Monday Moments: Places Of Nostalgia

Hello readers! I’m delighted to introduce you to our new theme of ‘Nostalgia.’ For my page this month, I wanted to explore the idea of childhood memories linked to place. I think the places of our youth, whether hometown or holiday, are among the most potent in stirring up a sense of nostalgia.

For those of you who follow my page regularly, you’ll know that I’m proudly working-class. My childhood was distinctly working-class; rural working-class, to be specific. The rural working-class are often forgotten, and there’s a feeling that rural working-class communities in particular have been left behind with the collapse of traditional industry. My own hometown, which sits on the Yorkshire/Lancashire border, has a rich industrial past, transitioning from agriculture to textile production and, later, aircraft manufacturing. But de-industrialisation, which hit my hometown and others like it hard, was already well underway when I was a kid. And now, the crumbling factory chimneys I remember have all been demolished, with nothing else put in their place.

Working-class spaces are disappearing. I’m nostalgic for seaside towns that aren’t boarded up, and for local pubs that aren’t failing or empty. I’m nostalgic for the communities that were built on industry and heartbroken about the slow decline of those that are steadfastly holding on. Working-class communities up and down the country need investment and access to opportunity, and I care about this so deeply it hurts.

But there’s part of me that feels removed from it all, now. I’ve lived in London for 16 years – almost the same amount of time that I lived in the North. I’ve built a life so different to what I knew growing up, and it’s one that I cherish.

If we allow ourselves to get lost in nostalgia, we can get stuck. I’ve spent a lot of time looking backwards, but for each of us to truly become who we’re supposed to be, we have to look ahead. We must process the past to live fully in the present, I think. It doesn’t stop that bittersweetness for the way things were, but it stops us from becoming paralysed, or angry, or resentful about the way things change. It means we can move forward with bold ideas and build a better world for everyone.

We can, and should, think about our pasts without getting lost there. For creativity, nostalgia can be a gateway, as demonstrated by the pieces featured on my page this month. Each is drawn from childhood memory, serving as an homage to the power of place.

*****

First, Kevin J. Coffield writes about childhood camping trips, where place takes on an almost mythical quality.

Alexander’s Cove

When I was a child,
my family would spend a couple of weeks camping
down at the blue water,
with the golden sun,
of Alexander’s Cove.

Paths through the woods
with muted sun shining through trees,
seemingly the size of the Empire State Building,
were our playgrounds
and we’d run and explore, discovering so many things.
I was always the pirate, ready to plunder the booty
hidden undiscovered in Alexander’s Cove.

The evening call for dinner meant not just food
but a shift from the pleasures of the day,
to the pleasures of the evening,
with hot dogs and marshmallows over the evening fire.
So many are the memories
of Alexander’s Cove.

And now I find that as life presents its many challenges
my dreams transport me back,
to the paths,
the warm waters,
the laughter that can only come from family,
to a place where life was grand
and the sun truly shone it’s most golden,
to a place called Alexander’s Cove.

© Kevin J. Coffield, 2026

Connect with Kevin on Instagram: @kevinjcoffield and Facebook: Kevin J. Coffield.

*****

Next, Alison Awbery reflects on childhood picnics, and the importance of stories in her younger years.

The Simple Things

Children are easily entertained when they’re small; the whole world is a magical place of new experiences and events. Drum kits of wooden spoons and empty saucepans. Cardboard boxes and packaging. Spent loo rolls, shiny foil or pretty, discarded wrappings. Crayons and blank paper, poster paints and potato stamping. Threading daisy chains, blowing dandelions into the sky, watching the seeds float away.

A daytrip to the beach with a very simple picnic was by far one of the happiest memories from my pre-school days, when we were living in the suburbs of Glasgow. The family would cram into our green Morris Minor traveller car and drive out west to the coast. It felt great to feel all the fresh air and space of the sandy beach, ingest the sights and scents of the sea. It made us kids quite dizzy with delight to run and scream, chase each other, dash to the surf for a toe dip.

When we’d run ourselves ragged, the paddling had turned our feet and knees a shade of purple-blue and our skin was covered in goose pimples, it was time to wrap up in a cosy woolly blanket, shelter among the sand dunes and eat our share of egg sandwiches, washed down with orange squash. If we were lucky, there would be some homemade biscuits too: sweet macaroons made with desiccated coconut, topped with a glace cherry. Falling asleep on the way home was guaranteed after ingesting so much sea breeze.

Reflecting on my early memories got me thinking about my first interactions with books. The magic of tangible story books came into my life after starting school. Sitting in a hushed circle each day, eagerly waiting for the next instalment of the story in progress, was a highlight for me. I honestly don’t remember being read to until I was older, and it was an older sibling who I’d badger persistently to read to or with me. My parents never had the time or energy to read bedtime stories or help me with schoolwork; encyclopedias and dictionaries were my go-to. My own children have always had access to books from their earliest days. They loved to hear bedtime stories, often the same favourites, and nursery rhymes too, over and over.

This got me intrigued about today’s children and their lived experiences with books. In Frank Cottrell-Boyce’s latest book, A British Childhood: How Our Children Live Now, published in June 2026, he describes how some children arrive at school without knowing what a book is or how it works. They attempt to turn pages by swiping, pinching illustrations with their fingers to try to expand them, as though they are electronic tablets and such.

The National Literacy Trust goes so far as to say: There can be few things as powerful as regularly reading to a young child. Yet less than half of parents today of children aged nought-five read with their child daily. It is scientifically proven that we align with other people in a shared activity, and the benefits are profound. Professor Hannah Critchlow demonstrated this in May 2026, live on stage at Hay Festival, with her latest book, The 21^st Century Brain: Cutting Edge Neuroscience To Help Us Navigate The Future. Humans can and do sync in company.

The next step is learning to read for oneself. It’s likened to opening the window on the world. Where to after this?

© Alison Awbery, 2026

Connect with Alison on Instagram: @plot59awellbeingwithnature.

*****

In this final prose piece, Jilly Henderson-Long transports us back to her schooldays, and reflects on the importance of stories in childhood, too.

Remembering Schooldays

In less than three weeks’ time, I turn the ripe young age of 69. It has been a very long time since I was at school. It is hard to recall much about it because, between the ages of 5 and 11, due to circumstances beyond my control, I attended seven different schools! It was probably very helpful that my mother was always a stickler for learning. I could read fluently at three thanks to her and, by the time I started school aged 5, I was already way ahead of my peers.

I had all but forgotten this until a few months ago when, during a mooch through the books on offer at one of a dozen or so local charity shops, I came across an original Janet and John book! Back in the early 60s, these slim, brightly covered volumes were the epitome of learning to read, and I was instantly transported back to the infant school I attended between 1962 and 1964. It was a big red brick building with separate entrances and playgrounds for boys and girls. High brick walls surrounded it, and the headmistress was very strict. Play time was always fun, especially if someone started calling,“What’s the time, Mr Wolf?” Grubby, excitable children would run, screaming as soon as the words “Dinner Time!” were uttered.

The fun and games were sometimes reflected in the Janet and John books, with phrases like Look, John! Look and see the ball, Janet! – but they fell into disregard as the world moved on. John was always being adventurous, while Janet sat and cuddled her dollies – and this became unpopular as the horizons of both boys and girls expanded. But it was still nice, after all these years to come across a Janet and John book. Now I help seven-year-olds with their reading at school and I can see how important it is to give them better stories to read. In all honesty, I’m not sure that Janet and John would cut it these days, because reading isn’t just about learning; it’s the gateway to the future and amazing other worlds.

© Jilly Henderson-Long

Connect with Jilly on Instagram: @jillyhendersonlong.

*****

Header image from Unsplash (c) Annie Spratt

*****

Issue 29, featuring Tharik Hussain 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 Podcasters.Spotify.com.

*****

If you or someone you know has been affected by issues covered in our pages, please see the relevant link below for ​information, advice and support​:

“People are wonderful and surprising, and I question how useful ‘must-haves’ are when it comes to matters of the heart.”