FebulousFebruary 2026: The Old Photograph

Part 2 (b) – Extract

I left broken and returned grown. My journey home.

A lot of change has taken place. In me.

A lot of change has taken place in me.

A different mindset. 

I feel like…me …again. 

A sequence of events led to me being in London last night. 

At 2am on my son’s sofa (they offered me the bed…Gabbie will kill me if I don’t mention that part) I lay there listening to a noise I had not heard for years…. London. Noises and hustle that I had not heard in so long…and have needed.

My alarm went of at 7 and I just lay there. I was so tired, and I thought…I can’t do it. Na…I’m just gonna go back home.

And that’s when it hit me. On that sofa….7 o’clock this morning. Where is “Home” exactly? Because from the second I stepped out of the train station at St Pancras I felt different. I felt…comfortable. I don’t feel like that in Kent. Ever. 

I feel like an outsider. Like a kid hanging around a group …. kind of included…but not really. You’re not really one of them. 

But here …on this sofa…right now…. I felt like me. Anyway…I needed to go and get her……

And so, the journey began. I got ready and me and my son left. He walked out of his block of flats with me…. dressed in his shirt jumper and tie…. clearly at ease with not only his environment but also himself. Something I had not seen in him for a long time. My son…dressed all smart for his government job…The son born on these streets… born on Clapham manor street…. just walking beside me casually taking me to the bus stop as he headed off in the opposite direction for his job. We hugged and he left, and I watched him walk with ease within the crowd. I watched him cross the road, in his own world. Relaxed and set for the day. The boy they told me I could not keep. The one who so many said would not achieve….and here he was…home…living a life I could only dream of at his age.

And that was the first cry. Sitting at the top of the bus, on the way to Clapham junction, crying behind my sunglasses. Because I have obviously done something right if he is holding his own…and well….in the same environment that once broke us all. I stopped crying just before junction and realised I would have to keep my sunglasses on until I found a mirror now.

I got off at Junction and was struck by how different and the same everything was at the same time. The landscape was the same…there was Arding and Hobbs…. there was JD…no wait……that’s a bank now….and off I went, taking in Clapham junction for the first time in a long time. A million memories hitting me at once and halfway down the high street I had a rush of panic. Its too much. SO much. If I turn back now, I can get the train home from Junction. And then I felt it…. a voice…a feeling. I don’t know how to explain it. Like a whisper….” what about me” and in my head I said …Ok…I’m coming.

“There you are” slipped out my mouth with love. Like I had seen an old forgotten friend. But what I had seen…was Clapham common. The trees…the grass….

And I ran…

Like a loon in flip flops

I ran onto the common and just threw my head up to the sky and took a deep breath.

And cried.

I took of my flip flops and just stood with the grass under my feet. I took off my sunglasses (All vanity gone) and it was electric. Everything looked so green and new and …. home. I just started walking and realised something…. all the trees were the same. I can’t explain what I mean (and this will be a theme so be warned) bit I recognised trees. I had played on this common my whole childhood….my teens…until I was 28. And so, I had trees that were landmarks…and didn’t even realise. 

I spent ages walking from one place to another, places…spaces….and the whole time that feeling…. of a kid saying…look…oh look at that one….no look at this one…. was becoming stronger.

I stopped even planning where I was going at one point and just went with her. She obviously knew what we needed to see. Like wind…. I could just feel where I needed to go.

Not to the flat

Not yet

I found myself at the boating pond and I felt like I needed to stop a moment.  I sat in the place where I had sat many times. And I realised that I had been walking for 2 hours solid. And that I had passed quite a few places where good memories were and also where bad memories were…. but…. I was able to acknowledge the bad ones and just move on. Not ignore. Not all. But…. We didn’t come to feel that…. she said….

And all of a sudden it was time. I was just sitting at the boating pond, reminiscing and suddenly it was like…right…. it’s time to go to the flat…. come on. 

Tears running down my face in the middle of big Sainsburys (Only OGs will know its big Sainsburys). Crying. Like a baby.

Why

Because I had come to get my mum’s flowers.

Well…. I could not go home and not take her flowers. Because I always get her flowers.

Kendra Houseman 

Kent

(to be continued Day 24 of FabulousFebruary)

Part 2 (a) Extract 

       I left broken and returned grown. My journey home.

I went home today. My real home. SW London. More than that…I went to the flat that I grew up in. The flat where my son took his first breath, and my mum took her last. The walls of that place have seen and felt every emotion I can think of. And I have been in fear of returning to it since the day I left.

When I left my home, I was a broken women in many ways. My mum had died a few months before and the flat…. the one that I had lived in since I was 18 months old…. was taken away from me. A lady turned up a few weeks after my mum died and served me notice. Me … now…the person I am right now…. would have squashed that madness, fought for my home, and stood my ground. But I was broken in the worst way. I was broken inside and out.

But more than that…. the area I had grown up in was broken. It was grimy and merkey. And so was I. Bad things were happening in the area. Had been for a long time. I felt scared in the flat a lot of the time. Clapham was dank and dark. Nothing seemed to change, and nothing got better. I couldn’t change or get better. Looking back now I can see how toxic we were for each other.

Me and my ends. Like an abuse relationship that just won’t end until someone gets hurt, and I got hurt. Badly.

Everything caused me anxiety in SW London. I didn’t realise that at the time. I was just …anxious…. but actually, it was more than that. So many different traumas resurfaced each day. A simple walk to the shops could trigger something in me. And often did. But I didn’t realise because I was in it. I just thought it is who I am. 

Until today.

Me and my area were bad for each other at that time. Leaving was the hardest thing. And when I left in October 2008, I said that I would never ever return. Because it would hurt too much. And I never did.

Until today.

I thought that it was so bad when we left…gangs…violence…. hate…that when I returned it would be so dangerous that I would fear my own streets. And I could not accept that.

And so, I stayed away.

Until today.

I thought that the pain of my mum not standing at the back door as I walked towards the flat would rip me open again and I would have to heal all over.  I dream about “the flat” often. Mostly nightmares. But its where my mum always is. If I dream about the flat, then my mum is part of that dream. Good or bad.

A few years ago, I started talking about going back. One last look. I didn’t really know why, but I was starting to heal from…. everything…and something stirred in me. A need to go home. Not strong enough that I would do it…no way…. but I would spend ages on google maps looking at all the streets that were mine as a teen. I would make up all these scenarios of what it would be like to be outside the flat. It hunted me. I felt like if I didn’t return, I would never heal. So, I made plans many times to go back…. many times. But something always come up…. like…. that time when I was going to go but my alarm didn’t go off…or I couldn’t get a babysitter…or it was too cold….too hot….. anything….so I “couldn’t” go. Next summer I would say to myself…have said to myself for years now…. next summer I will go. But I didn’t.

Then, about 18 months ago my son came home after being out all day and said “I went to the flat”.

It was like he had said “I went to the moon and sat with Elvis”

I didn’t know what to say. I was so angry that he had put himself in danger from all the mandem around and that he had gone there and not been able to cope and….

Well

That’s not how it went down at all. He started telling me how nice it was. He asked if I wanted to see pictures. Initially I said no. No way. Then …maybe one

Man …I binged on his photos for weeks. He had taken pictures around the area as he walked about. It was…heaven. I knew every little bit of each picture. But …the pictures he had taken of the flat…. I could not hack them. They had the wrong curtains in the window and outside was all wrong. No no no….its not meant to be like that

And that was when I realised, I was not ready to go back. Not yet.

Until today.

(to be continued Day 23 of FebulousFebruary 2024)

Kendra Houseman 

Kent

Part 2 (a) Extract 

       I left broken and returned grown. My journey home.

I went home today. My real home. SW London. More than that…I went to the flat that I grew up in. The flat where my son took his first breath, and my mum took her last. The walls of that place have seen and felt every emotion I can think of. And I have been in fear of returning to it since the day I left.

When I left my home, I was a broken women in many ways. My mum had died a few months before and the flat…. the one that I had lived in since I was 18 months old…. was taken away from me. A lady turned up a few weeks after my mum died and served me notice. Me … now…the person I am right now…. would have squashed that madness, fought for my home, and stood my ground. But I was broken in the worst way. I was broken inside and out.

But more than that…. the area I had grown up in was broken. It was grimy and merkey. And so was I. Bad things were happening in the area. Had been for a long time. I felt scared in the flat a lot of the time. Clapham was dank and dark. Nothing seemed to change, and nothing got better. I couldn’t change or get better. Looking back now I can see how toxic we were for each other.

Me and my ends. Like an abuse relationship that just won’t end until someone gets hurt, and I got hurt. Badly.

Everything caused me anxiety in SW London. I didn’t realise that at the time. I was just …anxious…. but actually, it was more than that. So many different traumas resurfaced each day. A simple walk to the shops could trigger something in me. And often did. But I didn’t realise because I was in it. I just thought it is who I am. 

Until today.

Me and my area were bad for each other at that time. Leaving was the hardest thing. And when I left in October 2008, I said that I would never ever return. Because it would hurt too much. And I never did.

Until today.

I thought that it was so bad when we left…gangs…violence…. hate…that when I returned it would be so dangerous that I would fear my own streets. And I could not accept that.

And so, I stayed away.

Until today.

I thought that the pain of my mum not standing at the back door as I walked towards the flat would rip me open again and I would have to heal all over.  I dream about “the flat” often. Mostly nightmares. But its where my mum always is. If I dream about the flat, then my mum is part of that dream. Good or bad.

A few years ago, I started talking about going back. One last look. I didn’t really know why, but I was starting to heal from…. everything…and something stirred in me. A need to go home. Not strong enough that I would do it…no way…. but I would spend ages on google maps looking at all the streets that were mine as a teen. I would make up all these scenarios of what it would be like to be outside the flat. It hunted me. I felt like if I didn’t return, I would never heal. So, I made plans many times to go back…. many times. But something always come up…. like…. that time when I was going to go but my alarm didn’t go off…or I couldn’t get a babysitter…or it was too cold….too hot….. anything….so I “couldn’t” go. Next summer I would say to myself…have said to myself for years now…. next summer I will go. But I didn’t.

Then, about 18 months ago my son came home after being out all day and said “I went to the flat”.

It was like he had said “I went to the moon and sat with Elvis”

I didn’t know what to say. I was so angry that he had put himself in danger from all the mandem around and that he had gone there and not been able to cope and….

Well

That’s not how it went down at all. He started telling me how nice it was. He asked if I wanted to see pictures. Initially I said no. No way. Then …maybe one

Man …I binged on his photos for weeks. He had taken pictures around the area as he walked about. It was…heaven. I knew every little bit of each picture. But …the pictures he had taken of the flat…. I could not hack them. They had the wrong curtains in the window and outside was all wrong. No no no….its not meant to be like that

And that was when I realised, I was not ready to go back. Not yet.

Until today.

(to be continued Day 23 of FebulousFebruary 2024)

Kendra Houseman 

Kent

Part 1 – Extract from Out of the Shadows series

Feel-Ups. Wake Up!

So usually when the game started, I would run for my life. 

Literally. Round and round the playground. 

You could not risk running into the girl’s toilets, because the boys would follow you 

and if you didn’t get to the cubical quick enough or lock the door in time, not only would you be sexually assaulted 

you also ended up with pissy water all over your clothes 

from falling to the ground or pushed against the toilet.

They would start this kind of chant, just before they would start chasing. 

I can not remember the words, but the groups would storm around the playground chanting something like “kiss chase kiss chase”. 

This would happen about a minute or so before they started chasing. 

I used to hear that chanting and feel like I was going to wet myself. 

I would feel instantly sick. 

Some of the girls would start giggle and laughing. 

Some would, like me, go very pale and quiet.

Then there would be like a mini roar and the chase would begin.

One day, after a particular horrendous round of “feel ups” I went home. When I walked in my mum was cooking, looked up and almost dropped the bowl she was mixing in. “what the hell happened to you “she said rushing to me, grabbing my face.

Man…what I would give for one of those hugs again one day.

This was not the first and most definitely not the last sexual abuse/ assault/ exposure that I experienced.

Wake up people.

Kendra Houseman 

Kent

I follow the path

and pause to smell the lilacs,

recalling childhood.

But next day they have vanished:

two men are wielding chainsaws.

Andrew Derbyshire, Southend-on-Sea

On the first day of school she sat next to me. 

Ginger hair and freckles. 

Beautiful. 

I fell in love. 

In my dreams she was me and I was she.

Wi laughed and gangboled together 

About nothing. 

Together. 

A force. 

Wi nuh see colour.

Wi loved each other x

Jo Fraser, Kent

To my childhood self 

Mini-Me was sad and very confused 

I didn’t fit in and so 

was abused 

I wasn’t the same, so I 

wasn’t tolerated 

I was threatened, picked on 

and isolated 

I didn’t want a boyfriend and 

disliked cosmetics 

I didn’t understand so I tried 

apologetics 

School bullying and 

beatings became more frequent 

I had a nervous breakdown 

and needed treatment 

I left school and I 

never returned 

My education suffered, my 

parents were concerned 

They found me a doctor 

who helped with my stress 

He suggested college to 

sort out this mess 

The college kids were nice 

and much more mature 

Whilst there, I found politics 

which helped for sure 

I learned about fighting for 

campaigns and causes 

Such as CND, and Gay 

rights with legal clauses 

As I matured, I was glad to 

be Gay 

Indeed, I can’t imagine my 

life, any other way. 

By Jenny King February, 2024

To my childhood self. 

You are very clever but that won’t save you in a world where 

you are made to feel stupid. 

You are very handsome but that won’t save you in a world 

where you need to look pretty. 

You have a lovely voice but that won’t save you in a world 

full of silence. 

You were not made to fit – you were made to stand out. 

One day you will realise just how wonderful it is to be a 

clever, handsome singer. 

And you will encourage others to take a stand and be out. 

Be brave. You will save yourself. 

Therapy is just around the corner. 

Fisch 

London

This is not how it will 

alwavs be

This is NOT normal

You are not a worthless 

piece of shit

It will take time

It will take love

It will take coming to terms

It will never go away

You will come to an 

understanding with 

yourself

And love yourself 

And love others 

And be loved

I swear to me that this is 

the truth

The whole truth

And nothing but the truth

Chrissie Snell

Swansea

TO MY YOUNG SELF

I am the keeper of our memories

I am the bearer of our flame

And the author of our wrongdoing

I am the blameless and to blame

I am the survivor of our history

Of our triumphs and our plight

I wear the badge of hard-won freedoms

And the scars of the long fight

Forgive us in youth

Forgive them in age

Hold fast to your righteous anger

Let go of your rage

Tread lightly

We are almost there

Brook Hobbins, Kent