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 First Day of Danish School

Leonie, Daughter

I don’t like this place. At least at my school in England I blended in, even if I hated it, but here I feel like I stick out.

It feels like everyone is looking at me. Not in a nasty way, just in a ‘isn’t that unusual’ kind of way. The girl who started the term late, the girl who randomly moved here from another country on a whim, the girl who is clearly unusual. I don’t want to be unusual. I want to be in the back. Unnoticed. Usual.

I had enrolled in an international school. Mum had confidently explained to me with great idealism what an international school was. A dream school, perfect for me. One that would teach me the ways of Danish life and culture and hold my hand as it gradually integrated me, an international student, in with the rest of Danish students that attended the school. Of course, allowing me to make lots of Danish friends and indoctrinate me into the Danish lifestyle. She made it sound like a cult.

This was not what an international school was. It was just a school for international people. Taught in English. And I wasn’t going to tell her.

There were people here from all over the world. French, German, Asian, a variety of accents and even languages being spoken around me.

I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

The teacher smiled at me and pulled me to one side as everyone was getting settled for the lesson. She spoke excellent English. I felt a mixture of relief and shame. I was forcing her to speak a different language in her own country. If Denmark was supposed to be making me feel happy, it really wasn’t.

I just felt unusual and useless.

‘It’s really lovely to have you in class with us’, the teacher said. She told me her name. We were to refer to her by her first name it seemed, but to be honest I couldn’t remember it, and I don’t think I could pronounce it very well either. The typical foreigner who just can’t get their head around people’s names.

‘I thought it might be nice to pair you up with someone until you get settled. What do you think?’ She smiled a little too unconvincingly and I knew something was wrong.

And then she introduced me to Anja.

Anja who had moved here from Germany, Anja who had relocated here with her family, Anja who was half German and half Danish.

I could smell mum all over this plan.

I could imagine the conversations between her and the school. Her insistence that I be paired up with a Danish person as soon as we started school and the international school’s confusion at trying to adhere to this request. They had clearly tried their best to satisfy my mum’s lack of awareness.

I can’t believe she’d asked them to pair me up with someone at all. Make friends with them and be fixed quickly. Just get better. Be paired up with a nice Danish person who will magically fix me without a care in the world.

Anja seemed nice enough. She was very polite but I could already tell we didn’t share any interests. My main interest being the want to be left alone, and hers seeming to be a desire to engage every chance she got. How was I doing? Did I feel like I was fitting in ok? Did I have everything that I needed? Did I know where everything was? I didn’t know the point in asking if I was ok in such a variety of ways. Considering that the answer to all of them was just ‘No’. I started to think about just writing the word ‘No’ on my forehead and just leaving it at that.

Eventually, Anja had to use the bathroom. After she ate her lunch, she excused herself and left. I took the opportunity to also excuse myself and leave.

I found a quiet corner outside by the bins. I sat in between them and took out my own lunch. Mum had attempted to make me the perfect Danish food that would heal all, apparently. I therefore expected open sandwiches, they seemed popular here. Instead I tried to deal with the embarrassment of my pickled herring, tomato, lettuce and cheese ‘very-closed-sandwiches’. A combination that should never have been put together, topped off with food colouring added to the bread to make it look like a Danish flag.

Mum was so embarrassing with her attempts at being Danish, her obsession with this country like it’s a magical land. Just being here, this whole thing… was just…

Just…

Just to make me happy.

I knew that. It was me. I was letting her down by not being happy.

The English-Danish mongrel sandwich attracted a nearby cat that had been considering the bins. There had clearly been nothing worthwhile here before, but the smell of pickled fish mixed with salad and cheese had piqued its interest and it came wandering over. I placed the sandwich on the floor and ate my cheese and onion crisps that I had smuggled here on the plane. The cat considered the sandwich for a moment and then decided that it might be better off. I didn’t blame it.

Something else suddenly caught the cat’s attention and it left my side. Then from around the corner came a boy. He looked to be about the same age as me, maybe slightly older or younger, I really don’t know. I’m rubbish at telling ages. I think I’d seen him before, he might have been in my class. I hadn’t really paid anyone else much attention. He placed his bag and coat on the floor, opened a can of cat food, put it down by his feet and stroked the cat as it nuzzled his legs. He suddenly saw me and jumped up with a fright.

‘Unskyld!’, he shouted. I think I understood this to mean, ‘I’m sorry’, but he said it in the weirdest accent ever, and I could only just about understand. I knew that I would regret engaging, but… it almost sounded like…

‘Are you… English?’ I asked.

‘Oh… it’s that obvious?’ he asked. I don’t know what was more obvious, his long black hair, freckles, short stature, or his thick Birmingham accent. I’m going to go with the thick Birmingham accent. I frowned at him in confusion.

‘Sorry, I  just sort of try to speak Danish as a force of habit now. I keep forgetting I don’t have to here. So… yeah. Anyway, I’m really sorry to have disturbed you while you’re… erm, bin sitting. I’ll just, erm…’

And with that he picked up the tin of cat food and quickly began gathering his things. And I went back to my cheese and onion crisps.

He was about to leave the designated bin sitting area when he paused for a moment. He couldn’t help himself, ‘are you English, too?’ he asked. I didn’t say anything, simply nodded, took my book out of my bag and started reading.

‘Cool…’ he trailed off.

I did feel bad as he sadly began to leave, clearly unsure of where else he should go. I had encroached on his quiet space. I knew that feeling.

‘Stay if you want’, I muttered quietly. He paused, nodded, sat down and continued to play with the cat.

I looked at him and he smiled at me.

I managed a small smile back.