Winners of the Rising Waters Writing Competition 2024
The Wild Swimmer’s Heartsong
By Ro Dominy
When the sun turns the water
An inviting shade
How to dull that infernal ache
As the signs all say
“No swimming in the lake”
When the skin on my flesh
Is caressed by the sea
Do I belong to it?
Or it to me?
When, as a fall, it crashes and thunders
Why don’t we any of us wonder
At the folly of thinking
We can own what we’re drinking?
Where the drops have converged
For eons before
Any waves that lapped
From your bow to its shore
We sail, we float
We foolishly gloat
At a dominion existing
But just in the mind
And then as it rises
We suddenly find
How silly it is
To think we can claim
What’s here before us
And after remains
It takes a social contract
And an Act of Man
To grant us
In our imaginations
Ownership of land
By the hand of which divine son or daughter
Could we be possibly granted ownership of water?
The Lake
By Flora Prosser
Splashing, Stirring,
Waving, Washing,
Like any other lake
It is, but holding
A secret deep inside.
A church, a row of houses,
A village or two.
The only villagers fish or frogs,
The sun reflecting on the waves like a dark blue mirror.
The boats bobbing along as if they are light as a feather.
Sloshing, Stirring,
Waving, Washing,
The lake is
Beautiful, Wonderful,
That lake has a mind of its own.
Under a Mendip Moon
By Thomon Summer
‘WHAT are you doing?’ the boy asked, staring up at her.
‘Why, I’m rolling up the road young lad, so I am,’ she replied, pausing and turning her head, her one good eye fixing on the little human.
She saw his red trouser-things, and spikey hair that reminded her of a hedgehog she used to drink with, and an obvious question sounded a bell between her hairy, pointed ears. Should she break him for a snack?
The lad was making more squeaky sounds. Her craggy brows furrowed like hedgerows as she realised there was no real meat on the lad.
‘What is it, little nugget?’ she asked, in a voice that rumbled like a passing lorry.
‘I’m saying, you can’t do that!’
She frowned at this.
It was clear she could, ‘cos she did. And clear as day, the lad must see the roll of road five, no six times his height she was ripping up. He can see my hands, can he not, she thought? Each fur-backed hand was bigger than a tractor, the blackened claw-like nails, harder than steel.
‘You daft or like lyin’ lad?’
Humans, did they all lie? Her old ma would say, you can eat their roads, but not their words.
But in one so young as this lad? She spat and carried on pushing.
‘Why this road then?’
‘Cos this is my land,’ replied the monster. And added ‘enough with the questions, or I’ll put you in my gob and swallow you whole.’
The monster nodded to herself, grabbed the road-roll and with a twist, snapped it off. With practiced ease, she lobbed it in the air and swallowed it whole. All its two-lane width. And her great blue tongue lapped up the stony-aggregate crumbs that littered her face. Though she was a messy eater, plenty fell into the muddy trench she made. After a single, impressive belch, she kicked her booted foot under the torn edge of the road in front of her. Then with fingers and hands, began to roll up the road, all over again. As she heaved, the sky flashed, and she saw the lad was keeping pace with her. It would be dawn soon, and she’d have to stop.
‘Ain’t you got a hole to go home to nugget?’
The lad made a face the monster couldn’t read, and a sound, snif-snif, just like one of them dogs the humans all seemed to live with. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes, then scrunched up his face, and said something she couldn’t hear.
‘What you sayin’?’
‘I got a question. Don’t eat me!’
The monster sighed and looked down the long stretch of road ahead she had yet to eat. Humans called this road the B3134, or Old Bristol Road. Old Bristol Road. Pah!
She saw a car ahead, but it didn’t move. And parked at a funny angle too. A thought struck her as she looked back down at the lad. Better than the last.
‘Alright, then nugget. Another.’
‘How come I’ve never seen your kind before?’
The cold, dark, moonless night turned into Wednesday morning, and a warm, bright light ran ahead. The monster bent down, reached out her terrible hand and lifted the boy gently onto her broad, shaggy shoulder. Ahead of her lay a favourite three-road junction she’d not eaten since the previous spring. Smiling wide, her rows and rows of broken teeth flashed. And she chuckled for the first time in a century, raising her great arms wide and dancing a little jig. All the while the little boy gripped desperately to fur and spike, terrified he might slip and lose his new home.
Unbeknownst to either monster or boy – the former couldn’t care, and the latter never got the hang of his letters – stood a long building, its white-washed walls holding up the words: ‘Castle of Comfort Inn.’ Once it offered a mug of grog to the guilty and innocent, on the way from Wells to Gibbets Brow, where their necks were stretched until they died.
A few moments later, the monster and the boy Nugget vanished with the morning dew, leaving only a stretch of empty road and a single yellow car lying on its side, its broken windows catching the light like a forgotten monster’s teeth.
Return of The Lady of the Lake
By Beatrix Crawfurd
Ellen was in her room checking she had everything she needed for camp at Chew Valley Lake. She was very excited, she had never been away on a camping trip or without her parents before.
Ellen had found it hard to make friends at her new school, year seven wasn’t easy, especially when all your other friends went to different schools. Everyone thought she was a bit weird with her black lipstick and her love of spooky stuff.
But today, she thought she might be able to impress the others, she had a secret torch packed in her bag, ready to tell her most freaky ghost stories. June 5th 2024 was going to be her moment .
Later that day the camp was getting going, they had been sailing on the lake, fishing and caught a trout for dinner and the last activity of the day was campfire songs, she had even been buddied up with a girl from Spanish class who seemed to actually like her, Ellen couldn’t wait to get in her sleeping bag and whisper the scary story she had been cooking up all day.
As soon as the teachers called lights out at 9pm, everyone went to their tents in their groups of six.
Ellen waited until it was quiet then whispered ‘let’s tell ghost stories!’ and got her secret torch out, flicked it on and held it under her chin and said ‘it’s time for the real fun!’.
The other kids knew it was naughty but they liked the idea, she passed the torch around and they each told a story, most of them weren’t that scary, until it came to Ellen’s, she was planning on telling them about ‘The lady of the lake’, she had heard her parents talking about it and they had told her not to repeat it, it was the most terrifying story.
‘A long time ago, a girl called Catherine went missing at this lake, her family looked and looked for her but she was lost, her mum went back to their house in case she came home while the rest of the search party stayed out. Her mum was so happy to find Catherine at their home, dripping wet in a white nightie, she went to the bathroom but then disappeared. The next day they found her drowned in the lake, they said she had died on the 5th June, which would have meant she was already dead when her mum went back to the house. Legend has it that on this exact date every year she haunts the lake………..’
Suddenly a shadow went past the outside of the tent, the whole tent screamed.
The door opened and the head of the school, Mrs Ficklegruber appeared, she shouted ‘What is going on here??!!’. They heard other kids waking in other tents.
All the kids in the tent pointed at Ellen and shouted ‘It was Ellen’s idea!’Ellen sat with the torch in her hand and knew she was in big trouble.
Mrs Ficklegruber said ‘I don’t care whose idea it was, you were all doing it! I’ll deal with you in the morning!’ and stormed back to her tent. Everyone glared at Ellen, she was so embarrassed.
Ellen waited until everyone was asleep and put her fluffy black slippers on, she just wanted to get out of that tent. Heading towards the lake to get some air she brushed away tears, she thought telling petrifying stories would make everyone like her, but now she had even less friends, everyone hated her.
Ellen sat at the lake shore, throwing stones into the moonlit water. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, she shivered before she felt a cold, wet hand touching her shoulder.
‘Mrs Ficklegruber?’ She said, standing up trembling. The hand spun her around and she knew exactly who it was, and it was not the head teacher.
In front of her was a young woman, dripping wet, her white cap and nightie soaked through, skin pale and deep, dark, tired and distant eyes staring.
Ellen let out a scream, she was face to face with Catherine, Lady of the Lake.
Meet the Rising Water team
Kate McGregor
Kate lives in the Chew Valley and is the Creative Producer for Valley Arts. She is an award winning director, writer and producer.
Kate shares what inspired the concept for Rising Waters.
“The title of Rising Waters was inspired by the importance of Chew Valley Lake and the Chew River and the impact it has on our lives. We are lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world but also in an area that very often sees the challenges of rising waters in the form of floods, road closures and school shutdowns. If we listen, what is the river trying to tell us? And what can we learn from nature as we look towards the future?”
Why should I get involved in ‘Rising Waters’?
“I was involved in a community play when I left university. It’s completely changed my life. I met so many new people and learnt a lot of new skills too. There’s nothing like the feeling of being involved in a really exciting creative project within your community. The memories I created then, will last a lifetime and I know this project will be the same. ‘Rising Waters’ is a fantastic, uplifting opportunity for local people and fun for everyone, regardless of age, experience or background. I urge people to take the leap into the unknown and become a part of this amazing ‘Rising Waters’ journey!”
Toby Hulse
Toby is a Bristol based playwright, director and creative practitioner who trained at the Bristol Old Vic. Toby will be writing the script for Rising Waters.
Toby shares what storytelling aspects he will bring to the project.
“A good story is at the heart of any theatrical performance. We might create an impressive spectacle but a theatrical story speaks to the experiences of everyone in the audience. At the end of any good play, I believe that the audience should be thinking ‘Of course that’s what happened, but I had no idea how we were going to get there!”
Are there any challenges with putting on a large scale project?
“The principal challenge is the sheer volume and richness of the stories available to us. The valley has such a long and interesting history, and comprises so many different communities, that you could create a hundred plays, and still have material for more! The skill is in finding one key story that respects the wealth of these sources, explores a vital idea, and doesn’t get overwhelmed by how much material is available to us.”
Emma Earle
Emma lives locally and is co-directing Rising Waters. She has worked in theatre, film, education and community arts for the past 20 years, as a director, producer and teacher.
Emma talks about why she was drawn to work on Rising Waters.
“This is an exciting opportunity for local people of all ages to work together on an original piece of theatre, supported by a team of professional artists. We’re hoping to create a vibrant new community of performers, musicians, designers and technicians in order to breathe new life into old stories, make discoveries about the area in which we live, and ask questions about the role water plays in all our lives.”
What are your hopes for the project?
“We’re hoping for a great response to the project with lots of people signing up to be involved. When we create a show, we create a mini society and that mini society then gets to share their endeavors with public audiences. The creative process is a journey of discovery. People will learn new things, meet new people and make lasting friendships. We’d love to see people of all ages getting stuck in, working towards something really ambitious. We hope the community will feel inspired and that the production is enjoyable, magical, funny and thought provoking. ”
Zoe Squire
Zoe is an award-winning international designer of theatre, digital experiences and events with a wealth of experience in puppetry.
Zoe shares her vision for Rising Waters.
“Although the direction of the design is still developing, we plan to have a large-scale puppet or movable installation which represents the spirit of the lake, at the core of the design. The look of this will be inspired by the lake, water and stories collected from the people whose life it has touched in some way. This puppet will flow through our location and collect elements, people, and artifacts from these stories as it passes through. The design will continue to grow until it reaches our final stage and becomes part of a grand finale. I am excited by the idea that the audience can play an active role themselves as part of the flowing river procession as well as hearing the stories collected from the local communities.”