Have you ever made an impulsive decision that has changed your life? I have made a few ropey decisions, mostly when I was much younger. Maybe we take fewer risks as we grow older, keeping within our comfort zone.

 Perhaps the most questionable decision was when I packed a rucksack and, on an impulse, flew from London to Tucson Arizona to surprise an American penfriend, who I had met on a previous visit. It seemed romantic at the time. I was twenty-one had just finished training as an occupational therapist and found myself with free time. So, I took a Freddie Laker flight to Arizona and an internal flight to Tuscon, buying my tickets the same or previous day. I’m not sure I even told my parents until the day I set off from my Hampstead bedsit, feeling like a brave, free-spirited adventurer. It wasn’t until I arrived in Tucson in the early hours of the morning that I realised I only had a post box address for my friend who lived in Bisbee 95 miles away.

We all make impulsive decisions at some point in our life, maybe several times. We are acting on a gut instinct that it is the right thing to do, despite it seeming to be irrational. Angie Winkle in The Borrowed Boy does just that. Her head tells her that she must return Danny to the young woman who lost him on the Tube and she tries to reunite them, but her instincts tell her that Danny needs her. He has welts on his back, and talks of being a naughty boy; he clings to Angie when they see the woman, he was parted from waiting at the statue. The woman is smiling as she chats on her phone. Angie’s train is about to depart and she has to decide in haste. So, she acts on instinct, listening to her gut, and takes Danny with her on a journey that changes both of their lives. 

The decisions that we make, shape our lives. There is a quote by Ayn Rand:

‘Everyman builds his world in his own image. 

He has the power to choose,

But no power to escape the necessity of choice.’

For forty years Angie had been afraid of making wrong decisions, and so she let life pass her by, watching from the side-lines. She found that not making decisions comes with consequences too. It wasn’t until Angie realised that life was short that she decided to make the most of every minute of every day. She had let life pass her by and now she vowed not to waste another moment. 

I would like to say that my spontaneous but risky decision making was a one-off but there were a few hairy moments in my younger years. Thank goodness my own daughter is much more sensible than me. The Arizona escapade had a happy ending because as unlikely as it may seem a young black guy who was waiting in the line behind me, heard me speak to the cab driver. He stepped forward and said that he knew where my friend lived. We shared a cab to Bisbee and true to his word he directed us to my friend’s house. I think he was one of many angels who have come to my rescue at different times in my life. The summer I spent in Bisbee was memorable and I would not change that experience. It led to other events in my life for which I am grateful.

Every day we make a multitude of decisions, some as simple as whether or not to eat a second biscuit, others are deceptively more critical. Sometimes we have time to weigh up the pros and cons and gather information to make an informed decision. At other times we have to act on instinct and hope for the best.

Angie’s decision to take Danny with her shapes her life. Whether it was the right decision or not, I will leave you to decide. One final quote from a meme – author unknown.

            ‘Sometimes you make choices in life and sometimes choices make you.’

Everybody needs to feel valued and respected for what they bring to the world. When a person retires or becomes redundant they may experience a feeling of being surplus to requirements. We all need to be needed and when we think that we have no useful purpose it can lead to depression. The truth is, we all need each other and every single person has something of value to contribute to their community. 

My novels The Borrowed Boy and Just Bea are about community life and how friendship and connection help the protagonists to overcome feelings of loneliness and isolation. Stories about the power of friendship and community have become popular in recent years with novels such as Saving Missy, Mr. Doubler Begins Again, and The Authenticity Project. 

I think this is because we idealise a community life of bygone days. Out of town superstores, on-line shopping and services, and an economy where everything is paid for – even the giving of care, means that personal, local transactions have diminished. Neighbourhoods are transient as people move in and out of the area. In towns where people leave home to go to work each day, there may be very little interaction between neighbours. 

When you are experiencing a busy home and working life this may not concern you. But what happens when that changes? Divorce, retirement, bereavement, or a shift to working from home as a result of the pandemic may change your perspective. Suddenly, the connections you took for granted are no longer there and you may feel isolated. 

The pandemic has shaken up our world in so many ways. Life will never be the same again as we adapt to new ways of living. Not all of the changes will be negative. Already, people are moving out of big cities to the countryside and seaside villages, as they anticipate working from home several days a week. We have started to buy local produce and favour smaller stores, alongside shopping on-line. Maybe we will start to look to our local community and neighbourhood to find what we need to survive.

Readers of my blogs on personal development will know that I believe on a personal level we have everything that we need to achieve our goals. Well, I also believe that every neighbourhood and community have the resources they need to thrive. Each person in your neighbourhood has skills, experience, and knowledge that is of value to another person. Practical skills such as decorating, cake-making, and gardening. Knowledge such as local history, or how to start a business. Caregivers. Home-makers. People who are good at networking. Singers, crafters, DIYers. The list is endless. You may have watched TV programmes where communities are brought together to achieve a challenge such as improving a house or creating a community garden. There is a wonderful energy as neighbours work together, discovering one another’s skills, and forging new friendships. 

In my novel The Borrowed Boy, Angie Winkle lives a very isolated life until she visits Jaywick Sands and finds a place where she belongs. Her skills as a mechanic, a dressmaker, and a caregiver are valued by her neighbours. For the first time in her life Angie feels needed, and this transforms her.

Commercialisation, the internet, and globalisation have fragmented community life. Instead of trading skills with one another, we have looked outside of our community to purchase everything we want or need. Buying local is about more than supporting local businesses and protecting the environment, it provides an opportunity to discover the wealth of skills, experience, and knowledge within our community. In doing so, we give purpose and meaning to the lives of our neighbours. We make connections and friendships. People need people. We are a tribal species wired for connection. Meaningful engagement that values what each person has to give. 

I believe that everywhere has community when you look for it. All it takes is one step, maybe joining a club or association, introducing yourself to a neighbour, or volunteering to help out with a community project. If you don’t like mixing in groups then finding ways to serve others, for example, offering to shop for an elderly neighbour and then taking the time to get to know them because they too will have something to offer you or somebody else that you know. Build your community one person at a time. Connect others and watch as your community weaves itself together. Stronger, more resilient, and a happier place to live and work.

Reminiscence bump

Interestingly, our most vivid and frequently recollected memories tend to focus on two decades of our life around the age of twenty. For me, it is the period between 1975 and 1985 when I was aged fifteen to twenty-five. This phenomenon is known as the reminiscence bump. When I first heard of this on radio four, many years ago, I was fascinated. I didn’t realise there was a science to this. I just attributed it to more excitement in my life at that time. To some extent I was right.

Our brain imprints unusual experiences more than the mundane. In our late teens and early twenties, we experience many things for the first time. I was lucky enough to have a brother who was two years older than me and a musician. From the age of fifteen, I went to see bands, travelling in an old transit van with my brother and his friends. We lived in a suburb of London and I was lucky enough to see most of the big names in rock at that time, although I don’t think I really appreciated it. My brother, Trevor Steel, went on to become a success in The Escape Club in the 1980s, and most of the boys who I hung out with then became successful songwriters and musicians. It was a magical time, and I have learned since from school friends that they envied my access to these glamorous boys, who looked after me like a sister. 

When I was nineteen, I flew for the first time ever. My college friend asked me to travel with her on a Freddie Laker Skytrain to LA to visit her sister. It was only on the plane that she explained that her sister was actually being held in a jail in Vegas for picking up a hitchhiker who had forged credit cards. And so, my American adventures began. When my friends were released from jail we had to buy a car as their vehicle was impounded and we spent the summer driving along the coast, sleeping on roadsides or the beach. My college friend and I returned to the states several times. On one occasion, my college friend, her sister, and I hitchhiked from Wyoming to Arizona. Thank goodness, my daughter was much more sensible than me.

I met my husband in 1981 in London and we married in 1984. Life has been exciting since then, but memories of my late teens and early twenties are like a film – full of vibrant images.

Memories help us to make sense of who we are

Another explanation as to why we experience this reminiscence bump around the age of twenty is attributed to a narrative perspective. The theory being, that we organise memories of events to make sense of who we are. Our teens and early twenties are formative years when we are testing our beliefs and embedding our values. I find it fascinating that my 88-year-old father who has Alzheimer’s focuses on the two years in his life when he was in the army pay corps. He would have been around the age of nineteen. Although he can recall many happy memories of his married life, and raising a family of four, it is his time in the army that he enjoys talking about most. 

The 1970s

I wanted to talk about the reminiscence bump, and the 1970s, as this is the era that Angie Winkle, in my debut The Borrowed Boy, recalls. I loved writing about the fashion and music of that time as it took me back to when I was a teenager. 

The 1970s was a great time for music: David Bowie, Marc Bolan, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac. The list is endless. I loved and still do – Al Stewart. His lyrics are poetic.

The 1970s might be of interest to you because you lived through them, or because it is a bygone era. If I have stirred memories or curiosity you might want to try one of these novels set in the 1970s.

• Everything I never told you, Celeste Ng’s debut novel set in a small Ohio town in the 1970s.
• Channelling Mark Twain, Carol Muske-Dukes. Set in the mid-1970s a blonde poet, Holly teaches a poetry class in the women’s prison on Rikers Island.
• Joyland, Stephen King, set in 1973 in a North Carolina amusement park
• Paradise, Toni Morrison, a gripping novel about life in a small all-black Oklahoma town during the 1970s.

The Kinder transport statues inspired the cover design of The Borrowed Boy. If you have read this story, you will know that Angie arranged to meet Nikoleta at one of the two statues that are situated at Liverpool Street Station. 

For the children

The statue of two children is at the entrance to the Tube on the concourse of the station and is called For the children. For several years I passed by this statue on my way to and from work. Some days there would be discarded paper cups or takeaway containers littering the plinth, a person might be resting against it, or a small child hoisted up as though it were a seat. On one occasion a fresh posy of flowers had been placed in the girl’s arms. Unnoticed. Ignored. Recognised as a memorial to the plight of refugees. The people who passed by this statue had different responses. Much like our attitudes to the plight of refugees who seek asylum in our country. 

The personal stories of migrants and refugees fleeing the horror of war, making perilous journeys across the sea, or in containers moves me to tears. In researching this blog, I looked back at the news on migrants that might have influenced me at the time of writing The Borrowed Boy. I came across a news story, a photograph taken in June 2019 of a father and his infant daughter, washed up on the bank of the Rio Grande after a failed crossing to the USA from El Salvador. Their bodies lie prone, the twenty-three-month-old child held close to her father’s body within his T-shirt. I remembered my husband and daughter when she was tiny. How he took care of her every need, the way that he gazed at her and held her. I imagined this young father, trying to keep his baby safe and I cried. Not the silent tears triggered by an emotional read, great noisy sobs. It is a heartbreaking story, but sadly just one of many. 

In the years that led up to Britain’s referendum to leave Europe, there was a growing disquiet and resentment towards immigrants and refugees. I am not judging. Fear of the unknown and imagined consequences of change influence how people behave. However, there was a time in Britain’s history where we acted kindly and showed compassion. The Kinder transport statues at Liverpool Street Station commemorate the arrival of ten thousand children who feeling Nazi persecution arrived in Britain by train during 1938. They travelled to England without their parents and were sent to foster homes and hostels.

The Arrival

The second statue is called The Arrival and stands outside the Station in the aptly named Hope Square. The bronze statues are the work of Frank Meisler, who was himself one of these children. They were installed at Liverpool Street Station in 2006.

Beneath The Arrival is a plaque which reads:

Children of the Kindertransport.

In gratitude to the people of Britain for saving the lives of 10,000 unaccompanied mainly Jewish children who fled from Nazi persecution in 1938 and 1939. ‘Whoever rescues a single soul is credited as though they had saved the whole world.’ Talmud.

There is also a memorial plaque in Hope Square, which reads:

Hope Square

Dedicated to the children of the Kindergarten Transport who found hope and safety in Britain through the gateway of Liverpool Street station.

The children travelled by ferry from The Hook of Holland to Harwich, in Essex, England before boarding the train to Liverpool Street station in London. Harwich is on the same coastline as Clacton and Jaywick Sands, and close to where I live. I took a photograph of this plaque when walking by the sea in Harwich.

I cannot begin to imagine what life is like for families who have to leave a country that they love and risk their lives so that they can live without fear. The Bea Keeper of Aleppo, Christy Lefteri, The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini, and Exit West, Mohsin Hamid, are all excellent novels that convey this well. Stories have the power of engendering empathy, as we experience the inner world of the protagonist. See my blog on Empathy. 

The Borrowed Boy is a story about hope, friendship and the power of communities.

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