Mrs Spencer, by Michael Shann

Of all the dinner ladies, Mrs Spencer was our favourite. She skipped round the playground trailing long lines of children off each hand. The big ship sails through the Alley Alley Oh She also made us footballs from her old tights, a small green cushion we hoofed and...

Daddy is a painter, by Luciana Francis

and he says things using colours instead of words. He creates collages with shapes – his canvases are portraits, landscapes of an abstract world. But daddy can also paint without holding a brush. He paints by sowing seeds, by trimming the dormant shrubs. He paints by...

Unsung, by Rebecca Loveday

Mary Anning, Mary, Mary, as the rhyme goes, quite contrary. Scoured the shore from break of dawn for Devil’s Fingers, Ammon’s Horn*, to sell within her shop in Lyme – strange treasure from an ancient time. Mary Anning, Mary, Mary, soon became extraordinary. From...

Big bad wolf, by Seetha Dodd

I’d like to think the wolf came out of nowhere, but the truth is he had shown his face, shown his teeth, left his intruder footsteps in the hallway of our lives. We were unfamiliar with wolves so we missed the signs – a murky memory, names that erased themselves,...

Cave Painting, by Andy Nuttall

There is a menu on the wall like none you’ve ever seen before. To read it, you’ll need a hard hat and a stomach for the dark. Long ago they came with flame, burning the shadows to hide where they knew for a brief time they would be safe from the hunting party and the...