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For the last several years I have completed a Writing Challenge with many people, all over the globe.  We write something inspired by a prompt for 21 days plus an introduction.  This year the prompts are about place and I've chosen the River Porter in Sheffield.  This year, I hope some readers might take part and I have a couple of challenges, see the paragraphs in bold towards the end.

Ha!  You thought I would begin at the source.  No way, you see the source is not the beginning. 

We must step back in time to the 1950s and, with a great feat of imagination: I’m small, cute, wearing a woolly bonnet and in a pushchair. 

We set off from 12 Roach Road, out the back door, down the passage and down the steps.  Turn left and then right down Hunter House Road.  (It really is steep, not the steepest in Sheffield but really steep.)

Left at the bottom, cross over at the Hunters Bar roundabout, turn right and into Endcliffe Park.  In front of Queen Victoria we always turn right (the other route is for the return journey) and cross the Porter three times.  Up the slope and then we’ve arrived at the duck pond.

The duck pond is far more important than the river because it contains – ducks!  My mother produces a slice of white sliced bread and we feed the ducks. 

This happens again and again.  In time we’re joined by my sister.  Sometimes by friends.  I didn’t know about the river or the origins of the duck pond.  I’ve walked past hundreds of times as a child, as an adult and now as an old fogey.  This is where it started, my relationship with this little river with a big history. 

I learned recently the duck pond is the Holme Wheel.  It was built in 1724 with 4 troughs, expanding to 11 seventy years later.  The troughs were where the grinding wheels sat, all driven by the water wheel.  The dam is above the level of the river, filled at the far end by the river, which drops down and receives the water at the near end.  No water wheel, it’s now a waterfall.

And the ducks?  They’re still there but sadly diminished by the presence of seagulls (apparently we should call them gulls because they never see the sea.)

My sister doesn’t tell many jokes but this is one of hers:  What happens to a duck when it flies upsidedown?  You know the answer!

So many threads!  I've written several pieces about the Porter and so far not really got around to that Golden Thread.  So, this is my first challenge, as you read these posts think about how you might use this post or a post like it to promote your business.  I'll add a few of my thoughts after each post, like this:

Is childhood relevant to your business today?  It could be.  Early childhood?  Near the start, I asked you to imagine me as a toddler in a pushchair.  If you know me, you'll appreciate the challenge.  What did you imagine?  Maybe yourself or a small child known to you, perhaps your own.  This is a story about feeding the ducks.  It is not earth-shattering but invites recognition.  We all have similar memories.  These first 10 stories about the Porter are about memory and I build a picture of what this river means to me.  Notice also that I age in this story.  I've moved a long way from that time, my earliest memory of the river.  This is a theme I return to later, the parallel between life and the course of the river.  And for business?  I would use it as a getting to know me story.  But it also makes the point that you don't have to describe dramatic events to make a connection.  Another thing it illustrates is that I think of this place as the duck pond.  It really is very recently I've found out its real name.  How often do we miss things of interest because we take them for granted?

My other challenge is especially for Sheffielders, do you have anything to share about the Porter?  Your experiences along it, bits and pieces of history you've uncovered, folklore you've heard.  If you remember something, please share it in the comments.  (Or maybe you are more familiar with other rivers in Sheffield, you could share those too.)  Let's see what we can find out over the coming weeks.

This is the first of 21 stories about the Porter.  The next story is: Carol like a Lark.

This is Holme Wheel, towards the end where the mill and waterwheel will have been.