Hidden Results

In Week 25 of 2025, some of the biggest achievements are those that few others see…

To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.

We began a new schools project this week, in partnership with St Peter Mancroft Church in Norwich. It’s exciting for multiple reasons, but it’s had some unpredictable impact that I’m not sure I could share anywhere but here.

Artist Peter Walker and team introducing the concept of St Peter Mancroft’s sculpture commission in situ back in February.

The church has commissioned artist Peter Walker to produce a sculpture entitled ‘HIDDEN’. My understanding is that he hopes to encapsulate the way we clothe the truth with story and symbolism to both hide it and make it easier to share.

My company is supporting this with just one of the project’s education-based offshoots. The church liked my idea of working with some Norwich care homes to collect reminiscences from their residents, sharing those with learners at local schools, and helping those learners turn those true tales into legends – by clothing them with story and symbolism.

Ultimately, both learners and residents will attend a presentation event in the presence of Walker’s sculpture, and hear the learners’ versions of the stories performed by professional storytellers – and, of course, get to meet each other.

The youngsters will have the chance to see the real heroes who inspired their creations. The elders can thank the youths who’ve turned them into heroes through their creativity. It’ll be a heartstring-tugger for sure.

I don’t think anything like this has ever been done before, though we designed the workshops around the existing ‘Writing for Pleasure’ series that I originated with Amy Scott Robinson – who excitingly joined me for these adaptations.

Adding to the excitement is that, for the first time, I’m getting to work alongside my amazing accountability partner, Costa Book Award-shortlistee Matthew Killeen. He and I were in a Norwich school together on Tuesday, letting learners know the incredible fact that, “…in a few hundred years’ time, your stories could still be getting told all around the world! You will have made a little piece of history.”

“That’s a lie!” came a cry from the back of the classroom, pulling up the handbrake on the reverie.

One of the most distinctive elements of storytelling as an artform is that it encourages heckling, recognising it as a form of engagement. A storyteller’s skill isn’t in being so enchanting that no-one wants/thinks to heckle. Rather, it’s in managing the heckles so the entire audience feels they’re crafting the story, while keeping everything on track.

Of course, this heckle didn’t arise during a story. I had just been extolling the virtues of sharing stories generally, and this young lady had issued her brazen challenge.

Even so, I smiled, and replied along the lines of,

“Oh, it sounds too good to be true, I know, but we’ve seen it happen before. Every folk tale you know – ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, ‘Cinderella’, ‘Goldilocks’ – they all started hundreds of years ago, and now they’re world famous. And some of those are based on true stories, as we’ve already shown.

“So there’s nothing to stop the same thing happening to stories you create – so long as you don’t keep them to yourself. And we’re here to help you share ‘em.”

Needless to say, the girl didn’t look convinced. For the remainder of the week, she continued to be among the most cynical – and most disruptive – individuals in the classroom.

The heat didn’t help, with temperatures in the pre-aircon classrooms pushing 30°C. The fact she was in Year 6 didn’t help either, as this class had completed their SATS – so technically they’re only in school now as free childcare. And boy don’t they know it.

But it was also clear that there was more going on with this young lady. Some sessions, she arrived at late, having been withdrawn from previous classes for her behaviour. The school had programmes to help, with children from disadvantaged backgrounds being given the chance to leave school for a while to watch a musical production performed by a local secondary – but she managed to disqualify herself by behaving poorly on the walk down to the school bus.

That missed musical was both the reason why she arrived late to our final session. She therefore had to join a group that was already halfway through their story creation – and immediately, she began disrupting their activities.

She brazenly did so under my nose, while I was gathering that group’s story. In these situations, all a visitor like me can do is direct her to the member of school staff – in this case, a teaching assistant.

She protested strongly, accusing me of picking on her when others in the group had been just as misbehaved.

“But you did it right under my nose,” I said, as the TA went to call for the headteacher. “As far as I could see, they were working on their story.”

“So was I!” she insisted.

“Really?” I asked. “What had you added to the story?”

“I named one of the characters,” she said.

Not the biggest contribution – but in that moment, I detected a desire in her to remain in the session. She hadn’t been withdrawn from any of our previous sessions, and although she often engaged in stories in a disruptive fashion, that had still been engagement.

She’d already lost one ‘treat’ the school had offered her. She really didn’t want to lose another, despite her behaviour.

As the head came through the door, I gave her one last chance. “Well, why don’t you sit over there and draw your character. If you do that, I’m sure your teacher will let you stay here.”

Catching the gist, the headteacher cannily added, “You’re good at drawing, aren’t you.”

She huffed. “They won’t use it. They didn’t use my name.”

“Oh yes they will,” I said. “Leave that to me. You’ll find clean paper over there.”

Beautifully, it didn’t take much for the group to use the girl’s suggested name for their character – they readily understood the kindness they were showing by accepting her contribution. And at the end, as the girl’s (pretty awesome) drawing was added to that group’s story display, she broke out in a smile and the uncontrolled arm movements of autism.

Up until that moment, anyone not knowing might’ve just seen her as troublesome. That unmistakable sign of autism explained a lot – including the fact that her delight in that moment was genuine.

For her, the project – and the week – had ended in a place of acceptance, empowerment, and joy.

The stories we’ll soon be telling in the church will be those of the elderly, blended with childhood imaginings to turn them into stories that may indeed see them told again and again and again, to inspire many a future generation.

This girl’s story can’t be included there. But… has it inspired you?

In return for me sharing these words with you, please pay just one word of yours. A simple yes/no will suffice this week: has this girl’s journey inspired you?

Want to know why I’m asking for this? Flip back to this post here.

Let’s share tales again soon. In the meantime, ciao for niao…
$;-)