Oh, and if you are interested in helping a bunch of creative people get this project off the ground, why not pop along and see what they are offering. It's here if you want to look - they need more backers and they need them now:
http://www.zequs.com/campaign/bespoken#.Utgd-v1tcy4
The prompt from Sarah Salway was to write about an item of clothing that was sometimes worn to bring luck. Although my response doesn't quite do that, I kind of like where it took me. See what you think.
OUR DAD’S BESPOKE TAILORED COAT
Our dad’s last and best coat hangs on a
swan-neck brass hook behind the front door of my flat. It’s as if he might be
visiting and in a room somewhere, quiet and still. It is a smart bespoke
tailored coat made by Nathan Lehrman.
‘In this coat you will be made a prince or
a king,’ Nat said. ‘And men who do not know you will call you ‘sir’ and women
will turn their heads in the streets.’
Our mam said that was fine so long as it
did not turn our dad’s head.
We were not ever flush. Our dad got his
shirts from the Sunday market where you could get a bargain if you bought two
or three at a time. And his suits – the two that he owned, one for work and one
for weddings and funerals – were picked from a rack. So, a bespoke coat was
something special. It was a gift for a kindness our dad had done the tailor’s
family and it cost our dad not a single shiny penny.
Our dad was always doing that, small and
bigger good deeds, and he never made a big fuss about what he did and he never took
payment neither. Except, one day he got a special coat from Nathan Lehrman and
his brother.
I kept the coat after our dad passed away.
It still smelled of him then, old spice and cigarettes. And it held the shape
of him caught in the wool. I wear it sometimes, to give me strength on hard
days, just in the flat. It’s too big for me really and almost touches the toes
of my shoes. It’s like being hugged by our dad. And I put my hands in the deep
pockets, fingering the small treasures hidden there – glassy smooth pebbles,
and shells with rough cut spirals, and bus tickets worn as soft as cloth, and
loose change and paperclips and a half empty box of Bluebell matches that
rattles.
Now the coat hangs on a hook and, like I
said, it’s as though he is visiting, our dad, and as though I could walk into a
room and find him there sitting upright and still and kingly.
1 comment:
Ok, so the crowd-funding thing sort of fell through - not everyone can reach their target. Shame, because I think this is a project that deserves funding.
No matter, they are carrying the project forward anyway. If you go to their blog you will find a rush of writing prompts appearing there. There are snippets of interesting information there, too, and something's bound to fire your imagination.
Best of luck with the whole venture.
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