Birth by Fire
Roxana Freeman
This story was written from a child’s point of view of Bristol’s inner-city areas and the contrast with rural life, with stalkers and arsonists described as “trolls”, “toads” and “dribbling dogs”. It uses children’s pictures as well as retouched photographs to illustrate the story.
The story traces Roxana’s move from Easton to South Gloucestershire.
Transcript
[Flute music plays throughout]
In a town named double death your brother was born,
On Christmas night in a lightning storm.
A black eyed only child with a sudden smile, who loved the wild.
“Is this our new house?” he asked in the white castle on top of the hill where you were concieved. Your brother climbed the cupboards when what he really needed were trees.
This is the house in which you were born, downstairs front room in the warm.
Eleven o’clock the midwife out riding her white horse, didn’t make it of course.
But inside the house a forest enfolds us. Your brother nearly three is delivering me, breathing, stroking, by the bed, here’s your head, only he sees.
My face in the leaves on the floor, smelling wild garlic. You two in our wooded rooms grow like rare blooms.
Outside, there are dangerous trolls. ‘stalker streetwalker’ follows us to the shops like a giant longhaired dribbling dog.
One milky night without any stars we heard a bold troll on a roll out watering the cars.
Our dreams were full of strange scenes. Burnt carcases of cars floating like watercress down our river road. Herded by hopping troll faced toads.
We woke in a crackling swamp to a steaming orange dawn, overwarm.
Seeds buried in two lorries sprouted giant plastic flames that tickled the window panes and licked the walls twenty feet tall .
With bitter singeing tongues they cast an eviction spell, and mummy said ‘just as well’.
We’ll start again. So we drove the grey roads in he rain looking for a sign, looking forwards not behind.
