Shipping Wine to Latin Britannia

By DW Brownlaw

An extract from Serenity White's journal.

Really enjoyed the Creative Writing class today. The new tutor has a nice voice and she reads so well. Amazing to think that Carr Dyke (been there!) was a Roman construction for carrying goods, imported from Europe, all the way up the Nene valley to Lincoln. Made by hand too! Of course, the boys wanted to know how the fen wall was built and avoided collapsing in on itself. Typical.

But the tales she read us about the Dyke! Sad to hear that it already silted up when horses & carts were a new thing.

Not happy about the homework, though. "Provide others with your sense of sight, in today's or yesteryear's landscape. Create images, allow your words to take flight."

Hmmmmm ............

Footsteps clattering past Serenity’s door distracted her from the panic of a late night study session.

Sounds resumed which she’d been ignoring, updating her stream of student news. Wordless murmuring voices in the shared kitchen advertised changing relationships. A soft, rhythmic bass thrummed through the building's structure with more discipline than other nights, which indicated a jam session with distant band members over the Internet.

Serenity stretched. Despite four hours’ effort this evening, she’d still not started the Creative Writing assignment. Flunking this one could put the Honours course beyond reach.

‘Create images...’ OK. How?!

After checking 28 web addresses on the supplied list of suggested resources, Serenity was still none the wiser.

Two left. The chance of finding inspiration was now almost nil.

With weary spoken commands, Serenity opened the 29th entry.

Crap! Another YouTube video!

This was a re-enactment of street life in Roman York, 220 AD, with smooth narration and clear-spoken actors.

Useless, like the previous 28 entries! I am so screwed!

Serenity slammed the laptop shut. The force jogged the table, disarraying the perfect regimentation of its study materials and gadgets. She’d pay for that later; it would take ages to reposition them all, ‘just so’.

Clicking her tongue, she crossed the short distance to her bed and flopped onto it with brimming eyes.

*****

Memory interrupted her sobbing.

... Stubble against her cheek ... Thick, strong arms holding her safe … A big hand stroking her ribboned hair ... The comforting masculine aroma of Daddy.

‘Remember what to say when you’re feeling sad, baby doll...?’

‘Don’t be sad until I’ve checked all choices.’

‘That’s right. Well ... ? Have you...?’

Serenity sniffed and spoke aloud. “No, Daddy. I miss you, Daddy!”

Clicking her tongue again, she crossed back to the misplaced laptop, fumbling to open it.

The last item was a BBC radio play, ‘Shipping Wine to Latin Britannia’, set aboard a Roman galley crossing the dangerous Oceanus Britannicus.

Oh ... crap! 30 items investigated and not a single clue about how to write visually!

She reached to close the laptop ... and hesitated. Oh, the luscious Sound FX! Snaring her, as no video ever could, the radio soundscape swept Serenity overboard into ancient dangers.

*****

As the closing music faded, the solution was obvious. Though Serenity still hadn’t discovered how to write ‘visually’, and likely never would, she would damned well show the tutor how the blind ‘see’ the world … through sound!

Murmurs and bass faded as she began a hesitant dictation of her first draft.

“Since antiquity, the fens have drowned under a clamorous ocean of sky ... a colossal cacophony of rushing air currents, trilling skylarks and ... the distant, enigmatic cawing of lonely crows...”

Serenity paused for a moment. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re the best.”

Then she continued, the Honours course still within reach.