I’ve been going through old black & white photographs and asking an AI model to colourise them for me, and it’s doing a pretty decent job of this. This photo jogged a few memories and prompted a realisation. Read on to find out more.
I don’t remember much about the day that photograph was taken, just the soft weight of the costume, the scratch of the fabric at my neck, and the sense that something important was happening even if I didn’t quite understand what. I must have been six or seven. We crossed the road from Birstall County Primary school to the chapel in our costumes, a little procession of shepherds, angels, and wise men wobbling along the pavement like mismatched ducklings.
In the picture, I’m the one on the far right: glasses too big, robes hanging awkwardly, trying to look solemn and grown-up. I can see now that I was nervous, though I wouldn’t have had the words for it then. Back then, I just felt “different,” without knowing why.
If I could speak to that kid now, that tiny wise man with the oversized glasses, I’d tell him the truth no one around him knew how to give him. I’d tell him he’s autistic, and that this is why the world feels louder, sharper, and more complicated for him than it seems to be for the other children. I’d tell him he isn’t broken or strange; he’s simply wired in a way that will one day make sense.
I’d warn him, too, because honesty matters. The bullying will come, and it will hurt, and it will get worse in high school before it gets better. But I’d also tell him that he survives it. Not by becoming someone else but by slowly, stubbornly, becoming himself.
And maybe that’s why colourising this photo feels so powerful. It’s like offering that child a kindness he never received at the time: a moment of being seen clearly, gently, and with understanding.
Sometimes the smallest memories are the ones that finally teach us who we’ve been all along.
Mauchline. The name of a village in Ayrshire, Scotland. This is a place where everyone knows each other and treats each other with friendliness and helpfulness. Home of poet Robert “Rabbie” Burns, this village has at its heart a busy road junction, where the B743 & A76 intersect. How does this small space connect with a love story? How does this junction in particular play a part? Read on…
It’s 2019, and I’m living in Rotherham, working at the local hospital, and single. I registered with a dating site for disabled people. I soon get chatting to a lady from Scotland who seems interesting and interested. Our online chats evolved into phone conversations over several months; I was surprised by her pronounced Scottish brogue. I express this surprise to her for some crazy reason; I mean, what did I expect? That faux pas doesn’t seem to put her off, thankfully.
After a couple of months we agree to meet for a date. This is exciting for me for two reasons: the usual first date nerves and the road trip. There is a distance of 250 miles and, according to the sat nav, this will take around five hours to cover. I love a road trip!
My route comprises picking up the A1 north from Rotherham, leaving the A1 at Scotch Corner and jumping onto the A66 to cross over from east to west before then taking the M6/M74 north and crossing the border into Scotland. The drive is scenic; I have the music up loud and life feels good.
Leaving the M74 at junction 12 I take the road to Ayr (A70), which I follow for quite a few miles before turning off onto the B743 signposted for Sorn, and loving the drive on this twisting country road, where villages and hamlets pass by almost in a blur. Rounding a bend on top of a hill, I enter a village whose sign declares it to be Mauchline. Aggressive speed bumps menace the downhill. To the right is what appears to be a school, explaining the speed humps. I come to what looks like a large junction, controlled by traffic lights. The sat nav guides me to turn left and then turn right to continue on the road to Ayr. I see a gift shop named Many Thanks, and there’s a pharmacy and a Co-op. I left the village behind and didn’t think any more about it.
I will follow this routine every weekend for the next three years. Sometimes I leave on a Friday evening after finishing work for the week, sometimes leaving Rotherham early on the Saturday morning instead. I pass through the village of Mauchline on every journey, never giving it a second thought. It’s just a set of traffic lights and a junction and it flashes by.
In 2022, I was retired from my NHS role due to ill-health and an inability to continue to fulfil my role. Later in the year, my lady and I go to Blackpool for a weekend. My partner books tickets to two shows, with the second being a country music tribute night. Unbeknownst to her, I’ve arranged with the venue to propose to her on stage before the show starts.
Calling my lady onto the stage, the host tells her she’s won a prize. Bewildered, she makes her way onto the stage and I follow. Upon my arrival, the host handed me the microphone, and my mind went blank. Perfect timing. I’d had a bit of a speech planned and rehearsed, but that all goes out the window, so I just look at my lady and then sink to one knee, pull the ring box out of my pocket and utter those famous words, “Will you marry me? The answer is yes, and the ring fits perfectly on her tiny finger, as I’d craftily found out her size from her mother.
The audience cheers, and we leave the stage, back to our table and me shaking and struggling to leave the stage. When the first act appears, he dedicates his set to us and wishes us well for the future.
At this point I’m still making the 10-hour round trip to and from Ayr but, having retired, I don’t have to be back home for work on Mondays. While we make plans for our wedding in 2024, we also look for places we could make our marital home. We investigate places in Girvan, Ayr, and other places, and eventually find a nice, quaint-looking bungalow.
Can you guess where this house might be? I bet you can. Of course, it’s in Mauchline, just a few seconds away from that junction I mentioned earlier. The one I’ve been casually driving through for the past three years without a second thought. In January 2023, I moved in and discovered how friendly the people of the village are, from our neighbours to the ladies in the pharmacy among others.
In 2024, my lady moves in with me and on August 31st 2024 we are married at the Fairfield House hotel in Ayr, in a humanist ceremony.
So back in November I spotted a Facebook post which mentioned that CRIPtic Arts in London were looking for writers for a project named the Crip Monologues.
Writers were invited to pitch ideas at the CRIPtic team and from those pitches 12 would be chosen to develop a script for a 10-15 minute monologue, with the subject being scrutiny; people who are stared at when they enter a room or go shopping; people who look different to the “norm”.
I was one of the 12 commissioned, which was obviously exciting for me, and I quickly had to learn how to write a script, having never done this previously. The commission for this piece was paid into my bank a few days after completion and that then made me officially a paid writer. For the first time in my life someone saw value in my writing! This has reawakened the buzz inside of me to get a book finished and out there. I believe the Crip Monologues will be performed this year (2024.)
Journeys In Words And On Wheels 
You must be logged in to post a comment.