mattered so much. Everything would have been different.
She knew who the letter was from. Her sister. Her sister, who lived in Canada, with her perfect daughters and son and multi-talented grandchildren. Her sister who, despite being ten years older, had a husband who was very much alive.
It wasn’t that Ruth was bitter. And of course, she appreciated Margaret lived far away and could hardly be visiting every five minutes. But it was the impersonal and infrequent contact she resented. That hurt.
It wasn’t so bad in the early days after David’s death. Margaret phoned a couple of times a week, which then became once a week after the first six months, and then once a month if she was lucky.
It was the same with friends locally. During the first year she was swamped by invitations– lunches, morning coffee, trips to the cinema and theatre. At one point she took to hiding behind the sofa when the doorbell rang to conserve a few moments to herself. It all changed in the second year, when friends and neighbours seemed to collectively decide her grieving period was over, despite the emptiness in her life resonating louder than ever. People stopped referring to him. Perhaps they thought it would upset her? As if mentioning his name would suddenly remind her she’d lost her husband of 42years!
For many years Margaret had taken to sending a round robin with her Christmas card. Ruth hated them– full of positives and superlatives that couldn’t possibly be an accurate reflection of her sister’s life over the past twelve months. But receiving one last Christmas – her first without David – that was the last straw. The same spiel of trips and holidays and family accolades, no doubt sent to all her acquaintances “with much love from Margaret”, with no thought for how Ruth was feeling.
No, Margaret could stick this year’s smug summary where the sun doesn’t shine.
Returning to the living room, Ruth’s heart sank, taking stock of all the boxes. Rufus sat in the middle of them all, looking put out that his space had been encroached.
“I know, mate, too many.”
Did she have to put all the decorations up? It was her decision now. Prising open another lid, she knew she just had to get on with it. What would the kids say on Christmas Day if Granny just stuck a star on top of the artificial tree, with malfunctioning fibre optic lights and a lopsided lean?
Once upon a time, decorating the tree was Ruth’s favourite activity, gathered with the rest of the family. Each gilded ball, angel and star was a link to the past, memories of Christmases filled with joy and excitement. Underneath the beads and bows were the homemade creations; Rudolph’s with wonky antlers and snowmen missing eyeballs, giving everyone a laugh and a reminder of school days. Of course, it wasn’t all rosy. There were plenty of sleep deprived festive celebrations, with over-excited children and the usual run of runny noses and vomiting bugs, and quarrels over the last purple Quality Street. Even with imperfections, there was enough magic to compensate. Dressing the tree together, they revelled in their shared history that glittered in the decorations, animated faces reflected in the golden orbs. Decorating the tree alone had the reverse effect; a reminder of happier times and of what she had lost.
Just as she did with everything else, Ruth got on with it, pausing only to fix herself a quick sandwich. Reaching the bottom of the last box, she noticed daylight was starting to fade.
“Right, better put the bins out before it’s pitch black.”
Country living had many benefits, but the absence of streetlighting wasn’t one of them. She avoided going out at night wherever possible. Rufus seemed to agree, rarely lingering outside after his nighttime convenience as he did during the day.
The light was steel grey outside. Wheeling her bin down the driveway, Ruth was lost in thought over what to cook for tea when something slammed into the bin, knocking it out of her hands and to the road.
“Aaaaaghhhh!”
A cyclist lay sprawled, his bike on its side, back wheel still spinning.
Ruth took a few seconds to recover from the shock before she stumbled towards him, but he had already begun to raise himself to a sitting position.
“What were you doing? Didn’t you see me coming?” he wheezed.
“Well, no…the bin was in front… don’t see many cyclists on this road. You alright?”
He didn’t answer but staggered to stand up, brushing off her assistance. As he tried to pick his bike from the ground, he struggled to put weight on his right leg.
“Look, you’ve clearly hurt yourself. Do you want to come inside for a minute?” Ruth frowned.
He was tense with pain, shoulders raised and face scowling. He looked around, as though trying to find another option and then realised there was none.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly.
Ruth righted the bin, stuffing back some of the broken Christmas ornaments that had escaped and spilled onto the road.
“Looks like you’ve had a day of accidents,” he said.
Ruth turned sharply, thinking he was making a dig, but he was looking at the plaster on her hand.
“Yeah, broken baubles. Let’s get you fixed.”
He was about her age, in pretty good shape apart from the recent injury. She noted his helmet, light rucksack on his back and sensible warm clothes that hopefully protected his fall.
He supported himself to the back door, hopping and limping, but accepted her arm to overcome the step. She guided him to the living room and he shrugged off his rucksack and coat.
“Here, sit down on the sofa. Prop your leg up on this while I get an ice pack.” She pushed a dining chair towards him.
Rufus came bounding over, tail wagging.
“No Rufus, give him some space!”
“He’s alright,” the man gave a half-smile, ruffling Rufus’s head, who obliged him with an approving lick. He started to unlace his right trainer awkwardly.
“No, don’t worry about that! Is it your knee?”
“Yeah,” he grimaced as he raised his leg and started to rollup his trousers. The skin wasn’t broken but there was swelling around the joint and it was already starting to bruise.
“Tea?” she asked as she returned with the icepack and a bag of peas wrapped in a tea towel.
“Yes please. Milk no sugar.”
“I don’t know which –the peas might mould to the knee,” she said as she walked away.
“Maybe. Sweetcorn could be better.”
She turned her head to look at him quizzically and he gave a small smile.
By the time she returned with steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits, he looked quite at home, less pain in his face with Rufus sat beside him.
“I’m Ruth, by the way,” she lowered the tray to the coffee table.
“I’d say pleased to meet you, but I’d rather it wasn’t like this. I’m Robert.” He took a sip of his tea and nodded appreciatively. “Your decorations look good,” he said, gazing around at the tree and the bunting and fairy lights traipsing the walls.
“Thanks. Nearly didn’t bother. Not the same when you’re on your own.”
He nodded before he took another sip. “I’m the same. Wife died in the summer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ruth respected his plain talking. She hated it when people said “passed away”. David didn’t gently fade away from life like watercolour bleeding into a wet-wash background. It was sudden and brutal, no less so two years on.
“Do you think you need the hospital?”
“No – probably just need to rest it up.”
Ruth sipped her tea, grateful that she wouldn’t have to face A & E. “You’ll need a lift home though – probably won’t fit the bike in the car, mind.”
“That’s okay. I’ll leave it here, if you’re willing, and pick it up when I’m up to driving.”
“Sure. Where were you going, on your bike?”
“Just dropping off a few Christmas cards. Anne – my wife – she used to write the cards. Thought I’d keep up the tradition this year, thank people again for coming to the funeral. Don’t think I’ll bother next year. Tried to save myself a few quid in stamps. Seems stupid now,” he said, gesturing towards his knee.
“Well, I’ve yet to do mine. If you add the addresses, I could post them for you?” Ruth said, biting her lip.
“No, you’re alright. Thanks for offering though.” He finished the dregs of his tea. “I don’t want to keep you?”
“Oh, it’s no bother. I was just going to start making tea,” she laid her mug on the tray. “That’s a thought – won’t it be tricky for you to make dinner?”
Robert shrugged, “I’ll manage somehow.”
“I’ve got gammon steaks – you’re welcome to stay?”
His eyes clouded, embarrassed.
Ruth’s face flushed. What am I thinking, asking this stranger to dinner? She got up from the sofa and picked up the tray, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t worry – you’re not obliged. Just thought it could be one less thing to worry about.”
“Okay then, if you’re sure.”
She nodded towards the coffee table. “The controller’s there if you want the TV.”
She went about preparing dinner with a flutter in her stomach. Don’t be stupid,she told herself, sure sign you’ve not cooked for a guest in a while.
When dinner was ready, she carried it through to Robert on a tray. She always made the effort to eat at the table since being on her own. The trays had come out when she and David had enjoyed a cheeky takeaway in front of the box on a Saturday night and hadn’t been used since.
If she was honest with herself, she enjoyed Rob’s company over dinner, a mixture of interesting conversation and companionable silence, with the TV buzzing in the background. After a coffee, she drove him home, which turned out to be the next village where he’d lived for a couple of years.
“Do you need a hand settling in?” she said as he opened the passenger door.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he replied, putting his weight on his left foot and easing out his right. “Thank you – well, not so much for knocking me over, but for dinner, the lift and…well, your kindness.”
“That’s no problem. Just give me a ring when you want to collect your bike.”
It was a couple of weeks later, eight days before Christmas, when his name flashed on her mobile and he asked to pop over. She’d thought about him several times, wondering how he was recovering and coping on his own, but every time she’d drafted a text, she deleted it before she pressed send. Somehow it just felt too forward.
When she opened the door, his face beamed.
“You’re looking a lot better.”
“Yeah. Still bruised but the swelling’s gone down. Doubt I’ll be riding my bike till after Christmas though.”
“No. With that in mind, I’ve got you something,” she reached for the gift bag she’d left by the door.
“What’s this?” he said, embarrassed.
“Open it and see.”
Still frowning, he drew a tissue wrapped gift from the bag. Unravelling the paper revealed a set of bike lights. There was laughter in his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
“Oh nothing – just thought they might come in handy for warning old ladies when they wheel out their bins.”
He laughed and accepted her offer of coffee.
Once they were in the living room, discussion drifted to Christmas.
“So, where will you be?” Ruth asked, warming her hands around the mug.
“Just at home,” Robert pulled a face. “It’s not a big deal for me. My son’s in America – he feels bad, not coming over this year, but he can’t really afford it. We’ll have a zoom call, no doubt. And I just want to get through the first one, y’know?”
Ruth nodded slowly, thinking. “Well, I’ve got my daughter’s family here. It will be noisy, and no doubt I’ll burn the parsnips again, but you’re welcome to come over for lunch. Just for a bit of company, if you like?” Her cheeks burned.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“No, you wouldn’t. But it’s up to you.”
Robert smiled. “In that case, I will, thank you. You’re very kind.”
Later she waved him off from the doorstep, the bike strapped to the back of his Land Rover. As she closed the door, she paused by the photo of her and David hanging in the hall. “It’s not like that, David. At least, I don’t think it is. But it’s nice to meet a new friend. You’d like him.”
Rufus padded up to her, tail wagging, and proceeded to follow her into the kitchen, where she rolled open the drawer. “Now, Rufus,” she said, pulling out the envelope, “I think I’m just about ready to face this.”
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Please let me know what you thought of that short story by email to [email protected] Pippa’s debut novel, ‘The Watcher’s Lullaby’, a psychological thriller set in rural Suffolk, is on sale in the office.
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See you soon,
-Nick
