A poem for Neurodiversity Pride Day 2025

This is a poem from my 2014 collection, ‘Map Reading for Beginners’. I wrote it in 2010 about a trip to Oxford in January of that year, for the purpose of having a MEG scan. This, it was hoped, would reveal how my brain was wired and whether there were genetic implications with regard to my children’s autism.

Years ago, neurodiversity had yet to be recognised as a thing, autism wasn’t considered a hereditary condition, and my family had long been deemed something of an anomaly for containing not one but two autistic children. As a result, we got roped into several scientific studies over the years. The one with the MEG scan came comparatively late in the day and was the last one we participated in. It was researching the molecular genetics of autism, and involved hours of videotaped interviews and tests over quite a few years. (I remember I was told I’d achieved the highest score they’d ever recorded on word recognition, but was really rather rubbish when it came to spatial awareness.)

On the day, after being stripped of metal, wired up by the wrists, forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, and that tender spot behind the ears, and clamped into a sort of all-body salon hairdryer, it turned out the scanner wasn’t working properly, and I drove back home to Bristol with whatever mystery my brain possessed unfathomed.

This poem has added poignancy for me now, as fifteen years later I’m waiting for an ADHD assessment. I see now that a diagnosis back then could have been really helpful, not just for me but also for my two other children, who, like me, didn’t tick any of the boxes when it came to the Triad of Impairments – which was how autism was diagnosed back in December 1993, when my autists were two and four years old respectively – but who could well be interestingly wired themselves and would have benefitted significantly from support and understanding, had their (possible) neurodiversity been recognised.

I feel frustrated by this, but at the same time, I have to acknowledge that's where medical science was thirty years ago, and maybe our participation in all those studies helped to bring society's understanding about neurodiversity to the point it's at today. I'm sad too, though, because if these divergencies had been picked up, the dynamics between me and my children might have played out differently, and we might all still be in each other's lives. 

Sweet especial rural scene

Another day to explore another corner of Oxfordshire while Son the Elder roboteered. Having made several road trips around the county, I decided to take it easy this time and visit a few places closer to his destination on the western edge of Oxford.

First stop, 13th century St Bartholomew's in Yarnton, which was on my itinerary a couple of years ago, but which I had to ditch, having run out of time. I was drawn by the prospect of 15th century wall paintings, but found so much more.

 

remains of a 14th century preaching cross

In fact, the wall paintings turned out to be less fascinating that some of the church's other features, being rather difficult to make out. There's definitely a nativity scene in there, though - you can see Mary with her blue mantle - and apparently other figures lurk under the whitewash elsewhere in the building.

I particularly loved the simplicity of the chancel ... 

... and the remaining couple of box pews ... 

... and lots of lovely early 17th century carvings. Plus these embroideries which don't get mentioned in the heritage listing, probably because sewing is by and large women's work.

The octagonal font dates from the 15th century, and has a lovely modern bowl inside it ... 

... and look, there's a tub font too - the parish font - which dates from the 12th century and is situated in the Spencer Chapel.  

Yes, we are talking about those Spencers - or at least, a branch of the Althorp family - and their Chapel is larger and much grander than the actual chancel. It has a spectacular Early Modern tomb, belonging to Sir William Spencer and his wife, Margaret, who died in 1609 and 1608 respectively ...

... and a Baroque tomb, which is much less pleasing to my eye, though absolutely bonkers, I have to admit, and which belongs to Sir Thomas Spencer, who died in 1684, and his wife, Jane.

The chapel also has a beautiful painted ceiling and 17th century stained glass.

It's the mediaeval glass, both English and Flemish, which is the Church's real treasure, though, most of which was donated to the church in the early 19th century. 

I particularly loved the birds in the above window, detail here ...

... and these angels with their feathery bodies.

Out in the churchyard there were some bonny skulls and cherubim.

I think this one actually looks like a child's death mask ...

... while this one looks like the homophobic sister-in-law of Bill Nighy's character in the film 'Pride'. 

Part of the churchyard was blocked off so that visitors didn't disturb the mason bees who live in part of the church wall ...

... but I did get a closer look at this lovely female common blue butterfly.

Then on to nearby Godstow, where you can see the ruins of a nunnery, alongside the Thames path. It was founded in 115 and closed in 1537 on the orders of Henry VIII, who gave the buildings to his personal physician. 

hemlock in the hedge

The only part that survives, apart from the boundary wall, which has been rebuilt, is the chapel. Even so, it's an atmospheric place, and looked lovely in the sun, with dog roses, elders and poppies adorning the site.

There was some weathered graffiti in the doorway to the Chapel, including this mason's mark ...

... and a date which appears to read 1417, when the nunnery was still in use, although not carved as carefully as most ancient graffiti is.

Hemlock Water Dropwort at Godstow Lock

After the nunnery, I continued down the Thames path in the direction of Binsey. I wanted to see something that wasn't there - that is, Binsey poplars, the trees that were felled in 1879 and commemorated by Gerard Manley Hopkins in his lament of the same name. Except they are there, because they were replanted in 1918, nearly thirty years after Hopkins' death. 

First, though, I passed this spectacularly contorted eared sallow, where a made a little shrine to a predated magpie, incorporating what looked like a piece of slag I found on the path.

Soon the poplars came into view up ahead. They are just the most beautiful trees. 

 A pair of brimstones so enamoured of each other they flew into my leg

Early Bumblebee  on Green Alkanet

On the edge of the village of Binsey, I sat down where I had a view back along the bank. I had something important to do, which was to read Hopkins' poem to the poplars and the sky and the cows seeking shelter from the sun and the river and the minnows or whatever it was darting about at its edges.

Minnows - or similar -  in the Thames

Sweet especial rural scene

My last stop for the day was Wytham Woods, which I came across by accident while looking at my OS map for places to visit. The site was given to Oxford University in 1942, and you can only access it if you apply for a permit in advance, which is free. As they are research woods, dogs aren't permitted, but since Cwtch doesn't accompany me on my trips to Oxford, her exclusion wasn't an issue.

I must admit, I felt quite smug and even a bit academic driving up the private road and pushing open the gate into the woods.

It was quite late in the afternoon and there seemed to be few people about (though the woods are quite expansive and I was only in one small corner of them). After a while I noticed numbered markers, strange white plugs stuck into trees, seats like umpire's chairs and orange paint. I was walking around inside an experiment - or several. It felt like I was inside a dystopian novel.

Another strange thing was that none of the pathways appeared to get enough footfall to be worn, and clumps of fungi grew in the middle of them. 

As I wandered along, I noticed I had a walking companion that stopped every time I stopped and kept pace with me - another common blue, this one a damselfly.

 small magpie moth

For all that it was a bit weird, there were some wonderful trees just in the tiny part of the woods that I visited, and I think I'll go again next time I'm in the area and spend longer there.