The Flying Child: The Little Princess meets the NSPCC
- Admin Team
- May 4
- 3 min read
“There was something strange about that voice. Too beautiful to be real.”
Sleeping Beauty
The Little Princess sat on a bed in an upstairs bedroom, looking at a phone that lay on a bedside table. She could hear The Butterfly Queen banging pans and pots in the kitchen one floor beneath and the thump, thump, thump of The Big Princess’s music coming from her bedroom across the hallway.
Oheighthundreddoubleonedoubleone
The numbers swirled in The Little Princess’s head. She picked up the phone.
Oh-eight-oh-oh.
This is not my hand, she thought to herself because her hand did not feel quite real. She watched her finger press the numbers. One-one-one-one.
This is not really happening, she thought to herself, because she appeared to have left her body and was watching her own self from the corner of the ceiling above.
It was The Voice that stopped her floating away through the ceiling, through the roof and into the sky forever.
“Hello?”
The Little Princess dropped the phone on her lap as if it was made of burning lava. Her little hardened heart knocked like a stone inside her chest. Thump, thump, thump went the music. Bang, bang, clash went the pans and pots.
Hello?”
Carefully and very deliberately, The Little Princess put the phone to her ear.
“Do you need some help?”
The Little Princess, taking a deep breath, closed her eyes and… nothing. Her words popped one by one and she swallowed the shrivelled remains. They formed a solid and painful lump in The Little Princess’s throat. The Little Princess frowned. She felt a flash of anger for The Voice who had made the lump come and she wanted to hit the phone on the table, and her own stupid self. She pinched the skin of her arm instead, hard, between her finger nails.
“It’s ok,” said the voice. “Take your time. I’m here to listen.”
The words poked the lump and a tear escaped.
The Little Princess felt bad for hating The Voice. She thought The Voice was Esther because she’d seen her on the TV. She had heard Esther say to call if she was in trouble. The Voice was just for her. Not The Butterfly Queen, not The Evil King, not even The Big Princess, just her because she was In Trouble. Big, Big Trouble. And she needed help to get out of it. The Little Princess opened her mouth to try again.
The next things happened all at once:
“Supper! Come downstairs!”
The Butterfly Queen’s voice severed the first Words That Were About To Be Said, and they clattered on the floor where they lay - unspoken, at her feet. The Little Princess hurriedly silenced The Voice and banged the phone back on the table. She kicked her unspoken words into the shadows under the bed, where they lay with the Darkest Dark.
The Little Princess ran downstairs and knew she would not risk speaking to The Voice again, but knowing The Voice was there waiting for just in case and one day, just maybe, was a comfort to her soul.
© Sophie Olson
In February 2024, I stood on stage and delivered a keynote at the NSPCC Partnerships and Development Day. As the founder and director of The Flying Child, I spoke about the value of lived experience at the heart of development, delivery, and decision-making, and the difference between partnerships that empower, and exploitative practice where experience is extracted. The professionals in the space were welcoming, engaged and passionate about making a difference. As someone used to speaking publicly, I was surprised by my own reaction. It felt like stepping into the central cog of a machine that has been in the background in my own life for as long as I can remember. NSPCC is a name that symbolised hope during the darkest times.
At times I felt ten years old on that stage - not the abused and frightened child I once was, but an empowered one. Seen. No longer silent. Back at home, I wrote another chapter of the story. As is often the way, it was one professional in particular who made the difference. It's always the one with the smile that reaches the eyes. it’s always the one with the handshake that turns to a hug because the care is heartfelt, not tick-box. Thank you Shelley Shaw - Development and Impact Manager at NSPCC and co-founder of Trauma Informed Plymouth Network, for being that person - and for finding a way to pass this story on to Esther Rantzen - the founder of Childline).
This blog is a continuation of the fairy tale chapters in The Flying Child - A Cautionary Fairy Tale For Adults. (ZunTold publishing)
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