Thoughtful Tuesdays: Self Nostalgia

By Eithne Cullen

September finishes our focus on ‘Nostalgia’ and I have some interesting pieces for you which reflect on the theme. From music to nature, there are so many things connecting us to that inner sense of self.

First up, a poem from Julie Dexter, combining her joy and love of swimming with images of war and refugees. It’s a poem with vivid descriptions of the sea and its power.

Open Water

Churning, foam-crested waves.
The sea beckons.

Sliding in,
blood rushes to the surface
of skin.

Swimming, eyes fixed on
the place where land meets sea-
that bullet-studded jagged seam.

Swimming through the weight of history.
Through the war-torn places of my mind –
wondering how a heart
can be full of bombs?

With each futile stroke
The questions surface:
Why is more not done?

And when the small boats come,
Is land the promise of hope,
or hope the dream of land?

I swim across the waves.
They are too large for you.

Somehow, I reach you, haul you,
carry you
across that great divide,

from where you are
to where you want to go –
That crossing you
couldn’t make alone –

not with a wife and baby,
and a broken heart.

© Julie Dexter, 2026

Connect with Julie on  X: @JulieADexter, Facebook: Julie A Dexter and Instagram:@LateNightSwimmer

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The next poem is one I wrote for a site called The Monthly Poet. For me, the prompt called out nostalgia. It appears on the website: https://monthlypoet.com  and you can also hear me reading it on our Write On! Audio podcast September, Poem Of The Month Episode.

Sepia-Tinted Memories

sepia tinted memories
force us to rewind
and emotions hover dolefully
gain entry to our minds

nostalgia creeps in on us
can catch us by surprise
a glimpse, a pose, a smile
a face we barely recognise

our history can scoop us in
we search for any sign
we’re bound by more than DNA
our past, our stories align

nostalgia shades a rosy tint
towards the good old days
we try to  read the narrative
fixed in the camera’s gaze.

© Eithne Cullen, 2026

Connect with me on Instagram: @eithnecullen57 or LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/eithne-cullen

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Now for a very nostalgic piece from Allan Lochhead. His work evokes the feeling of being a naïve young man entering a social world he has yet to learn about as he matures.

Rebel Without A Clue

When I think of nostalgia, my mind goes back to the sixties and seventies – my late teens and early twenties – when I belonged to the local Young Conservatives. It was the only thing going on in my area of Kent at the time.

A pretty young lady called at the house to canvas for the YCs. Mother invited her in for a chat and afternoon tea. The young lady wore a smart tweed jacket and skirt just above the knee. She was softly spoken, friendly and told us all about the YCs.  Mother was enchanted and remarked afterwards in her best Prime Of Miss Jean Brodie accent (she came from Paisley, Scotland): “What a fine, upstanding young woman. Just the kind of girl I had in mind for you.” For myself, I was fascinated by the young woman’s rather fine knees and would have said yes to anything.

Sometime later, I learned the ‘fine young woman’ had a certain – shall we say – ‘exotic’ reputation with the boys. Unfortunately, though, I was too young and unsophisticated to receive the glad eye from her, let alone anything else!

Even now, I miss the weekly meetings, where a visiting speaker delivered a talk on a diverse range of subjects. We enjoyed such speakers as local MPs, councillors, the Samaritans, a Gay society, British Gas, Revlon, and a collector of reptiles, who brought a boa constrictor and a crocodile in vast zippered bags. The girl sitting next to me jumped over the back of the sofa when he brought out the crocodile! These debates often became very heated, but we would never fall out with each over differences of opinion – quite a big change between then and now, I feel.

When Ted Heath was elected Prime Minister in 1970, we were invited to his country residence, Chequers, as a thank-you for our canvassing efforts.

Looking back, I can see that, despite our somewhat genteel image – outwardly, at least – the YCs were a rebellious lot. Right-wing zealots had a rough ride from us. We were able to formulate and explain our considered responses during debates; a skill I’ve unfortunately lost somewhere along the way.

I was not at all street-wise, hopelessly naïve and, needless to say, girlfriend-less. I used to go around on a Czech Communist Block motorbike complete with L-plates, sporting a very fetching brand-new blue leather jacket with shoulder pads. I was trying to channel James Dean, but I must have looked a sight!

Really, though, I was a rebel without a clue. Arriving at a party once, the hostess, without prompting, informed me: “The brown ale is under the table.”

The front room was in complete darkness, with couples grappling along to Close To You by The Carpenters. I still can’t bear to listen to it today! Back then, the girls wore Laura Ashley pinafore dresses or hot pants and white vinyl knee-length boots, while the men wore tight flared trousers, tank tops and floral shirts with wing collars.

My focus was entirely on the unattainable goddesses in the room. To be honest, I was absolutely petrified of women. I knew I didn’t stand a chance so, instead, I did what any self-respecting blue-leather-clad motorcyclist would do in that situation: I strode over to the Dansette record player, silenced Karen Carpenter mid-word and put on All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix instead. A general untangling of limbs immediately followed. I don’t think it enhanced my popularity and, true to form, I spent the next hour or so hanging around the kitchen on my own.

The Young Conservatives disappeared a long time ago (January 1998, to be precise). But, whatever anyone else’s political leanings, I have fond memories of my time with them.

If I could go back to those days, I’d revisit that party and have a quiet word with the shy, awkward young man standing alone at the drinks table. I’d tell him girls were shy and lacked confidence too and, if he wanted to impress them, it might be a good idea to ditch the blue leather jacket… perhaps even the old motorbike as well. Or, at least, get a full motorbike license so he could take passengers!

© Allan G Lochhead, 2026

Connect with Allan on Instagram: @allan_lochhead

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My last piece is a very nostalgic one. Jilly explains in a rhythmic way how she grew up listening to rock and roll; in fact, she was spoon-fed a diet of the musical genre.

Spoon-Fed Rock ‘N’ Roll!

Spoon-fed rock ‘n’ roll, I was,
spoon-fed rock ‘n’ roll.
Elvis, Big O, Buddy and Cliff,
spoon-fed rock ’n’ roll.

Music in my heart of hearts,
music in my soul.
The radio was always on.
Spoon-fed rock ‘n’ roll.

Jumping, jiving, dancing.
The music took control.
Bopping, moving, grooving,
I was spoon-fed rock ‘n’ roll!

Spoon-fed rock’n’roll, I was.
Spoon-fed rock’n’roll.
Feel the rhythm and the beat,
Let’s go dancing in the street.
Spoon-fed rock’n’roll…

© Jilly Henderson-Long, 2020

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I do hope you’ve enjoyed this little dip into the nostalgic. As for me, I’m already beginning to feel nostalgic for the summer, as we move into September with the back-to-school mood descending and the evenings drawing in. Hopefully, we’ll find plenty to write about to cheer ourselves up in the months ahead!

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Issue 30, featuring Gillian McAllister is out now. You will find it in libraries and other outlets. Alternatively, all current and previous editions can be found on our magazines page here. 

You can hear great new ideas, creative work and writing tips on Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify.  

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