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 Friend

Helen, Mother

‘The first day of school is always such a touching moment’, I cooed as I gave my daughter her packed lunch and straightened her collar, ‘I knew this day was coming but I wasn’t ready for it’. I couldn’t help but wipe a stray tear from my eye.

‘I’m 14’, Leonie replied with her new glare that had started to become more prominent over the past few days, ‘I’ve been to school before’.

‘Not Danish school!’ I replied. I watched as she clumsily put on her shoes, not bothering to tie her laces but instead sticking them down the side of her shoe. I could tell she was a little nervous.

‘Danish Desks! Danish Classrooms! Danish Teachers!’ I could hardly contain my excitement. Danish school was going to be so much better for her than regular school.

‘And! You’ll get the chance to make lots and lots of Danish friends!’

She froze mid lace-shove and didn’t stand up. She was full turtle, full foetal. It was time to reboot her. I bent down and pried the laces from her shoes and started tying them for her just as I had done on her first day of English school. These Doc Martins took a little more time than the standard Clark’s shoes that she had worn that day, but I was up for the challenge. It was going to take a lot more than that to stop me from ‘mumming’.

Shoes tied, I stood her up and once again moved the hair from her face to behind her ears, the glare looking a little less ‘glarey’ and a little more lifeless than it had before. I gave her a cuddle. Cuddles fix everything.

‘I want you to be happy. And to do that you just have to be yourself and you’ll make plenty of friends’, I clichéd.

She pulled away from me like it was the most unthinkable thing. Yes, it was a cliché, but sometimes clichés become clichés because they are true. And, for me, it really was that simple. Leonie is wonderful, how could anyone not love her when they got to know her? This country, these people, they will love and accept my daughter and they will make her smile again.

Oh magical Denmark, how I worship thee.

‘Now go forth!’ I exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulders, ‘embrace this Danish land and its people, and make some Danish friends!’ I turned her around and pointed her towards the door. She didn’t look back, but hesitated.

‘Can you remember it?’ I asked.

She nodded and opened the door.

‘Leonie?’

She slowly turned back to me and I could see that she was getting frustrated with her dear old mother. I could even see her inwardly sigh. But I didn’t mind, this would not be the last inward sigh that I would have to deal with in her teenage years. She was my daughter after all and when I was her age I was an Olympic level inward sigher.

Her eyes met mine.

‘Mit navn er Leonie, lad os være venner’

……….

‘Let’s be friends, let’s be friends, that’s all you have to say girly, just say it to one person, just one’, I muttered to myself as I spent the day pacing up and down with the hoover. I couldn’t help it, it was all I could do.

Hoover, then try to sit and read a book. Can’t sit still, need to hoover.

Think about going out for a walk. Too nervous to face the outside world, back to the hoover.

Make self a sandwich. Don’t like the quiet, purposefully make a lot of crumbs so I can return to the hoover. 

My carpet was the cleanest carpet I have ever had. I’m sure I took the top layer off.

As it finally reached the end of the school day I sat on an empty suitcase by the door like a dog waiting for its master. I kept telling myself that she will come home and she will have made friends with a nice, tall, blonde Danish person. Not that everyone in this country is tall and blonde, it just feels like quite a common thing. One of the many gifts from the Vikings apparently.

This was definitely not the case for British me and British Leonie. We did not look remotely Scandinavian. We have both inherited my mother’s duck disease (our arses being too close to the floor). As I pondered this for far too long, I saw the door slowly open and in stepped my world weary soldier, back from her day of Danish socialising, Danish education and generally being all things Danish. I think she even looked a little taller and blonder than when she had left.

‘Well?’ I spluttered as I stood up far too fast and gave myself a head rush and had to sit back down again. She came and joined me on the suitcase and started taking her shoes off. The laces of which had once again been untied and shoved down the side. Bows were clearly not in fashion at the moment.

‘Did you…’ I looked at her for a moment to check if it was safe to continue, ‘make any friends?’

After a moment’s silence, she quietly nodded as if to say, ‘yes, now no more questions mother’, and my heart fluttered. How wonderful, she was fitting in! My girl had made a Danish friend and they would help to show her the way, the way to happiness and unlock the secrets of this wondrous country! It was going to work! It was going to work!

‘His name’s Luke,’ she said as she started to walk into the kitchen.

‘He’s from Birmingham’.