Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

As a brief interlude before my series of blogs begin: I recognize that I haven’t posted these in a timely fashion, but nevertheless they chronicle my experiences in consecutive order. Enjoy!

Well it’s Thursday, April 8^th and I am about to embark on a very interesting tour. A ghost tour in fact, through our beloved Norwich.  To catch everyone up to speed, my paper topic delves into the history and anthropological value that ghost stories have had on the past and how these stories are translated into our modern culture. In my research and experiential learning, I myself was surprised to see how the evolutions of politics, religion, and class distinctions have evolved in such stories throughout the centuries. Therefore, this evening, I’m attempting to find my way to the Adam and Eve pub where my ghost tour begins at 7:30 pm. I have no idea what to expect, though at least I know the mapping of the tour. We begin by meeting at the Adam and Eve pub, (probably Norwich’s oldest pub as we all know) and proceeding up towards Tombland before heading toward The Whiffler Theatre which apparently was the site of many executions at the Castle Gates. We go back through the Cathedral grounds to Bishop’s Bridge and the Cow Tower before returning for “our finale back at the Adam and Eve” pub. The women I spoke to over the phone assured me that it would be a very interesting walk, and “lots of fun”. My initial response to this was one of indignation; “well it better be worth it because I’m paying six quid for this which COULD have been better spent on quite a few cans of vegetable curry.” The website assured me that “on this walk you will hear about cannibalism, wife murder, lots of witches and lollards not to mention the ghosts of plague victims buried in communal graves without name or ceremony (always a good source of spirit behaviour).” Well, I’m always up for hearing about a little cannibalism and hopefully myriad wife murders so I’m thinking that this tour should be very informative and hopefully an entertaining experience.

I myself have never been on a ghost tour, nor do I really believe in ghosts. In fact, the first time that I actually first encountered someone who truly believed in the existence of such spectral badasses was our very own Anya Settle who is convinced that her room here at UEA is haunted. Not to get briefly off topic, but I had a conversation in Starbucks recently about Anya’s ghostly fears, and Andrew Barron just looked at Anya sceptically and said, “Your room is NOT haunted Anya”. Anya hesitated for a moment, and said, “you don’t have to SLEEP there Barron”.  So I guess that puts Barron and I into the “non-believers” category and Anya into the “believers” one…but ultimately it’s not really about truly believing in the existence of ghosts, it’s about what historical value can be discovered from these legends and what hidden cultural significance lies within these oral stories. I’m hoping that this tour will aid in my understanding of Norwich’s history and not simply be some silly tour meant to frighten 6-7 year old girls; I want to extract the deeper essence that brings past societies and ideals back to life. Lastly, if any of you have an interest in watching a brief clip from the tour guide himself without paying the 6 quid, here is a link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1rDNQbo5x8. For now, I’m off to walk the loop around Norwich!

Yesterday, I was given the opportunity to go back to Future Radio and spend a little more time at the station.  After communicating with Tom Buckham again to try and reschedule after missing our original day (due to volcano ash) I was invited to come into Jasmine’s Friday morning “Community Chest” program from 10am-12pm.  Jasmine described the program as a venue for lots of listener feedback and conversation through online messaging as well as a show, typically packed of in-studio guests.  Being the morning after the general election I was excited to sit in on a show with what I anticipated would be very full and debate/discussion based.  But, when I arrived at the station everyone on staff was disappointed to discover that the internet was down, meaning that Jasmine’s show would be missing a huge part.  Additionally on this particular Friday, there was only one scheduled guest (two members (father and son) of a Brazilian band who are playing at Norwich’s “Shake Up”, the Norwich Pride warm up event, scheduled for next weekend.  It was great to hear the two drummers play (very loudly) in studio, it really woke me up, and now I’m thinking of going down to check out the event to see the full band as well as the other acts.  I was also fascinated to learn more about the 2nd Annual Norwich Pride event happening July 31, 2010.  Along with discussing “Shake Up” there were two pre-recorded pieces about the Norfolk & Norwich Festival.

Later in the show a local police officer came in (rather unexpectedly) to discuss the efforts the police department are making to prevent racial crimes in the Larkman area, near the radio station.  A brief segment, but it, along with the other guests really opened my eyes up to all of the events and activities that happen in Norwich that I don’t even know about.  It made me regret not taking more advantage of the activities this past year, but also made me excited about attending upcoming activites, especially some of NNF, during my final weeks in Norwich.

At the end of Jasmine’s show, Eamonn Burgess, the host of the next program “The Sight of Music” (a station aimed at playing music in film and television) came in and allowed me to sit in on his show as well.  During Eamonn’s show another presenter at Future Radio was waiting for the results of the North Norfolk election to be announced, so he called in and there was a “breaking news” feature with the live results of the elections.

It was fun to sit in and talk on-air with both Jasmine and Eamonn. I don’t know how many of you have sat in on 4 hours straight of radio (without actually being the one on-air, controlling the music, buttons, fade, etc) but it’s not as exciting as it sounds (and it’s not the first time I’ve done it).  Sitting and talking to people who volunteer at the station and live in the Norwich area was great, and helpful for my paper, however I look forward to my next extended time at a radio station being back in the states working on promotional events (a little more up my alley).

It’s been a while between paper writing, traveling the world, and getting caught by a volcano….but I finally found time over spring break to sit down and reflect on my conversation on March 16 with Tom Buckham, manager at Future Radio. (and now almost a month later am finding time to actually post it in the blog)
After having spent some time interviewing and shadowing people at BBC Radio Norfolk I was ready to do a little comparison and to learn more about Future Radio, other than what I had read about on their website. So on Tuesday March 16th I used Google Maps to location the station and figure out which bus I would need to take.  After double-checking with my Norwich A-Z (and confirming with my housekeeper, Tina) I discovered that the station was only a 20-minute walk down Earlham Green.  I was off, and finally ready to learn more about the station, beyond the website.  Winding down neighborhood streets I finally stumbled upon Norfolk Community Center in the middle of Motum Road. Taken aback a little by the size of the complex (not big by any means, but certainly a decent size for the location) I wandered around and found the entrance to Future Radio.  Future Radio is a community radio station as a part of Future Projects, an organization aimed to bring art, education, and media to students aged 13-16.
Community radio stations are required to get a license through Ofcom before being established.  Currently Future Radio is preparing to have their broadcast expanded from just West Norwich to the East and Southeastern parts of the city as well.  This expansion is a result of being the first community radio station to reapply for, and be accepted for this expansion and license extension.  Because of this re-launch, as well as the other day-to-day responsibility of being manager, Tom Buckham and I only had about 30 minutes to talk, but his information about the station was invaluable.
We initially discussed the basics of the station not covered on the website, such as: where their funding comes from, how program topics were determined, and what influences the station and their programs.  I learned that roughly 165 station volunteers choose what they are going to broadcast on, based on personal interest, and the varied cultural make-up of Norwich.  One of the aims of Future Radio is to be able to offer all members of the community at least one hour or so of radio that they want to tune into.
This goal allows an interest in Future Radio to build, however being a station aimed at targeting the greater Norwich community, it is challenging because they are in a category where they are ‘competing’ with stations similar in goal that have a lot more funding and are more recognizable by name, like BBC Radio Norfolk.  Tom and I discussed BBC Radio Norfolk further and he said that for them it’s not comparing themselves as stations (I guess that was just my competitive American mentality, forcing a comparison), but it really is more about providing the best stations with the best programs they can for the Norwich community.  He mentioned that over the past 2-3 years as Future Radio has been building as a station; BBC Radio Norfolk has been extremely supportive and helpful.  Buckham also told me more about the relationship Future Radio has with the Norwich Community Council as well as the current relationship they have with the Norfolk Broads.
It was great to talk with Tom and to learn first-hand more about Future Radio (because reading about it for the past few months has not been the same). Next week [when this blog was written it was supposed to be next week…. volcano disrupted these plans.] I’m going back to the station to spend a shadow day like I did at BBC Radio Norfolk and I hope talking with more people and spending a longer period of time at the station will give me an even better idea of what Future Radio is really like.

Horace Blue Gallery is on Lower Goat Lane (which also happens to be my favourite street in all of Norwich) and I can remember passing by a few times first semester and wondering what might be hidden behind all the funky graffiti and funny cartoon faces. In December I got my first chance. Unfortunately, the owner was not around. But I was able to browse the two tiny rooms of the gallery, which was filled with contemporary art from floor to ceiling. The first thing I noticed about the art was the incredible variety. This place had everything from painting to pottery, and all sorts of crazy mixed media pieces on display in a cabinet at the back of the first room. After obtaining a business card from the woman who was looking after the gallery in the owner’s absence, I was able to get in touch with Mr. Keith Webber. Keith is an architect who also happens to run the Horace Blue Gallery. He is currently in Jersey working on a project, so all of my correspondence with him was by email. After a the first few emails back and forth I sent Keith a questionnaire about the way he runs his gallery, the kinds of clients he markets for and other market related topics. I was hoping to receive more of an up beat response after the last word I had heard from him about the Norwich art market (see my previous post for more details). Horace Blue Gallery is more avant-garde than the other establishments I have been in contact with, so I wasn’t too surprised by his answers (just a little disappointed in Norwich). The work in his gallery is mostly by friends of his, or artists he has met through his network of friends. Currently he has about fifty artists that have shown at the gallery. Like the other owners I have interviewed, Keith tended to go for the ‘nice guy’ approach when it concerns potential buyers. He claims he is not willing to cultivate a false relationship just to make a sale, especially if that client becomes a collector… “if I don’t like someone I’m not going to have any sort of relationship with them, so the few collectors I know, I have become friends with.” From my research into the world of the art gallery, this sort of statement is commonplace for small gallery owners who would rather be your friend that your supplier of fine art. Hopefully…eventually that friendship will blossom into a regular sale for the gallery. Unfortunately for Keith, it seems he made the wrong sort of friends (financially, that is). In his own words,

“I show work I like. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t been a financial success. So the people I attract were people who shared my tastes…which is great, because you immediately have something in common with people who come in. I’ve made so many friends by having the gallery. I would have liked it if the people that came in had the money to buy what I was showing. I think the people who have money in Norfolk are older more traditional people, so their taste didn’t match mine.”

As much as Norwich is a city full of young culture and arts, with the UEA Sainsbury Centre, the Contemporary Arts Festival and the Norwich University College of the Arts it seems the gallery could not survive on support alone. As far as my research extends, most of the wealthier art buyers have more traditional taste and Horace Blue has become a victim of this statistic. I think that’s a real shame, because the artists at this gallery are from all over the UK and don’t seem to play into the generally fetishized market that emanates from London and also does not want to conform to the norm for provincial Norfolk. So I am left with the fact that this great little gallery will probably go under and Keith has once again managed to make me question what the art market is all about… how can the people of Norwich let this hip, young and quirky little gallery close up? SAVE HORACE BLUE!

Now for the nuts and bolts of being a stable-hand…it’s not easy, it’s slightly painful, but completely worthwhile. The typical day on the job begins at 630 with my alarm clock. I’m then picked up by Mr. Tibbles at 7 at the Earlham Road bus stop and then on my way to the yard. The trip is normally only 40 minutes, but its morning rush hour so it can take over up to an hour or so. And I must say, I do not like British traffic jams, mostly because every time I’ve been stuck in one I’ve also been in a roundabout. That’s just no fun at all and slightly scary. Once at the yard, the first task of day is feeding the horses. After that comes my least favorite part of the day-skipping out stalls. This means getting a wheelbarrow and pitchfork and scooping horse poop. There’s typically 10 or 11 horses at the yard which means on most days I would be responsible for skipping out anywhere from 5-8 stalls. Once the stall are cleaned, I would have to pull out the horses’ hay nets and refill them. This was somewhat tedious and not good for my allergies. After the stalls had been cleaned and hayed, it was time to exercise the horses. On an average day we would exercise ride 3 to 4 horses each out on the country lanes and then school one or two horses in the ring.
The riding portion of the day was by far the most physically demanding. Each exercise ride through various fields and lanes lasted roughly 40 to 60 minutes and covered roughly 3 to 5 miles. These rides typically started and ended on country lanes and in between consisted of various fields, woods, and streams. The riding in the ring was normally about 30 minutes per horse and dedicated either to jumping workouts or dressage practice. Normally the rides were broken up by lunch. After finishing the rides, I would be responsible for cleaning all the tack while Mr. Tibbles was giving lessons. Let’s just say cleaning anywhere from eight to eleven bridles, saddles and girths in one go is tiring. With the horses exercised and tack cleaned, the only things left are one last skip through the stalls, refilling the hay nets and sweeping up the main aisle.
That’s it for the responsibilities, but normally before we close up the yard there is a visit from the farrier for one or two horses to have their hooves trimmed and shoes fitted. This adds about an hour or two to each day, because Nick, the farrier, is quintessentially East Anglian. He loves a good bit of gossip and a cup or two of tea. Some days vary from the normal pattern and responsibilities such as with farrier visits. Other variations include going with Kelly, a fellow stable-hand, to other neighboring yards and exercising the horses there and at other times include going off the property to help with lessons. Overall, it’s rewarding work. It is tough, demanding and exhausting, but it provides me with the opportunity to keep riding and also to experience a part of East Anglia that not everybody gets to experience.

For the experiential portion of my final project I worked at a stable on the outskirts of Bungay, Suffolk. This is a bit removed from what I am writing about in my final paper, the Norwich Strangers, but is personally the best way for me to experience East Anglia outside of our program. I am sure I’ve mentioned this to most everybody on the trip at one point or another, but I am an enthusiastic equestrienne. I have been riding for nearly 13 years and can really not imagine a life for myself without some part of it being dedicated to horses and riding. Luckily, I had a connection with a horse trainer here in Norwich. Mr. Tibbles has been to Carlisle before to give riding camps and workshops and I was taken to these by an old riding instructor for multiple years in high school. And last June, he was once again back in Carlisle giving lessons for a few weeks and I managed to attend a few and talk to him about riding in Norwich. He told me just to send him an email once I was settled at UEA and then we could arrange something.
So, I had made contact for riding in Norwich, but didn’t know what I had signed up for until September. Once I was here at UEA, I got in contact with Mr. Tibbles and set up a schedule for what days I would be able to ride. In the first semester, we agreed that I could ride on Mondays and Thursdays. Now though, the question was how would I get to the yard(that’s what the Brits call a stable)? See Bungay is a good 35 minute drive from Norwich with no real direct public transportation between them. So, if I would go out I would have to go out with Mr. Tibbles. This meant that every day I wanted to ride, I would be at the yard from 8 until anywhere from 5 to 8. So we quickly came to the conclusion that I would work as a stable-hand for Mr. Tibbles in exchange for lessons and lunch. Yes, I got paid with pretty ponies and good lunches.
When I realized I had agreed to work one to two days a week with up to 12 hour days, I thought I was little bit crazy, but I do love horses and riding and I would be experiencing the country life and people of East Anglia firsthand. So obviously I thought it would be a good experience of the country without the influence and safety net of my fellow Dickinsonians. And being out at this stable in an area with more country lanes than actual paved roads and where the only thing I could see for miles was fields with crops or animals broken up by only few farms and old farmhouses and the odd wood here and there, really placed me perfectly for getting to know the people who live off of the land and its animals in East Anglia. In my other blogs, I will detail the tasks and schedules of my days and some of the experiences that helped me to understand East Anglia and its people a bit better.

Call it a melting pot, call it a salad bowl, call it macaroni and cheese with some veggies thrown in, England has consistently shown to be a diverse place filled with people from many different ethnic backgrounds. At first, I thought this would just be the case in London. A modern metropolis, the nation’s capital was guaranteed to have quite a bit of diversity, at least in my mind. London certainly did not disappoint. Still, I was unsure as to whether this diversity would continue in the rural countryside. My volunteer experience in Norwich has shown me that it does.

Staffed by volunteers from Australia, America, England, India, and South Africa, led by a woman from Sweden, filled with people ranging in age from their teen years to their more wrinkle-filled years, and represented by an equal amount of females and males, the Greehouse Trust operates due to the efforts of volunteers from every different type of background. As it is volunteer work, the company does not offer pay to any of its employees; it does, however, provide an excellent lunch as well as endless cups of tea and coffee to anyone who donates their time and energy there. They ask their volunteers to be timely but understand that speedbumps occur; they ask for efficiency but understand that daydreams can happen; they ask for everyone’s best but expect to use a gracious learning curve with most people. I say this not to build up the company but, rather, because I feel it offers a good parallel to England as a whole.

One of the major points of contention in the current election is the issue of immigration. The Liberal Democrats, the Conservatives, and the Labour Party all agree that something must be done to manage more closely the immigration process in the country. Their platforms are quite different but all suggest that the country is worried about the number of people coming into it. The positive side of the election is that none of the parties suggest completely closing the country’s borders; England still very much remains a tolerant nation, willing to allow non-native born people to live in the country. It does ask of those people trying to enter the country to jump through quite a few hoops in order to stay here. Still, once here, those immigrants are offered opportunities to establish a life as long as they abide by certain guidelines.

I may not agree with this blog post at the end of the election but, as of now, England operates in a similar fashion to the Greenhouse Trust. The Greenhouse Trust asks that its volunteers prepare to stay with the company for three to four months and follow certain guidelines of behaviour while there. Once accepted, the volunteers are treated equally and with respect. Sometimes there are awkward lulls in conversation during which times people are searching for common ground about which they can chat. But that’s the beauty of it. People are forced out of their comfort zones and must learn about different lifestyles if they desire to work in anything but silence for their four-hour shift. So conversation happens. And the melting pot melds together a bit more.

     Today I visited the Great Hospital for the last time, for their monthly Coffee Morning, held on the first Saturday of the month. The event took place in the Mackintosh Room, a multi-purpose hall at the heart of the Hospital’s grounds. Having baked a batch of double chocolate biscuits the night before, I presented my offering to the woman manning the bake sale. She immediately recognized me from St. Helen’s and asked if I was “the young woman doing the project on the Hospital.” I told her I was, and she called over a few of her friends to meet me. Edna eagerly asked if she could get me a cup of coffee.
– Yes, that’d be lovely, thank you.
– Do you take sugar?
– No, just black. Thank you. [I thought the English were supposed to be tea drinkers.]
     I shook hands with a few women who remarked how kind it was of me to bring biscuits, and how nice it was to have “a young person” around. I was invited to sit down at a large, rectangular table towards the back of the room, next to the ‘Bring & Buy’ table, a mini tag tale-type affair with donated goods. A woman, seated at the table, who had bought a gold-colored picture frame asked me:
– Are you American or Canadian?
– American. I smiled, nodding.
– Oh, I was just wondering because I’ve just bought this picture frame and it has ‘Canada’ stamped on the back.
– Ah, small world! I wonder how it ended up here. [Cargo ship, probably,] I thought. I wondered how many things on the table had ‘China’ stamped on the bottom.
I sidled up next to Ernie, a spectacle-wearing widower who looked to be in his late seventies. I introduced myself but he was reluctant to shake my outstretched hand, and, in fact, I didn’t get his name until half-way through our conversation. He warmed up enough to grill me on my Hospital knowledge, however.
– My project is on the history of the Hospital: the foundation, the functions it had and the services it provided, what it meant to the community and those types of things.
– So when was the Hospital founded?
– 1249, I reply, feeling absolved. Ernie nodded in quiet approval.
I explain to Ernie that another element of my project includes a modern look at the Hospital. The interrogation continued:
– So what have you found in your research so far?
– Hm, well, one thing in particular that I think is neat is the sense of community here. Since it’s so much larger than most other facilities, it almost feels like a small village, especially with having the parish community, here, too.
– And how do you account for those who don’t take part in the parish?
Thankfully, we are interrupted by Mary, who is struggling to return to her seat, now blocked by my chair. I scoot to allow her passage, thinking that Ernie must be an agnostic, and grateful for an excuse to evade his question. Ernie leans over me, introducing me to Mary. I shake her limp hand. She is disinterested in my presence.
Later, Ernie asks what I think of the male/female ratio at the Great Hospital, explaining that the population is comprised of 90% women.
– Hm, that’s a good question. You know, I hadn’t really thought about it too much. I didn’t think to look at it from a gender aspect. I turn the tables. What do you think, being a man?
Ernie argues it is more difficult for men to find social outlets at the Hospital. His neighbor jumps into the conversation, arguing in opposition.
– You all can go to pubs together and that sort of thing and it would be difficult for a woman to do that alone.
I ask Ernie if he finds social events like this to be helpful.
– Yes and no. He responds. When you talk to people at things like this it all ends being up very chatty. By this point, Ernie has warmed to me, leaning into me when he talks. He has even smiled and laughed a few times, revealing ivory-slick dentures, trying desperately not to display the loneliness he eludes to. I can see that he longs for deep connections, real and intimate conversation.
Mary gets up, brings her chair with her, and relocates to the other side of the table. She leaves behind her coffee and raffle tickets, so I get up to bring them to her. On the other side of the table, a woman seated near Mary grabs my hand.
– Are you the girl doing the project on the Hospital?
– Yes, that’s me. I sit down in an empty chair beside Ruby, putting my right hand atop hers that has already met my left. I explain the project to her and as she listens, I can see her glancing at the tattoos on my forearms. When I’ve finished explaining, and after she remarks at what a nice project it sounds like, she asks me about the tattoo on my right arm.
– It’s a Christian symbol.
– Yes, I know that. What is it?
– It’s called the Cross of Jerusalem.
– Oo.
– These four smaller crosses represent the four Gospels, and this, the Gospel of Luke, is highlighted in red because that’s where the Parable of the Good Samaritan lies within the Bible.
– Right.
– Which is a parable I try to live my life by. And this one is a Judeo-Christian term: Shalom. Peace. I point to my left forearm.
– Well, those are lovely. What kind of church to you attend at home, then?
I tell her Methodist, explain that I was baptized Catholic, refused to be confirmed and ended up at my current church after a bit of “church shopping.”
– Are you Anglican, then? I ask Ruby.
– Oh, no. Salvationist. I only go to St. Helen’s because it is convenient. But, you know, I find the Anglican Church a bit too solid.
– Yes, I’ve found that, too. The services seem more formal, a bit rigid.
– Yes! Ruby retorts and makes me smile at her vivaciousness. Everyone’s sitting there like concrete. I’m not concrete. If, Jesus is alive, then we should be full of life, too!
I smile and tell her that I agree. I notice that her hands are trembling slightly, feel the nerves in her hands firing between mine, see that in her other hand, she clutches a cane. She reminds me of my grandmother, a devout Catholic with a rock-solid faith, despite being crippled by Polio at sixteen, blind, and, at one point, temporarily deaf.
The woman manning the bake sale returns:
– I’ve washed up your plate and put it in the bag for you.
– Oh, thank you!
– Just be careful because it might be a bit wet still.
– Okay, I’ll just leave it in the bag, then, thanks.
I get up, leaving Ruby, to return my plate to my bag. I see a man rising from my previous seat next to Ernie, and he pulls it out for me to sit once more. Feeling obligated to sit, I do, and introduce myself. I find out that he is Chris, Ruby’s husband, and that he and Ernie were once sailors, and had just been reminiscing about old times.
Suddenly, the room becomes quiet, and I become confused. Then, Charlotte, who I later will come to learn is 93 (and doesn’t look it) say:
– 997. Pink. Pink 997. [Ah, the raffle has started,] I realize, and in my absence, Ernie has bought me five raffle tickets.
A woman who wins a bag of chocolates sends the treat around the table to share, and two other ladies who win twice give their tickets to their neighbors who haven’t yet won anything.
– Isn’t this exciting? Ernie jokes with me.
I end up winning an enormous Cadbury bar, and Ernie a bottle of Chardonnay. Chris and Ruby win, too, but I can’t make out their prize from across the table.
After the raffle, at almost exactly 11:15, the room begins to empty and the residents shuffle out. I say my goodbyes to Ernie:
– Best of luck to you.
– Thank you. It was great meeting you, Ernie, take care.
– You, too, dear.
And to Ruby and Chris:
– Enjoy the rest of your stay.
– Will do. Lovely meeting you both. Take care.
– Take care.
– Take good care.

On the 25 back to UEA, I see a man seated two rows in front of me. He has propped his head up against the window and is sleeping. His jacket is dusty and he is wearing checkered chef’s pants and a baseball cap. The cap is ill-fitting, and reveals that his head is scabbed, the hair caked with dried blood and sticking to his flaking scalp. The woman sitting in front of him glances back at him several times, looking him over, sneering.
[Is he only pretending to sleep? Is he homeless? How did his head end up like that?] I think to myself. I wonder if he needs money. I can see that his right hand is open through a gap between the seats. I imagine myself slipping a five pound note into his hand while he is still asleep. [I wonder if I even have a five pound note.] I don’t even bother to look in my wallet. I don’t want him to be offended by my assumption that he needs the money. But I keep staring at his open hand. When the bus reaches my stop, I walk past him, see his closed eyes in my peripheral vision, and go home.

– These four smaller crosses represent the four Gospels, and this, the Gospel of Luke, is highlighted in red because that’s where the Parable of the Good Samaritan lies within the Bible, which is a parable I try to live my life by.