Fragments of Belonging: Shared Echoes, Shared Vision

​Month 2 - Shared Echoes, Shared Vision

Since sharing the first part of this journey, I’ve continued walking through Whitehaven — sketching, filming, and letting the town unfold around me. But the most unexpected shift came when I stepped into The Rum Story.

The Rum Story is a visitor attraction housed in a former 18th-century wine merchant’s building in Whitehaven. It traces the town’s maritime past and the history of the rum trade — including its entanglement with empire, enslaved labour, and colonial economies.

I met with the team — Katy and Louise — before visiting the museum on my own. I didn’t quite know what I’d find, just a sense that this space, with all its echoes and weight, might have something to say.

I walked through the museum mostly in silence, lost in my thoughts and imaginings. There’s a certain stillness in spaces like that — where stories sit quietly, and history becomes atmosphere. I didn’t try to analyse it. I simply moved through it, eyes and heart open.

What I hadn’t known beforehand — and what felt like an unexpected moment of alignment — is that they, too, are working on a new creative strand: The Rum Story Re-imagined. It’s an initiative aimed at inviting contemporary perspectives into the museum — to rethink how these histories are presented, and whose voices get to respond to them. Our visions, while coming from different angles, share a common thread — a desire to open up space for new stories, new perspectives, and deeper connection. They’ve invited me to return to film, sketch, and respond artistically to the museum itself. It feels like a generous and significant turning point — moving from visitor to participant, from quiet reflection to creative response.

Another moment that stirred something deep: I spent time at the harbour sketching the Galeón Andalucía, a replica of a 17th-century Spanish galleon that had docked in Whitehaven for a few days.

It isn’t from the same historical moment as the ships I imagine moving through this port centuries ago, but seeing it there — sails, rigging, structure — I couldn’t help but slip into a reimagining. What might the harbour have looked like then? What other ships once traced these same waters? Who was on board — willingly or not?

These kinds of questions — visual, emotional, historical — ripple through every part of this work. They’ve also found their way into a poem I’m writing alongside the project, titled:

The Ones Who Still Ask

We are the ones who still ask.
We press our ears to cold stone walls,
listening for the ghosts of laughter
or the hush between the chains.

We are the ones who trace the grooves
of salt-worn steps,
run fingertips along
iron railings and shipyard scars,
gathering fragments,
names half-whispered,
stories unrecorded,
bones of memory buried in ledgers.

We walk harbours where history
washed up and was swept away,
where belonging is not a given,
but something we keep returning to
again and again,
questioning,
marking,
reimagining.

We are the ones who still ask,
because the silence
was never the end of the story.

©Anne Blankson-Hemans 2025

I’ll be returning to The Rum Story soon — this time with sketchbook and camera in hand. Until then, I’m holding on to the quiet affirmations I’ve gathered this month — that even as I trace the fragments of history, I’m not doing it alone.

If you’d like to follow this journey more closely, my first blog post is still live — and your support, whether through sharing, conversation, or the odd coffee, means a great deal.
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If you'd like to learn more about The Rum Story Re-Imagined click here...