Bryan - Eye Can Write: A Memoir of a Childs Silent Soul Emerging

Published by Lagom
An imprint of Bonnier Publishing
3.08, The Plaza,
535 Kings Road,
Chelsea Harbour,
London, SW10 0SZ

www.bonnierpublishing.com

Hardback 9781911600787
eBook 9781911600794

All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or circulated in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the publisher.

A CIP catalogue of this book is available from the British Library.

Designed by Envy Design

Text Jonathan Bryan 2018
All poems Jonathan Bryan 2018
Foreword Michael Morpurgo 2018
Chantal Bryan 2018

Jonathan Bryan has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.

The author and publisher shall have no liability or responsibility to any person or entity regarding any loss, damage or injury incurred, or alleged to have incurred, directly or indirectly, by the information contained in this book.

A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to Jonathan Bryans charity Teach Us Too (www.teachustoo.org.uk).

For my sisters, Susannah and Jemima.

My story is made whole by yours.

As adept fingers point
My silent soul emerges,
Like the dawn blackbirds song
Suddenly breaking the black.

Music buried in the mind
Sings melodies divine,
Of ancient tales yet untold
Unfurled to men astound.

Whose beauty hears my voice?
What depths saddened my pathway?
Soaring eagles spread wings
I fly to my destiny.

Some years ago I wrote a story I called Cool! In it I tried to imagine how it might be to be a child locked inside a world of his own, aware of the world outside, but utterly incapable of communicating with it. He lives alone with his thoughts, his feelings, hopes and his despair, longing to escape, to break out.

Little did I know that one day I would meet such a child, who remarkably, with the help and support and love of those around him, has found a way to break out of his prison of isolation, and has become a writer, a silent soul emerging from his chrysalis of solitude.

His name is Jonathan Bryan. He has revealed to us through his writing how it is to be him, inviting us to get to know him, reaching out to discover who we are too. Laboriously, choosing letter by letter, by the look of an eye, making word by word, his ideas and stories and poems take shape, and we discover a child, a writer, of great emotional and intellectual depth. We read of his intense passion for life, his mischievous sense of fun. He tells of his hopes and fears. His words tell us so much about our universal human resilience, our capacity for understanding, our longing to communicate.

Jonathan has opened the door for us into his world, and reached out his hand to us in his writing. When we take his hand as we read, he is not locked in any more. And neither are we. We join him in his journey, he joins us in ours. Not alone any more, Jonathan.

Michael Morpurgo

BEFORE JONATHAN WAS BORN, CHRISTOPHER AND I HAD A FEELING THAT SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Exactly when it first started, I cant remember, but we felt it deep inside; and once we had whispered it to each other, this feeling, rather than disappear, didnt go away. Instead it became stronger and more solid, like the kernel hidden inside a fruit, buried and hard, but growing as the fruit grows around it. Sitting heavy within us, it shrouded our expectations and clouded any hopes for what lay ahead. It felt so real, so substantial, that we planned for it as a reality, never knowing what it was.

While I was pregnant, Jonathan was perfectly healthy; the midwife put our feeling down to Christopher being a vicar who constantly hears unfortunate stories, and as the weeks progressed and I passed the point at which the baby would be viable, I longed for her to be right. We even dared to start preparing for the baby; but the feeling, the certainty that something was wrong, was still there.

With three weeks to go, we were beginning to hope we could doubt our fears, and on a cold, soggy January day we were on our way to meet my parents. With Christopher at the wheel, I sat in the front passenger seat daydreaming out of the window, looking forward not just to lunch out with my parents, but further to the time when we would be a family of three. When we would need a car seat with us to carry our child; when we would be going to meet not just my parents, but the babys grandparents.

In front of us a car turned from the other side of the road. No time to stop. No time to brake. Only time to see in the millisecond before it happened that we were about to have an accident: a full-on collision into the side of the car that had blindly turned across our path. The effect was like hitting a wall. Smash, grind, bang, yelp. All the sounds of the car accident melded into one as the seat belt tightened across my chest and legs. Lunging for the door handle to let in some fresh air, panic flooded me as I cried, I cant breathe, I cant breathe.

Winded by the impact, stunned by our written-off car and scared for the baby inside me, I sat motionless as Christopher and my sister, who had been travelling with us, came to my side. Once the adrenalin wore off they were taken into a nearby garage to rest, while I chose to stay in the car, being comforted by a man from the garage, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. If I hadnt been pregnant we all would have walked from the accident with minor injuries my sister, Christopher, the driver of the other vehicle and me. But for the unseen traveller in our car that day, things were very different.

Swinging in the ambulance towards the hospital with Christopher, I placed my hand on my stomach, longing to feel the baby move within me, concentrating my hand on the stillness and convincing myself that staying calm was having an effect on the unborn child. After the initial shock from the impact, I experienced a strange sort of calm: maybe this was it? Everything we had been worrying about was some kind of premonition of a car accident. But was the baby still OK?

Once in the hospital a nurse placed a monitor on my stomach, and after a tense few moments she found a heartbeat. Maybe