Thursday at eight. Journal entry by Holly Trundle

The firework colours against the ice white light whispered hope; challenged failure; rallied victory in the hearts of householders and passers by, met and united by the expression of gratitude and determination in the Thursday night, eight o’clock clapping of hands, clanging of saucepans, hooting of horns and blasting of trumpets; followed by hot tears, warm conviviality and cooling air, around clustered figures discussing garden abundance, exchanging recipes and recharging social batteries. Beside them, dogs sniffed and leaned into leashes, flowers blazed or faded to seed and the sun eased down the ice white sky, adding colour to the fired bricks of a suburban Thursday in Lockdown.


Hello. I left my home two years ago, to join my Mum and Step Father near London, as their live-in Carer and Companion to my Mum, who has dementia. They celebrated their Silver Wedding Anniversary, Mum’s 82nd birthday and my Step Father’s 90th birthday in a series of joyful parties at the end of last year. On the 27th March, after five days of heroic battling, my Step Father died, at home, of bronchopneumonia probably secondary to coronavirus. Now, I look after my Mum, helping her to get from waking in the morning to finally facing getting into her lonely bed at around midnight. My Poetry, and my friends, help me to shoulder my burden and keep smiling.

1 Comment

  1. Holly, I loved your diary entry. I wish you well with your mother. it’s hard to care for someone with dementia. My niece cared for my sister some years ago. You may, some time in the future, thank God, or the stars, for the burden you carry now. Love to you,

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