Life Lines

A Shared Reading activity pack

to read wherever you are
Issue 9

For more Shared Reading, poems and texts,

email us at: coronavirus@thereader.org.uk
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“It was as if all the latent beauty of things had been unveiled to her.
She could not imagine that the world held anything more
wonderful.”

Summer by Edith Wharton

The Reader is a charity which usually brings people together to listen

to stories, extracts and poems in free, weekly Shared Reading
groups. In these Life Lines activity packs we hope to offer everyone
the same comfort, meaning and connection through great literature
that our reading groups provide – wherever it finds you.
Now that we all have time on our hands, we face the strangely
demanding task of filling our days in a way that feels good. Each Life
Lines pack will bring you some of a story and a poem, which you can
read in your own time. Along with the reading, you’ll find a selection of
thoughts and feelings shared by other fellow readers about the
chosen pieces. We suggest that reading the poem or the story out
loud is a great way to get below the surface and make your own
connection with them. It may feel strange but it does make a
difference, so do please give it a try!

This week we bring you Summer by Edith Wharton. Here we join

Charity and Harney on a day out together during a local celebration
called Old Home Day. Home has mixed meanings for both Charity
and Harney. For much of her life, until meeting Harney, Charity has
felt a strong sense of not belonging anywhere, and particularly not
belonging to her small hometown of North Dormer. As a child she was
adopted from a deserted area looked down upon by locals and
referred to as ‘the Mountain’. Charity had never visited the place of
her birth. While Harney is a complete visitor to North Dormer, and his
stay is being prolonged due to his growing feelings for Charity.

A sense of foreboding as to the outcome of their future lives haunts

the young couple in the shadows, but here is a moment where they
can be fully together in the present at least – and isn’t that what days
out are for? To be present, to feel whole, connected to self and world?
Anyway, let’s allow ourselves a moment and accompany Charity and
Harley on their local excursion…see what you notice…
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Extract from Summer by Edith Wharton
The Lake at last--a sheet of shining metal brooded over by drooping
trees. Charity and Harney had secured a boat and, getting away from
the wharves and the refreshment-booths, they drifted idly along, hugging
the shadow of the shore. Where the sun struck the water its shafts
flamed back blindingly at the heat-veiled sky; and the least shade was
black by contrast. The Lake was so smooth that the reflection of the
trees on its edge seemed enamelled on a solid surface; but gradually, as
the sun declined, the water grew transparent, and Charity, leaning over,
plunged her fascinated gaze into depths so clear that she saw the
inverted tree-tops interwoven with the green growths of the bottom.
They rounded a point at the farther end of the Lake, and entering an inlet
pushed their bow against a protruding tree-trunk. A green veil of willows
overhung them. Beyond the trees, wheat-fields sparkled in the sun; and
all along the horizon the clear hills throbbed with light. Charity leaned
back in the stern, and Harney unshipped the oars and lay in the bottom
of the boat without speaking.
Ever since their meeting at the Creston pool he had been subject to
these brooding silences, which were as different as possible from the
pauses when they ceased to speak because words were needless. At
such times his face wore the expression she had seen on it when she
had looked in at him from the darkness and again there came over her a
sense of the mysterious distance between them; but usually his fits of
abstraction were followed by bursts of gaiety that chased away the
shadow before it chilled her.
She was still thinking of the ten dollars he had handed to the driver of
the run-about. It had given them twenty minutes of pleasure, and it
seemed unimaginable that anyone should be able to buy amusement at
that rate. With ten dollars he might have bought her an engagement ring;
she knew that Mrs. Tom Fry's, which came from Springfield, and had a
diamond in it, had cost only eight seventy-five. But she did not know why
the thought had occurred to her. Harney would never buy her an
engagement ring: they were friends and comrades, but no more. He had
been perfectly fair to her: he had never said a word to mislead her. She
wondered what the girl was like whose hand was waiting for his ring....
Boats were beginning to thicken on the Lake and the clang of
incessantly arriving trolleys announced the return of the crowds from the
ball-field. The shadows lengthened across the pearl-grey water and two
white clouds near the sun were turning golden. On the opposite shore
men were hammering hastily at a wooden scaffolding in a field. Charity
asked what it was for.

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"Why, the fireworks. I suppose there'll be a big show." Harney looked at
her and a smile crept into his moody eyes. "Have you never seen any
good fireworks?"
"Miss Hatchard always sends up lovely rockets on the Fourth," she
answered doubtfully.
"Oh----" his contempt was unbounded. "I mean a big performance like
this, illuminated boats, and all the rest."
She flushed at the picture. "Do they send them up from the Lake, too?"
"Rather. Didn't you notice that big raft we passed? It's wonderful to see
the rockets completing their orbits down under one's feet." She said
nothing, and he put the oars into the rowlocks. "If we stay we'd better go
and pick up something to eat."
"But how can we get back afterwards?" she ventured, feeling it would
break her heart if she missed it.
He consulted a time-table, found a ten o'clock train and reassured her.
"The moon rises so late that it will be dark by eight, and we'll have over
an hour of it."
Twilight fell, and lights began to show along the shore. The trolleys
roaring out from Nettleton became great luminous serpents coiling in
and out among the trees. The wooden eating-houses at the Lake's edge
danced with lanterns, and the dusk echoed with laughter and shouts and
the clumsy splashing of oars.
Harney and Charity had found a table in the corner of a balcony built
over the Lake, and were patiently awaiting an unattainable chowder.
Close under them the water lapped the piles, agitated by the evolutions
of a little white steamboat trellised with coloured globes which was to run
passengers up and down the Lake. It was already black with them as it
sheered off on its first trip.
Suddenly Charity heard a woman's laugh behind her. The sound was
familiar, and she turned to look. A band of showily dressed girls and
dapper young men wearing badges of secret societies, with new straw
hats tilted far back on their square-clipped hair, had invaded the balcony
and were loudly clamouring for a table. The girl in the lead was the one
who had laughed. She wore a large hat with a long white feather, and
from under its brim her painted eyes looked at Charity with amused
recognition.

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"Say! if this ain't like Old Home Week," she remarked to the girl at her
elbow; and giggles and glances passed between them. Charity knew at
once that the girl with the white feather was Julia Hawes. She had lost
her freshness, and the paint under her eyes made her face seem
thinner; but her lips had the same lovely curve, and the same cold
mocking smile, as if there were some secret absurdity in the person she
was looking at, and she had instantly detected it.
Charity flushed to the forehead and looked away. She felt herself
humiliated by Julia's sneer, and vexed that the mockery of such a
creature should affect her. She trembled lest Harney should notice that
the noisy troop had recognized her; but they found no table free, and
passed on tumultuously.
Presently there was a soft rush through the air and a shower of silver fell
from the blue evening sky. In another direction, pale Roman candles
shot up singly through the trees, and a fire-haired rocket swept the
horizon like a portent. Between these intermittent flashes the velvet
curtains of the darkness were descending, and in the intervals of eclipse
the voices of the crowds seemed to sink to smothered murmurs.
Charity and Harney, dispossessed by newcomers, were at length
obliged to give up their table and struggle through the throng about the
boat-landings. For a while there seemed no escape from the tide of late
arrivals; but finally Harney secured the last two places on the stand from
which the more privileged were to see the fireworks. The seats were at
the end of a row, one above the other. Charity had taken off her hat to
have an uninterrupted view; and whenever she leaned back to follow the
curve of some dishevelled rocket she could feel Harney's knees against
her head.
After a while the scattered fireworks ceased. A longer interval of
darkness followed, and then the whole night broke into flower. From
every point of the horizon, gold and silver arches sprang up and crossed
each other, sky-orchards broke into blossom, shed their flaming petals
and hung their branches with golden fruit; and all the while the air was
filled with a soft supernatural hum, as though great birds were building
their nests in those invisible tree-tops.
Now and then there came a lull, and a wave of moonlight swept the
Lake. In a flash it revealed hundreds of boats, steel-dark against lustrous
ripples; then it withdrew as if with a furling of vast translucent wings.
Charity's heart throbbed with delight. It was as if all the latent beauty of
things had been unveiled to her. She could not imagine that the world
held anything more wonderful; but near her she heard someone say,
"You wait till you see the set piece," and instantly her hopes took a fresh
flight.
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At last, just as it was beginning to seem as though the whole arch of the
sky were one great lid pressed against her dazzled eye-balls, and
striking out of them continuous jets of jewelled light, the velvet darkness
settled down again, and a murmur of expectation ran through the crowd.
"Now--now!" the same voice said excitedly; and Charity, grasping the hat
on her knee, crushed it tight in the effort to restrain her rapture.
For a moment the night seemed to grow more impenetrably black; then
a great picture stood out against it like a constellation. It was
surmounted by a golden scroll bearing the inscription, "Washington
crossing the Delaware," and across a flood of motionless golden ripples
the National Hero passed, erect, solemn and gigantic, standing with
folded arms in the stern of a slowly moving golden boat.
A long "Oh-h-h" burst from the spectators: the stand creaked and shook
with their blissful trepidations. "Oh-h-h," Charity gasped: she had
forgotten where she was, had at last forgotten even Harney's nearness.
She seemed to have been caught up into the stars....
The picture vanished and darkness came down. In the obscurity she felt
her head clasped by two hands: her face was drawn backward, and
Harney's lips were pressed on hers. With sudden vehemence he wound
his arms about her, holding her head against his breast while she gave
him back his kisses. An unknown Harney had revealed himself, a
Harney who dominated her and yet over whom she felt herself
possessed of a new mysterious power.
But the crowd was beginning to move, and he had to release her.
"Come," he said in a confused voice. He scrambled over the side of the
stand, and holding up his arm caught her as she sprang to the ground.
He passed his arm about her waist, steadying her against the
descending rush of people; and she clung to him, speechless, exultant,
as if all the crowding and confusion about them were a mere vain stirring
of the air.
"Come," he repeated, "we must try to make the trolley." He drew her
along, and she followed, still in her dream. They walked as if they were
one, so isolated in ecstasy that the people jostling them on every side
seemed impalpable. But when they reached the terminus the illuminated
trolley was already clanging on its way, its platforms black with
passengers. The cars waiting behind it were as thickly packed; and the
throng about the terminus was so dense that it seemed hopeless to
struggle for a place.
"Last trip up the Lake," a megaphone bellowed from the wharf; and the
lights of the little steam-boat came dancing out of the darkness.

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Food for Thought...
Well, did you enjoy the fireworks? It’s not often that we encounter them
during the summer months perhaps? It also seems the first time that
Charity has ever really witnessed such a display.
What did we make of Charity and Harney – both in themselves and as a
couple? Did you notice the moment when Charity seemed to be reading
her companion’s face?
‘At such times his face wore the expression she had seen on it
when she had looked in at him from the darkness and again there
came over her a sense of the mysterious distance between them;
but usually his fits of abstraction were followed by bursts of gaiety
that chased away the shadow before it chilled her.’
What might it feel like to be Charity at this moment? She seems to be a
person full of doubts. Above, she has a sense of a ‘mysterious distance’
between herself and Harney and later we are told that, on bumping into
a neighbour who recognises her, she ‘flushed to the forehead and
looked away. She felt herself humiliated by Julia's sneer, and vexed
that the mockery of such a creature should affect her.’
With such lurking shadows, were you surprised that Charity was able to
find herself filled with ‘delight’ during the firework display over the lake?
At this moment we are told that she felt ‘as if all the latent beauty of
things had been unveiled to her’ and that ‘she seemed to have been
caught up into the stars....’
What might these stars be to Charity? The moment is followed by a kiss,
another kind of firework, and we are told that ‘An unknown Harney had
revealed himself, a Harney who dominated her and yet over whom
she felt herself possessed of a new mysterious power.’ If the trip has
brought the couple closer together, how might Charity be feeling about
herself here? There’s ‘a new mysterious power’ in Charity at any rate,
but can such a moment survive into the next day, and indeed, through
the years?
The trip seems to be called to an abrupt end in this extract as the couple
need to rush to catch the last ride home. What might Charity remember
about this day out? Were there any treasures in it that stood out to you
Reader? Any summer days out of your own that have survived the test
of time? What do we want from our summer days?

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Time to pause with a poem ….

We’ll pick up with another story again in our next issue, but now a pause
for some poetry. Poetry isn’t always easy for everyone to get going with.
In our Shared Reading groups we read a poem out loud a few times, to
give ourselves a bit of time to hear it aloud. Give this a go yourself and
see if it helps you to feel comfortable with the words, even if you’re still
not sure what it’s all about!

We aren’t looking to find an answer here, or what the person writing it

might have meant when they wrote it. We’re just looking to see if any
feelings or ideas come up when we read it – and often we find that the
more time you allow yourself to simply be with the poem, the more
thoughts and feelings will come through.

One of the keys is to enjoy yourself: take your time, read it out loud, have
a think about any bits you like, or that puzzle you, then… have another
read!

This week's Featured Poem is called Evening Solace by Charlotte

Bronte. Charity and Harney appear to enjoy quite a lively evening out
together, but summer evenings can also give us opportunity for quieter
reflections too, and the balmy air of a June evening can be enjoyed on
our own as much as with other people. Have a read of Bronte's evening
musings anyway and see how it leaves you. Perhaps you'll prefer it even
to an evening of fireworks? Or perhaps it will simply show another side of
human experience...

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Evening Solace by Charlotte Brontë

The human heart has hidden treasures,

In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame’s or Wealth’s illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,

Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart’s best feelings gather home.

Well, what do we make of this moment? How does it compare to

Charity's delight? Does 'Evening Solace' provide us with anything
different? It feels like the person here is on their own at this moment.
Perhaps evening might be a time when many of us feel more on our
own, and that might be a burden sometimes, at others,
a joy...those 'hours of lonely musing/Such as in evening silence come'.

The poem begins with 'the human heart' which has 'hidden
treasures'. Why are they hidden though – out of choice or necessity we
might wonder? 'In secret kept, in silence sealed/...whose charms
were broken if revealed.'

The last line feels really important too somehow - 'the heart's best
feelings gather home'. These feelings come at the moments of 'lonely
musing' – as if we need those moments of quiet as much as the
fireworks? The poem might be asking us to consider what helps us feel
at home with ourselves then, in ourselves, with our 'best feelings'?
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We’ve left this page blank for you to make notes, draw a picture, have a
go at writing yourself or jot down something you’d like to tell us…

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As well as reading materials, we’ve also included a word puzzle for you
to have a go at while you’re having a cuppa.

Summer can be a favourite time of year for many of us. It is a time

when people like to get out and about a bit more and enjoy some of the
beautiful sights that the world has to offer. Here's a list of some possible
dream destinations for us all to imagine during the summer months - see
if you can unscramble the words to reveal the hidden treasure. There's
also some space to add some of your own dream destinations in too!

• erceeg
• farnce
• npais
• yita
• almat
• lprotuga

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