Art that helps.

ART THAT HELPS

We live in strange times - I wonder if you feel this - that nothing seems sure. What we do. What we are told. What we live on. All shifts - or crumbles. That’s my perception, just my perception. 

I don’t know my role now, all my life I have helped make a thing loosely called theatre. Sometimes it was the performance of some words that someone had written, individually. Sometimes it was a meeting of a group of people to muck about. Sometimes it felt like an excuse to gather. I liked it when there was a mix up of people. Christmas was fun. But now I’m older, and I’ve stopped. Or paused. Or hesitated. 

In these strange times I am thinking about what sort of theatre things are useful - I mean is getting together and mucking about particularly helpful at the moment? It’s so complicated - and contested - and noisy. Noisiness isn’t welcome. Do we have the energy now for contests and complexity? 

While I sit in my not knowing state, I notice arty/theatery things that do seem useful. I remember a couple of old projects that seem to be relevant. I read about Greek Theatre, particularly the Chorus, and I see a people like Eric MacLennan and Esther Campbell sensitively shifting their practice. Both artists have moved from one specialism to make projects with volunteers. There are a couple of commonalities - both use skills learned in their previous practice to deliver this new work and both happen to have made recent work in, and about, woods. I will talk to both, write up the conversations - perhaps there will be others.

1. ERIC 

In 2021 the artist Eric MacLennan conceived and produced a project called The Lesnes Hundred which invited 100 members of the public to nominate 100 ‘unsung heroes’. Eric recorded interviews with each nominator talking about their choice. Each nominee was then linked to a tree in Lesnes Woods, ancient woodland in South East London. The 100 trees representing the newly sung heroes were then curated into a walk and subsequently became the subject of a book. The interviews are available to listen to on Sound Cloud. The book is available at https://metalculture.bigcartel.com/product/the-lesnes-hundred 

I had previously collaborated with Eric on various performance projects - mainly promenade theatre and pantomime. When Eric launched the project I nominated a relative who had been a carer and inspiration for me in my early years. I was then surprised to discover that a friend and colleague, Dan Copeland, had nominated me. Thus I experienced the project from two separate angles. 

The following conversation took place in August 2021.

Jonathan Petherbridge: So the project you created, The Lesnes Hundred, had a clear function for me, and I think for the other people that I observed when I came along to the opening event, so what I'm interested in is, creative work that has a utility, art that has a utilitarian purpose. 

Eric MacLennan: It's very satisfying to make something that has a utilitarian use, because then you feel you're not making something that's frivolous. When I started working with people on this their responses told me that this was an important thing for them to be celebrating… an unsung person. And what they were getting from it was also important to them. And people very often would thank me with great enthusiasm, or they would talk about the person and say, do they qualify? When will you let me know, if I can be part of this project? And I said, "you're in, we're talking now". 

JP: Tell me where it came from?

EM: So for 30 odd years, I've been very happy working as a jobbing actor. And the nature of that means that quite often you have to do another job. And for many years that was fine. I worked for a publisher, and it was quite easy to dip in and out of that. But as I got older, it got harder. I felt I was sort of betraying myself, every time I had to go back to the office, I felt that was not me. Once the pressures of money started to be less of an issue and I felt more confident I started writing applications for small commissions. And to begin with I didn't get them, and then the writing of them gets a bit easier. And what was interesting about that was that quite often, they will be asking for something specific. And you would answer the question as if it was about solving a puzzle, they're asking for something, how do you do this? And so some of the commission's I've done - and I'm interested in work that's crossing boundaries, it's more than one art form - it would come out of an unsuccessful application. So the original one for The Lesnes Hundred was up in Northumberland in areas where there's low participation in the arts. Often places where people buy the most lottery tickets is where there's the least engagement in arts.

JP: Yes.

EM: There are various organisations that are trying to address that with work that's accessible, that attracts people to art who often feel art is not for them. And I'm interested in that - I'm really excited by those things where you're saying "No" this is not a middle-class club, it’s for everyone. So, the call-out in the north of England was for a park, and it was an interesting area - the Charlton brothers grew up in the town, it’s a mining town, it had this history of trade unionism and great sports people footballers and cricketers, and I looked at photographs of the park and it was ugly and I thought, well, maybe you could attract people into the park if all the oak trees were named after footballers. And the chestnuts were people from the health service or whatever. But they didn't quite go for that.

JP: So, their objective was to attract people into the park - to animate the park 

EM: They wanted to celebrate the park, which was unloved and they wanted an art project to do that. So that was the problem or puzzle I was trying to solve. They said no, thank you very much. But there was enough in the idea about naming or renaming trees that continued to percolate. Then the Lesnes Hundred project, or, rather, the Estuary Festival, were looking for works for their festival along the Thames Estuary. And by that point, I had started thinking about unsung people. It was partly through the pandemic where we'd been clapping for heroes as that was called and I was inspired by Postman's park in London, which was that place where they celebrated people who'd sacrificed their lives to save others, and I thought actually this is an interesting thing - to celebrate the unsung. And when I pitched the idea to the Estuary Festival, and to London Borough of Bexley, they liked the idea and so that's where it started. And they want people to walk the site. So making something where you're getting people to walk around makes sense. The thing that I've done is largely invisible, but if people know about it, they can find the trees. And they can find the stories, the interviews are on Soundcloud so they can access them. 

JP: I experienced it from two sides, I saw the invitation to nominate somebody, and I did. Then I went to the launch event and discovered that I'd also been nominated. Then I had the privilege of listening to both interviews on SoundCloud, one of which is me talking about my Aunt Doris. And then, I listened to the interview between you and Dan about me. And it was interesting and useful to hear you reflect on some things that I've done - I didn't know that people thought those things. So it feels like something that could be a service… that could be accessible for everybody, just a regular conversation between a persons friends, about that person. 

EM: I think that's wonderful. And, it's been, it's been one of the privileges of my life making theatre with you. But I would, I would be too shy to say the things to you that I said to Dan, because… we don't do that for some reason. 

JP: So recording the conversation and putting it on SoundCloud introduces a curtain. I, who or whoever, can sit behind the curtain and listen to what's being said in the conversation - it's a veil. In these times, it might be a useful device to help people feel valued. 

EM: I wanted people to pick people who were still living, I thought, we're celebrating the trees, and they're living. And I want people to celebrate unsung people who are living. But inevitably, people came to me and they said, my husband died last year, and I want I want to pick him. And I thought, well, I can't say no to that. But the ability to be talking about someone who isn't there in the room, be they alive or dead seems to be very valuable.  And most people have provided a photograph of the person. And that's a really lovely collection of faces, and you look at the faces, and you can see the kindness on those faces. And just hearing about someone's life, there's a children's poet in Sweden, there's a caretaker who's only known as "Caretaker Tony". And he’s someone who is just looking after this estate, and someone who lives there, knows that this person is keeping it running smoothly for no reward, no thanks. So that's a story that I think we enjoy hearing.

JP: So what would you call yourself when you're doing something like this?

EM: Well, when I'm doing something like this, I'm rather delighted that people introduce me and they say, ‘Oh, this is the Artist, Eric’, and I think, great, I'm an Artist! And I suppose you know, I've always felt my work in the theatre is as an Artist, but I'm aware that it can be seen as a frivolous activity. When I started making my own work, the first thing I got funding for was a thing called A Voyage Around My Bedroom. And it was cross between installation and performance - the performance was one-to-one. And when the forms went back to the Arts Council when the project was finished, and then got logged away, I then looked at the final document, and it was funded in the section of visual arts. And I was delighted I thought this will have been logged as theatre. But no, that project has been categorised as visual arts. So in some places I get called an Artist.

JP: OK. But the people who came along the launch event what do you think they would have called it?

EM: We dithered over what to call the event and in the end we just called it the Celebratory Event. 

JP: That’s interesting when we were considering what you might call yourself I wanted to suggest celebrant, although it’s a bit religious… or humanist. You’ve used the word ‘celebratory’ a few times, and also ‘frivolous’... you've apologised twice now, for the frivolity of pure art. But I'm suggesting that the project has intrinsic value. It encourages social cohesion. Knowledge, friendship. Everybody there was glowing that afternoon, everybody watching the project and walking around was at least three inches taller than they normally are.

EM: Yeah, well I'm delighted to say that I felt that too. And I think part of that glow comes from having investment and ownership in the project. People turned up there knowing that it was a real thing - it was dealing with a real person - they were doing something real. And when they went to their own tree, often it was an emotional thing. And there were tears, they had a real investment in the thing. In terms of the title of the Celebratory Event. Some people said, ‘Oh, when are you doing the performance?’ And I sort of hesitated thinking, well I know I'm going to have a singer there to celebrate the event but it's not a performance. I'm going to be there as myself. And I might say ‘thank you for coming, everyone. We're going to go over here now’. But I'm not going to be performing. And so when people said, “When are you doing the performance?”, I felt I had to correct them that I felt it wasn't a performance, it was a real thing. It was a gathering of people, in the same way that people might gather, to celebrate a wedding or gather for a funeral. Or they might gather because a bridge is going to be opened. We were there to do a task, which was to say, these trees were now named, we'd cut the ribbon, that job was done.

JP: A task. 

EM:  A task.

JP: One of the other things that struck me about the project is that it seems appropriate to now, to these post-pandemic times. Is that satisfying to you you as a ‘celebrant artist'?

EM: Well, I nearly went into the church, and of course, there are many similarities between the church and theatre. Someone who's got a loud voice and likes dressing up,

JP: I was going to ask you what skills are required? I mean, if you're saying it's not a performance. What skills were required from you as somebody who spoke and also somebody who curated the event?

EM: I think I have the ability to be quite gentle and approachable. So... I don't arrive and say, Hello, I'm the celebrant artist. I arrive in front of the public in a very humble way. And this is something I've learned from my days of doing promenade theatre with you, where you perform in a public space. You can't say, we're doing our show here, go away - it's a shared space, you have to arrive with humbleness

JP: So humility is one skill 

EM: Humility is a skill. And an aesthetic sense, a sense of what is beautiful. I spent a long time working on images for the project, the design of the map, working out what the tags are going to be. So that the of the thing has value, so that people who are coming along participating, they're not going to get a little leaflet with typos on it, and think, ‘Oh why am I doing this, it's rubbish’, they're going to come along and think, well, the production values are very high. So, this bloke, Eric, I'm really delighted that he wants to hear about my caretaker Tony, because this is going to be valued.

JP: It's serious. 

EM: It's serious.

JP: It's serious, and it's and it's valued. 

EM: I have to approach people as I do in life, with respect. Again, it comes back to the joys of working in theatre, where it's a team effort, and everybody's job is important. That's very important in my work not to think like some artists who feel they are more important than the consumers of their work.

JP: It feels to me that this is a new genre - although actually, it may be a very old genre. But it’s something that blends art and celebration. And in a way it does sound frivolous. 

EM: Yeah. 

JP: But it's serious. And participation, as you said, is another aspect. And territory. One of the things that surprised me was I had expected the trees to be saplings. I thought it was a new planting project and I was slightly worried about it as some would survive and some wouldn’t because they're saplings…but they weren't saplings, they were mature trees that have been given an additional identity.

EM: That's nicely put. Thank you.

JP: But going back to performance, I notice in your pieces that there's usually a moment when we do something collectively, that in the drawing project, you do that thing with a string, and then the very ritualistic handing out of crayons and stones. In this piece, the collective thing was breathing. And you showed lungs and trees, and we breathed together. So, there was a collective moment. It is very unusual to do something unexpected, with a group of people that you have not met before. And to do something that could be regarded as frivolous, but that actually connects and attunes us. 

EM: Well perhaps celebration is not the word, perhaps the word is ritual. And those collective things are very important to me. What's really nice about doing something like that, and it happens with The Open Air Drawing Room is that you're doing something that works like follow-my-leader, so you're not reliant on text. And people who don't have English as a first language can still participate. Because it's quite clear that I'm, I'm lifting a stool. And then we're all doing that we're all putting it on the floor. We're all standing, we're all holding hands. And you just find that we all know what to do without having to say, "can you now do this?" which is lovely. But then there is a genuine joy that comes from the fact that you find everybody is doing something together.

JP: I think it's something that needs a critical mass of people. You talked about the seriousness or the importance of the endeavour… the number of people who have turned up at a given time and are willing to muck about brings an import to the thing we're doing, whatever that thing is called. What do you think is required from art or theatre now? Is it different at the moment?

EM: I think I've always been interested in things which are experimenting. And I don't think that's any different now. In terms of in terms of The Lesnes Hundred we were limited to gathering people in groups of 27. So just on a practical level, the organisation has been done in a particular way, a lot of the meetings were on zoom, rather than face to face. But I don't think I would have approached it differently, except we're in a changing world. And I think, as I say, one of the themes of our time is celebrating the unsung, specifically the health service. So it felt that was an appropriate angle to take.

JP: It's as though nature, in the guise of the pandemic, has insisted that art makes us attend to certain things, it’s insisted on social distancing, limited numbers, and doing things out of doors. This all currently comes first, so theatre buildings have been relegated in importance and artists have been forced to do more listening. What do you do next? You’re making a book of Lesnes, but you were saying about recycling project proposals that haven't yet found backing? What have you taken from Lesnes? 

EM: Well, I did a kind of miniature town twinning project that has similarities with this called “In visible (L)ink”, where people were linking let's say, a park bench in Lewisham, with their Auntie in Canada, a park bench there in Canada. And again it's about people. And that was something that I was able to take to different towns. And it occurs to me that the The Lesnes Hundred - it would have a different name obviously - could be done elsewhere. But it would depend on what the needs of that place might be. And it might end up being a different project. I don't necessarily see that it's something that would happen somewhere else. So that so that's one possibility but I have to have to see, with 100 to 200 people that their ownership wants it to continue. But I'm planning a walk in the autumn to walk the whole site, and to hear the stories. It'll take about four hours and my hope is that it potentially could become an annual thing. So that we know that, you know, whenever it’s the 30th of September, there is always a walk of The Lesnes Hundred.

JP: How would you summarise what we've been talking about?

EM: Are we talking about crossover arts?

JP: I think what I'm talking about isn't the crossover between art skills or art forms, it's the crossover between what people at the moment crave and art. It is what a society that has been isolated and separated and has been collectively depressed needs or wants. How creativity and skill can help us lift that and bring back some… social cohesion is the wrong word for it, perhaps it’s social fabric. Weave or re-weave the social fabric or just check the fabric and the warp and weft of it. And, you know, that's, what I felt that the Lesnes Hundred did, because it dealt with ritual and territory? But was it celebration? Was it information sharing? Was it Yoga?

EM: All of those things except Yoga.

JP: And yet breath is at the centre of Yoga, and you started with breath. 

EM: Yes, breath because the other big theme of our day is the climate emergency. And without the trees, we would have no life so it feels it feels that a very important part of the project is to try to highlight how important the trees are, and how, as well as cherishing people, we should cherish the trees. Joseph Beuys made a wonderful project in the 70s in Kassel in Germany. The project was planting 7000 trees. And he thought about the number and in the city he felt 700 wouldn't be noticed. But 7000… people would think, yeah, there is a project here that is noticed. And in a way that project is continuing now, after his death, the trees are still loved, and Kassel is a different place. But sewn into the project is the fact that as a piece of art it doesn't fit in the commercial art world - it can't be sold. Similarly, the Lesnes Hundred cannot be sold. I feel if I was making editions and selling them, the focus of my work will be different. But a lot of the performances that I make now have funding to pay for them, so the public who participate they don't pay and that feels good. They do more than not pay, they actually contribute the material, they contribute the material and often they get given little gifts. 

JP: The public have given their labour. At the centre of the Lesnes Hundred are 100 lives, and those lives have been lived and then they have to be recounted and considered, and you then forage that material. And there is the gifting of that material, and when you arrive at the free event you know other people have generously given the gift of their story. So at the event there is a spirit of generosity – it is tangible - and being anywhere where people are generous is uplifting. For one reason or another when art is generous - when you have that that sense of a gifted performance or gifted material, that is invaluable. But it’s actually valuing people.

What you're saying about the commercial arts sector reminds me of Banksy trying to put things into a public space and then people trying to either cover his works with perspex and charging people to see them or taking them down and putting them in a gallery so they can use them as an investment opportunity. Not only does it negate the free event and cut off the access to see the thing - and to be part of a gathering – but it also crushes that spirit of generosity.

EM: Yeah. And the commercial art world is very tied up with people investing in it and those people decide what is valuable and what isn't valuable. And here people are giving stories that they regard as of enormous value. They are setting out what is truly valuable. 

That which must be done - on Art and Ritual in a time of lockdown

March 2020 saw the shock of locking down. The confinement to our homes. The discovery for many, of Zoom. The fear of touching surfaces, door handles, people. Breath and voice became dangerous. The great separation and then the great confinement.

Gatherings were quite suddenly forbidden. Shops closed. Panic buying signalled the full horror of the situation before being displaced by the full horror of what was happening in hospitals - and then in care homes. All this came before we had knowledge, data, vaccine. 

Everything stopped. 

Then online social hyperactivity started. The quiz. The sea shanty. The kitchen disco. The desperate search for a way for musicians to play together in the same time but not in the same place (the Stones got there first I think). 

Now… nearly 20 months later, I'm still asking the same question that has haunted me throughout - is there anything Theatre can do to help? Behind the question lurks an anxiety - is there any need for theatre now? 

There's been time to read. Right now I'm two thirds of the way through Art and Ritual by Jane Harrison. First published in 1913 - finger on the pulse as ever, Peth - she's tracking where it all came from and looks at three concepts and the order in which they arrived. The Dromenon (from which we the word drama comes), the Theatron (theatre) and the Orkestra (you can work that one out yourself). 

The ‘Orchestra’ is the area on which the chorus performs, and this came first - it’s the centre, the kernel of it all. Originally in the Agor or market place, the ‘Orchestra/Orkestra’ was a round flat area where Rituals took place - where dance and chanting was done to celebrate the important moments of the year and of life. 

The ‘Theatron’ originally denoted the place of seeing - where the audience sits, and this only comes along later - when Ritual turns to Dromenon/Drama. Jane makes much of the word Dromenon - she translates it as 'that which must be done'. 

I'm fascinated by the point at which the audience were added. When the doers were joined by the gawpers. Or some of the doers, chose to sit it out and gawp. Or maybe some people weren't allowed to do and had to watch - the children, the womenfolk, those who weren't initiated. 

As she says there wasn't originally an auditorium, then as more people watched raked benches had to be built in the agora so the gawpers could all see the ritual. Then the seating collapsed. So some bright spark worked out that the hill beside the Acropolis offered a less rickety seating arrangement and the Festival of Dionysus was re-sited and that arrangement became the basis of what we call a Theatre. But we did it before we watched it.

But what was it that was performed? Well, the ‘thing that must be done’ were Rituals either heralding the approach or celebrating the arrival of the meaningful events of life - Summer, Spring, deep Winter. Death, Birth, Fertility.  

The Orchestra was occupied by the chorus. Jane uses a lovely description of the chorus - “doddering and pottering old men, moralising on an action in which they are too feeble to join". This appeals to me because I seem to find myself in the company of potential chorus members quite a lot at the moment. And they are feeble, but they are also principled, angry, experienced and loving - with occasional episode of doddering thrown in.  

This doddering chimes with my question about theatre. Is theatre doddering and pottering - or does the societal hesitancy I see currently suggest that 'the thing that needs doing' might be of higher priority than 'the thing that needs gawping at'. 

The thing that needs doing might well be just gathering and sitting/standing/gawping and breathing together. Or perhaps the gathering might be more active - moving/singing/speaking/chanting - but done together, as a chorus. But if this a ritual to celebrate the thing, what is the thing we feel compelled to celebrate? Is it actually the gathering itself?

In these days of zooms, emails, texts and tweets perhaps gathering to gather is a radical and required action. Perhaps this is the function theatre needs to take on and to be explicit about. 

Where were you when England won the World Cup?

Where were you when England won the World Cup? 

In July 1966 I was 11. It was Antony who mentioned the World Cup. He suggested we might be able to get tickets. He was right.

We'd recently to Hatch End. I was an only child (not my parents choice). I was quite used to my own company but my parents worried that needed friends. 

In one week I was taken along to the local scout troop and enlisted in the church choir - neither of which were in my or my family’s normal experience.  At neither did I make any friends. But two other boys lived nearby. Across the road was Peter - also an only child - and along the road a slightly older boy, Anthony. 

Peter’s parents were Austrian. His mother cooked schnitzel and noodle soup. He had a snooker table and the run of a large garden in which we would play football. He had an Arsenal shirt and a leather ball. I liked facing penalties, diving spectacularly in the mud to push the ball round the imaginary post. 

I have few memories of Anthony but he and I went to watch Watford, then languishing in the third division with Pat Jennings in goal and it was on the train back from a match that he mentioned this thing called the World Cup.

We definitely saw the opening game at the old Wembley, a boring 0-0 draw with Uruguay. I don’t remember an opening ceremony but there was an air of excitement. We came back for England’s 2-0 victory over Mexico. I can’t remember whether we saw their next win, 2-0 again, against France - I think we did. 

Seared into my memory is watching Englands quarter final against Argentina. A horrible dirty and broken game which saw the Argentinian captain Rattin sent off - but refusing to leave the pitch - England sneaked a late winner. This was a Saturday afternoon, a heatwave, we stood high up in the stand (in all the other games we had been close to the pitch, and most were night matches). We could hardly see but there was definitely a different atmosphere now - a tension, a sense that England could be in with a chance of winning the tournament.

I was now getting more interested. I read the sports pages in my father’s paper. In the other groups North Korea were the surprise package until they came up against Eusebio’s Portugal team. Germany started with an imperious 5-0 thrashing of Switzerland. Then Brazil failed to beat Portugal and went out. It was getting interesting. How much of this was on tele? 

England met Portugal in the semi’s on the Tuesday evening. They won 2-1. Were Antony and I there? I have a feeling we couldn’t get tickets - bear in mind there was no buying online - did you just roll up and pay at the turnstile? I don’t know, he was the one who got the tickets, I just tagged along. What we did know was there was absolutely no chance we would get tickets for the final. But it was ok, it was going to be live on tele. We even had colour now. 

But... my Dad had a friend - Uncle Ronnie (not a real Uncle). He was a referee in the Manchester Central League. Apparently he had two tickets going spare. Uncle Ronnie later gave me his autograph book. He watched Manchester United and Lancashire Cricket Club. Not only does it have the Busby Babes and Charlton and Best, it has Benfica, Brian Statham, Puskas - but why did I end up with it? It may have been a sympathy gift - given to salve my disappointment.

When my mother heard about the tickets she reminded me that I had a prior commitment. The scout troop I had been forced into, were going on their annual camping expedition. I was signed up. My parent had paid the subs. I had to go.

So on the morning of Saturday 30th July 1966 about 20 boys and the various leaders, boarded a coach. I tried to take my transistor radio - it wasn’t allowed - no radios were permitted, and of course there were no mobile phones. We were driven out to somewhere in the home counties - Oxfordshire I think.  We put up tents - slept 6 to a tent. I hated it.

Over the next two days there was no news. No-one knew the result. Or if they did they kept it from us. On the Tuesday there was a break in one of the long marches we were subjected to. We stopped in a village where I sneaked into the paper shop and managed to get a look at the back pages. 

What had I missed? England had scored a disputed goal to snatch a draw. Then they’d strolled on to beat West Germany - but it had been in the balance until the last moment of extra time. Clearly I had missed a tense, skilful, dramatic and unique match. 

55 years later I realise I’d missed being part of a historical moment. Clearly I was robbed, and the anger and sadness actually gets worse as time goes on. Today - on Sunday 11th July 2021 it’s a few hours to England taking on Italy in the final of the European Championship. The media call it the most significant game since 1966. They keep going on about it. Wall to wall coverage provokes me to write this. 

This used to be a story I enjoyed sharing and laughing about but the passage of time (and England’s poor performance) have turned the story into something crueller. 

I want to go back and speak up for the 11 year-old me - to argue with the grown-ups, to refuse to go, to feign illness or just find a place to hide until the coach has pulled away.

I’m sure I don’t have to ask parents today to watch the game with your children - enjoy whatever emotions it throws up. Cheer and cry together. These events don’t come along every day. You might be lucky to see two in a life time. Or one.  

The Re-Marking, 5 (From the woods to the river)

For some reason hitting dates and marking moments can be important to me - not only does it bring an excuse, it allows the seasonal reminders to come into play. And in the same way I left Bubble exactly 30 years after starting, so I have chosen to start this last blog at the same time and day of the week as we met up in Oxleas Woods. Midday, Sunday 3rd August 2020.

Then, as today, the sun was shining and up around the cafe on the hill people were doing Sunday - longer dog walks, the proper breakfast, maybe a newspaper. 

At the bottom of the hill Dan was not alone - Clive Llewellyn, actor of this parish and his partner Janet were waiting. Sandy, Wilf and Carlotta - arrive with their coffees. Andrew Stern - a Greenwich resident, activist and connector, with fellow participants Judith and her daughter Danielle who have brought their inter-generational relationship to our inter-generational projects. Then Sam and Lukas, friend and actor Tanya. Pip, May - and yep, Nao Ngai - who first worked with the company as a technician many years ago and has lit shows and provided support, connections (and Japanese late night picnics) over the years. Then another Tania, - Tania Peach, production manager, another Greenwich-ite who made early outdoor shows possible. 

And Oxleas was the venue people who wanted the hard core promenade experience, came to. These are ancient woods, dense, hilly and wild. Every year that we did a show here I would come and plan the route. Every year I would get lost. Occasionally the stage manager leading the audience would get lost. There’s a lot of old magic here. 

Before we set off we have a task. Jools Voce - artist, performer, workshop facilitator, writer and thinker (who I should have mentioned at Canada Water because she was a key artist on the Great Outdoors) cannot be with us in person but has sent a series of tasks for us to undertake.

We follow the instructions and listen to Jools’s words…

Jools has written seven - postcards. We read them at the next stops facing in the directions asked. They explain her and her families connection to the woods, of her brother being a park keeper. They describe her work-journey with the company from participating performer to director, they explain the need for good boots, they talk about the show Jools made and performed here, about the fact she and Amanda called me Aslan and they talk about the community of theatre making and how it touched her and others. She nails it. 

We need to visit some of the performance sites. We set off into the woods past the outdoor gym and up on to the plain to talk about the various images we remember from scenes which we performed here. Then to a clearing on the edge of the woods where we are joined by Ken and Farhana - who has written various scripts for the company, and a tall man on a bike Mr Nick Khan - who gave many fine performances with Bubble in summer and Christmas shows and who is yet another local!

As ever Oxleas offers us a variety of environments. We stop and enjoy Jools’ words and remember bits and pieces of projects but the power of the woods rules. The overhanging branches break the sunlight, the leaves gel the rays and coloured light bathes our eyes. The wind moves the grass and strokes our faces. The different surfaces of the paths play into our muscles in subtly changing ways. There are smells and sounds too - it’s all very primal and I’m having a bit of a moment.

Up tp Sevendroog Castle and finally out of the edge of the woods and overlooking London - well the South Circular/Shooters Hill but. We cross Woolwich Common and talk briefly to a woman who is trying to collect the litter that has been left. She works up to and along a invisible borderline - her aim seems to be to keep a certain zone clean while the adjacent zones remain covered in detritus. 

We cut across Charlton Park - the grass is baked hard here and meet up with Iris - company archivist, supporter and participant. She has been in quarantine but we are passing her house and she will join the caravan for a stretch. We wind through Maryon Park or is it Maryon Wilson Park? There are two, and Andrew tries to explain the difference to me - but it won’t stick, why give two different patches of greenery the same name? We visited one or the other just the once. There was a spectacular electrical storm, the show was abandoned, but that night some of the inhabitants of the park decided to de-construct our set and seating. They left the pieces laid out on the damp grass like an airfix kit - attach piece A to component B, proceed to part C..etc.

I had announced at the start that the theme of the day was to be images - and yes we have conjured up memories - henges made of fridge freezers, singing sirens, fighting lovers, flaming arrows. But images of rain, interrupted shows and the sodden crew are just as strong. Water pouring off the roof of the beer tent. Steam rising from the damp rugs left out to dry the following day. 

It’s a bit of a schlep now to our next stop, Greenwich Park. The procession gets strung out. I worry that we might be pushing it but people are chatting away - Farhana and I talk scripts and writing projects and Ken and I talk about failing eyesight and hospital appointments. Sandy and Nao have their photograph taken.

At Greenwich, near the bandstand we are met by the Ogras - Shipra, producer, critical friend and key bubble saver, her family Arun, Aya and Zooni. She brings love and a much appreciated tub of Samosas. I pass round cherries - cherries have been on offer on every one of these walks. 

Down into Greenwich we go past the trees and bowls of Greenwich park, past the vistas and statues to meet Theresa and Richard - Theresa worked as administrative director for Bubble, cooked many meals but no books. She too is a stalwart of the extended company. 

And Lily is there - musician, writer and the MD on our last big show, Primary in which she dusted off and tamed the Marimba. Lily, Sam, Tanya and Wilf are of the same generation and all as children watched bubble shows. It gives me much pleasure that in the last few years each has helped make theatre with us as a professional artist - both in, and out of, doors. 

Down to the Cutty Sark. Memories of dancing cup cakes in Urban Dreams and then right on cue Tommy joins us. Once a member of the youth theatre, now a member of the Board - his first show was Urban Dreams which his mother Leslie wrangled him into. And now Eva turns up, and I ask her to try and wrangle Danielle and her mother Judith into the Mayflower project. As we stride past the artificial slopes of the Laban Centre she drops into step beside them. By Deptford they are on onboard. 

Nearing 11 miles on the clock now we decide to give the Albany a miss and head for the Dog and Bell. We stop by the adventure playground to take a pic of the surviving team. It’s been re-named the Richard McVicar playground and Mac, as he was know, was another friend of the company. I’m hoping Nicole Charles might join us. Another who grew up with Bubble, in her late teenage phase she pulled together a project on street arts. With Macs help Nicole interviewed the young people of Deptford who used the playground, and then made a show which was performed here - I remember her mic in hand, pulling in the audience. 

Then it’s 2000 and high on the walkways of the playground, the monstrous Humbaba is slain by Gilgamesh and Enkidu as three goddesses in tall purple wigs incant to the mortals below. They looked like a cross between the Supremes and Marge Simpson. Nicole was one of the trio.

Nicole comes to Deptford but can’t find us. In the pub friends come and go, Angie Bain turns up - she too has been looking for us, searching the streets of Greenwich without luck. But she’s here now. Then Tania Peach drops in with her daughter, Katie - another young artist making her way in the world.

I enjoy the London Pride as Nick Goode, another Bubble alumni, plays fiddle with the band in the garden. 

There’s been 27 friends today and just the one dog. The endeavour has worked - it has eclipsed recent events and exorcised some ghosts. It’s been a slice. 

There will be one or two more Re-Markings coming up, but in the meantime...

ta's.

Ta

To all who came and made it.

To Dan for advice on flaneuring and pics.

To Sandy for ordnance surveying and yarns.

To Fran for natural history and pics.

To Pip for proof reading and love.

Peth 21.9.2020.

The Re-Markings, 4 (Dodgy Southwark).

Southwark is the home of Bubble. Over the years we have drenched the borough in theatre. My list shows 16 places where we have made significant performance pieces - and that’s before we get round to the schools, the sheltered housing units, the youth settings and the businesses. Yep, drenched is the right word. Has it made a difference? That’s for another day.

We’re going to visit 8 of those venues and along the way I want to big up the practitioners whose ideas we nicked. And it’s just as well we’re just doing the eight, as this particular 9.5 miles will be undertaken on what is officially ‘London’s hottest day on record’. It gets to 37.8 degree Centigrade - which is a neat 100 degrees Fahrenheit - well that was actually measured at Heathrow. But believe me when we gather at The Scoop, even though we’re beside the cooling waters of the Thames, it’s frigging toasty. 

We gather at 3pm. According to the records, at ten to three it was a mere 37C (with a 15 mph wind and a visibility of 16 km, so what are we complaining about?) Dan is waiting - he has a hat today, very sensible. Some arrivers are expected - my son Wilf, the chair of trustees Simon H, councillor Damian, Dame of the parish Simon T, choreographer/quizzist Maggie, participant Ken - who clearly can’t get enough of this, and Pip. But two are unexpected - Martin, who started with Bubble as a young theatre maker but has been a company member for the last few intergen shows. Then a strange man in beard, baseball hat and sunglasses, who I do not recognise… until… of course. Andy Serkis - actor, saxophonist, Gollum and now motion capture guru/big cheese director. I am touched - Andy and my (and Pip’s) working relationship goes back to about 1986 - when he was just out of uni and I was cutting my directorial teeth in Lancaster. He worked with Bubble in the tent, in a good production of Threepenny Opera back in 1990. It’s great to have him along - that’s until I ask him to get behind a camera - but more of that later. 

The Scoop was the site of the Bubble pancake race - notorious, dangerous, cold and wet (sometimes), hated by (most) staff, loved by participants, a bit ridiculous. An annual event of egg finding, flour gathering and pancake tossing which brought a bit of messiness to this semi-public, privatised space. It was also the site of Forty Walls and Ten Doors - a community piece which filled the Scoop with people and moving walls. 

We head for Bermondsey - along the river with Mr Hughes taking short cuts and dropping in bits of local history. We dodge through estates and across the squares of South London. It’s hot. Is that a London plane or a cactus I see through the heat haze? 

We arrive at Kintore Way and sit on the grass across from Kintore nursery. I want to talk about Vivian Gussin Paley as it was in the reception here class, that I first properly tried out her story gathering, story enactment technique. Vivan is a hero of mine. She brought simple theatre making into a kindergarten setting in Chicago, reflected on and recorded what she was doing, then wrote beautifully and succinctly about the serious business of children’s play. I was lucky to visit and observe her working, then to adapt one of her books for the stage. I was also fortunate to meet some the children at Kintore. 

There are two I remember. A girl who wouldn’t take up the offer to tell a story - and who the teachers believed didn’t speak English. And a boy who did accept the challenge. In week 1 his story was ‘my brother and I watch TV’. That was it. Week 2, when I asked him if he wanted to develop his story he extended it to ‘my brother and I watch a cop show on the tv’. Week 3 he took no prompting - ‘my brother and I watch a cop show on the tv and the baddies come out of the tv and chase us’. OK, that’s interesting. But  in week 4 ‘my brother and I watch a cop show on the tv and the baddies come out of the tv and chase us and we chase them back into the tv and fight them’.  

While the boy was playing with concepts of narrative a la Vonnegut/Beckett, the girl was building up to opening her story telling account. When she did start she told a beautiful extended story, (in English) about her grandmother, a swimming pool and the gobblers (aka sharks). 

As we sat on the scorched grass and vultures circled above, I explained Bubble sort of had a Grandmother - Vivian, and a Grandfather, who I would talk about later. I read from a letter Vivian had sent, then we set off for the Biscuit Factory and Southwark College to remember custard cream making (From Docks to Desktops) and then foraging for testimony about schools deploying a little kit of smells and textures to prompt (Primary).  

These and our next two stops - Dilston Grove and the Swedish Church were all animated by projects researched and performed by intergenerational teams of (mainly) Southwark residents. Artfully designed by Pip and skillfully scripted by Simon Startin, these were prime examples of what I call Vernacular Theatre - made from local materials, by local people, for local purpose.

At the Swedish Church I pass round a picture of Len Hatch - ex Docker, contributor, critic and the inspiration for from Docks to Desktops. We read from the play - it’s a piece taken from an interviews with Barry Albyn, undertaker. 

‘When I was a kid and I walked along Tanner Street, all I could smell was the hide, the leather. As I walked up Bermondsey Street there were other smells, because you had where they made mink, which were quite vile smells, then you walked further up and you had the perfume factory. Then you’d get to Pearce Duff’s and you had the custard stewing, you know. Then you’d get to the Blue and have Edwards or Spa bakery with that lovely bread smell, then you’d get to where the biscuits were being baked, coconut on a Thursday, Bournville on a Friday, you know. So everything in this area is summed up with smells. There are new smells now. There’s the Mogul I can smell, with the lovely spices as you go past. There is the Turkish bakery at the back of the shop opposite. The smells are still there. The smells are just different. And the people are just different’. 

Arriving at Canada Water square we step over the bleached bones of commuters who have succumbed to dehydration and are joined by Marigold - producer and maker of intergenerational projects, Lucy Bradshaw - Bubble’s senior co-ordinator and intergen performer and Marva - who not only has been a stalwart of almost all of our pantomimes but appeared, with her daughter, Georgia in a project performed here, in this very square. 

A bespoke piece inspired by the water fowl on the lake to one side and the tube and bus station on the other. Made for the expansive square with about 90 performers, a live music score, Wellington boots and a lot of plastic rain ponchos. 

On we go - across the lovely Russia Docks Woodland, where I announce ‘Bubble did precisely nothing’ - but no, someone corrects mem we did a bugs and slugs project here. There’s a lovely rolling conversation going on now, artists, friends, family talking about what happened, what is happening now, what might happen soon, it’s getting slightly cooler. A camel train lopes past, merchants with silks, perfumes, spices. Aromas of the desert are carried on the mistral. 

Then I get us lost - the only time on the Re-Markings so far. But on this long hot walk it really isn’t the time to add another half mile to the itinerary, but I do. 

Finally we locate the Pump House. This is where the ‘Grandfather’, Augusto Boal comes into the picture. He came to Bubble back in the early 1990’s to teach and talk about his practice of Forum Theatre - one of his Theatre of the Oppressed techniques. Andy, Simon Thomson and I all attended those early workshops some of which took place here. The learning impacted on all three of us and informed the work we have made since. There’s a short passage I want to share from one of Boal’s books…

‘The theatrical profession, which belongs to a few, should not hide the existence and permanence of the theatrical vocation, which belongs to all. Theatre is a vocation for all human beings: it is the true nature of humanity’.

It’s time for a team photograph. Luckily we have an Oscar winning film-maker in our midst so I entrust Mr Serkis with the task. Unfortunately it seems he was suffering from heat exhaustion and his sweaty finger slipped on the focus button. 

Several pounds lighter we drag ourselves along the riverside path to our final destination. Cath is there to meet us very sorry that she was unable to partake in the hike but she has many many good reasons. 

While The Ship has never been a Bubble performance venue it has played an important part in the story. The pub sits opposite Bubble HQ. When I arrived in 1989 it was known as the office and too much time was spent there solving the problems of the current project and discussing the the ways of the world. Times and licensees changed but it is still the go-to place for after work wound-licking/plot-making/sorrow-drowning and re-marking marking.

It’s an appropriate terminus. Today - the 31st July 2020 - is contractually my last day as Creative Director with London Bubble. But as we sit there slaking our thirst and resting our aching limbs that slips my mind.

The Re-Markings, 3 (The North!)

8.5 miles. 10 people. 2 dogs.

Dan is sitting on the bench outside Waterlow Park cafe. Of course he is. It’s a greyish afternoon at the top of Highgate Hill, rain threatens and it’s a Monday. Monday 27th July 2020. To my surprise and pleasure participant and ex-vicar (I believe) Ken, phoned earlier to let me know he is coming. Apparently Lucy at Bubble HQ has passed on details to some of the group members. Pip, May and I are slightly early but here’s Jimmy, and Guler, and Lianne - I did not know they were coming! Sandy arrives - he wasn’t coming either, but he’s here. Cath, Charter of the Mayflower. And now Michael Breakey - a survivor of the first walk. Then Pip’s brother and loyal audience member Chris with his dog Tobi. Two dogs. 

Two dogs is appropriate, for Waterlow is the park where Nick Khan, playing Tweedledee, or was it dum, was attacked by…. I’m a couple of sentences into my explanation when up strides Mr Folorunsho. Charlie F, who himself played Tweedledum - or was it dee? And of course Charlie, has written a poem for the occasion - which he now gives.

A wee little story not long to last

But in Alice at Waterlow we had the twin scene task 

Mr Khan was giving his Tweedledee blast

When golden Labrador ran fleetingly past

Hated the sword, shield and acting master class

And barked proper loud for the crowd, lots of laughs!

Ran Dee down as Labbie seemed pretty aghast

And soon she reached him, bit him straight on the arse..

Least when the checked him he’d had his Tetanaas!!

Which he wrote on the tube on the way to the walk, apparently. This is all true and lovely but not quite as I remember it - we drop down the slope to the scene of the crime as it starts to rain gently. My version - there were two labradors. The boys were dressed as boy scouts replete with caps - and apparently dogs don’t like men in hats. Nick fended off the dog with his wheelbarrow. The dog attached itself to his buttock. He did a complete 360 with the dog swinging off the ground securely attached. I’m afraid I was helpless with laughter. Nick was in shock. 

A letter we received later from an audience member included three bullet points of feedback - the second reads “Really sorry the dog attacked Mr Tweedle (dum? dee?) - (sic). I hope he’s feeling better. Security needs to be better, they would watch the people not the play. But it was still a shame.

(The third bullet point reads “No sex and violence in the play. Although I guess you did this to make the show accessible to tiny children, you didn’t have to”… and goes on to argue for the inclusion of adult content in kids shows). Well the dog attack was pretty violent.

It’s appropriate the Chris and Pip are here. Our children played together many times in Waterlow, as Chris lived nearby - and still does. We have memories of the older boys on a toboggan - and then when young Sam got his turn, the unforgettable image of him losing control of the sledge as it gathered momentum down the hill, and him disappearing over the edge and down, what I knew was, an almost vertical drop to the footpath below. - I was helpless with laughter then too. This is the place Pip last saw her Mum in London - she was taken to the Whittington at the bottom of the hill. This is the place I got the phone call my Dad had been taken into hospital - I flew from the rehearsal to his bedside and almost as soon as I arrived he said his goodbye as best he could, closed his eyes, then made a slow, gradual and graceful stop - stillness - death, we call it.

And the place had and has much life - we got big joyful mixed audiences here, all ages. And lots of dogs. 

Out the bottom of the park we go and down to Parliament Hill fields. Charlie will only go as far as he can manage - he is walking with a stick but quite determined to participate and I am honoured. Charlie is big man of the theatre - he is known by all and knows everyone. He is passionate about story, performance and the politics surrounding our business. We first worked together back in my second Bubble season. He has done Carpet Tales, Pantomimes and Parks. He has been a board member and officiated at Linda Dobell’s funeral. Oh and now he writes poems it seems.

We are aiming for the original Bubble HQ - or the Roxy as it was known, where the company was first set up in 1972. When we get there it is gone. The site replaced by newly built maisonettes. Nevertheless there is an air of excitement and Charlie dubs it ‘The Source’.  I read an extract from Tony Rowlands’s history of the first 12 years of Bubble - Castles in Park (available on the company’s website and well worth a read).

“It is hoped the Itinerant Theatre Company will play for a week or more in each Borough in order to involve the whole community in the company’s activities. A possible programme could consist of: a main musical extravaganza; a late-night play; a children’s play, plus specially arranged workshops and school playground ‘events’; two short revue pieces which would be incorporated into a variety show….and a rehearsed reading of ‘The Cherry Orchard’, ‘The Wild Duck’ or a new play.” 

Which was taken from the Greater London Arts Magazine the year before the company was formed. 

A team photograph is taken and a suspicious woman comes out to water her plants and see what all the fuss is about.

Charlie (that’s him in the hat at the back) leaves us here after Jimmy lets him in on the secret that a secret bus runs from here, southwards, and across the river back to the land of normality. 

The rest of us trudge on, past the Roundhouse (and memories of a time before Bubble) through the hell that is Camden Town today and then, just before we start along the long stretch beside Kings Pancras, we come to Old St Pancras Church - which rings a bell for both Pip and me.

We stop in the churchyard and I impart all I know about the Hardy Tree (which takes all of 15 seconds) and Pip imparts all she knows about Mary Wollstonecraft whose tomb is also here (Pip takes about 30 seconds but I’d argue she speaks slower). 

For those that want to know, Mary Wollstencraft - philosopher, writer, feminist - wrote A Vindication of the Rights of Women in 1792. She died at just 38, 11 days after giving birth to Mary Shelley. As a young architect Hardy had to oversee the moving of graves and their contents to allow the adjacent railway line to be widened. He decided to lay the headstones around an ash tree - see image below.

Erudite and informed we stride on past the aforementioned railway line and Eurostar terminal, then across the Euston Road. 

We are tired and the conversation has turned to which pubs might be open - including one that is normally run by Cath’s friend, but it’s her day off apparently.

But before the pub we must visit the Cochrane. This is where we did pantomime, and where Breakey worked with Central St Martins. I witter on about the seats - for some reason the auditorium has a slight undulation and the seats were made of different heights so everyone could see. That’s until someone took all the seats out, and then put the rows back in the wrong place so latterly you might find yourself sitting in a low seat at the bottom of the undulation behind a tall seat up the slope in front of you!. Well I find it interesting.

But Breakey has a present for me (the first of two I will receive this evening). He explains something I wasn’t aware of. Apparently he tried to smuggle an image of me into each of the pantos - for morale purposes you understand. And he has a tin of Bubble beans for me. With an image of a younger, svelte looking Peth, adorning the front. This is beautifully made. The ingredients list on the label reads

• Methane 10 cubic metres
• Farts 160
• Runny poos 2.5
• Burps 17
• Uncomfortable silences 4
• Furtive glances 24

Panto. When the whole team makes merry.

When we get to the pub there’s just the hardcore left. We have a good drink and Cath gives me a book - ‘This Land is their Land’ - David Silverman’s recently published book about the history of the Wampanoag people and their relationship to the Mayflower. Not only is this a lovely gift with a lovely inscription, it’s thoughtful and pertinent to the project we’re currently developing. The content is spot on, it’s exactly what we need to bring the next project to fruition.