Me: ‘Have a nice holiday.’
Poppy: ‘And you. Are you going back to Ghana?’
Me: ‘No. I’m going to the zoo though. Do you want to come?’
Poppy: ‘I can’t, I’m going to Spain.’
Me: ‘Forever?’
Poppy: ‘No, only two weeks.’
Me: ‘Are you coming back to this school?’
Poppy: ‘Of course I am. Are you?’
Me: ‘I think so.’
Poppy: ‘That’s good.’
I wanted to tell her I loved her but it wouldn’t come out. It felt too big. Even the word. It felt too big and stupid to say it now. I had to keep it in my belly for later. I had to swallow it back down.
Poppy: ‘Will you text me?’
Me: ‘OK.’
Poppy wrote her number on my hand. Her pen was purple and tickly. It felt lovely like the best good luck message. I didn’t tell her I haven’t got a phone. I’ll just borrow Lydia’s phone, she’ll have to let me. I might ask for a phone for my birthday instead of a Playstation. It’s only one month away. I don’t care if it has a camera as long as I can talk to Poppy with it. I never want her to cut me, it
That’s when Poppy kissed me. I didn’t have time to get ready. She just kissed me there and then, right on the lips. It felt lovely. I wasn’t even scared this time. It was warm and not too wet. I didn’t get any tongue. Her breath smelled like Orange Tic Tacs. I forgot all about Miquita, it didn’t even mean anything.
I just closed my eyes and followed Poppy. Her lips were very soft. It was very relaxing. It made me want to go to sleep forever. I squeezed my legs a bit to stop my bulla tickling.
Connor Green: ‘Hey, look, now Harri’s got wood! What’s going on, is it I’ve Got Wood Day or something? Have a word with yourself!’
Connor Green was throwing spitwads at us. We had to stop. It was like waking up after a lovely dream when you didn’t even want to wake up.
Poppy: ‘Piss off, Connor.’
We were at the gate. Poppy’s mamma was waiting for her. I wished her car would blow up so I could walk Poppy home.
Poppy: ‘Bye then.’
Me: ‘Bye.’
Poppy waved to me through the window. I waved to her. It didn’t even feel gay, it felt like the best thing to do. That’s why people wave to each other, because it makes them belong. It tells the whole world. I licked my lips. I could still taste Poppy’s breath on them. It was the only superpower I needed.
Dean says to wait until Monday before we tell the police. We need to get all our evidence together and work out what to say. Dean has to decide what games to get with his Playstation and we have to tell our mammas. They’ll have to come to the police station with us for if the cops don’t believe our story. Dean says we might get a tour, I hope they show us the torture room. They’ll just hold Killa’s head in a bucket of water until he admits it. In England you get TV in jail and the pool balls even roll straight. It’s better than being dead. We just have to stay alive until Monday, then everything will be alright.
It was raining faster now. I did a big breath and got ready to run. I was going to count how long it takes to get home.
If I get home before seven minutes it means Poppy won’t forget me
AND
we solved the case.
I started just moving my arms to warm them up. I made them go faster and faster. I could feel my blood getting stronger. When I was ready I started running.
I ran fast. I ran down the hill and through the tunnel. I shouted:
Me: ‘Poppy I love you!’
It made a mighty echo. Nobody else heard it.
I ran past the real church. I ran past the cross.
I ran past the Jubilee.
I ran past the
CCTV
camera. I let it snap me for luck.
I ran past the other pigeons. I pretended they called hello to me.
Me: ‘Pigeons I love you!’
It didn’t even feel stupid, it felt brilliant. I ran past the playground and the dead climbing frame. I was running superfast. I was going faster than I’ve ever gone, my feet were just a blur. Nobody could ever catch me, I was going to break the world record.
I ran past the lady in the chair car. She didn’t even see me coming! I ran past the houses and the little kids’ school. My legs were getting tired but I didn’t slow down. I even went faster. My lips still tickled from where Poppy’s kiss had been. My powers were growing inside me. I ran past a tree in a cage.
Me: ‘Tree I love you!’
I kicked a Coke can out of the way. I nearly fell but I didn’t fall. I could see the flats. I was nearly home. The stairs would be safe. When I got to the stairs the spell would come true.
I ran through the tunnel. My breath was nearly gone, I couldn’t get the words out anymore. I just made a noise instead:
Me:
‘Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!’
Asweh, it made the best echo ever. There was nobody else to ruin it.
I ran past the flats and around the corner to the stairs. I had no breath left. I stopped. The sweat was itching on my face. It felt like less than seven minutes, it felt like only five. I did it! The stairs were lovely and cool. I only had to go up the stairs and I’d be home and dry. I was going to drink a lovely big glass of water all in one go. The tap in the kitchen is safe.
I didn’t see him. He came out of nowhere. He was waiting for me. I should have seen him but I wasn’t paying attention. You need eyes in the back of your head.
He didn’t say anything. His eyes gave it all away: he just wanted to destroy me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn’t get out of the way, he was too fast. He just bumped me and ran away. I didn’t even see it go in. I thought it was a trick until I fell over. I’ve never been chooked before. It just felt too crazy.
I could smell the piss. I had to lie down. All I could think was how I didn’t want to die. All I could say was:
Me: ‘Mamma.’
It only came out like a whisper. It wasn’t even loud enough. Mamma was at work. Papa was too far away, he’d never hear it.
Hold on, I’m coming. Hold on
.
I held onto my belly for if I lost myself. My hands were wet. My foot went in a piss puddle, the piss all went up my trousers. I could see the rain. All the raindrops were crashing into each other. They were going in slow motion. I don’t even have a favourite, I love all of them the same.
It was too cold and everything was itchy, all I could taste now was metal. It didn’t even feel sharp, it just felt like a surprise. I wasn’t suspecting it. I only saw the handle for one second, it could be green or brown. It could be a dream except when I opened my eyes there was a bigger puddle and it wasn’t piss, it was me. I looked up, you were perched there on the railing watching me, your pink eyes weren’t dead but full of love like a battery. I wanted to laugh but it hurt too much.
Me: ‘You came. I knew you would.’
Pigeon: ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be going home soon. When it’s time to go I’ll show you the way.’
Me: ‘Can’t I stay here?’
Pigeon: ‘It’s not up to me. You’ve been called home.’
Me: ‘It hurts. Do you work for God?’
Pigeon: ‘I’m sorry if it hurts. It won’t be long now.’
Me: ‘I like your feet. They’re nice and scratchy. I like all your colours.’
Pigeon: ‘Thank you. I like you too, I always did. There’s nothing to be scared of.’
Me: ‘Tell Agnes my story, the one about the man on the plane with the fake leg. You’ll have to wait until she’s old enough to know the words.’
Pigeon: ‘We’ll tell her, don’t worry.’
Me: ‘She’ll love that one. I’m thirsty.’
Pigeon: ‘I know. Just relax. Everything’s going to be alright.’
You could see the blood. It was darker than you thought. It just felt too crazy, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I just wanted to remember, if I could remember it would be alright. Agnes’s tiny fat fingers and face. I couldn’t see it anymore. All babies look the same.
My foremost thanks to Maureen, Mark and Karina for listening and believing. Thanks to Julius, Ali, Jordan, Kevin, Joyce, Lily, Justin, and everyone who helped along the way, and to Mark Linkous for the inspirational music.
Thank you David Llewelyn for getting the ball rolling. Special thanks to Jo Unwin for your patience and support, and to all at Conville and Walsh. Thanks to Helen Garnons-Williams, Erica Jarnes and all at Bloomsbury for your wisdom and dedication. And to the children and their families, my deepest gratitude and sympathy.
Newly arrived from Ghana with his mother and older sister, eleven-year-old Harrison Opoku lives on the ninth floor of a block of flats on an inner-city housing estate. The second best runner in the whole of Year 7, Harri races through his new life in his personalised trainers – the Adidas stripes drawn on with marker pen – blissfully unaware of the very real threat all around him.
With equal fascination for the local gang – the Dell Farm Crew – and the pigeon who visits his balcony, Harri absorbs the many strange elements of his new life in England: watching, listening, and learning the tricks of inner-city survival.
But when a boy is knifed to death on the high street and a police appeal for witnesses draws only silence, Harri decides to start a murder investigation of his own. In doing so, he unwittingly endangers the fragile web his mother has spun around her family to try and keep them safe.
A story of innocence and experience, hope and harsh reality, [_Pigeon English _]is a spellbinding portrayal of a boy balancing on the edge of manhood and of the forces around him that try to shape the way he falls.
1
Pigeon English
is written from an eleven-year-old boy’s point of view but is not a children’s novel. How do ‘adult’ issues appear? Discuss particular scenes and characters.
2 What is the significance of the pigeon?
3 Harri’s father and sister Agnes still live in Ghana, and we hear their story through a phone line. Why do you think Stephen Kelman chooses to separate the family in this way?
4 Discuss the social forces at work on Lydia, Harri’s older sister. How does she compare to her friend Miquita?
5 Stephen Kelman was inspired by true events in writing this novel. Does this make a difference to the way you read it?
6 Harri is new to the UK. How do you think this informs his perspective on his neighbourhood? How are his attitudes and beliefs different from those of his peers? How are they the same?
7 Harri makes lists and diagrams to explain what he has learnt about his new life in the UK. What effect do his explanations have on you as a reader?
8 How old would you say the members of the Dell Farm Crew are? How do the way they are described and the names they go by affect the way you perceive them?
9 Discuss Harri and his friends’ attitude to violence. Is it surprising?
10 How present are male role models in this story?
11 How well do you think Harri and Lydia’s mother has protected them from the danger in their neighbourhood? Is there anything else she could do? What would you do in her situation?
12 Discuss the importance of the characters’ physical environment on their behaviour and attitudes.
13 Discuss the ending of the novel.
Suggested Further Reading14 Has the novel in any way changed the way you think about youth gangs, knife crime or urban poverty?
Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha
by Roddy Doyle
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
by Junot Díaz
Vernon God Little
by
DBC
Pierre
The Catcher in the Rye
by JD Salinger
_ Lord of the Flies_ by William Golding
1
. When did you realise you wanted to be a writer?
I first realised I wanted to be a writer at a very young age, probably six or seven years old. I remember being a very keen reader at that age, and it’s something that, as far back as I know, I’ve always wanted to do. I just feel very lucky now that I have the chance to fulfil a lifelong dream.
2
. What was the inspiration for Pigeon English?
I think a large part of the inspiration for
Pigeon English
was the recent press that the UK’s children, especially those that live in deprived areas, have gotten. There’s a lot of noise around about knife crime and violence among the nation’s children at the moment and, having grown up myself in a housing estate which is much like the one that features in the book, I wanted to show the positive aspects of these children’s lives and tell their stories in a way that I think hadn’t necessarily been told before.
3
. Who is your favourite character in Pigeon English?
I love all the characters in
Pigeon English
– they all have their own unique voices, their own spirits – but I’d have to say Harrison, the main character. We see the world through his eyes, he’s the narrator of the story and I love him; he has so much exuberance, so much curiosity for the world, and I think writing him was an inspiration to me. He’s a character that I’ve taken with me and he’s a good kid, I’m very fond of him.
4
. How do you research your characters and stories?
I think it depends on which story you’re telling. With
Pigeon English
I was lucky that a lot of the material came from my own experience, my own background, so I had that knowledge to draw on. Many of the characters in the book are based on people I knew growing up or have known in adult life. Also I think that having your ears and eyes open, watching the news and reading the press – just being aware of the stories that are around you and the people that around you – can often help you develop a story in an authentic and original way.
5
. What was the first book you loved?