Helmsley to Rievaulx

Malorie Blackman on Desert Island Discs
Desert Island Discs is a BBC programme that contributes regularly to the soundscape in my life. More often than not the interview and the choices of record, extra book and luxury item prompt plenty of follow-up things to talk about. The intimacy of discussing a life in terms of music choices is a perfect format and, in my opinion, Kirsty Young is a skilful presenter. On Saturday 15th September, driving along, we caught up with the podcast version featuring writer Malorie Blackman and, for whatever elusive reasons on that particular day, it caused within me a boundless burst of joy and inspiration. Thank you, Malorie.

Standing beneath the boughs
“We” on that occasion was Sally and her sister, Juliet, and we were about to walk one of our favourite walks, from Helmsley to Rievaulx Abbey and back again…. chatting, putting the world to rights, racking up steps to stay fit. And looking forward to a delicious banquet back at Juliet’s home – in this case, rich, tasty homemade moussaka. A desert island day, shelving the barrage of concerns to “stand beneath the boughs” – a gorgeous walk, nature all around, echoes of history, and feelings of pure relaxation. Streaming through my brain on days like Saturday 15th September is a poem I learned by heart at primary school – a sentimental poem, possibly, but containing truth – one by the “SuperTramp” poet, William Henry Davies: 

Leisure by W H Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

What sport shall we devise here in this garden?

Sally, Emily, Michael, Alex and Janet at Hidcote

“our sea-walled garden, the whole land….”
Shakespeare famously used gardening as a metaphor for how to conduct your life: seeding, planting, tending, nurturing, weeding, watering, pruning, feeding, trimming, harvesting, composting, laying fallow.... And he presents England as a giant garden that needs the same treatment. John O'Gaunt used his "royal throne of kings" speech to cement the idea, referencing "this sceptred isle....this earth of majesty....this other Eden, this demi-paradise....this precious stone....this dear, dear land...." Most people forget that the speech leads up to the concept that this gorgeous land is now being run by rich landlords who have effectively destroyed the country from within - hello, Conservative party - (my post-Brexit analysis of the speech - here - remains the same.)

The bees and butterflies fluttering by
In the muddled, topsy-turvy, venal, lie-ridden road to Brexit, life for ordinary peasants goes on (yes, I am a committed Remoaner and proud of it and yes, if you are a Brexiter, I hope you're right and life's going to be lovely but don't bleat about how it's the EU's fault that they're protecting their own interests - of course they are, you numpties, and quite right too, just as we should but we're the ones leaving - and let me know what you imagined would happen with Ireland and fruit-picking and visas and nationals living abroad....) but, this post has such pretty pictures that I'm going to bury the politics and concentrate on what a lovely day it was at Hidcote because life goes on.... the peasants continue to till the land (literally and metaphorically).... Michael will still provide magnificent picnics on the ground in the orchard in order to keep his and my family nourished amongst the whips and scorns of life. And, dodging showers on sultry summer days, we will still find time to answer the Queen's question in Richard II:

What sport shall we devise here in this garden
To drive away the heavy thought of care?

We could while away the hours conversing with the flowers....

Hidcote
Hidcote is a lovely National Trust Arts and Crafts garden created by the horticulturist, Major Lawrence Johnstone. The effect is of wandering through a series of "rooms" in the open air as all the different areas feel like you've entered a new space. The queen and her lady (in Richard II that is) overhear two gardeners chuntering in iambic pentameter, wondering why they should bother to "keep law and form and due proportion" when "the whole land is full of weeds."

O, what a pity is it

That (the king) had not so trimm’d and dress’d his land

As we this garden!

There is so much goodness in the hearts of ordinary people, it is important to spend times wandering the highways and byways of the land - and wiling away the hours in places like Hidcote - to remember that the news onslaught is not the only story. We need time to smell the roses and forget the king.

Back to Joyce's for home-made buns....

Summer's Lease

Alex's afternoon tea and Morris Dancers in Badby

The world’s mine oyster
I’ve written elsewhere (see here) about how some places that are not officially home can feel like home. And so it was that August’s end contained a family visit to collect me from my week of bachelor vice…. the vice of glutting…. glutting on productions at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-upon-Avon and soaking up interesting views by leading academics and theatre-makers at the annual RSC summer school. My first attendance at this event was in 1986, the year The Swan theatre opened and, although I haven’t been every single year, I’ve been more often than not. 32 years ago I was one of the whippersnappers and now I blend in seamlessly with the silver-haired and reverend Shakespeare fanatics.

RSC summer school and the 2018 Macbeth

Something Wicked This Way Comes
You need afternoon tea (thank you, Alex!) and the English/Moorish oddities of Morris Dancers tinkling their bells after such a marathon experience. After descending into the maelstrom of darkness that was a Time-dripping creepy Macbeth with Niamh Cusack, Christopher Eccleston, Edward Bennett, Luke Newberry, Michael Hodgson as Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, Macduff, Malcolm and the Porter. After hearing challenging views about Macbeth and other plays and hearing from actors, including Alexandra Gilbreath who reflected on her previous performances and performed alternative versions of speeches.

2018 Romeo and Juliet to die for and Merry Wives of Windsor relocated to Essex

The Long and the Short of it
I thought Romeo and Juliet was a fine production, a believably youthful portrayal of the madness of early love (Karen Fishwick and Bally Gill) and performances by Andrew French and Ishia Bennison as Friar Lawrence and The Nurse that revealed their charismatic attractiveness but awful culpability in the tragedy that unfolds. The Merry Wives of Windsor was a different TOWIE kettle of fish – anchored by Ishia Bennison (again, as Mistress Quickly), Beth Cordingly, Rebecca Lacey and Jonathan Cullen as Mistress Ford, Mistress Page and Dr Caius but (happily for me) dominated by David Troughton’s Sir John Falstaff. There were more laughs than there probably should have been because of the skills of the actors (and the stunning Lez Brotherston’s set and costume designs) – but there will be other productions of this extraordinary play in years to come. A fitting quotation for both Romeo and Juliet and Merry Wives of Windsor is one of my favourite Shakespeare lines, a bit lost in the cartoon-world of this enjoyably shallow production:

O powerful Love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other a man a beast.

Tamburlaine the Great, the play that unleashed Marlowe's mighty line

To be direct and honest is not safe
And so to Tamburlaine the Great, Marlowe’s two plays wrestled into one evening by ex-artistic director Michael Boyd with career-boosting performances by Jude Owusu and Rosy McEwan as Tamburlaine and Zenocrate. This was a hypnotic, careful, terrifying ensemble production with stunning music (James Jones) and evocative designs (Tom Piper with lighting by Colin Grenfell) and the whole cast should be applauded for their commitment to bringing the “scourge of the world” to full realisation. As if the RSC summer school glut of productions was not enough, I then indulged with Michael, my Shakespeare buddy, in a double-bill visit to Shakepeare’s Globe on London's South Bank to see strong productions of The Winter’s Tale and Othello. I’m often criticised for being too positive about life and always seeing the good in things – but although there were things I could carp about (certain lines, certain moments, certain perverse decisions) I always remember what it’s like to stage a production (in my 32 years of teaching) and try to appreciate at least what they were trying to do. (Hard to forgive the shit bear! in Winter’s Tale – but a pure revelation (to me) to have a black Michael Cassio in Othello. Mark Rylance, of course, was a devastatingly affable and disingenuous Iago – and I genuinely mourned the loss to the world at the death of André Holland’s Othello.

London's South Bank and Othello and The Winter's Tale