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!

Hurry up, and wait

"We must be patient." - Ophelia, Hamlet

Yesterday was the Third Sunday of Advent, which is also called Gaudete Sunday.

On Gaudete Sunday, there is a brief hiatus from the violet or blue coloured vestments (cloths covering the altar and the robes that the priests wear), and everything shifts, for this one Sunday to rose or pink coloured vestments.

(There has to be a word for people who love liturgy and liturgical practices; I think I should invent that word: Liturgiaphilia.)

Also, in the wreath of Advent candles there is one pink candle amid the three, dark purple ones, and it gets lit on this day. It stands out, in all its wonderful pinkness to symbolize joyful and exuberant expectation. Gaude meaning “rejoice” in Latin.

I always loved Gaudete Sunday at St. Luke’s: the altar bedecked with giant vases full of pink roses, and heavenly smell of the incense, rose mingled with frankincense…

The message of Gaudete Sunday, using very venacular language, is: “Calm down. Relax. It’s all good.”

I have never been a patient person, and I hate to wait for anything. Period. I want things to happen when I want them to happen.

“Not now,” is a message I have never received with ease. And lately, that message seems to dog my every step. Most trying of which has been the probable miscarriage that occurred last month, which I am only now able to put into words. Clearly the message from the universe is: “Not yet.”

I have always been a firm believer in a God much bigger and better than myself, and One who loves and cares for us completely. It’s just God’s sense of narrative and pacing that have often given me cause for concern.

I find myself thinking – often aloud – “You know, God, if this particular thing (job opportunity, baby, house, agent, book deal, &etc…) could just happen at such-and-such time, that would be truly poetic, and would have such a lovely sense of narrative.”

(That’s me, talking to God, one writer to another.)

But does God listen? Well, yes, I’m sure God does listen. But God, ever the divine, independent, creative (and creating) Thinker, has God’s own sense of narrative and timing.

Our job is one of watching and waiting, but we are meant watch and wait without a sense of anxiety, but in a spirit of hopeful expectation. That’s the part I need to work on. Anxiety? I’ve got that down like a pro!

Oddly, pop culture seems to have offered some timely and topical suggestions in this regard. I’m not proud of the fact that the DEB and I recently succumbed to watching the final two episodes of  “The X-Factor” – Cheryl Cole gives me hives – but last night the lyrics of the Joe McElderry’s victory tune had an appropriate resonance:

I can almost see it

That dream I’m dreaming but

There’s a voice inside my head sayin,

You’ll never reach it,

Every step I’m taking,

Every move I make feels

Lost with no direction

My faith is shaking but I

Got to keep trying

Got to keep my head held high

There’s always going to be another mountain

I’m always going to want to make it move

Always going to be an uphill battle,

Sometimes I'm going to have to lose,

Ain’t about how fast I get there,

Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side

It’s about the climb  

 

Shortly after the glittery confetti settled on Joe McElderry, ITV featured a programme chronicling the improbable and meteoric rise of the incredible Susan Boyle.

What a story!

For over 23 years, Boyle dreamed of being a singer. She defied the odds and every expectation the world could possibly throw at her. How wonderfully refreshing to see someone achieving greatness through sheer force of will, determination and talent.

Forgive my cynicism, but frankly, there is not much talent about these days. There is a great deal of “notoriety” on offer these days, if you have the right boobs, the right face and the right publicist. As such, Susan Boyle is a much-needed tonic in this day and age.

Amanda Holden – who also gives me hives – mused, “Americans love Susan Boyle, because it’s a land where they still believe in dreams.” I much as I hate the thought of giving Amanda Holden credit for anything, I must say that she had a point there. America is a nation of dreamers. The American narrative itself is/was an impossible dream.

The message of Gaudete Sunday seems to be, from both the religious and secular realms: “Never stop dreaming.”

The other piece of advice in the Gaudete Sunday message is: "Rejoice." Rejoicing in the now. Learning to be content with what you have, while at the same time being hopeful for the future.

I refuse to let anxiety win and turn this joyous, holiday season into a “winter of discontent.”

Not now? Fine. Rejoice now, instead.

 

Civilised

One of the things I love most about living in England, apart from the ample and steady supply of solid and liquid carbohydrates, in the wonderful societal institution that is 'The Bank Holiday.'

Bank Holidays are extended weekends with Monday as a day off from work. The Bank Holiday is a special treat -- I get to have my D.E.B. for an extra weekend day!

Like clockwork, Bank Holidays typically promise bad weather and great stuff on telly! So, last night, The D.E.B. and I indulged ourselves yesterday with raspberry trifle, popcorn, Bath Ale and part 1 of the latest adaptation of Emily Brontës’ Wuthering Heights, on ITV, featuring “Cute Brit Boy” Tom Hardy as Heathcliff.  

Here’s one for the Goth Girls…

Dark and brooding Tom Hardy as Heathcliff

You have to love the Brontës. Doom, gloom and despair. Lovely. 

I must say, I have always felt so sorry for Anne, the youngest Brontë sister. Think of it, one of your sisters writes Jane Eyre and the other, Wuthering Heights. Talk about literary pressure! Oy vey!

One of my favorite jokes about the Brontës is this: 

On a dark, rainy, afternoon, Papa Brontë is in his study. He calls Emily in to see him. She enters the room and finds her father holding a large book. “Emily,” he says opening the book, and revealing a dead, smashed bird inside. “Oh, Emily. Why can’t you just press flowers like your sisters?”

Fabulous. 

But I digress.

A break from the norm, a Bank Holiday is time to just do what you want. And it’s such a good idea the month of May has not one, but two Bank Holidays!

On one of the May Bank Holidays, the D.E.B. and our beloved hound, Lucy, walked from Wasperton to Hampton Lucy. It was a lovely walk, and on route to The Boar’s Head pub in Hampton Lucy, we paid a visit to the Charlecote Mill.

Charlecote Mill is an historic, working mill on the River Avon, which is even mentioned in the Doomsday Book (written in 1082). 

Although there has been a mill on the site since those times, the building that stands there now dates from the 18^th century. 

(We love history!)

The present day millers at Charlecote Mill are still producing cornflour, wheat and wholemeal flour with machinery from the 18^th and 19^th centuries. 

The Mill has a variety of “Open Days” throughout the year where visitors can come in and have a look at the facilities and milling in process, and of course there are plenty of products to buy. I bought a small bag of organic, wholemeal flour, and am still using it. It feels good to support local industry, and help to keep places like Charlecote Mill open and running. 

Have a look: Charlecote Mill

Here are some photographs from our day at Charlecote. What looks like snow or dust is, of course, flour...

We have no such adventuresome plans today. We are going to do some work in our little backyard garden, and have a lazy day here at home. 

Ah, the Bank Holiday is such a pleasant and civilized thing.