By Eithne Cullen

Welcome to my Thoughtful Tuesday page for January 2025. For many people, a New Year means new beginnings. That’s certainly the case for us as we embark on our new theme: ‘Misunderstandings’.

I have some lovely pieces to share with you relating to that theme. You may know that I always play a part in our Pen to Print Christmas poem. There are lots of poems I love at this time of year: Christmas, New Year, winter celebrations and resolutions and so on. But one is a particular favourite of mine: Christmas by John Betjeman. Betjeman describes the mad rush of present buying, but reminds us of the true meaning of Christmas in the life of a community and in his Christian beliefs. I love how he describes the presents:

 

… loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

My fondness for these lines brought me to ask if anyone had any memories of misunderstandings around presents. As usual, our writers responded with some nice pieces.

First, here’s Danny Baxter.

Commodore Amiga Christmas 

My recollection is a bit hazy on this childhood memory but I believe events transpired like this:

It happened around the time I was a teenager. The custom in the household is that we (me and my younger brother, eight-and-a-half years my junior) would get one main present per Christmas. This particular year was the turn of the Commodore Amiga A600 HD home computer. If my memory serves me correctly, me and my dad (R.I.P. circa 2019) had scoped this out in a shop and I’d made plain, in no uncertain terms, exactly what model of computer me and my brother wanted.

The last one we had was a Commodore Vic 20, gifted to me a year before my brother was born and at around the same time everyone else got a Commodore 64, Spectrum 128 or Dragon 64. Later, the Commodore Amiga was released, which was far above the capabilities of the C64 (let alone the Vic 20). We saw several of our school friends acquire one as we watched our computer become increasingly more obsolete until it broke and we were computer-less.

Finally, though, late to the party… it was our turn. So, on Christmas Day we raced downstairs and opened the main present, already knowing what it was supposed to be. However, on opening it, it didn’t look as expected. Our first clue was the box art: none of the flashy colourful air-brushed collaged images of space ship battles and Roman soldiers. No, just a plain white box, with the words Commodore Amiga 600 on the side in blue and red.

It took a minute to realise that the computer did not feature the expected hard drive. It wasn’t an A600HD.

Now, we’d spent much time dwelling on the benefits of having a hard-drive and learning that we were given the hard-drive-less package definitely put a dampener on the Christmas hype. A dark cloud began forming over the usual magic sparkle of the season. That’s the bit we both remember the most.

We informed Dad of the situation, telling him he’d purchased the wrong model. I can’t remember exactly what, but I seem to remember it had been linked to Dad attempting to do a ‘clever Dad thing’ to get a discount and it ended up being just a Dad thing of the non-clever variety. So, he resolved to rectify the situation, going back to the shop to negotiate the return and swapping of the unwanted A600 for the A600HD without us knowing if he would be successful.

The prospect of being unable to make the swap certainly made for a time of anxious anticipation throughout. It would be five or more years before we would see a subsequent computer upgrade and see this mistake reversed if the shop staff couldn’t sort out the situation at this time, so the stakes were high.

Fortunately, everything worked out and we swapped for the Commodore A600HD. The relief set in and damage was undone and, on reflection, Dad vowed in the future to never get surprise big presents again and to consult with us beforehand!

© Danny Baxter, 2025

Connect with Danny on Instagram: @dan_lbbd

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I think I feel more sorry for ‘Dad’ who had done his best (especially with the possibility of a discount)!

Next, is a piece from Jilly Henderson-Long.

SAY   W H A A A T..?

I’ve always been creative in one way or another.  Clearly, my main interest is writing but I also enjoy craft. I remember once making a caravan home out of a shoe box for my younger sister, who desperately wanted an unaffordable dolls house. It had everything: a bedroom, a kitchen, living room, even a loo! She was thrilled when she got it for her eighth birthday but, of course, it didn’t last long, since it was mainly paper and cardboard!

By the time I was ten or so, there was no question at all that I wanted to be a writer. I longed for a Petite typewriter. Remember those? They were essentially toys, but for someone who loved putting words down on paper like I did (and still do), they provided the opportunity to learn to type and go one step beyond printing words on paper by hand. We were not a wealthy family; in fact, we were quite poor, but I remember begging my mum and dad for that typewriter for Christmas. I was 11 then. Every time the ad came on, I’d stress how desperately I wanted it, eventually convincing myself I’d get one.

Christmas approached. It was 1968. I knew I’d wake up on Christmas morning to a stocking containing tangerines, apples, chocolate and little things like pencils, erasers, sharpeners etc. The way it was always done, was that we received one ‘big’ present and several smaller ones. The smaller ones were often books we wanted, socks, pyjamas and underwear. The ‘big’ present always came first. If I remember correctly, that year my brother got an Action Man and my sister got a baby doll. And there, claiming prize position in front of our Christmas tree, was a large box, waiting for me. This was it! At last! A typewriter of my very own. Off came the paper in a tearing frenzy… it wasn’t a typewriter. It was a knitting machine. I mean, a knitting machine! I had never, ever, ever shown even the slightest interest in needlework, so what on earth had possessed Mum and Dad to think I’d want such a thing? To this day, I still don’t understand it! Of course, I felt obliged to try the bloody thing out and I managed to feign enthusiastic exuberance, but it was, without doubt, the worst gift I ever received. It was something of a relief when it broke and was confined to its fate in some landfill site somewhere.

Sadly, Mum and Dad have gone now and I hope they forgive my apparent ingratitude. I’d always been a bit of a tomboy, so maybe they thought it would bring out the girly side of me (some hope)? I once confessed to Mum what a shock it had been to get a knitting machine that Christmas. We often laughed about that… no, really!

© Jilly Henderson-Long, 2025

You can connect with Jilly at LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/jhendersonlong

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I’m sharing two flash pieces, on the theme of misunderstandings, submitted to us by Vinay Jalla. They are so rich in detail, evocative of a feeling of uncertainty and secrets. Thank you for sharing these, Vinay.

Wrong Track

Ravi boarded the Mumbai local train, carrying a flower garland. He was late for his own wedding, his fiancée waiting with her hennaed hands and nervous smile. But Ravi saw someone—an old man sitting by the train window, his dhoti loose and sweat staining his undershirt. The man looked just like his father; the one Ravi hadn’t spoken to in years. “Father?” he whispered, but the old man stared past him. Ravi sat down, desperate to explain, to bridge the gap widened by misunderstandings over dowry demands, his runaway love. “I never hated you,” he blurted.

The old man turned to him. “Son, you have the wrong person,” he said gently.

The train pulled into the next station. Ravi ran through the crowds, hoping his real father was still out there, waiting. But as the garland slipped from his hand, he realised some stations only arrive once.

Secret Letter

Chitra found it in the corner of the wardrobe, behind her mother’s neatly folded sarees. An envelope, brittle and yellowed, addressed to her. My dear Chitra, it began. I know you hate me. I know you think I chose my second family over you. But the truth is…

Chitra’s eyes blurred as she read his words. Her father hadn’t abandoned them. He had been blackmailed, forced to leave, to protect her and mother from creditors who threatened violence. Every penny he’d earned went to them, not to the strangers she’d thought he loved more. She folded the letter, her heart shattering under the weight of misunderstanding.

Too late now to say, I’m sorry, Dad. I should have known. Mother’s urn sat by the window, silent, bearing secrets that never needed to be kept.

© Vinay Jalla, 2025

Connect with Vinay on Facebook: facebook.com/vinay.jalla/, X: @VinayJalla, Instagram: @vinay.jalla55, LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/vinayjalla/ and via their website: vinayjalla.co.uk/

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This poem by Elaine Gardner, Ugly Duckling, is about the bully’s inability to know his/her victim. Perhaps, if there was less misunderstanding, there’d never have been any bullying in this situation.

Ugly Duckling

When all the name-calling
And bullying stopped
Only because I was transformed
Did it mean so much to you all?
That I was so different?
Did you never think
To speak to me,
To smile at me?
Did you never want to hear my thoughts?
See the kindness in my heart,
Or did I not matter?
Are you so shallow,
So intent
On filling each piece of a jigsaw
Into a pretty picture?
Is it only the surface that impresses you?
When my mind is so beautiful
My heart so full of love.
I will always be proud
To be me
The piece
That is unique
That does not fit.

© Elaine Gardner, 2025

You can connect with Elaine on Instagram: @elaine.gardner32

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January is a month famously known for mental health issues and includes ‘Blue Monday’ – the third Monday of the month – labelled the worst day of the year since 2005. This year’s is January 20th. Maybe it’s because that’s when all the bills come in! With that in mind, the last piece I’m sharing is from Clare Brown. Clare uses her poetry and art to connect with people who are struggling with mental health issues and supports a number of charities around mental health with her writing.

This poem, Believe In You tries to clear up the misunderstanding and confusion loss of feelings of self may bring.

Believe In You 

Do you believe in the power of you?
You are good enough to see anything through
Just as the day and the light follow the darkness of night
And rainbows wait until the clouds part to come into sight
So you have the chance to be anything you want to be
Hang on to your hopes and dreams and look for happy

Do you believe there are people out there who care?
Some of whom you will come to trust when you feel despair
If you do, it says a lot about what you think
The power of connection with a. n. other refills your cup to the brink
Kindness is not just about receiving, there’s joy in the giving
When you believe in the power of kindness, life is worth living

@ Clare Brown, 2025

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Finally, I’m sending sincere greetings for a safe and happy New Year to all readers.

If you have resolved to be more creative in 2025, why not submit to our magazine pages? It’s easy, just send to pentorint.org.

As for me, my resolution is to try and use the word merry more often. It’s a great word, and it’s not just for Christmas. A very merry 2025 to you all!

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Issue 23 is out now. You can 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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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​: