Applause for a Little Girl

Hello.

This entry again comes to you from York.

I recently returned here from Manchester where I was lucky enough to be a spectator at the some of the sporting and ceremonial events that made up the XVII Commonwealth Games.

That's what I'm going to write about today.

I had an enjoyable few days in Manchester. But it is one memory that stands out...one memory I will treasure and keep forever.

It all began at the opening ceremony of the Games that took place at the newly-built Manchester Stadium on July 25th. I was there with Tony Blair, the Queen and oh about 38,000 other people.

I remember watching BBC television coverage of the 16th Commonwealth Games in Kuala Lumpur back in 1998. I learned then that the next Games would be held in Manchester in four years time and I promised myself that I would be there.

I've promised myself many things over the years and some of those promises have, sadly, been broken. I am a man who sometimes finds it difficult to plan properly and to keep to my word. So I was very happy that I managed to make it to the Commonwealth Games in Manchester as I promised myself I would way back in 1998.

Anyway, I made it to the opening ceremony of the Games as the eyes of five hundred million people fell upon Manchester.

The ceremony itself was pretty damn good. I didn't have a very good view - I couldn't admire any of the female athlete's bottoms or count the Queen's wrinkles - but just being there and being able to soak up the wonderful atmosphere was enough.

There was dancing and music and the flags of around 23 British colonies and the flags of more than fifty former British colonies. There were explosions and fire. There were soldiers and marching, pop acts and men in suits. There was even David Beckham.

There was all of this and then there was one little girl, Kirsty Howard, six years old, born with her heart back to front.

Kirsty Howard has become something of a celebrity in this country thanks to David Beckham, who seems to enjoy a unique and special friendship with this brave little girl.

I knew before I attended the ceremony that Kirsty would be there. What I didn't know was that while I was there I would make a decision. It wasn't an important decision, nor was it a brave decision, but it was a decision nonetheless.

What I decided, simply, was that when Kirsty came into the stadium I would stand up and clap for her. If I can stand up and clap for an athlete or a royal with wrinkles then I can sure as hell stand up for a little girl born with her heart back to front.

So when Kirsty appeared I got to my feet and I started to applaud. For about a minute I was standing alone. Then the lady next to me stood up. Then a few more people got to their feet some rows away. Then some more people. And then a few more. And then, suddenly, magically, this quickly spread around the stadium and soon everyone was standing and applauding this little girl.

I thought then and I still think now that it was me who did that. I will never meet Kirsty, I will never be able to do anything to ease her suffering or soothe her pain, but I could at least help to bring a stadium full of people to their feet for her.

I don't know if Kirsty noticed that she was given a standing ovation. I hope that she did. But the truth is, for me, it didn't matter if anyone else got to their feet or if it was just me.

I was prepared to stand there alone.

So that was the highlight of my visit to Manchester and my highlight of the Commonwealth Games. A few days later I returned to Manchester with Christopher Dion, a young man from New Zealand, and we watched the athletics and the boxing together.

Unfortunately, we missed most of the athletics (and we won't go into the reason for that now, will we Chris!) and we only saw about fifty minutes of the boxing. While watching the boxing match I saw a familiar-looking face in the crowd. It took me a few minutes to realise that it was Prince Edward!

On the whole, I found the whole Commonwealth Games experience to be VERY addictive. Better than any drug I ever tried in my early youth. I've never considered myself to be a sports fan, but the games were seriously cool. There is no comparison to be made between watching a sporting event live and watching it on a little box with an aerial on top.

In fact, I enjoyed it all so much - and was so disappointed at seeing only a bit of the athletics - that I returned to Manchester one last time to watch the cycling final, which was also brilliant.

And so that, for me, was the XVII Commonwealth Games. I'm sure that many thousands of people have other, equally special memories.

Before I bring this entry to an end, I just want to give a mention to two friends of mine who have recently left these shores. The first is Chris, from New Zealand, who I mentioned earlier.

Chris left England yesterday. He's in Singapore now, where he'll be staying for a week before he heads back home. The second person I'd like to mention is my dear friend Urko.

Urko was one of my very first friends in York and our friendship lasted the ten months that he was here. I was lucky enough to spend a very nice day with him a few days before he left to return to Spain. We took a bike ride together on a beautiful, sunny day and came across a farm where we spent an hour picking strawberries. Later we visited a Chinese restaurant with our friend, Cesar, and ended the day by eating the strawberries we had collected.

It was a very nice day and one that I'm glad I could spend with Urko. He's travelling now and I want to send him my very best wishes. Take care of yourself my friend - and now you're famous!

And that's it for this Commonwealth Games blog entry.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, the second of my blog entries. Take care of yourself and stay well. Take care Kirsty.

Bye.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

Tears for a Little Girl

Hi.

I hate blogs.

Really, I do.

I prefer to write to people one on one. However, something happened to me recently and I wanted to share it with you.

It changed my life - just a little - and though it won't change yours, I hope that what I'm about to reveal will at least keep you entertained for a couple of minutes. That's all it will take to read this entry and let me share the memories of this day with you and the memory of a little girl who touched my heart.

This story comes to you from York in England. York is a fascinating city - steeped in history, friendly, fascinating, beautiful and with pub after pub after pub. In the two months that I've been here I've visited lots of interesting places and made many new friends.

Some nights ago I took part in a Ghost Walk. What's a Ghost Walk I hear you ask? Well, a Ghost Walk is when a large group of people meet at a particular place and time and are taken on walk around the city by a man or a woman who has guided that same walk hundreds, if not thousands of times before.

The guide entertains the crowd with stories of ghosts and ghouls, graves and goblins. Ghost Walks take place in York every night. Each walk lasts for around an hour and a half and costs about three pounds. It's a chance to soak up the history of York and see some of the most curious and often most infamous parts of this great city.

The Ghost Walk I joined - the Original Ghost Walk - started at about eight o'clock on a cold and foggy night in late November. The guide - a woman in her forties - told us lots of stories as she led us down narrow and cobbled streets, some of the stories were funny, some a little scary, some were sad.

There is one story I remember well. Even now I can recount it, almost word for word. The ghost part of the story doesn't really matter because the facts - the true, historical facts - were enough. They were enough to almost cause me to break down and cry amongst a group of strangers.

So. Let me tell you the story. And it won't cost you three pounds...

There is a house in York known to many as Plague House. It gets its name from the events that befell a little girl who lived in that house a long, long time ago.

I don't know the little girl's name and probably never will. All I know is that her parents were amongst those to be affected by the Black Death as it swept across Europe hundreds of years ago. (York was badly affected by the plague at regular intervals; In 1604, 3,512 people are known to have died before the plague hit York again in 1631). Both parents died and it was thought that this little girl would die, too.

So what the residents of York did was to board up the doors and windows of the house. But when they boarded up the house they left the little girl inside, alive, with the decaying bodies of her parents. Perhaps the locals left her some food. I don't know.

But I do know that the residents of York were scared. They were scared of catching the plague and they were sure that this little girl was doomed. So they boarded up the house and left her inside and completely alone. She was four years old.

There was one window of the house that wasn't boarded up. It was a window to a room at the top of the house. A window that I looked up at just a few nights ago.

Every day the locals would pass the house and they would see the girl, a pale little face, tapping at the window, asking for help, waving at children, smiling, crying, playing. No-one dared enter the house and so she was left there. Every day the girl would appear at the window, her face growing ever paler, until one day she was gone and the locals saw her no more.

Some time later, when the plague had passed, the locals entered the house to remove the bodies. They found the bodies of the mother and father but they couldn't find the body of the little girl. They eventually found her, in the top room, but she hadn't died of the plague. She had died of starvation.

Somehow she had not contracted the plague or she had recovered and she had survived there, for weeks, with the bodies of her parents. Eventually she had died because she had nothing to eat. And nobody had the courage to enter the house to help her. She was forgotten.

As I wrote, the ghost part of the story doesn't really matter because I feel the facts are enough. If the ghost part of the story is to be believed, then there was eventually a happy ending over a century later when the house was blessed by a priest. If you would like to hear the ghost story, just let me know and I will publish it here.

I wanted to share the story of Plague House and the story of this lonely and forgotten girl with you because it touched me a great deal.

As I stood there outside the house, looking up at the window, I could almost imagine her little face and how awful her last weeks on this earth must have been.

I didn't want to simply forget her and move on with my life, getting lost again in the routine of my day to day existence. That's why I wanted to share the story with you. This entry is for her. Now the memory of this little girl lives within you, too.

As I add this entry to my blog, years have passed since that day and York is a distant memory to me now, as are many of the people that I met amongst its old and cobbled streets. But this story and that night will remain with me forever, as will the memory of a little girl who I hope has found peace, wherever she is.

Thanks for reading this.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.