Poet-in-Residence Journal: Avro Heritage Museum, Woodford, Cheshire (March-September 2026) Part 3

Learning to Find the Centre

While I was excited to have found the diaries I needed to begin my work. I was finding the calligraphy difficult to read at times. An ‘M’ was crafted with a curlicue leg that resembled the head of a coiled fern. A lowercase ‘g’ often dashed into oblivion, and an ‘h’ sometimes appeared in the disguise of a ‘n.’

I realised it would be a time-consuming task, but it was one I was prepared to do.

I began to create a list of words that were illegible. I would then find a different word with similar letters that was easier to read and compare the letter formations. I would also manipulate the screen—zooming in until the word became a smudge. I still do not understand why I did so, or why it made a difference.

Whenever I became severely stuck, I would call on the help of the members in the room. They had a commendable aptitude for reading hieroglyphics. I would begin by saying,

            “I have an idea of what it is, but I cannot be certain. What do you think?”

They would stand over my shoulder, peering down at the screen and suggesting words. Some would give up and return to their tasks, shouting, “No chance!” as they did.

            “I don’t know how you can read his diaries,” one said, having come into the room to enquire after a diagram. “I tried,” he continued. “But A.V. gave nothing away.”

I nodded, still trying to decipher the lines before me. “It’s not so bad once you stare at it for a while,” I said.

            “Good luck,” he replied, and left the room.

The men returned to their duties, indexing photographs and using their large handheld magnifying glasses to identify the names of buildings and locations not so visible in the pictures.

Moments later, a member pulled out a box of Quality Street and waved it in the air.

            “It was my 80^th birthday on Saturday,” he said. “I brought some chocolates to share the celebration.”

A warm cheer went up around the room, with many thanks and congratulations. He looked pleased and almost embarrassed. He carried the box over to a low shelf near the door and left it there.

One by one, a chair sliding over the grey carpet could be heard as someone got up to help themselves to their favourite flavour.

            “Aren’t you having one?” a member asked.

            I glanced up from my screen, grateful for the invitation. “I will,” I said. “But I’ll save mine for later.”

            Another member got to his feet and announced, “I’ll get the hot drinks if anyone’s having.”

All hands went up before he could finish — coffees and teas please. He walked to the door, white mug in hand, his gait slow.

When he left, I wondered how he'd return with that many cups of hot drinks. His friend noticed my expression and began to tell me how they'd known each other since childhood.

            “We've been friends since school,” he said, pausing to put do his magnifying glasses. “As teenagers, we'd ride our bicycles along the lane. One day we saw an aircraft landing in the distance. We could hear the roar of its engines before we saw it. We rode all the way to the Aerodrome gates at Woodford, but were turned away. We decided, right there, that we'd work in aviation. He's eighty-four now and I'll be eighty-four soon.”

No one moved in the room while he spoke, and I could see the reverence on his colleagues’ faces. A moment later, he scrambled to his feet. His friend was at the door with the tray. He pressed the green buzzer and let his friend in. When he turned back to us again, his face shone with delight. There was a cup of black coffee for me, a mug of hot water for another, and four Earl Greys for him and the others.

            “How did you get up two flights of stairs with the tray?” I asked.

            He smiled at me. “I took the lift up,” he said, his voice pillow-deep and his accent indistinguishable.

            “A lift,” I said. “I didn’t know there was a lift in the building.”

He pointed to the door, gestured left, then picked up his mug of Earl Grey and returned to his desk.

After a sip of my coffee, I walked over to the box of Quality Street and picked one with a cream centre. Back at the computer, I knew I needed to find the centre of the diaries, because without it I would struggle to hold together the narrative that I had begun to form.

To be continued...

The story continues on Sunday 24th May. Thank you for reading. 

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