The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in a paper the other day about this district and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around hear [sic], but there seems to be nothing around now excepting the wild fowl, which are very numorous. I believe salmon are numerous at certain times of the year. AS the songwriter Paddy McAloon sang: “Once more the sound of crying is number one across the earth.”

The Zepp was bombed from an aeroplane above, with an incendiary bomb by a Lieutenany Robertson (Johnson?). We have some relics some wire and wood framework. I encourage anyone who likes Sylvia Plath and wants to learn and understand more about her, to read Letters Home, for it is probably the most authentic source for the truths and lies that wore for the outside world. I have yet to read her journals. But I found that I did care in the end. This old, brown world of hissing gas fires, strange smells on the stairs, and filial duty worn like some heavy overcoat: how it hypnotises. When I wasn’t crying with laughter – “you can’t expect to enjoy yourself on holiday as you do at home” is among the more Hilda Ogden-ish advice Larkin dispenses to his ma – I was often close to sobbing at the sweet-sadness of it all. Behind the belly-aching and the penny-pinching, the making-do and the clay-cold depression, there is an immensity of kindness here, and the fact that this was sometimes so effortful on Larkin’s part only makes it the more tender (Eva, so anxious she could not sleep in her own house alone, frequently drove her son halfway round the bend). Headteacher’s letter to Year 10 parent\carers regarding Covid 19 cases in the yeargroup – 21st October 2020

July 2022

This optimism, this energy, this enthusiasm is almost confusing. After reading Plath's letters, I can't say that I understand her better. I am more doubtful of what I understand about who she was - her sentiments towards her mother, her father, her children, and husband... At the same time, this doubt makes me feel closer to understanding.

After offering the opportunity of treats including a delicious sushi buffet and a luxury afternoon tea. Housemates are gathered in the lounge and Big Brother says: “Housemates. Before the gates of heaven close for the day, I wanted to give you all the ultimate heavenly gift – your letters from home.”

December 2021

Nonetheless, she does write beautifully, and although some of the things she wrote could have been lifted directly from my diaries without even needing to change any of the specifics, more often than not I found myself reading a rather perfect evocation of something I had never thought to write down, or had not been able to express properly when I tried. Something I thought was mine alone.

How many more women should be separated from their babies? How many more women will die before mums in Northern Ireland get the support they need?There has been a bit of a fuss over Arthur this week. He has been trying to get in the Army unbeknown to his parents, but Mrs T. thought his parents ought to be informed about it, so she wrote and told them about him and he had to go home in hot haste last night. I guess he got in a fine row, but he won't say today. He is as miserable as anything. Really Will I never saw such a boy as he is. I am afraid he is going to the bad. I don't know if Mrs T. will keep him on or not. He says he has to join up in a fortnight, but as he is under age I suppose his parents could stop him. I don't know whether they will or not. For my part I hope he does go, he will be a jolly good riddance for there is nothing but rows and deceitfulness going on where he is. But it’s too easy to lay his emotional contortions at his mother’s feet. He was deeply loved by her: a gift, however claustrophobic at times, that should have made relationships easier, not more difficult. “When I am in I want to be out, and when I am out I want to be in,” he writes to Eva from Belfast, of his faltering social life. And what social history is here. You can almost smell it. This is a realm, now entirely disappeared, in which Louis Armstrong plays Bridlington, every posh dinner begins with celery soup, and little girls still keep their bedclothes in nightdress cases, as Kitty once did. It’s like visiting another planet – a chilly one, where the immersion heater is on only very rarely. And this, is it not, is one of the greatest reasons why we read. The best writing can break down the walls that separate us from each other - it can overcome the limitations of perception so we can understand what other people feel. "It is as if a hand has reached out, and taken yours." It is a whisper in the darkness as you lie awake at night, unable to sleep: You are not alone. Finally, reading Matty’s letter to him, Yinrun says: “Dear Matty. It’s been great to watch your friendships with your housemates develop. Your humour, kindness and sensitivity has always been at the heart of everything you’ve done.”

Well darling I don't know much more to say now, so will close with fondest love and kisses from your loving little girl. Emily.ON November 14 we finally had news that Belfast Trust will take forward plans for a Northern Ireland Mother and Baby Unit (MBU). Those of us who have been campaigning for many years are delighted that things are moving on, but it’s a bitter-sweet delight. We know that women have died while we’ve been waiting, and we know that unless there is an interim solution, women will continue to suffer while we wait for funding to be allocated and for a unit to be built. She reassures herself of hope, she outlines the future because there is one!, and she ensures that everyone knows how excited the world makes her, how inspiring life is, and how much time she pours into her writing, as well as how joyful poetry makes her. Members of APP’s NI Peer Support group, who have been campaigning hard for an MBU, tell us about the distress of being separated from their babies, and how this has stayed with them, in some cases for many, many years.