Macbeth doth murder sleep

Methought I heard a voice cry, ‘Sleep no more!

Macbeth doth murder sleep,’ the innocent sleep,

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

By some strange irony, the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford will be staging their contemporary production of Shakespeare’s darkest psychological thriller with Christopher Eccleston as Macbeth at the same time as our BASPCAN 10^th International Child Protection Congress at the University of Warwick.

Thinking outside the box

The theme of our congress, ‘thinking outside the box,’ reflects our desire to learn and develop, encouraging participants to be creative and reflective, and to interact with each other.

The Shakespeare connection

Shakespeare will, in fact, feature quite prominently in our programme, with a promenade performance by Playbox Theatre company of ‘Shakespeare’s Lost Children’, and an opening keynote presentation from Paul Edmondson, head of learning and research at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust.

Shakespeare’s Children remain powerful presences today as the emotions, dilemmas, responsibilities and bond between parents and children is brought into sharp focus.

Be inspired, challenged, equipped

Why not register today to attend the congress, and stay on for a day or two to explore Coventry and Warwickshire and treat yourself to a live performance at the RSC?

Check our congress website for more details: www.baspcan.org.uk/congress-2018/

January 13, 2018January 13, 2018

This poem moves awkwardly…

This poem:

a poem in two parts by Niamh, aged 10 and Clare, aged 45

for the BASPCAN 2018 child protection congress

This poem moves awkwardly.

It lives in the sea, near the shore

where the waves crash

and poetry is swept onto the beach.

This poem eats slimy things.

It has one blunt tooth

and its tail is ripped by rocks.

It swims with small poems

and big poems and songs –

the books are far off in the ocean

which looks plain from a distance

but from the inside,

it’s full of life.

This poem is red, like ore.

It is small and wide

and its eyes are sapphire.

They look straight ahead.

I almost caught this poem.

It was on the tips of my fingers,

I felt its smooth skin.

Though I followed this poem

to the shore

it had gone. It had gone

and the sky was grey.

This poem lives in a slow river

where it’s summer and I am seven

and the river is green

and the dark current scares me

it hangs in the shallows

there are pebbles

and low trees

and feet turned the colour of rust

in the sun through the water

and its mouth is a tiny dot

it flickers off on and on

and its eyes are invisible

but it sees

how the universe moves in colour

and a huge sun that simmers

and darkness I cannot describe

and the rocks are worlds

and the currents are storms

and my hand is a shadow

and cage

This poem is by Clare Shaw and her daughter Niamh which they wrote for the BASPCAN 2018 child protection congress in April.

Clare is our poet in residence for the congress, part of our exciting ‘out of the box’ programme.

December 15, 2017

Poetry Writing with Year 8

Our poem of the month from Clare Shaw, poet in residence for the BASPCAN 2018 Child Protection Congress

Poetry Writing with Year 8

Caitlin thinks Jackie Kay

switched on the Blackpool lights.

No, I say, that’s Peter. Now tell me

one thing about your room.

Ellie glares from the back row

and Emily won’t meet my eye.

It’s the coldest day today

by far. The mountains are black in the dusk

but the lake is sunset, my arms are wings

and the water is fiery with frost.

I come from a town full of smackheads,

he tells us, but my house is boss.

If someone reads out

they’re showing you what’s in their heart

and you must respect it.

I come from the forest, she says,

I come from the back of the co-op

and the sea is a road

and the moon is a candle. Miss,

no-one plays music in our house.

No-one leaves home

unless home is the mouth of a shark

and I’m lost, my street is dark.

and I come from the sea,

I come from pizza,

from chicken nuggets, I come from

the Xbox and telly

I come from a town of useless parents

and on the North Sea, the waves are roaring.

The seagulls are children, crying

and though the stars are shining

there’s nowhere to shelter from the rain.

This is what’s in my heart

and you should respect it.

I come from silence, he says.

It’s the only music I hear.

To find out more about the congress, read other poems by Clare, or to book (hurry, Early Bird bookings close at the end of December), please go to our website: https://www.baspcan.org.uk/congress-2018/

October 14, 2017October 14, 2017

My father was no ordinary man

Another poem by Clare Shaw, poet in residence for the BASPCAN 2018 International Child Protection Congress

My father was no ordinary man

My father could fly. He needed no father –

he had mother, the hunger of four older brothers –

my father was one of an army of brothers

and he learnt all the ways of men.

My father was handsome and worshipped by women.

His loins were a river: they flowed with his children

and he was the fountain of truth we all drank from

and when he held forth we would not interrupt him.

My father named every flower in the garden,

each star in the night by the right constellation.

He knew all the birds by their song

and they sang it. My father could never be wrong.

His hands were a gun and they brought down the rabbit.

He fed us on flesh that was studded with bullets.

There was fire in his fist, there was gold in his pocket.

My father turned water to wine and he drank it –

he needed no prayer and no God

for he was the word and he rang like a hammer.

Oh, my father was victor; he rode on our shoulders,

he rode deep inside us. We carried my father

through hell and high water,

we proved ourselves worthy of love

and his love was a river in flood.

The sun made him happy.

The truth was soft mud in his hands, oh truly

he was the truth and he was the glory.

He filled all the rooms with his song and his story,

his whisper could silence a house

for my father bore pain that you could not imagine.

His forearms were scarred and his fingers were broken.

His lungs were a pit and his heart was a puncture.

Oh, my father was hard and my father was tender

and his hand was a mark

we will all wear forever.

September 13, 2017

Thinking creatively about safeguarding children

Over the past few weeks I have been in a number of conversations which have highlighted the complexity of work around safeguarding children, the commitment of those professionals engaged in such work, and the huge impact of the work on children and families.

I have been very aware of the challenges practitioners face in balancing their supportive and protective roles, and also how both survivors of abuse and families who come into our protective systems can feel excluded and victimised by the very services set up to support them.

So I am really very excited by next year’s BASPCAN child protection congress taking place at the University of Warwick in April.

The theme of the congress, Thinking outside the box, captures our desire to think creatively about how we safeguard children.

For the first time ever, we will be bringing together practitioners, survivors of abuse, researchers, trainers and policy makers to learn from each other, reflect and consider how we can improve services to support families and protect children and young people.

We have an exciting line up of keynote speakers, and some really inspiring abstracts already being submitted. The call for abstracts ends soon, so if you have a good idea, some original research or innovative practice that you can present, or if you are able to draw on your own experience as a survivor of abuse or someone who has been involved with family support services, do get online now to submit an outline (abstract) of your presentation.

And do take a look at our all-new website (click here) where you will find lots of information and inspiration, including our latest poem of the month from our poet in residence, Clare Shaw, and some tasters from our artist in residence, Harry Venning.

August 25, 2017August 25, 2017

The voices young people hear

Hearing voices that other people don’t hear is just one possible response to traumatic or adverse life experiences, but it is one that can leave supporters feeling out of their depth. Once seen as the epitome of madness, it is now understood that voices are a meaningful experience that can often reflect the struggles which provoked or shaped them.

Listening to, and learning from, the voices young people hear

Rai Waddingham, from Hearing Voices Network, is the latest in an exciting line-up of keynote speakers for the BASPCAN 2018 child protection congress.

In her talk, Rai will explore the experience of hearing voices and their relationship to traumatic life experiences. She will cover some of the different kinds of voices heard by young people who have experienced trauma and/or child protection processes – including: taboo and violent voices; voices that provide comfort and security; voices that echo feelings of fear, loss or guilt. Importantly, she will suggest some of the things adults can do to help young people feel safer and more empowered within these experiences. Rai will draw on her own personal experience as a survivor of trauma and voice-hearer, as well as her professional experience of supporting young people through the Voice Collective young person’s hearing voices project.

Rai Waddingham

Rai Waddingham is an experienced international trainer who specialises in innovative ways of supporting people who struggle with extreme states (including ‘psychosis’, ‘dissociation’ and complex post-traumatic reactions). Rai has particular expertise in working with children, young people and people in prison who hear voices. In 2010, Rai launched a project developing a network of Hearing Voices peer support groups in London’s prisons, building on her work developing groups for adults and young people in the community. She now works as an honorary Open Dialogue practitioner in Kent and Medway NHS and Social Care Partnership Trust’s Open Dialogue Service.

Rai is a trustee of the English Hearing Voices Network, Intervoice and Vice Chair of ISPS UK (International Society for Psychological and Social Approaches to Psychosis). She is also a member of ISPS’s International Executive Committee. Rai has personal experience of hearing voices, psychosis and dissociation. She uses her own experiences and the principles of the Hearing Voices Movement to inform her work.

To find out about our other inspiring keynote speakers, take a look at our congress webpage:

Keynote Speakers

August 19, 2017

You are teaching your daughter to swim

in open waters

though you don’t know the depth

of the lake at its centre; who might have died there,

whether the pike will scare her or bite her,

if the current will pull her down.

At the level of water, the mountains are higher.

The cold is a world she will walk to and enter

where deep mud is softer than skin.

Let the pebbles swim under her feet!

All the darkness beneath her

is answered by birds

and the trees will be tall and kind.

The sun will light up the water above her.

When there’s no ground left to stand on,

then she’ll fly.

Though the cold makes her teeth ache

she can take it. The rain cannot soak her,

the swan will not harm her. No dead man

will reach out his hand. You will watch her

leaving the shore behind

and the current will flow

the right way. That day,

the water will hold her

and take her far from you.

Now let her go from you. Let go.

A poem by Clare Shaw,

Poet in Residence for the

BASPCAN 2018 International Child Protection Congress

To read more of Clare’s poems and to find out more about the Congress see our website:

BASPCAN Congress 2018

and the water holds you

and carries you

it stops you from going down

and occasional sun

Y Living things scare you –

their dark little nudges

you imagine them,

snake-like and toothy and eyeless.

there’s nothing makes sense

but your arms

the rhythm of you moving forwards

beat and stroke

and sun on the surface

ou are leaving the shore behind.

July 22, 2017July 22, 2017

My mother was a verified miracle.

A poem for July by Clare Shaw, Poet in Residence for the BASPCAN 2018 International Child Protection Congress

My mother was church door where millions entered.
My mother was tower where four kestrels roosted –
my mother was hooded, she plunged and she hovered.
She flew at the speed of the wind, oh
my mother had wings and her voice was an organ,
she was seraph and cherub and throne and dominion.
My mother was bright with flame.

My mother was saint and my mother was martyr
and she was the light floating over the water.
My mother was whale and I rode safe inside her –
I was blessed and I came out clean
for my mother was sermon and she was the mountain
and she was the tree and the nails and the Roman
and her rafters were oak and her stone was all golden.

My mother said Let there be light
and she was the light. My mother was fruit
and we peopled the earth in her name
for my mother was sun and my mother was thunder.
My mother would get at the truth if it killed her –
she laid waste to the nations for me did my mother
and I could not run from her love

for my mother was choir, she was every bird singing
and she was the song and will not be forgotten.
My mother was angel, my mother was fallen.
She suffered the children and fed them on nothing.
My mother was bread
and my mother was broken
and she was the ark. She was darkness. The ocean.

To read more of Clare’s poems, to find out more about the congress and how you can participate, please take a look at the congress website:

BASPCAN Congress 2018