A stranger gives my son sweetcorn at school. And sometimes cucumber. He doesn’t know what hairstyle she has or how tall she is. He doesn’t know if she wears knitted jumpers or blue jeans or white trainers. But he remembers the lunchtime she served him tomatoes and how it felt like being at home, even for just five minutes. My heart is the size of a pumpkin knowing someone without his blood is interested in his wellbeing. He calls her the Salad Lady and he likes it when she has green beans.

Carl Burkitt 2025