Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - Christmas with Charles Dickens

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Starting point is 00:02:19 The podcast where we listen, we relax and we get sleepy. I'm Tom, your host. I just want to thank all of you for your listenership and support this year. Tonight Abbey will be reading our story and it's a special festive treat. We're heading back in time to 19th century London, where we'll wander through the wintry streets with one of the most famous writers of his time and of any time Charles Dickens. Now, I know this is a very busy and fast-paced time of year for many of us, but you can rest assured that this podcast is here for you as always. So let's slow the pace now with a bit of mindfulness and relaxation before we join Abbey for our story. Bedtime deserves to be your sanctuary where you can rest and recharge.

Starting point is 00:03:39 It's a time where you deserve to let go of the busy thoughts and concerns. And let go of the hard work your body puts in to complete the tasks of the day. So take some deep breaths now as you feel yourself easing into the comfort of your bed. And just gradually begin to visualize a single ray of warm sunlight. Whatever this light touches, warmth and relaxation are induced, dissolving away any tension and bringing relief. So imagine this ray of light shining just on your toes right now. It feels warm, it creates space and up your legs, all the way to the waist and the abdomen. These warm rays melt away any discomfort. They continue spreading up your chest and back,

Starting point is 00:05:34 moving into the shoulders, and easing any aches or pains there. It moves down the arms, reaching your hands and fingers. Now it spreads over your head and face, covering every inch of your body. Your whole body feels relaxed and renewed. All that's left to do is listen to the lulling sound of Abbey's voice. As we travel to England on a snowy winter day, in the year 1837. This is where our story begins. Picture yourself now, standing upon the snowy pavement as your cozy winter boots press into the thick blanket of white beneath you. The air is chilly and bracing, and the sky is cloudless.

Starting point is 00:07:30 It's a canvas of soft blue. The sun stays low at this time of the year, inching its way across the sky, before evening falls. Lowering your gaze, you look across the street, noting the black cast iron street lamps, which are evenly spaced as far as the eye can see. Behind the unlit lamps on either side of the street a tall brick buildings, side by side and back to back. Each elegant townhouse is similar to the next, though some have four stories and others three. A nearby sign tells you this place is called Douty Street, and here the majority of the houses have two or three large windows per level. At the

Starting point is 00:08:29 ground level these aesthetic side handsome wooden doors painted the same glossy black as the street lamps. And at the very top windows are built into the grey slate roofs, allowing daylight to shine into attic bedrooms. From one such window on the street opposite, a young boy waves in your direction. He has a great, beaming smile on his face. You return the smile and wave back, delighting in the warmth that such an effortless interaction can bring. It's a scene that can only be described as quintessentially Victorian. An era marked by the reign of Queen Victoria, who sat upon the British throne from 1837 to 1901.

Starting point is 00:09:29 It's recognizable not only because of the street, but also the people that trudged past you now on this perfect winter day. You see a pair of fine young ladies wearing dresses of stunning ballooning silk that tread along the ground, matching the elaborate hats atop their heads. Their upper halves are swathed in the rich velvet of fur-colored capes, and their hands are clasped together inside toasty hand-warmers, wraps of fur held in front of their waist. Though they are not near enough for you to make out their exact conversation, their faces wear expressions of secretive glee,

Starting point is 00:10:21 they look as though they're conspiring together. You'd guess that they are sisters, perhaps plotting the kind of good-hearted mischief that might enliven the traditional Christmas festivities. Behind the ladies, you can see even more people crunching their way through the icy snow. There are characters of all ages and social standings. There's a group of young chimney sweeps meandering along the street. They are boys of no more than ten, you'd say. They're cotton clothing marked with smudges of black soap.

Starting point is 00:11:08 They seem to be in high spirits. You follow them with your eyes as they amble down the street, brooms in hand. Eventually, they disappear entirely, leaving only footprints in the road and the distant echoes of childish laughter and cheerful banter. Returning to your own journey now, you look directly ahead of you to a grand wooden door. It's painted a striking shade of midnight black, so glossy that you can almost make

Starting point is 00:11:49 out your reflection on its surface. The house number 48 shines in solid brass from an upper center panel. And below it, the stunning Christmas wreath hangs from a red silk ribbon. It's a ring of spectacular festivity displaying the emerald and ruby hues of its holy leaves and berries. Reaching towards the polished brass of the door knocker below this festive wreath. You lift it and tap once, twice, three times. Standing by, you hear the sound of footsteps drawing near. All things considered, you're expecting the person who opens the door to be dressed in the black and white uniform of a butler or a maid. Only when the heavy door does finally open, it's a formally dressed gentleman that you see, a man who looks and feels familiar to you.

Starting point is 00:13:10 Even without an introduction, you recognize him to be Charles Dickens, one of the greatest writers of the 19th century. He's neatly dressed in a tailored suit and top hat, enveloped in a warm winter coat that drapes down to his ankles. And he is far younger than he appears in popular portraits, now just a man in his mid-twenties. His dark, thick hair is far tidier than the unruly mop we'll wear in late years, and his face is clean shaven. His piercing, bluish, grey eyes hold the same lively intelligence that will be visible throughout his life. The man at the door greets you enthusiastically, telling you that he is indeed Mr. Charles Dickens. He suggests that the two of you might enjoy a stroll

Starting point is 00:14:20 about the frosty streets of London before returning here to his home for some festive creature comforts. This is his favourite time of year, he says, and you tackle to yourself quietly. Any concerns of etiquette and awkwardness have forgotten in the face of this gregarious and friendly young man. Walking with him now, you're reminded of one of the author's most beloved characters from his novel, A Christmas Carol. You can't decide whether it's his gate, his mannerisms, his tone of voice or something else, but seeing him now puts you in mind of Ebenezer's Scrooge, not the miserable and miserly Scrooge from the beginning of Dickens' Christmas classic, but the reformed and repentant character

Starting point is 00:15:29 from the end. He reminds you of the kind Ebenezer who emerges once the various Christmas spirits have done their work. Charles Dickens gives the impression of a man who has known hardship yet chooses to see the simple pleasures in life, to delight in these moments with gratitude and joy. So this is how you find yourself, trudging merrily along the streets of London, with a literary giant by your side. He tells you that he often does this, walking 10 to 20 miles in a day, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of this great city, so that he might bring it to life in his writing. Each of his stories is unique and varied, but what they all have in common is the city

Starting point is 00:16:43 of London. So well described that it's almost a character in itself. Onwards you walk through residential streets brimming with charm and character. You listen intently to your companion who regales you with a colourful account of his life so far. He was born in Port Smith, a naval town in the south coast of England in 1812. His father John was a clerk in the Navy. It was a steady job in terms of income but one that meant the family had to move frequently. Charles speaks fondly of his father, remembering

Starting point is 00:17:38 him as a kind and ambitious man. A man who taught his children that if they worked hard, anything was possible, including wealth and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Unfortunately, whilst the earlier part of Charles's childhood was a happy time. Problems were looming for the Dickens family. For all his father's virtues, he wasn't overly careful with money, frequently spending more than he had. Consequently, Charles had to leave school, as his parents could no longer afford the modest school fees. His tone is so expressive and animated that you can picture everything

Starting point is 00:18:39 he describes in bright, vivid colour. You feel as if you're listening to a theatrical reading of a Dickensian classic, one based on the true life story of the author himself. And if it were indeed a novel, the next chapter would be the darkest. As when Charles was only 12 years old, his father was placed in a debtor's prison, owing money that he couldn't pay back. In accordance to the laws at the time, the entire Dickens family went along with him to the marshal sea prison. All except Charles, that is, he was given work in a factory in London that made blacking polish, the substance used to polish leather shoes, and that was painted onto the street lamps and many other iron surfaces at the time. His job was to paste labels

Starting point is 00:19:58 on the blacking pots. It was a hard experience, he tells you now, recalling the pungent fumes of the polish, the fast-paced repetitive tasks, and the general discord amongst the factory workers. As the only way-journing member of the family, he lodged nearby. He tells you he was able to visit his family on Sundays whilst seeing out the rest of the week at the blacking factory. He worked 12 hour shifts, six days a week. His six-shelling weekly income was his only means of contributing to his family's freedom. It was a lonely time, it tells you, and a very hard period. But it was also an experience that would alter the course of his life. Through his writing he would later expose the many great injustices of Victorian society, channeling his own past as a means of affecting social change. Charles Dickens would become a staunch advocate for social justice and reform, armed with the

Starting point is 00:21:33 weapons of a masterful storyteller, pencil and paper. Of course life would soon improve for the young Dickens. His father inherited some money, allowing him and his family to leave the debtors' prison. Charles was able to return to school, and 15, he became a junior law clerk for an attorney, learning the skill of shorthand writing and jotting down descriptions of clients that he would later weave into the fabric of his stories. At present, he explains, his profession is that of a journalist for the morning chronicle newspaper on Fleet Street.

Starting point is 00:22:32 He even married the daughter of his editor, the lovely Catherine Hogarth. Naturally, he maintains an interest in law reporting on court cases as the papers political correspondent. Though it's currently being built, you know that in just a few short years, Dickens will report directly from the House of Commons, the Chamber of British Parliament from which laws are made are the Palace of Westminster. The sound of a horse's hooves draws your attention now. Imposing on the pavements, you'll pass by two beautiful black courses, pulling a large

Starting point is 00:23:27 omnibus carriage. These majestic animals navigate the road with ease, sending tufts of snow, soaring through the air each time their heels hit the ground. The effect is truly magical. As the lower half of the stage coach is engulfed within a thick swirl of flaring snow, it might even seem to be floating but for the tracks of its four large wheels left in the ground behind it. Besides you now, you see that Charles has begun writing. He scribbles hurried notes in a small leather notebook and whispers about the beauty he's

Starting point is 00:24:24 just witnessed. He's so busy recording the scene that he barely glances up towards the eight or so men in top hats, standing on the open roof up a floor of the coke. He doesn't even look up when they point and gas. Your companion appears to be somewhat of a local celebrity. He smirks modestly at this, shaking his head as he returns no book and pencil to pocket. His fame has steadily grown, he says, since he published the Pickwick papers, a serialised satire of real life political corruption. Though it began with a readership of just over 400 per month, only

Starting point is 00:25:30 a year later, 40,000 people are following the story and waiting for the next issue. It's the entertainment of the day. All across the capital, his fans speculate as to what might happen in the next edition, and the story has even been made into a play. Only it's much more than entertainment to Charles Dickens. He wants to change the hearts and minds of the time, he says. He makes great efforts to craft stories around characters who are both lovable and familiar to his readership. We follow these figures as they fall upon hard times, just as he did as a child, through no fault of his own.

Starting point is 00:26:35 The author hopes to shed light on the reality of life for the last fortunate, building a bridge between them and the privileged, whose lives are wholly different. Through characters that they can relate to, wealthy readers are able to ponder the question, what if I, or a loved one, would have fallen into such a situation? The writer knows that this won't change the law by itself, but he believes that if enough people connect with his writing, public opinion will open the gates for social and legal reform. There's a pause in the conversation, and it's only now that you become aware of the fact that you're still walking.

Starting point is 00:27:40 You and the author must have been travelling for some time because you appear to be in an entirely different district to the one you started in. Though the land is partly masked by winter, the streets around you have the vibrancy of the city centre. have the vibrancy of a city centre. The main road to wider here and whilst you journey through residential areas of various quality and condition, you also note ins and lodging houses, law firms and theatres alongside glass shop fronts of every variety. What's truly surprising is how familiar certain places and buildings feel to you. Though your only prior visits have been upon the pages of countless Dickens classics, without a single word spoken by the author, you know when you're on Fleet Street, the area taken up by London's press.

Starting point is 00:29:01 You know it even before you spot the signs on the building fronts, proudly displaying the title of each paper. It's just as it was described through the eyes of many other places, like Oxford Street. It's a residential area, the likes of which the characters of Bleak House live in, above an upholsterers Or the Strand, a three mile thoroughfare road connecting Fleet Street to Westminster. Soon, it will be immortalised by the writer as the setting of a famous scene in the novel a tale of two cities. This is London in the throes of the industrial revolution. Notable landmarks such as Big Ben, the giant clock tower, have yet to join St Paul's Cathedral in dominating the skyline. The region of Whitehall, once home to the White Palace of King Henry

Starting point is 00:30:30 the 8th, is being used as the headquarters of the first policing body. Queen Victoria has only recently moved into Buckingham Palace, declaring it the official residence of the Royal Family. This is London on the Cusp of Change, with a wealth of possibility before it. the city is perhaps now at one of its most exciting, if challenging times. But you can see the beauty in it as charles does now with the magic of winter. Yeah, smells like roasted chestnuts sold by friendly street vendors. And the sound of choirs singing Christmas carols punctuates the background. As a quaintness to the buildings and the cozy cobbled streets that's brought to life in the glow of Christmas time. You can imagine its frosted buildings and icy white roofs nestled within the glass You turn a corner now, following Charles down a wide road, continuously being clear by

Starting point is 00:32:12 road sweepers. Immediately your eyes are drawn to a huge, palatial building. This is Covent Garden Theatre, in answers, and you cast your eyes over its stunning white facade. It wouldn't look out of place in ancient Greece, you decide. It's portico front, a giant portrait held up by huge classic columns, would fit in rather nicely amongst the temples of the Acropolis. Looking towards you now, with the expression of one sharing a secret, the writer tells you that he wants auditioned here, or at least he meant to. Unfortunately, he got the flu and missed his audition. He despired to become an actor from when he was just a boy dancing on the tables of the local pub and performing plays for anyone who would watch. Though it must have felt like a setback at the time, if Charles Dickens had attended that audition and been successful, the world might never

Starting point is 00:33:49 have seen some of its greatest literature. Just as you're considering this, something truly enchanting happens. It begins to snow, delicate and light, it dances upon the wind, sprinkling magic across the landscape and the people within it. You trace the journey of a single snowflake, watching in wonder as it twists and twirls through the air, finally landing upon your coat. It amazes you really, the what looked to be a tiny white dot from afar reveals itself to be an exquisite example of patterned symmetry. Visible for only the briefest moment, it quickly melts into the fabric of your coat. You are unaware of how far you've walked, or for how long, where the sky is dimming, evening is fast approaching. The street lamps around you now glimmer with warm soft light.

Starting point is 00:35:32 In the distance, the silhouetted figures of lamp lighters move among the black iron posts, illuminating the light. Lamp by lamp, the thick snowy path ahead of you becomes gradually bathed in a warm yellow glow, adding to the peace of this dreamlike evening. Together you walk with your merry companion. Neither of you speaks on your way back to the house, 48th Dauti Street, the author's current place of residence. A comfortable silence forms between you, leaving you free to explore the sounds of your own feet, crunching through the rising snow.

Starting point is 00:36:37 Occasionally, a snowflake plants itself upon your face, kissing your cheeks and forehead. Soon you arrive at the same glossy black doorway with a festive wreath at which you first began. You enter the house behind Charles, relishing the tantalizing aroma of home cooked food, and an overall warmth that revives your spirit. Removing your coat and shoes, you're directed to a pair of soft slippers waiting for you upon the wooden floorboards. You wiggle your toes inside them, feeling how snug and cozy they are. cozy there. Your host bids that you follow him towards a room on the first floor. Happily you oblige. Your slipper-clad feet padding across decorative carpet carpet runners as you go. You walk between walls painted a classic white luminous in the glow of thick, cream coloured candles. Moments later you enter the dining. The walls of which are a stunning shade of royal blue, but for a white data rail the borders is lower half. Long golden curtains are draped over the windows. The triangle of glass that isn't covered by them shimmers in the light of a fireplace.

Starting point is 00:38:49 Rough logs burn softly beneath a white marble mantelpiece. At the centre of the room is a long table. Its pristine white tablecloth is crowned with a banquet beyond measure. Smiling kindly, Charles pulls out the chair for you, his new friend, welcoming you to sample the delights of this holiday feast. In the light of the fire and the brass candelabra at the table centre, you make out the faces of the other people seated around you. It's the whole Dickens family, the writer seated at the head of the table, and his wife Catherine beside him. She gazes fondly at their newborn son Charles resting in a cot nearby. At this time of year, the host tells you, in the season of Goodwill, we all eat together as a family.

Starting point is 00:40:14 Truly, you do feel as though you spoon out onto your plate. There's creamy mashed potato, sage and onion stuffing, buttered sprouts and asparagus, and roast turkey with apple sauce. Before you begin, your host stands at his chair and raises his glass for a toast. Smiling broadly, he gives thanks for the meal and for the good company around the table. You wonder if this dinner will help to inspire one of the most famous scenes from a Christmas Carol which you will publish six years from now. It's a heartwarming tale that will become synonymous with a holiday season. And tonight,

Starting point is 00:41:31 you see him in body that same spirit of kindness, forgiveness, and good will to all mankind to all mankind that his characters do in the story. With the toast complete, he started eating. You can't remember a more satisfying meal, all marry a conversation for that matter. And it only gets better because after dinner, there's dessert. The family serves up a traditional Christmas pudding topped with a the fragrance of nutmeg and cinnamon. The table falls silent. Watching intently as Charles calls Brandy over the round spiced pudding before setting it a light with a single match. The family claps and cheers as the blue flames dance around it and the air is thick with anticipation as it served around the room, paired with a thick, creamy, brandy sauce.

Starting point is 00:43:10 It tastes like the essence of Christmas, and it is truly wonderful. Full and happy, you retire to the drawing room alongside your host. Taking a seat upon a scroll-armed sofa of luxurious green velvet, you delight in the warmth of a blazing fire and the oak logs that crackle at its base. Charles sits upon a nearby chair entertaining you with excerpts from his latest work, Oliver Twist. work all of a twist. He gives a lively performance, voicing each of his characters with a unique style and accent. A flurry of emotions wows up within you, hearing him read from his famous tale. Sometime later, the conversation naturally draws to a close. The two of you sit. Content, to gaze into the wide mouth of the fireplace, where thick logs burn bright atop fiery red embers.

Starting point is 00:44:52 The golden flames leap and dive, stretching up the length of the stone chimney wall in in a symphony of crackling, sizzling and popping. Catherine appears, holding a thick fuzzy blanket and a glass of amber punch with steam rising from its top. She spreads the blanket across you on the sofa and hands you the glass, telling you that it's her husband's favourite drink. Charles leans back in his chair and grins, sipping the warm golden liquid. Sipping the warm golden liquid. The sweetness of sugar lemon mixes with the steam, creating a delightful aroma that surrounds you. Then you place your drink down on an end table behind you.

Starting point is 00:46:07 Leaning against the arm of the sofa, you delight in the warmth of the fire upon your face, and the touch of the blanket wrapped around you. Catherine takes a seat at a polished mahogany piano in the corner of the room. She begins to play a rich mellow tune that fills the air. Your baths in the magic of each precious note. On the streets outside, snow continues to fall, decorating the city night with strokes of festive white. You catch sight of it through the darkened windows as it mixes with the reflection of dancing yellow flames from the hearth. Then returning your gaze to the fireplace, and returning your gaze to the fireplace. You give a silent word of thanks for this truly wonderful day and heartwarming season. And you close your eyes just for a moment moment soothed by the glow of fire light upon your face and the spirit of Christmas

Starting point is 00:47:51 in your heart. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. I'm going to go back to the place where I'm going to go. ... you you

Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - Christmas with Charles Dickens

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