Success in Rio

Reprinted from Focus Magazine, August 2014

Cicely Berry
Image © Ellie Kurtz

“Where words prevail not, violence prevails.”                                                                                               – The Spanish Tragedy, Thomas Kyd

By the time this appears in print, the dust of the FIFA World Cup will have settled, the winning nation will have held the golden trophy aloft (C’mon, Argentina!), and we all shall have re-emerged -- somewhat blurry-eyed, perhaps -- from our collective Brazilian hangover. What, one wonders, shall remain?

A great deal of questioning, no doubt. A certain Uruguayan will be due a period of intensive self-reflection (“To bite, or not to bite, that is question?”), and a considerable amount of collective introspection will be due for the likes of host nation, Brazil, and, of course, England.

Following England’s abrupt departure from the proceedings, I was more disappointed by the players’ reactions than by their poor performance. Wayne Rooney’s apologetic epilogue was utterly disheartening, particularly, his assessment that the English side is “too nice” to win trophies. Rooney lamented England’s lack of “nastiness”, implying that the team should become more ruthless and “street-wise”. That would be very sad, indeed, and quite out of national character.

Fair play and sportsmanship are hallmarks of British mentality and disposition. When outlining characteristics of his beloved English for his fellow Americans in 1904, Ralph Waldo Emerson mused that the most indefatigable English trait was “pluck”. He enthused: “One thing the English value is pluck. The cabmen have it; the merchants have it; the bishops have it; and the women have it!”

Cicely Berry, legendary Voice Director of the RSC, is by far the pluckiest Englishwoman I know. Since 1997, Cicely has traveled to Brazil to collaborate with “Nós de Morro” - a group of theatre artists based in one of Rio’s toughest slums (favelas). Far from the lush, tropical scenery featured on our tellies during the World Cup, Vidigal is a world apart - set high in the hills that surround the beautiful and opulent city. Controlled by drug cartels, replete with guns, gangs, and violence, it is place into which the police do not venture except in armoured cars. Armed with the works of Shakespeare, diminutive, octogenarian Cicely Berry enters this volatile place and competes confidently with drug lords for the hearts, minds and souls of Vidigal’s favelados (young people living in the slums).

As vividly depicted in the brutal, but truthful film City of God (2002), life is cheap in Vidigal. Watching that film, I shuddered at the thought of gentle, precious Cicely traversing such a place. (I once suggested accompanying her, and she resisted on the grounds that she could not guarantee my safety.)

True to herself, and driven by her uncompromising politics, Cicely’s mission is to empower, liberate and give voice to the voiceless. For Cicely, Shakespeare’s words are apt channels of expression, and by freeing the voice through his full, rich and powerful language, the speaker ultimately develops the courage and freedom to fully express their inner self. Hers is a truly characteristically English ‘plucky’ success in Rio, and one well worth celebrating!

A very British statistic?

Sunday Morning reflective mood has me thinking about “the dress” I've planned to wear for New Year's Eve, and how I hope it will still fit by the time the holidays roll around. I tried it on the other day, and phew! I was in. But this got me thinking...

When I lived in NYC, running was routine feature of my life. I didn’t go fast and I didn’t go far, but at least I went. I lived less than 5 minutes from Washington Square Park, and each day, come rain or shine, began with a daily gallop.

The distance around Washington Square Park is .53 mile. At my best, I was doing 3-4 miles before breakfast at least 3 days a week. I loved that gallop, though I hated dodging traffic, inhaling limitless exhaust fumes, and the general lack of spatial awareness amongst NYC pedestrians.

I cannot describe the feeling of sheer exhilaration each time I whizzed (or wheezed) past the Washington Arch. It always felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I miss that Arch.

“Superstar Writer Friend” (author of Professors' Wives' Club) is working on a new book called Crossing Washington Square. Seeing the Arch on her webpage nearly made me weep. I miss that Park, it inspired me and challenged me.

I don’t know why I find it so hard to get motivated to run here. I live in one of the most idyllic spots on God’s green earth, and yet I just can’t be bothered. A recent survey in the UK showed that twenty-one (21%) percent of British women who do not take any form of exercise during the week; and yet fifty (50%) percent of British women are either “very happy” or “fairly happy” with their bodies. I’m in danger of becoming a very British statistic.

Sugar and Spice? The Modern British Woman

Get ready for some really interesting numbers. This past weekend, The Sunday Telegraph published results of a recent survey of over 1,000 British women. The results are fascinating, and offer an intriguing glimpse into the mind and ways of British women, and a provocative commentary on British society & culture generally…

73% - # of women surveyed who would prefer to have a male boss than a female boss

38% -  Described themselves as “feminist”

46% - Believe couples should live together before they marry

49% - Do not believe couples need to be married before having children

66% - Believe it is better to divorce that to stay in an unhappy marriage

67% - Said they would rather hold out for “a perfect, romantic partner” than settle for a man who’s just “good enough”.

42% - Women who have never been on a diet

21% - Women who do not take any form of exercise during the week

50% - Were either “very happy” or “fairly happy" with their bodies

91% - Said they would rather have a new kitchen than a face-lift

30% - Lost their virginity before they were 16 years-old

9% - Met their husbands through the Internet

Margaret Thatcher and Nelson Mandela topped the charts for “Greatest role models - female/male”.

Only 1.9% found Keira Knightly to be “the most attractive famous woman,” which, as far as I’m concerned, goes someway to rectify (though not excuse) the  somewhat scary fact that Jordan/Katie Price placed 3rd in the “Most Admired Woman” category, after The Queen (#2,) and Margaret Thatcher (#1). 

Jordan/Katie Price is a reality show “star,” from the UK version of the reality show “Big Brother.” I’m guessing that the American equivalent would be someone along the lines of  Tia Tequila or “New York,” from the reality show, “I Love New York.” (Interesting.)

So, what do all these numbers tell us about today’s British woman. Well, beyond the Jordan anomaly, today’s British woman seems a forthright, free-thinking gal, with a mind of her own; who’s not afraid to go against the grain in terms of tradition and conventionality; she has a take charge attitude, though she may prefer to remain the chief and/or only lioness in workplace pack; and I think most notably, she is not nearly as self-consciousness (dare one say self-obsessed?) about her weight, body, and/or looks as her American cousins.

To my mind, today’s “Modern British Woman” is not such a far cry from the modern British women of yesteryear. A few days ago, as I was recovering from my job interview woes, I was invited out for tea by Tracey, my neighbour, but one. (Don’t  you love that? “My neighbour, but one.” That’s a fancy English way of saying: “Tracy, who lives next door to the person who lives next door to me.”) I felt too woebegone to go along, but in the end I went, and met Tracy at the Machado Gallery on Wellesbourne Road.

The Machado Gallery is a snazzy little art gallery that is an institution here in Barford. It is “art central” for the village of Barford. I went there for a “Coffee Morning” a few weeks ago, and by the end of a two-hour visit, I had been “volunteered” to lead the soon-to-be-formed Barford Writers Group. 

Tracy and I were joined for tea by her friends, Sonia and Armelle. Sonia is the Barford “Lollipop Lady”. 

She stops traffic, and keeps all the kiddies safe as they cross  the road going to school. “Lollipop Lady” -- is that not just the most adorable name ever? You can’t help but smile when you say it! In America, we’d call her something utilitarian like: “Toddler Pedestrian Patrol Officer”, or “School Crossing Attendant”. Every time I see Sonia in her bright yellow jacket and hat, I nearly lose my life rushing across the street to hug her!

I was stunned to find out over tea, that Sonia is well over 60. She is so youthful and spry. She and Armelle kept us all in stitches with their tales of life in the “good old days”. Armelle, who is nearly 80, has a mischievous sparkle in her bright blue eyes. Call it writer’s instinct, but I took one look at her, and knew she had a story to tell.

1948. She was out with her “best lad”. He had taken her up to “The “Pally” - the Palace Ballroom  in Leamington Spa. Lo and behold, in the midst of the foxtrot and the waltz, Armelle urged her dance partner to let loose, and she began to dance “the jive”. Jive, then a new-fangled American import, was of course frowned upon in good society, and the Palace Ballroom Dance Master was swift to put an end to such nonsense. Clapping his hand upon Armelle’s shoulder, he declared her “barred from the  Ballroom.” Armelle and her escort were forced to leave immediately. But Armelle was a popular gal, and when her large gaggle of friends warned the Dance Master that they would all leave and never come back to the Pally -- unless Armelle was allowed to return, he changed his tune. As Armelle spoke, with her soft, gravelly voice, I could hear that old '80s tune, “Come Dancing,” by The Kinks in the back on my head. I used to watch that video on MTV, Armelle actually lived it.

And this was not her first scrape against the grain. Armelle was a rebel from the beginning. Her mother, who was French and very Catholic, sent her to “convent school” in Kenilworth, and Armelle hated it. She begged her mother not to go, but her mother would have none of it. With no other means of reprieve, Armelle set about driving the nuns to drink.  She regularly played truant, and eventually gave up altogether and got a job. And she became a Librarian. (Could this woman be any more my hero?)

Bad behaviour seems to have been rife amongst young women in 1950s Britain. Sonia, the mild-mannered Lollipop Lady, got barred from a ballroom in Hampton-on-the-Hill in 1950! Those were the days, they say. Of getting dressed to the nines, and walking fours miles home, over rolling, green English hills by the light of the moon. What days those must have been.