CAPTAIN COPENHAGEN

Captain Copenhagen tells the story of Helen and her daughter Leonie. After Leonie is diagnosed with depression at 14 years old, Helen decides that they need to move to the country that has been attributed as one of the happiest countries in the world, Denmark. Her hope is that she can use the country, culture and everything Danish to “cure” her daughter and make her happy again. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.

This blog is a work of fiction. It includes comedic episodes from Helen’s perspective as she tries to navigate Danish life, and more subdued episodes from Leonie’s perspective as she tries to navigate her mother.

All episodes can be found at www.captaincopenhagen.co.uk.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Captain Copenhagen explores the topic of mental health.

The Uniform

Helen, Mother

It was time. Time for Leonie to start a new school life after relocating across the water in search of the Scandinavian secrets of happiness. An important time in every child’s life.

But this was not just any school, this was Danish school. And Danish school would of course include the Danish school uniform. The uniform that would embrace my daughter with a harmonising aura and bring her nothing but joy. And hopefully thermals. The Danish winter was supposedly no joke.

I can’t deny it, I was thrilled by the idea. For one thing, the design would be a given. That beautiful mood lifting Danish design that would wrap my girl in a loving hug and embrace her throughout the entirety of the school day. It would bring her comfort and pick her up whenever she felt sad.

Feeling very proud of that analogy, I set out, daughter in tow, motivation high, for the uniform shop. I just needed to figure out where on earth it was. After what felt like hours dragging a slumped teenager around a busy capital city I still couldn’t find it and Google Maps wasn’t helping. I didn’t need to see pictures of someone I didn’t know having a birthday party at one of the local eateries, I needed answers, Google!

Eventually I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. And by that I mean transfer the matter into somebody else’s hands. I scanned around to see if I could find someone on the street who looked like they might help me. I am an expert at scanning for a friendly face. I surveyed the area, but no one around seemed to quite match the welcoming smile and inviting eyes that I was looking for. And then I found her.

Unfortunately she was on a bike so I admit that stepping in front of her to get her to stop had caused quite the scene.

‘I was wondering if you could please…direct me…to the nearest local school uniform shop?’ I asked her in the way I imagined it would be phrased in most ‘learn to speak English phrase books’ in the hope that she would understand and make up for my inadequate grasp of the local language. 

‘School uniform shop?’ She looked puzzled.

I had failed. Time to do better, time to be more clear and concise.

‘Yes, the uniform that, children, well, my 14 year old, I guess she’s still sort of a child, but starting to become an adult at the same time, maybe, anyway, I need to find somewhere to buy her school uniform, as in, a uniform for school, but maybe a specific one for a specific school, or a more general, not in the military sense, like General, but a non capitalised mini g general way, perhaps, maybe, I’m not sure. So, can you help?’

Nailed it.

She stared at me for a moment.

‘Oh, you’re English!’, she exclaimed, her face suddenly brightening up like a thousand unicorns on a thousand rainbows. I had either clearly underestimated her English or I had expressed myself excellently. I am going to say it was a little of both.

‘That’s so sweet,’ she continued. I’m not quite sure why being English was sweet, but better than being sour. Then her smile suddenly began to drop. The unicorns were falling off their rainbows one by one. ‘But, children… children in Denmark don’t wear… school uniforms.’

‘No… uniforms?’ I asked.

She shook her head and smiled, ‘they can wear whatever they want’.

I tried to hide how gutted I was, I looked over at Leonie to see if she had any reaction. Her expression remained unchanged. But I would not be defeated.

‘Oh… well, thank you for your help’, I thanked my cyclist friend and watched her depart on her cyclist way.

This was not a problem.

Even if there was no specific school uniform, then I would just find her that perfect Danish outfit to wear to school. We were still a-go. Onward Generals with a maxi G.

I sat on a nearby wall and returned to Google, encouraging Leonie to do the same. Our mission: to find Danish branded clothes shops. I was surprised to discover how many clothing brands in Denmark were actually Swedish. That was intriguing, but not quite the right flavour of Scandinavian I was going for. I turned to Leonie to see if she’d had better luck with her search.

She was gone.

I refused to panic. She had simply gotten a head start that’s all. I just needed to catch up. And I certainly wasn’t going to do that by using the phone tracking app that I had installed on her phone in case of emergencies. Of course not. That would be an invasion of her privacy.

After looking on my phone for a few minutes just to see if I could get a mother’s intuitional vibe as to where she might be, I simply headed in the direction that my gut told me was right.

She was in a charity shop. The last place that I would have thought to look for clothes to be honest. I’m not snobby, just a little… unsure. It would be difficult to tell which clothes brands were Danish there. I asked myself – would I be able to just do lots and lots of internet searches? But then I had a realisation, maybe that didn’t matter? These clothes had all previously been owned by Danish people… would that mean that they already came with some kind of Danish seal of approval? Maybe some good Danish vibes had been left behind by the previous occupants? Is that what she had thought?

Maybe she was embracing the chance to become a little more Danish?

I was surprised to find her in the changing room having found an outfit that she liked. It was rare these days for her to take an interest in anything and I couldn’t help but smile as my heart sang a little.

She wore a scuffed leather jacket and lace up boots. She looked a little like me when I was younger. I gave her a hug and told her that I would buy it for her. She quietly nodded, returned to the changing room to, well, change, and then passed me the clothes through the curtain. I took them to the till.

‘You look like you’re having a good day’, said the lady behind the counter. I clearly had an aura of Britishness that just brought out people’s desire to speak to me in English.

‘Well…’ I started.

It was at this moment that I had a decision to make. A decision that we are all faced with at some point. Should I share with a stranger? Normally, I would be against the idea. But today felt like a win, so you know what, I thought, to hell with it. Brace yourself young girl behind the counter with curly hair, we’re going in.

‘I…I am actually. I managed to get my daughter an outfit for the start of her first school term here, one that is Danish approved, one that she likes and took the initiative to find herself, one that I think will just… make her happy. I think this is definitely a win’. I was so happy with how today had gone. Maybe this trip had worked out alright in the end.

‘The start of term?’ A Danish person looked at me puzzled for the second time that day.

Oh.

Double Oh. 

A pattern was forming and my mother’s intuition started to kick in. Not the type of intuition that I can pretend to have while instead using a tracking app, but the kind of intuition that makes me want to hide in a pile of freshly cleaned, freshly smelling, fresh washed clothes.

‘Yes… the September term.’ I said, trying to make myself as clear as I could. ‘She’ll be starting a new school here this year’. Behind-the-counter-curly-haired-girl, please do not ruin my day.

‘I’m sorry, but…’

We stared at each other and my life began to flash before my eyes.

‘Didn’t the new school year… start in August?’ she asked.

And there it was. Behind-the-counter-curly-haired-girl ruined my day.

Perhaps in my excitement to research so much about Danish happiness culture, my research in the practicalities had perhaps been a little lacking.

Captain Copenhagen had been foiled by her greatest weakness, a lack of preparedness. 

I’m sorry Leonie, I will crack this country yet.