The turning of paper leaves bathed the room in a soothing sound. An odd
murmur was muttered every so often from the small group in the far corner -
breaking the silence. A man, arms clenched behind his back, strode the
'Literature and History' aisle sternly; his steel blue eyes peering atop the
rim of low slung spectacles. A sudden guffaw shook the room into life, as an
off-task student inhaled her daily feed of gossip. Myriads of scholars,
young and old, milled up and down every set of sturdy shelves. Pens and
books strewn athwart the table - a young man violently scribed upon tired
paper. The ink infected its' sheets - blotching and running, twisting and
twirling. In glided a girl. Swaying her hips to impossible degrees and
sporting nothing but the latest fashion to come off of the Milan catwalk. A
rhythmical clip-clop of her heels turned many heads as her rumbling, crimson
curls rose and fell to the orchestrating whip of the wind that rushed
through the door of that which she left.
Their wings flapped irritably in the winding Ormskirk breeze. Gliding and
drifting erratically, their minds wandered as did their wings. Each one
taking their turn to plunge into the icy water. Rear end vertical for only
moments, before surfacing. Droplets chased and weaved from their feathers in
a hurried fashion as the taunting gale persisted to heave leisurely clouds
away.
Jonathan Clarke
Sat on a dull, grey table, next to a light blue wall. The uncomfortable seat I am sat on is a dark pink colour. The material has a texture that when stared at long enough starts to look like the seat has scales. The library has a constant noisy chatter. One may wonder how a building with so loud with so little books could be referred to as a library at all. On the table adjacent to the one i am sat is a young woman. She is writing with a red pen, rubbing her head as if she is in pain. Sat under a clock as dull as the rest of the furniture filling the room, she also begins to look dull. Rubbing her head and playing with her glasses, with a secretary hair cut and plain beige jumper.
Sat on the couches near her are two people sat next to each other . Both are using laptops of the same make and model. They have a look so similar, you have to wonder if they are sitting next to one another using the laptops to communicate with one another. No use for human speech, simply euphemisms for the cold internet dependant age in which we live. I myself also sadly part of this techno age as not five minutes previous my phone received a text. Vibrating across the desk I fought an urge to see who had disturbed my thoughts.
Viewing the room looking for observations the fire exit catches my interest. The man drawn on the fire exit is running from a fire, through a door outside. The doorway casts light inwards. Surely if there was a fire blazing, the fire would cast a shadow away from its angry blaze, not towards itself. Although if it was so light outside the fiery building, one may ask himself how there could be such a noticeable shadow at all.
In looking for something else to write about my attention is cast to the noisy chatter around me. Eventually with eavesdropping the noisy dribble blurs into one foreign sound i cannot make sense of.
Joe Bolton
Approaching the faculty of health, I glance at the corner room and an image of the late, great Liverpool manager Bill Shankly stares at me through the window. Upon pondering what the class inside is discussing I light a smoke and stand next to a bin overflowing with coffee cups and cigarette ends. An image of nervousness and trepidation all freshers must relate to. Emotions Bill Shankly never endured building my football club into the great institute it became.
I contemplate what to write about while I enjoy my smoke while listening to the din of the construction site, a world behind me both physically and metaphorically. This academic surrounding seems alien to me, the clean, hospitable looking buildings, covered in glass in front of me run in stark contrast to the dirty old town of boarded windows I left behind.
Before my eyes there lies friendly faces, smiling chatting casually with nothing but optimism for the future. It’s as if this place reaffirms in people that their lives are improving, that they are here to better themselves.
But behind my ears there is the stark reminder of what I am leaving behind. The gruelling manual labour the work requires, with little prospects other than sustaining oneself. A world I was born to but never quite accepted.
This campus with its duck pond and varied accents represents to me the chance to progress, to experience something other than the dole queues and drunks fighting.
The siren from the workmen's digger
pervades the calling of the ducks
who splash in the pond leaving ripples
that catch my eye
Another digger drives past, disturbing the peace
I've lost my focus as I observe a group of freshers trying to find
their lecture rooms
People from all walks of life wander around the campus
Their searching set to the music of a diesel engine
I'm stirred by the chatter of new arrivals
I wonder if they feel as I do
As I scrawl with this pen against the Linc
These leafy surroundings can't but help one think
Jake Zywek
A boy sits in the corner with his pen in his mouth, slowly turning it
between his lips as he stares intently at the computer screen. While his
body movements are slow, his eyes flit frantically over the words. Suddenly
he jolts to life; the wet pen dropping out of his mouth and his fingers tap
the keys. When his eyes raise to the screen again, he smiles.
Two people sit on the hard backed army green sofa, identical laptops on each
of their laps to match their identical posture. Whilst the girl is typing
constantly, yet still talking, the boy never moves a finger. His long black
hair covers one eye and a small smile creeps onto his face each time he
looks at the girl.
Laura Klein
A rough accent catches my ear; he’s sat on a bench talking while he slurps his drink of pure sugar. The slurps blend into the sound of the silhouettes behind me tapping their heels on the harsh concrete.
Girls pull their jackets round them.
Over the way a new romance blossoms as affectionate cuddles of warmth shield a girl from the icy breeze. Laughter from across the lake drown out their smiles as a man throws bread to the flocking ducks and watches them fight like addicts over drugs.
Lisa Jayne Hannam
Reception
A handful of people wait and smile at each other anxiously in the visiting area as though expecting something terrible to happen. Meanwhile, the smell of cooked lunches wafts through into the reception area, beckoning hungry stomachs within the area into its abode.
A woman’s black, nail-polished fingers fidget nervously with her purse between her small, pale hands. Eventually she looks up as though she recognizes someone, but then her eyes glaze over in disappointment and she looks back down, abandoned and crestfallen.
By the entrance to the reception, the bright green doors spin continuously as more people enter the building. Two people meet by the desk, a middle aged man and a woman, both wearing expensive suits. They kiss each other on the cheek and loudly, as though to make some kind of point, but it sounds over expressed and sloppy.
A heard of students pass by the visiting area, a rainbow of different styles and outfits of personal expression on legs. They are all talking to the people with them, some almost at the same time as others that they are with, like animals making continuous noises at the zoo.
A blonde lady sits as still as a statue, her expression doesn’t change from neutral the whole time she is seated, she simply remains there until the magic happens, a familiar face brings her out of her trance and she finally smiled and left, chatting away absent-mindedly.
Rachael Norton
The Courtyard was almost silent. The trickle of the water fountain ran
elegantly from the cherub like ornament. Noises in the distance rang out, a
social gathering or perhaps a lesson taking place in hale hall.
The Breeze tugged at the plants and bushes, the perfectly cut grass
lay motionless; an military standard hair cut.
Swiftly, a man in builders boots and high visibility jacket had
swept past me without my notice and climbs to the top of the building, his
scaffold clinging to the wall like vines. He stands at the top and looks
out across the buildings like a centurian guard on a castle wall.
A voice calls out "Mike!". Again it calls "Mike! I'm coming up
now, wait for me." Another man, a stockier man came across the courtyard in
the same clothing as 'Mike' and began to scale the steel spire. The clang
and thud of tools, metal tools echoed out across the courtyard and in to the
distance
Here there is a sweet smell, like cakes evanescent on the breeze.
Dominic Boyle
A wind tickles the autumn tree leaves, a constant catalogue of cars chug from place to place, the sky beams. Close groups of three and four wander with time, making laughter and noise.
A boy sits alone, skimming thru a handbook lowering his head and straining to read the words on a page. His sports bag lay discarded on his right, a steady stream of indiscernible music blurs from somewhere.
Brown, tattered, curled leaves lay scattered on the freshly cut and slightly damp green grass. The trees sometimes sway to a invisible beat and every so often a gentle but steady stream of people bumble across the open pavement. Faces of fear, content, worry and excitement all shine and a flash of varied emotion, each has their own quarrel or delay, their eyes darting from sky to ground.
Black, white, blue and green cars scatter for exits and spaces, the heavy groan of engines, constant and heavy, rumbles thru the grounds suffocating the wind that splits through the trees and the chaotic chatter echoing.
Groups of bright and explosive coloured flowers lay neatly sectioned and squared off around the grass, too far for people to reach but close enough for them to notice. Aside a pair of revolving doors stands a tall woman and her group of non assuming friends, all dim in enthusiasm and spark but chatting with absolute certainty on every subject.
She brings a fresh cigarette upon her lips and frantically searches herself for a lighter, she finds it and the world breathes a sigh of relief, after taking two long drags she lowers the smoking stick from her face proclaiming “I hate looking for spaces, its always packed” Her group don’t respond, but simply hum in agreement.
A collection of boys in various sports wear gaggle and flap and holler at each other, each with bigger sports bags than the next, boasting a even bigger name with a even bigger slogan. Aside them stands a small woman talking to a tall, obviously uninterested gentleman who began kicking leaves at his feet.
“Joanne was saying stuff to Jackie and Jackie was saying stuff to Pat” she didn’t speak to him, but simply spoke the words into the air, nothing could stop her.
Behind and in front a constant and varied sculpture of people and a overcast sky, muted with clouds and bemused by it all.
Adam Tarry
Western Campus and the Faculty of Health
A grim faced builder holding a screwdriver glances up at students who are leaving the faculty of education. I hear the monotonous drone of construction work, though the source of the sound is completely snut out of sight by a row of crooked pine trees, which rustle in the passing breeze. Seagulls on the lake scatter into flight as the back door of a delivery van clangs shut. A little further down the path a dark haired girl smoking withdraws a cigarette from her lips and smiles. Unwavering ducks sit on the path as we pass by.
Meals are hastily served to students who are enticed in conversation. Some eat on the benches outside admiring the lake. Two freshers look through the windows inquisitively, one asking the other what they were going to buy.
White dummies lie on steel stretchers, each with default vacant expressions. A concession of laughter erupts in the corridor. A trio of staff members head towards the stairs.
Liam Jochems
Three students laughing and playing on a large stone square embedded in the
middle of the floor, pretending it is a chess board. One girl gracefully
moves around the bored showing the other two how cretin pieces can move,
taking on the role of the Queen, Castle and Pawn. I think she is Irish or
pretending to be, . . . . . not quite sure.
They are gone now, within the blink of an eye they have vanished. A workman
in his blue overalls walks over the chess board, tools hanging from his
pocket, clinking to the beat of his steps. . . Clink . . . . Clink . . .
Clink.
A lady in a red stripy top is eating crisps, a few at a time . . . I watch
her. She barley swallows them then more go in. Clearly in a rush as she
stuffs them in her bag and hurries of, enjoying the last few chews and
savouring the taste.
‘Alright Sam’ says another builder. I hear his boots scrapping against the
floor before I see him. ‘Alright’ says another man in response. They make
brief pleasantries before departing in different directions. I listen to
the sound of his boots slowly fading into the distance. . . . . Plastic
tubes in his arms.
Nevean Riley-Mohamed
Observations
A delivery man loads his van and then waits impatiently as the dull hum of nearby construction work disrupts the otherwise tranquil scene by the lake.
Birds try in vain to make themselves heard above the repetitive droning.
The van drives past me and meanders its way out of the campus.
The unusual sight of a duck leaping on to a bin catches my attention just as another gets too close for comfort.
Cigarette ends are all that litter the ground. No luck for the ducks today.
Chris Crawford
Terrace cafe, 26.09.09
He carries his tray to the fridge, and chooses some drinks.
Wanders the cafe, then returns to the fridge, and does the same as before.
He repeats this until the tray is almost full.
At which point he decides that it’s time for some food.
Terrace cafe, also 26.09.09
Appearing calm, the man sits patiently at the table.
The queue is long, and a laborious process.
The man still sits.
The queue begins to shrink.
The man still sits.
The queue empties.
The man makes his move.
James Shafi
The first thing I notice when I sit on the hard, unkept grass is the icy chill in the air. I look into the dull, grey sky and hope to
catch a glimmer of sun that could heat the earth around me. A woman in a dull
purple jumper sits nearby and lights a cigarette. As I watch the smoke rising
around her it dawns on me that a cigarette would make this dull, cold day
bearable.
Nicholas Fischer
Outside Observations....
The piercing light corrupts the nature of the milky complexion of the otherwise peaceful sky, illuminating a scene set serene by the reflective tones of aquamarine.
A blind shudders in the breeze lifting its veil on the hidden beauty of that witch lurks behind the glass.
The teak stained wood gives a hint of warmth to the cold nature of the steel encasing it, holding it back from its freedom giving an unparalleled opposite to the forces of gravity defied with a whimsical silence.
A cool breeze alarms the senses, shuddering the reeds like hair on the neck taken aback by its silent power, all the while conveying the appearance of something sheltered within.
Nearby the ripples conjured by the same force disturb the peace of the water like the wake of a pebble tossed carelessly by a child in the spring of their youth.
Tarron Sheppard
Observations from outside the LINC Building by the duck pond:
Sitting on the bench by the duck pond, as soon as we sit down the ducks
make a beeline for us to see if we have any scraps of food for them.
Watching some students walking towards us from the direction of the DoE
building and listening to them talking about what Rob said and them not
knowing what to think about it.
There is a guy in black joggers and a fleece jacket running towards the
LINC building, his mass of black curly hair is bouncing with each stride of
his run. His hair does look rather impressive.
There is a police siren somewhere in the distance, the sound is gradually
getting louder and moving across the horizon from left to right, I wonder
where it's going too.
There are two girls purposefully walking towards the LINC building. They
walk behind us and they are discussing about "storming in" to talk to the
woman who sorts the placements. I think to myself how I doubt they would
storm in, they would probably just knock on the door politely and walk in.
There are two seagulls swooping over the pond, they look very graceful
considering they're seagulls.
Whilst the four of us are sat on the bench Lisa and Phil discuss rebel
ducks, and whether the duck that has been stalking us for the past 10
minutes is the rebel duck of the bunch. Somehow, I don't think it is.
Wendy Gillett
It’s a cold September afternoon and as we sadly come to the end of a fun filled fresher’s week still I notice there are people wondering around the campus some of whom look a little bit lost and confused by which direction they should be heading in. I am in my group by the faculty of health building in one of the four areas each of the groups were sent to, to observe what is going on.
There is a lot going on around this building, in front of the building there is a loading van parked outside, two delivery men come out of the building carrying by the expressions on their faces a very heavy piece of furniture, they walk successfully to the van and step up on to the stair lift as soon as they are level with the loading area they quickly put the chair to the floor and slide it in to the back of the lorry. A few minutes later they re appear red faced and exhausted, but they carry back into the building and bring another piece of furniture out, they do this two times more before making sure everything was loaded safe and secure. They at last close and lock the back of the lorry up before getting in to the front of the vehicle and slowly and extra careful as not to knock any confused students over.
A few minutes later there is a loud noise as if bricks are being moved or something is being knocked down, it’s the sound of work being done behind the Faculty of Health building, interrupting that noise was the loud quacks of ducks on the pond swimming about quite happily and care free, suddenly I notice a duck wondering over to me and the rest of my group no guesses he was in search of food! He is making cute quacking noises as if to say “feed me” now and again he pecks on the floor for bits of food that have been dropped from passes by, the duck is now parading up and down the path trying to guilt us into giving him food “ but sorry duck we haven’t got any”. The duck must have became bored because he turns away and heads for the bin in front of us, I am presuming that he thinks he will have more luck there but unfortunately for us he had no luck at all and is now once more parading up and down looking for food and making us feel more guilty than ever.
The wind is starting to pick up now and the branches on the trees are swaying more, there are girls now walking round clutching on to their cardigans that they at first loosely draped over a summer top and a pair of leggings, I can imagine how they feel because I am one of those girls, they pick up their speed as they walk and hurry up into the building. It’s gone quiet! No students no workmen no noise! Its silent except for the occasional quack from the ducks on the pond all is calm!
Michelle Rutter
The trees sway silently beyond panes of glass.
A door bangs shut behind me.
A man stands, staring out the window.
Crutches click rhythmically against the tile floor.
The Mechanical whir of a vending machine is constant behind me.
A man sighs in frustration.
Many footsteps and rustling clothes.
Keys jangle merrily together.
Cars stand in formation.
Glimpses of figures behind dense trees.
Small birds chase each other across the sombre grey sky.
Insects dance in the air, before landing on delicate leaves.
Dead leaves tossed around by the wind.
A group of people discuss lecture dates and times.
Yasmin Titterton.
The Wilson Building
The vending machine hums behind me and the sound of footsteps circulates the
air as students walk past laughing hysterically, rushing to lessons and
slamming doors behind them. As i step outside and sit there and watch i see
the trees blowing wildly in the wind and flocks of birds flying past. The
tractor drives past noisily on the car park with cars trailing behind in
desperate search for a car parking space. On the running track there is a
girl panting as she is running, her face is glowing red as the blood
rushes to her head. She holds her white jumper in her hand as the sweat is
dripping off her. A man strolls by slowly, walking heavily with a can of
coke in his hand and wearing a blue tracksuit. As he listens carefully to
the music on his ipod he seems obliviously to what’s happening around him
and the fact I am sat there writing about him.
Leanne Wrightson
Casual Observations
It rumbled and chuckled and stuttered and coughed, but somehow this old man of a coach was determined to pull twenty or more students from the hotel to our university at semi-regular times each day. Sat on the frayed, graffiti covered back seats, there was little to do other than stare out at the monotonous landscape, the same repetitive tree whizzing by against a backdrop of dull and grey. I could recount each detail and landmark we passed; they were the same as yesterday, and the day before that.
What interested me far more were the people around me, as people I assure you are far more interesting than trees. Such happy, smiling faces the previous evening, now almost all were quiet and still. Throats were cleared, and nails neatly trimmed with teeth, all against a rhythm of coughs and apologies. Without alcohol to grease the rusted gears of modern social interaction, many of these young people simply did not know what to say to one another. Is this, I thought, what has become of the art of conversation?
Stephen Brewis
A smartly dressed man wanders quizzically around, looking for any signs of help he can before finally speaking a few words with the receptionist and sitting down on the soft chairs in the reception area. However, he only waits a few moments before looking to his watch, standing up, and walking around once more.
Two students walk through the revolving door only to be cut off by a large, purple dressed woman cutting through the disabled entrance. Their only response is to blink at this and let the woman barge past before continuing through the area.
Two friends meet briefly and exchange words before parting, moments later, several more students arrive clustering the thin walkway and seemingly reading every notice o the ever present TV screen which flashes lazily through the events on campus.
Footsteps land loudly as they pass the reception area, pairs sounding like crowds within the small space between the inviting red chairs and the open glass doors.
A square jawed woman waits patiently, her pink fashionable bag sitting on the chair beside her. She shakes her knees softly in boredom and her eyes move constantly to the corridor and back, perhaps looking for any sign of the person she is waiting so patiently for. Beside her bag, a much more garnish and worn looking green bag sits, and besides that, an older woman waiting in the same manner.
The younger woman suddenly turns and chats idly to the older woman, who replies in kind, the immediate contrast between the two weakened by the friendliness of strangers.
Antony Murphy
Initially very quiet. The only thing making a noise was the window full of
colourful Freshers’ week posters. Caught the farewell of a pair of people (man
and woman) to another man and some monosyllabic exchange between two plump
women, "Right", "Yeah."
The only life on the track has ceased to be. They haven't died,
they've probably just gone inside for showers. A grey car, the same dull
colour as the sky, pulls out of the car park. Apart from the one
blue-hooded man twirling his keys on a chain, I can't see anyone outside.
There's a solitary bird in the sky, struggling to fly against the wind.
Maybe it should get in training.
A pack of lads shuffle through,
"What do you reckon we're gonna be doing today? Just a game?"
"Just a game."
Then a pair of lasses, looking lost,
"That's not really a way to get back at somebody."
"Unhealthy."
Then they try to figure out which door they came through between them.
A laughing 'team manager' jingles his keys as he walks through a door,
apparently without a care in the world. No rushing necessary.
More laughter from the hall, and a comment from a Liverpudlian lass,
something to the effect of, "Look at them there, writing," as if writing
were a very strange thing to do. Well, we are near a sports centre I
suppose.
Back to the trees gently moving, the red-berried one adding a touch of
flair to the surrounding greenery.
A track suited man 'swishes' past, takes a swig of his drink, and
that's it.
Three men and a lass walk by outside and I hear laughter inside that I
can't locate. It didn't sound very hearty.
A fly hits the window- possibly because of the wind, possibly because
they are so dumb.
Now a trio of Liverpudlian lads, not speaking very loudly so I just
catch something about Burger King. Another trio follows soon after, with a
lass this time. I catch the awful, "You know what I mean though? At the end
of the day..." What a waste of words.
Martin Palmer
