The Queen’s Golden Jubilee through the eyes of Eliza Smith
I was sitting behind the Town Hall (where I usually sit) but strangely there were no horses trotting about, no shouting just humble chatting, music and the occasional clink of cutlery. I could smell food coming from the small open window at the back of the town hall. I was quite curious, so I decided to take the risk and go into the market square- not knowing what would happen if people saw me without a family- I walked in, while gazing at the scene around me beams of light emerged from behind the clouds, highlighting the neatly arranged tables covered in white calico that were decorated with beautiful, intricate flowers. Large barrels were being rolled down red lion street to the little hatch at the entrance of the old corn hall, that was being used as a drink- serving station not to mention the scattered array of posters saying ‘Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee’. As I was being mesmerised by the scene around me I didn’t notice that everyone stopped it almost seemed that everyone was staring at me.
*
Luckily they weren’t because they were looking at an old man with silvery hair, he declared ‘’Thank you everyone we will now start the games’’ everyone rose and followed a large cart, daringly I followed along.
*
Everyone stopped at a large playing field and stared onto the open grounds, suddenly some men in striped shirts and trousers started dashing around the field in potato sacks. Once they’d stopped – covered in red splotches- they were awarded medals. I realised everyone was clutching knives, forks and plates, they must have brought them themselves.
*
This carried on for quite a while about two hours to be exact, I know this because I kept glaring over at a man’s pocket watch. It started at 6 pm and ended at 8. Yet again the ‘silver haired man’ announced ‘’Well done to all the competitors and thankyou everyone for whom spectated, if you would please follow for the fireworks display.’’
Fireworks? What are they? I was asking myself that over and over- should I go? (I’m sure you’re shouting at the book, pleading me to go) but I just couldn’t take the risk. Being the inquisitive child that I am I got bored, really bored but as there was a little daylight left I wanted to do something helpful and because this event seemed like it would be remembered for generations – I decided to make a time capsule. I collected some posters, receipts, newspapers and general memorabilia and delicately put them in a glass bottle.
*
I pondered for a while thinking of where I could hide the bottle:
When I arrived it was empty- perfect! Once I hide the bottle behind the safe I can leave and go back to my den behind the town hall. I took the chance to reflect what happened that day but while I was ‘reflecting’ I felt a tapping sensation on my left shoulder, my mind was flooded with thoughts, thoughts of being taken into the workhouse thoughts of being taken away.
*
‘’Hello my dear are you lost? Oh you poor thing you must be that homeless girl I saw behind the town hall this morning!’’
‘’Why haven’t you taken me away to the work house?’’
‘’Workhouse? Never!’’ at this point he took my hand and we walked towards a grand house we entered though a pair of double doors and inside were a huge set of tall, wide stairs that lead to several rooms. I found out his name was Mr Forster and he was comforting me like how people do in fairy tales and story books, he seemed kind and gentle and I had a warm feeling inside I felt safe, protected almost.
*
A few hours later a lady (Mr Forester’s wife) came through into the room I was sitting at and we had a long conversation about how she felt piteous for me because of my previous life and she apparently felt a connection she said she had signed some adoption papers and as long as I’m happy I could live with them for the rest of my life. To be fair I did feel a connection and I would like to live with them so I clung onto Mrs Forster and cried with happiness knowing I will be safe living with her.
*
Luckily they weren’t because they were looking at an old man with silvery hair, he declared ‘’Thank you everyone we will now start the games’’ everyone rose and followed a large cart, daringly I followed along.
*
Everyone stopped at a large playing field and stared onto the open grounds, suddenly some men in striped shirts and trousers started dashing around the field in potato sacks. Once they’d stopped – covered in red splotches- they were awarded medals. I realised everyone was clutching knives, forks and plates, they must have brought them themselves.
*
This carried on for quite a while about two hours to be exact, I know this because I kept glaring over at a man’s pocket watch. It started at 6 pm and ended at 8. Yet again the ‘silver haired man’ announced ‘’Well done to all the competitors and thankyou everyone for whom spectated, if you would please follow for the fireworks display.’’
Fireworks? What are they? I was asking myself that over and over- should I go? (I’m sure you’re shouting at the book, pleading me to go) but I just couldn’t take the risk. Being the inquisitive child that I am I got bored, really bored but as there was a little daylight left I wanted to do something helpful and because this event seemed like it would be remembered for generations – I decided to make a time capsule. I collected some posters, receipts, newspapers and general memorabilia and delicately put them in a glass bottle.
*
I pondered for a while thinking of where I could hide the bottle:
- By one of the pubs? No too obvious
- In the basket weavers? No too many people I had a few Ideas but I eventually settled on the church, I knew I would be found but it’s not too evident.
When I arrived it was empty- perfect! Once I hide the bottle behind the safe I can leave and go back to my den behind the town hall. I took the chance to reflect what happened that day but while I was ‘reflecting’ I felt a tapping sensation on my left shoulder, my mind was flooded with thoughts, thoughts of being taken into the workhouse thoughts of being taken away.
*
‘’Hello my dear are you lost? Oh you poor thing you must be that homeless girl I saw behind the town hall this morning!’’
‘’Why haven’t you taken me away to the work house?’’
‘’Workhouse? Never!’’ at this point he took my hand and we walked towards a grand house we entered though a pair of double doors and inside were a huge set of tall, wide stairs that lead to several rooms. I found out his name was Mr Forster and he was comforting me like how people do in fairy tales and story books, he seemed kind and gentle and I had a warm feeling inside I felt safe, protected almost.
*
A few hours later a lady (Mr Forester’s wife) came through into the room I was sitting at and we had a long conversation about how she felt piteous for me because of my previous life and she apparently felt a connection she said she had signed some adoption papers and as long as I’m happy I could live with them for the rest of my life. To be fair I did feel a connection and I would like to live with them so I clung onto Mrs Forster and cried with happiness knowing I will be safe living with her.