By Eithne Cullen
Welcome to the new term, the new school year of Thoughtful Tuesday pages. And in true teacherly style, I was keen to set: ‘What I did in my summer holidays’ as the theme for our first writing pieces. Luckily, the pieces I’m sharing all fit in with the theme of reflection, as each of our writers (and artists) has given a reflection on what the summer holidays held for them.
Firstly, I’d like to share this lovely picture from five-year-old Trudy. When I saw it, I wanted to jump in myself, and enjoy the summer fun she’s captured. Thanks for sharing!
© Trudy Cullenbrooke, 2025
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There’s a great tradition of writers being a little self-deprecating when they have done something foolish. I’d like to thank Mary Walsh for this hilarious poem about a tiny mistake she made…
No Room At The Inn Or It Ain’t The Copa Cabana
Her name was Mary
She went to Whitby
For a little fish and chips
And a sea view for a bit
But when she got there
It was so crowded
With people eating chips
And pies and pizza bits
The parking was a bore
Was there room for more?
At the harbour
Harbour in Whitby
In a hotel rather pretty
Her name was Mary
She took her suitcase
Leaving him to park the car
While she booked in at the bar
But when she got there
It was a shocker
There was no room for her you see
She’d booked for 2043!
At the harbour
Harbour in Whitby
In a hotel rather pretty
At the harbour
Harbour in Whitby
No room for she, until 2043.
What would you do, if it was you?
© Mary L Walsh, 2025
Connect with Mary on Instagram: @marelwa60
Mary’s launching her poetry collection Threads Of Home in September. Here’s wishing her lots of luck with what should be a great read.
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Continuing in the humourous vein, here’s a very short summer piece from Danny Baxter.
Alighting At Marble Arch
A young blonde lady in a beige jacket kicked my knee as she got up to alight the carriage at Marble Arch
I looked up and she smiled
No apology
It didn’t hurt so we both know I didn’t need one
I smiled back
It was a pleasant exchange
Good times
© Danny Baxter, 2025, Xian Force Productions
Connect with Danny on Instagram: @dan_lbbd
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A few of us started our summer travels with a trip to Hay-on-Wye for the Pen to Print Writers’ Retreat and the amazing book festival. It’s always a treat. Claire Steele tells us about her experience in this next piece.
Way Hay! – Visting The Hay Festival 2025 With Pen to Print
We had a simply glorious time on our writers’ retreat to the Hay Festival, courtesy of Pen to Print. Staying in the lovely building and environment of Trewern Outdoor Education Centre, it was a chance to affirm old friendships, meet new writers and encounter new ideas and engagements across a broad range of subjects. We were moved to tears and laughter, to debate and insightful conversation and to rethink some of the most compelling questions of our times.
One of the recurring and most moving themes was that of multiple belongings. This was reflected on by Hisham Matar, Rebecca Solnit and Elif Shafak, who won one of the awards of the Festival and a standing ovation for her session with Kirsty Lang. She talked very movingly about the role of fiction in strengthening us, enabling us to understand emotional truths in a very profound way and enabling us to belong in multiple places at once. Given that she is forbidden to return to her home country, Turkey, this was very affecting.
Hisham Matar and Diana Matar gave the George Alagiah lecture and picked up on this theme, talking about how we belong to the languages we write in, in his discussion of translating the works of Naguib Mahfouz. This was such a tender session, looking at how we attempt to create continuity out of fragments, how we discover truths when we have to attend to mystery. Rebecca Solnit also gave a very uplifting account of the invitations to discovery that writing and reading afford us: how essay writing is itself a radical and loving act, a way of engaging with the world, paying special attention to the ordinary and everyday in the context of our era of grand gestures.
I came home from the festival lit up with a sense of possibility and hope; surely one of the most valuable gifts we can have in our current times. It was a festival in every sense, a feast for the body and soul: distinctive, wise, candid, funny and utterly original.
© Claire Steele, 2025
Connect with Claire on Instagram: @magicaljourneysclaire @constellationspress @bythebookpress
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Next, Gulnaz Abdullah shares her story about meeting a writer she truly admires. As you can see, it was a real adventure for her.
Meeting Elif Shafak
In 1964, Abdullah Emirzadeoglulari (Em-ear-zah-de-oh-lu-la-rih), accompanied by his friend, had just made a delivery. They were on their way back home, but never made it. Left behind was his wife and three children: age six, three and three months. The six-year-old was my dad. This was in Cyprus.
In 2008, my dad was living in London with his wife and four children. He was visiting his family in Cyprus when a string of events led to the answers to questions on the lips of generations in my family. Two JCB diggers dug in the areas they were directed to, but after a few days they found nothing. My dad returned to England. The next day, with the promise of anonymity, someone went to the site and pointed out the exact location to dig. Half a metre outside of where they had been searching and three feet down, the remains of two individuals were found. Forensic tests showed that one of them was my grandad. They had been pulled over, made to dig a ditch, then shot. There’s a list of 2,000 missing people in Cyprus from 60s and these were two of them.
Nearly half a century later, both men were laid to rest and families had their answers. The Committee Of Missing Persons on Cyprus’s (CMP) website words it perfectly: For families of missing persons, time does not heal – answers do. I have a place I can lay flowers on. I hope all the missing people are found and given the flowers they deserve.
In late 2021, while making my rounds at a family wedding, I sat with some of my dad’s cousins and other people from his village. The topic of my grandad came up. I was told that Elif Shafak’s book, The Island Of Missing Trees, was inspired by the recovery of him and his friend. I carried that with me for a while.
In the summer of 2022, I went to Cyprus. It was my first time since 2015. The version of me visiting in 2022 was different to the one that had visited in 2015. I was dealing with a lot of grief. The woman of 2015 was lost and searching for her place. In my possession was a copy of The Island Of Missing Trees.
So, I began to read: by the pool, on the beach, in bed, in the car. I could not believe a book had managed to encapsulate the history, trauma and beauty of Cyprus among the words of a made-up story. This thoughtfully-written book led me to ask questions. I asked family members about their experience of Cyprus in the 60s and 70s. I heard the story of a lady and her children spending their days crawling along the floor of their home to avoid being shot through the window.
I returned home with a better idea of who I am, where I’m from, and why I’m here. My understanding of my parents’ and grandparents’ generation has exponentially increased. All because of this book.
In May 2025, I had the privilege of representing Pen to Print and Write On! at the Hay Festival. I was there for three days. When I looked at the programme, I saw Elif Shafak had two talks on the days I was there. It felt serendipitous. I had this rumour about the link between my grandad and my book, and wanted it confirmed.
I queued for 45 minutes, giving me time to try and figure out how to word my question. Then, and with just one person in front of me, my heart thumped against my chest and I lost my words. Luckily, I was there with people who supported me and knew about my mission. They told me: “It’s now or never.” I crouched down to be eye-level with her as she signed my copy of The Island Of Missing Trees. I shared what I’d been told, and we talked. It was clear this rumour was incorrect. Though partially influenced by the discovery of a missing person, that person was not my grandad. I told her I was glad to know one way or the other, and we took a photo together.
There’s a lot more I wish I’d told her, but I couldn’t hold the queue up any more. I walked away with a feeling I couldn’t explain at first. Now, I think it’s because, for a few years, it felt as though this book could give meaning and purpose to an act that had deprived a woman of her husband, children of their father and me of my grandad.
I’m grateful I had the chance to talk to her, and I’m grateful for her ability to write a story that has anchored my own journey in terms of who I am, where I’m from, and why I’m here.
© Gulnaz Abdullah, 2025
© Gulnaz Abdullah, 2025
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The next piece I’m including is by Write On! regular, Sebastian Elanko. It’s a description of a holiday and the feelings that came with it: a real reflection.
A Summer Holiday
The car barrelled down highways, thoroughfares,
We watched the verges, gazing at the hares.
A rich sun gladly sent its silver rays,
Through suburban trees in shimmering hazes.
We saw the meadow butterflies alight,
And flutter on the summer breeze’s flight.
I took you to that place you hold so dear—
A hidden glen to calm the soul, without a fear.
We spent that enamoured time without a quid pro quo,
A world unto ourselves, with no need to go.
The days were only yours and mine, hooray!
A perfect, golden summer holiday.
Stepping in the cottage, a passionate kiss,
I held you, lifted by a sudden bliss.
The sun then set, our tiredness soon outgrown,
Faded by joy and laughter we had known.
We were there to relish in the summer’s spell,
To look after each other, and nature as well.
We woke before the sun, to see the morning star,
You rose, and then our destination was not far.
We walked along the river Mellte, listening,
Gazing at the four waterfall’s cool glistening.
All along the walk, we heard the sweetest calls
Of Dipping birds and Grey wag-tails near the falls.
A long, long walk I wished would never end,
Our time a gift for us alone to spend.
I’ll not forget that moment, bold and wild,
We stood beneath the waterfall, and smiled;
Shivering and dancing in the icy rush,
The cold meant nothing in that watery hush.
The sun began to set behind the mountain crest,
We walked back to the cottage, weary, blessed.
Past little fountains, expectations grew,
For star-gazing, in the dark, skies to view.
The Hay Bluff was pitch-dark, no light pollution there,
Our strength revived by that cool, midnight air.
We saw great Jupiter and Saturn’s rings,
Breathtaking, brilliant, celestial things.
Till aching tiredness found us by midnight,
Our bodies yielding to the fading light.
We slept back at the cottage until noon,
Knowing we would be going home too soon.
That was the finale of our holiday—
We wished for just a little longer stay.
© Sebastian Elanko, 2025
Here’s an evocative summer picture to remind us of the good times.
© Dr Afsana Elanko, 2025
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Sometimes, when it’s back to school time we wonder: “Where did that summer go?” Reading all these pieces, I’m more likely to feel amazement at just how much we’ve managed to fit into this glorious summer of 2025. October will bring a new theme for the magazine: (R) Evolution. If you feel inspired to write something around this, remember to submit to pentoprint.org.
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Issue 26, featuring Patrick Vernon OBE, 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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