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 S-Train

Helen, Mother

We were starting to settle into our new home. It was true that we didn’t have any furniture yet except for a bed, a sofa bed and a fridge, but that was not what was important. We were here!

Now it was time for the next step, venturing out into the city!

We had been here for five days and our activities so far had consisted of filling up the fridge, emptying the fridge, refilling the fridge and moving our personal items from being piles in suitcases to being piles on the floor. I was starting to get itchy feet, fingers and any other bodily limb that you can think of. It’s true that my skin might not be getting on well with the new water, but that’s beside the point. It was time for Denmark to work its magic on Leonie. Time to start living our new Copenhagen life and start being more Danish!

‘Hey, let’s go out!’ I chipped in the most chipper voice that I could master.

An innocent request most definitely. One that I had said with the best intentions. However…

I am now on a train.

Trains are not my favourite. They’re cramped, they’re fast, you can’t always find a seat and then you fall over and pick yourself up and brush off your clothes in an attempt to find some kind of dignity and then fall again after another jolt and find your face in the lap of a stranger who brushes your hair in comfort with fingers covered in the Dorito dust from the lunch that was on their lap and is now all down your front as you try to get yourself up only to be attacked by their dog who can’t resist the smell of said Doritos and said lunch as the carriage laughs and the ticket inspector picks you up and asks for your ticket which you have lost in the chaos and you have to pay a fine and buy another ticket and then deal with the fact that the ticket officer turns out to be a friend of your parents who then laugh with him over the tale at their next book club meeting. Or so I’ve heard.

But more than any of that, they just make me a bit scared to be honest, and that is hard for a supermum to admit.

I like planes, planes don’t scare me. Why? I don’t know. I try to pretend I’m on a plane. I look in my bag to try and find my emergency aeroplane nuts for times when I need to calm my nerves by pretending to be on a plane. Unfortunately I have already eaten them while on the actual plane. I bite my nails instead, they don’t taste as good.

After much back and forth in the apartment earlier we had come to the compromise that we would have a mini Danish starter adventure: we would ride the S-Train. Copenhagen’s answer to the London Underground but much cleaner, much brighter, much less soul crushing. Not to mention literally less crushing. I had a feeling that my body might come out of this unscathed and unbroken.

We would get on at the closest stop and ride the train to the end of the line and back, taking in the sights of Copenhagen while allowing Leonie to sit and read her book. It would be fine because it seemed like quite a few of the stations on the line were above ground.

I had never told Leonie about my fear of trains, but that didn’t matter. It was the only thing that I had (foolishly) suggested that Leonie seemed even half willing to do, and if Leonie wanted to travel on a train, then that was what we would do. Whatever she wanted. What mattered most to me was getting her out there so that Denmark could work its magic. She can see the sites of Copenhagen and then maybe regain a little of her lacking motivation and venture out further next time. And I can ease my stress by leaning back in my seat and gripping on while breathing in a way I had been taught during labour, much to the amusement of those sharing a carriage with me. But that doesn’t matter, bring it on Stranger Eyes of Judgment, it wouldn’t be the first time I have defeated you in battle. 

And it was only to the end of the line and back. However, it was true that I didn’t fully know whereabouts on the line we were or how far there and back was. Some might suggest that I had put off finding a station and just wandered around for quite a while trying to find the “nearest stop” as I called it. And they would be right. I, of course, wanted to do this for Leonie, but that doesn’t mean I could fight my natural instinct to procrastinate and avoid. But when we finally did come across a station I accepted my fate for the sake of my daughter.

After figuring out the ticket machine I somehow managed to get us some tickets. Of course by “figure out” I mean randomly pressed buttons in the language that I didn’t understand to see if it spat something out. I graciously offered it my money and I was rewarded.

Now it was time to go forward!

Or backward… I wasn’t entirely sure which platform we needed to be on. Never mind, it was all just a matter of confidence. Eenie meanie miney mo confidence.

Then there was nothing left to do but wait for the train to arrive. This was going to be my greatest achievement. I was going to ride all the way to the end of the line and back. I looked at Leonie, gathered all my strength and watched as the metal caterpillar of discomfort slowly entered the station. The doors opened in front of me, and Leonie comfortably embarked. I thought about all my favourite things to distract me. Toffee apples came to mind for some reason, and just the thought of that beautifully healthy snack covered in teeth destroying sugar somehow gave me the courage to follow her. That’s it, train mounted, I did it. Personal best!

And now, as I sit on this train, I prepare myself for the journey. The kind of terrifying journey that a mother does for her child. I close my eyes for a moment and think of motivational thoughts. I can do this. I have done harder things in my life: I have given birth to a 14 year old if nothing else, well, she wasn’t 14 at the time, but still. I have gotten on the right side of the most difficult in-laws ever, I even managed to train myself to eat black pudding. The train starts to move and the fear starts to build a little. But just a little, I will control it. Push the fear gremlin back down into the pit where it belongs. But getting to the end of the line doesn’t feel like an ‘only’ anymore. I just need to brace myself. That’s it, I can do this. I can do this. I’ll just keep my eyes closed. I don’t need to see the train, just be on the train. That counts. I can do this, I can do this, oh god I can’t do this, I’m going to fail like that time I choked on a plane peanut as I tried to calm myself in front of Paul McCartney. No, yes, I can do this. I just have to get to the end of the line, for Leonie, that’s it, the end of the line. I made all this effort to get here, I have to. I HAVE TO GET TO THE-

‘Mum?’ A quiet voice asks me.

I open my eyes. Leonie is standing in front of me. 

‘Wha-?’ I coherently respond.

She gestures to the train that’s practically empty except for a few stragglers that are getting off. Surprisingly, nobody is using the doors that I was closest to. In fact I would say that the majority of them are actively going out of their way to avoid me.

It’s official. We are at the end of the line.

The wrong end of the line.

All of my courage and determination had taken us one stop in the wrong direction.

There’s a gentle tug of my arm and I let Leonie lead me off the train. She’s taking me to the station exit.

‘Wait, we need to… train back?’

‘We’ll walk,’ she mutters, looking down, one arm looped around mine, her book under the other. She walks me out of the station and down the road. Her arm is tight around mine and her head is heavy, resting against me, which is a change. I feel a little too disoriented to fully acknowledge or understand it. I follow her lead assuming she knows the way. I go to check the map and then decide against it. I’m going to leave the directions to her from now on.