Fear and Loathing in Edge Hill
The engine of a lawnmower revs as the gardener goes to
work. Clad in all green he disappears through the shrubbery.
A cluster of students sit in the shade under a tall tree
listening intently to the short female lecturer. They all soon disband into
groups, meandering around the park, picking up twigs as they go. I rack my
brain as to a reason for this. Biology students collecting them for research?
Dramatists looking to build knowledge of how to embody the ‘perfect tree’? Or
did I just not pay attention at the freshers fair and completely overlook the
stick collecting society?
“This borders on stick pornography!” One remarks.
So that’s your sick game is it?
“This borders on stick pornography!” One remarks.
So that’s your sick game is it?
I divert my attention to sign out of the corner of my
eye. A very glamorous mock of the famous ‘welcome to Las Vegas’ sign… only
without the neon, sadly. Perhaps it is a monument to someone who got terribly
lost in their search for the ‘American Dream’ and wound up at Edge Hill. At
least the ducks would have cheered them up.
The students all come back into sight and meet at the
shade-soaked tree, same as before. Finally, some clarity as to what was going
on. They present to each other: stick people, stick houses and stick tables. A
veritable stick society. They all laugh. Some dance. Then they all go their
separate ways.
I’ve never been more confused.
Thomas Chivers
Standing
Standing
by the multi-tiered pond as its waters tumble over shallow ledges, you could
have imagined yourself anywhere else. If you closed your eyes and listened to
nothing but the falling water, you could fool yourself into believing you were
on a beach beside some warm, tropical ocean, or perhaps in a verdant forest
glade. Then that brusque September wind washed over you, shattering the
illusion while foreshadowing the cold to come. Yet for the moment the warm sunshine filtering down from the pale blue sky is enough to beat back the threat of true Autumn. The wisps of cloud above look like downy feathers. Others resemble solitary strands of spider web, their pattern meaningful only to the spider who spun them.
A small
group of people passes by, one girl asking of the others, “when you die, is it
like before you were born?”. You try to ponder this awhile, but the only result
is that you get sucked down into the mental black hole of trying to picture
something existing before birth or after death. You glance over at the ducks
floating on the artificial lake, wondering if ducks would ask themselves such philosophical
conundrums if they were capable of conscious thought, or whether they would
deem such fancies as a waste of time in their feathery brains.
People
now trickle out of surrounding buildings, all their voices and footsteps coming
together to form the unmistakable buzz of humanity, fleeting as it gives way to
the pulse of nature; the resonances of the water, the sonorous song of the of
the wind as it passes through the trees and sets the reeds to dancing. This little patch of nature appears dwarfed by the neighbouring structures of metal, stone and glass. An artificial and temporary Eden encroached on by civilization, a target waiting to fall prey to its progress.
Merrion Haw
A boy
in a blue collared shirt checks his phone as he eats away at the remains of his
breakfast, licking his fingers after the last mouthful, then looks around
boredly. A girl arrives and he smiles as she sits down, dropping her bags to
the floor heavily. They begin to talk but she looks far more interested than he
does.
Behind
them, an elderly man in a red and white plaid shirt is unpacking vase-like
teapots of all sizes, some so small they could fir in the palm of my hand.
After clearing away the boxes and containers he stands and waits behind the
protective barrier of his stall, smiling politely as two girls pass him by.
With no one to talk to, he stands alone, tapping gently on the table top,
almost certainly conversing with himself.
The woman on the stall next to him is dressed
in a bright silk shirt made of reds and creams. She does not talk to anyone but
often glances over at the man selling teapots. With spectacles perched atop her
nose, she straightens out fine pieces of string between her fingertips then
places them out of view. Perhaps they are the beginnings of necklaces, as her
stall consists of hundreds of glittering beads from rings, bracelets pendants
and, indeed, a selection of necklaces made with coloured strings.
-
“I
didn’t join any of the sports teams” says a thin girl to her
more-than-slightly-larger friend. He replies,
“I’m
not surprised.”
“Oi,”
she exclaims with a smile, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.
-
A boy
in grey sweatpants and a striped shirt paces around slowly with his phone
pressed to his ear, his unshaven face fixed in a permanent expression of worry.
He pulls the phone away, glances down at it, presses a button then holds it
back to his ear. This same set of actions is repeated once more, and then he
seems to give up. He stuffs the phone into his pocket and then runs out of the
building.
-
A man
in a ‘ROWDEC LTD’ uniform squints as he holds the smartphone to his face, his
whiskery eyebrows drawn down into a frown. This reminds me a lot of my father
and how he does the same thing with his new phone. Well, he will insist on
buying the latest gadgets without figuring out how the less advanced ones work
first. Perhaps it is just a man thing?
Over at
the Starbucks it sounds like a Spanish dance festival as the workers make their
fun, banging plastic mixing jugs against the coffee machines in a rhythmic
fashion. More percussion is added when someone orders an iced frappe and one
jug is filled with small frozen cubes, clashing together and bouncing off the
sides.-
Three friends walk by, two guys and a girl. The two guys raise burgers to their lips in sync, with as much gusto as naturally possible. The girl, on the other hand, clutches a small bottle of water in both hands, meekly lifting it to her lips to take a small sip.
-
A tanned boy in a clean white robe walks by, opening the wrapper to a KitKat like any other, shoulder bag held at his side. As he walks by a group of girls his head hangs low as if shy, as if he knows what is to come. Once he has walked past the girls, I notice that they are looking at him, laughing behind their hands.
I will
just note, on my way back to the lecture theatre moments later I see the same
boy again. This time he is smiling and laughing in a large group of mixed races
and cultures, males and females alike. These people do not seem to judge each
other by background, and I’m glad that this time the boy looks happy.
A construction worker unties bits of ribbon-like plastic
strips off of a metal bridge, their function is unknown.
The sky is blue, the moon is out.
A droning siren babbles in the distance, I hear no birds.
A young monkey puzzle grows in the plant bed, it will
most likely grow to overshadow its peers.
The water's surface on a narrow lake ripples, maybe from
the wind or perhaps some artificial current.
A group of students are gathered outside their tenements,
they look like a bunch of prats.
There is what seems to be an artificial beach, wreathed
by fake grass, the steep stone bank keeps the sand from meeting the water by a
few feet.
I can see a life preserver in a case by the path, even
though a bottle of hooch can break the water's surface at the shoulder.
Some architect clearly thought that fencing piles of
rocks behind chicken wire doesn't look like complete shit.
Much of the grass here has been lain recently and hasn't
quite settled yet, its surface marred by brown streaks.
Not Just Ducks
The sun is shining on a lovely Autumn day. The chatter of
people milling around is mixed with the sounds of singing birds and ducks
quacking.
The breeze in the air is wafting through the trees and
the sound of water running is calming. The golden brown leaves ensure me that
Autumn is finally here.
Clusters of people are walking over the bridge that leads
to a bench near the pond. The greenery surrounding me is making this place as
peaceful as it possibly could be. The plants around the pond are green,
sprouting from the dry, muddy earth below.
The petals are bright yellow, their heads turning in the
wind as if to be in awe of the beauty of the world around them.
Exploring the place, ducks cross my path, making noises
as if to suggest they are hungry.
Ducks wander around the place as much as people do, it
seems.
The emerald green of the duck’s head is a strong contrast
to that of its beak, which is yellow.
A pathway of cobbles has been lined with greenery on
either side. The path, as I look upon it, has leaves that have fallen from the
trees above, deciding to make the spot where they lay, their home.
Above me, an overarching tree. Its trunk so strong but
yet so green; it could be as old as time. The light peaks out between the tree
branches. It is like a haven, sitting here, in complete harmony with nature.
Maisie McGarvey
A Stone’s Throw
I notice amongst the shrubs a large stone, closer to the water than people usually stray, but a perfect seat to gaze upon the water and reflect. The seat is unoccupied for now, and I can’t help but wonder how often people shun the traditional benches and choose to be drawn to the magnetic lake edge.
Alas, I have found my spot, my viewpoint, my vantage point, my … last resort. Across the field of green and golden blossoms, highlighted by the radiant sun, sits my nemesis. ‘Mr X’. He appears to be oblivious as he takes in the surroundings and completes the same task as me, but I know he’s feeling smug about having arrived minutes earlier to get the perfect spot. But I can’t complain. The weather is curiously warm, despite the time of year, and the magnificent glow of the sun is embellishing everything in its path, from the skyscraper trees to the sharp, pristine blades of grass.
Only an
artist could create such a picture, and only a poet could adequately describe
such a scene. But, of course, all good things must come to an end as a horde of
students, led by a member of staff, clamber across the grass. Chattering,
laughing and shouting as if they needed their presence to be known to the
entire university. A plump girl, with brown scraggly hair, explodes in a high
pitch cackle. A tall, odd looking boy walks solitarily, earphones in and
excluded from the group. I can’t help but wonder, is that by choice or purely
misfortune? To think, in only a few moments, serenity could transform into
annoyance. I, perched alone on a shaded rock, have suddenly changed from being an
unnoticed wallflower to an outsider. Twenty three pairs of eyes nervously
glanced towards me. At first a hint of curiosity, then intrigue and finally,
the inevitable (how cynical!) judgement. The fumbling and muttering amongst the
adolescent pupils drowned out the once magical songs of the birds above. The
only thing to take my mind off of this annoyance was a single duck. Potentially
exiled from the rest of the group, or, most likely as it’s a duck, it’s just
lost.
Ah, a
familiar smell drifts from the unknown and envelops the surroundings and the once
pure air becomes acrid. Cigarette smoke. Apparently ashamed of his addiction,
he latches to the tree trunk and loiters amongst the undergrowth. Hidden in the
shade, he hawks and spits. His pleasantness reinforced by a large stain on his
shirt and the barbaric features of his face. A startled looks appears on his
face as he acknowledges my presence, he resorts to the walk of shame
(admittedly not the conventional one of university). Very little has happened for a number of minutes. The trees remain intimidating, the blooms of
flowers are just as alluring and the faint breeze is very welcoming. Just as I begin to feel at peace, the mass body of students disperse, and, unsurprisingly, manage to cause more disruption in their little cliques. I find it ironic, in a sanctuary such as this, very few people spend time here on their own. However if students did do, then it would inevitably lose its appeal. So in a strange way I’m glad it’s underappreciated.
Liam
McMahon
The leaves rustle on the grey concrete of the floor near the
library. A man stops to take a picture of the library building, his arms
stretched out wide and his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment as he’s
caught taking the picture.
As I sit here, I find my eyes drawn towards the glass on the
side of the library building, which is to my right side; as the sun shines in
the otherwise cold morning air, I can see the reflection of the tree which
stands tall, swaying gently in the wind that blows through its branches.
The sound of the wind weaving in and between the leaves on
the trees creates a soft symphony of sound that surrounds you, fills your ears
and relaxes you without even having to try.
Identical twins stroll past
together, their hair of the same red shade and curly/wavy length, which
cascades down their backs, like the motion of water rippling against the surface.
Yet even though their hair is done in the same way, their
clothes show the difference between them, simply by them wearing different
tops, to show who they are. They walk past the business building at my back and
head further out towards the hub and Wilson Centre.
A workman stands up a ladder, his arms working hard as he
fixes the side window of the library, his back towards the Student Information
Centre.
His cap on his head and his arms bare thanks to the T-shirt
he wears underneath his work vest, he repairs the window before coming down the
ladder, folding it and lifting it as if it weighed nothing more than a feather.
He heads into the library building, unaware that he’d just been observed and
written about.
The
breeze is fresh in the crisp morning air and the wind isn’t afraid to blow the
strands of loose hair back off the face of a young woman as she moves past the
business building, her yellow chinos and black jacket making her stand out in
the crowd.
An old man sits on the wall behind me; I watch between the
flowers as his lips close over the cigarette in his hand and he takes a pull of
nicotine into his system, before he releases it in a slow outflow of
smoke. His red jumper is visibly worn
from years of use, the fabric of the cotton having thinned and the stitching
slowly beginning to unpick itself along the seam.
His hair has greyed and his skin is wrinkled and sagged with
age, yet he shifts his position on the wall with ease, a man used to the
movements and limitations of his body. He moves away from the wall between one
glance and the next; seemingly vanishing into the campus crowd without my seeing
him do so. A group of girls walk past heading towards the hub; a group of fifteen to twenty, all different in their own way and appearance, their hair colours various shades and their heights and weights all varying between one scale and the next. Yet as they walk, they all talk and laugh, gesturing wildly with their hands as they go.
The chatter of talk, the laughter and the shouts, it’s all a
consistent stream of sound which surrounds you in a seemingly never ending
circle of activity.
The business school has little
activity at this time of the day and other than the few stray students who
wander in and out, the building appears silent.
The wall I am sitting on to write this faces towards what I can only guess is halls of residence, the library is to my right, the hub to my left and the business school sits at my back near the swimming pool. As I sit here, I sink away from the crowd, vanishing into my own space like the sun behind the clouds.
The sound of water jets fills the air every so often as the
workmen clean the pavement. Their work interrupted every few seconds as more
students pass by and I can’t help but wonder, at least to myself, if they are
getting irritated with the constant stop and start of what they may have
assumed would be a simple task.
Two men
walk around the outside of the business school, looking up at the roof and
sides as they talk about something my ears cannot pick up from this distance.
One of the men, whose head is shaved, looks down at the notebook in his hands,
before he scribbles something down and as I look back towards them, they’ve
walked on. The sun has moved now, nearly an hour on and the shadows that were once long in length have now shortened in size. What was once in shadow is now bathed in the warmth of the sun.
No matter how hard the sun tries to warm the area, the wind
blows in continuously and with it, comes the cold crisp air which wins the
silently raging battle warring on between the sun and the wind.
A woman walks past me, the
wheels on her pull along case banging over and over again on the small spaces
in the concrete tiles. Just after the
woman has past, her walk brisk and her head high, a middle aged man moves by
slowly, his head down and his backpack slung over his arm, but it’s his sigh
that draws my attention to him, his head lowered and his shoulders hunched as
he heads towards the library.
The contrast between the two unknown people is vast, their
appearances opposite of each other and as they walk past one another, I wonder
what other contrasts they have between them and what similarities they may
share.
Jade Lloyd
A man smoking a cigarette enters a phone box. He lifts
the phone from the receiver and holds it to his ear briefly before replacing
it. He pushes the door open with his foot and takes a drag on his cigarette
before leaving.
A student lingers near the entrance of the library. He
retreats back to the wall and takes a seat, watching as people pass by. He
checks his phone intermittently.
Two members of staff approach the front of the building.
One gesticulates as he talks whilst the other nods and takes notes. His pen
moves furiously across the paper.
The wind picks up and dry leaves blow across the ground.
A young man with glasses looks intent as he enters the
library. A woman hurries along the path. Her hair is blowing in the breeze.
I brush away the leaves on my page.
An overweight man passes, his gaze fixed on his phone.
His shirt is too small. He laughs to himself before stopping and changing
direction. As he heads back towards the main building, he’s stopped by a woman.
They begin to talk. He takes a pen from his pocket and waves it as they
converse.
A girl with a thick accent eats as she talks.
One of the library staff wheels a trolley across the
pavement. Its contents rattle as he walks.
A small food van passes.
A man walks with purpose away from the main building. A
woman stops him. They recognise each other stop to talk in the middle of the
path. One nods and offers minimal responses whilst the other talks avidly. She
removes her glasses and places them in her hair.
Groups of people begin to congregate outside the library.
A man in a long, dark coat and a flat cap strides past.
The overweight man from earlier emerges from the main
building with a carrier bag.
A woman balances her shopping on the low wall near the
library as she makes a phone call.
A man takes small, quick steps towards the Arts centre,
his head low.
A group of girls walk past; one of them is carrying a
gift bag. She struggles to control a foil balloon as the wind picks up.
A balding man with an awkward gait enters the library.
A man in a sports kit passes. He looks at my paper.
A sign near the entrance of the library has blown loose
at one corner and flaps in the breeze.
Leaves move in circles across the ground.
A woman pulls a suitcase behind her.
It bounces on the brick paving and clicks as she walks.
A group of female students pass, speaking loudly.
A woman carrying a pile of textbook and a set of car keys
struggles as she walks towards the library.
A student in a long coat and printed t-shirt is dressed
as the tenth Doctor. He carries a messenger bag resembling the T.A.R.D.I.S
which bounces on his hip as he walks.
A man in dark glasses watches me as he passes.
Individual students sit on the walls near the main
building, hunched over books.
Two women, one of whom is holding a baby, pass by. The
second woman coos over the child as they walk.
A tall man with a beard and printed t-shirt enters the
library. His posture is poor.
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