Hurt feelings

One of the things I admire most about my Darling English Boy is his graciousness. He is able to take criticism, rejection and light-hearted ridicule with incredible grace and good-humour.

I am not so blessed. And, I’m not sure if this has more to do with the fact that I’m a woman, an American ... or both.

Either way, I have slowly come to realize that even in the most friendly, affirming and cosy of villages, there exist quiet enclaves of hurt feelings, however unintended.

On a walk in the bright sunshine of a crisp Autumn morning, I ran into my friend, Sally, walking her dog Poppy on the playfield. We haven’t seen each other for ages and took this opportunity to catch up.

Sally’s not been feeling well, so she missed our first Pageant rehearsal at church on Sunday. The “Nativity Pageant” is performed here in our village every five years, and it is a major undertaking. A huge, platform set is erected over the altar, and locals from nearby villages are invited to participate just to swell the ranks.

As with most “traditions”, there is a certain way of doing things. Of course, that is at the heart of what the word “tradition” means. Doing something repeatedly, in a particular way, at a particular time.

And this tradition is no exception. The major roles in the play (i.e., Mary, Herod, The Wise Men, etc.) all have a history. Once cast in one of these roles, the person playing it is ironclad to the role for life. Only death, relocation, or self-imposed retirement can release the role for someone else.

This year, with the sad demise of dear Chris Hayward, the role of Isaiah has a new occupant for the first time in over 25 years. This change has facilitated a shift for many of the male performers, and freed a new space in the role of Joseph. The D.E.B. has been asked to take on that role. Not bad for a “newbie”!

The selection process was very simple. Anyone interested in taking part turned up to the church and indicated their interest on a sign-up sheet. The directors then decide who goes where.

Knowing a longstanding tradition when I see one, I kept my expectations realistically low: women’s chorus/crowd. Sally, on the other hand, had her heart set on playing Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth.

Her disappointment and upset were palpable as we walked along the playing field. “I was told they wanted me for Elizabeth,” she said, sadly.

The irony of the situation was not lost on me. Here was Sally, a former professional stage actress, who has acted her way around the globe (several times) being passed over for a speaking part in the village Pageant.

On one hand, it’s laughable, and the other, heart-achingly sad. And, my heart did ache for Sally. I tried to console her by reassuring her that this turn of events surely had nothing to do with her, but rather everything to do with longstanding traditions, and the fact that there has probably been someone waiting in the wings, clomping at the bit, to play Elizabeth for the past 45 years!

I tried to soothe her by theorising that she, like us, has not been in the village for very long; and perhaps this is the curse of been a newbie, you’re left at the bottom of the artistic food chain.

But, if I’m honest, I share Sally’s pain. I was recently asked if I would consider directing a one-act play for the drama group. I said, yes, of course. And, then dutifully began racking my brain and spent hours upon hours scouring the library for a decent play to propose.

Probably not a surprise, given my professional background and tastes, I opted for a classic. Noel Coward, in fact. I found a little gem of a play called Ways and Means, and absolutely fell in love with it!

I submitted it to the ‘play selection committee’, and after just a few days deliberation, it was shot down like a turkey before Thanksgiving!

My selection was deemed ‘too old-fashioned’. I would be lying if I did not say my pride was more than slightly wounded. Like Sally, I have spent the better part of my life in the theatre, and have worked my way around the world doing so. Selecting plays and directing them was the way I lived my life.

So, a rejection like as this hits squarely, and rather foolishly, in a deeply personal place. Without a doubt, rejection is something artists live with everyday, and is nothing new to neither Sally or myself. As such, it does make me wonder why we have each taken these turns of events so much to heart?

Perhaps for me it is a bit of 'premeditated misery', as we have auditions for the Music Hall at the end of next week. Now, there’s a thing. My goodness, if I fail to be selected for the Music Hall, perhaps that would a sort of karmic pay back for all the scores of actors whose hearts I’ve broken over the years…

No discussion of hurt feelings would be complete without this clip from that fantastic musical comedy/ parody duo from New Zealand, "Flight of the Conchords":

English roses

Yesterday the D.E.B. & I celebrated our one month wedding anniversary! The occasion had to be marked with some romance and just a wee bit of fanfare. So, we decided to plant a rose bush in the churchyard at St. Peter's Church, where we were married last month.

I spent yesterday afternoon scouring the nurseries in the area for the 'perfect' rose. The perfect rose was to be found at the garden shop in Charlecote. They specialise in David Austin Roses -- the roses to buy. 

We had thought we would opt for a classic, David Austin, antique rose, stately character and all, but on the day a fresh, funky new English rose won out. It is a new variety of David Austin rose that has the look of a poppy rather than a classic rose, very cheeky and sassy. And very "us" I thought.  A rose with personality. 

Speaking of personality, I had promised the Vicar when I secured his permission to plant the rose, that our little "romantic gesture" would not turn into a "thing," i.e. an event. Who was I kidding? This is Barford, everything we do here turns into a "thing"! And wonderfully so.

After finding the rose, I decided to bake a huge Devil's Food, uber-chocolate cake. (What is it with me and cake?) I was due to meet our dear friend, Sally, in the afternoon to work on her upcoming performance project, and had to cancel. 

I apologised profusely, sharing with her the details of our anniversary plan: "We're planting a rose in the churchyard. And the vicar and his wife are joining us..." 

"Oh, golly! How lovely!" Sally yelped with joy, "You must allow me to read something! Is that too bold a thing for me to ask? Do say."  How could I possible say no to such a sweet request.

 As I put the phone down, I realised our little gesture had become a thing...

I phoned Sally back quickly, and pleaded: "You won't bring the choir, will you?" She just laughed. Sally is an amazing, who I must write about at some point. She's 's a professional actor, and has acted her way around the globe and has three different passports! (We feel like we have known her forever.) 

 The vicar had a meeting until around 8 PM, so the D.E.B. and I went along early to prep the ground for the rose, and to take Lucy for a walk.  As we walked back to our house, with dog, shovel and watering can, we must have looked a sight.

Our very jovial friend, Robert, stopped us near the Village Shop: "You two look up to something," he laughed. After explaining our plan, an invitation was of course extended to him and his wife, Julia, one of my Monday-Wednesday Swim Club pool-mates. 

At this point, the D.E.B. and I looked at each other, and decided promptly to rush home as quickly as possible, and to be very rude and not speak to another single soul en route!

It has been uncharacteristically hot in these parts, so our rose planting ceremony was scheduled for late evening. We met in the churchyard around half 8: us, our wonderful Vicar, David and his fabulous wife, Sue, Julia and Robert and Sally. 

As promised, Sally did a beautiful reading from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet:

Then Almitra spoke again and said, 

"And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart, 

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. 

The vicar said a blessing over us and our rose, whom we christened Geraldine (after Dawn French's character in the TV series "The Vicar of Dibley"). We then popped a cork, and had some bubbly and chocolate cake in the churchyard. 

It was a truly lovely evening, and I am so thankful to our friends for joining us.

The D.E.B. then treated me to my favourite meal: Fish n' chips from my favourite chippy, Kingfisher's in Ely Street in Stratford-upon-Avon. Trust me, it is worth every bit of the 7 mile drive.

We came home, had fish and chips and watched The Italian Job with Michel Caine and Noel Coward. I cannot believe I have never seen it! It is an "Understanding the English 101" essential, and positively indispensable for understanding the British male psyche!! As well as a great laugh, and highly enjoyable movie.

So, the first month of marriage has been duly marked. As I said to the vicar, I am a woman of rituals. I think rituals are vitally important, an outward sign of intangible mysteries. I think a life without rituals would be very sad indeed.

The symbolism of our little ritual yesterday had escaped me until I was in the pool this morning chatting with Jackie 1, as she plowed through her daily 150 laps: "Well, Alycia. That's it then. You see, you've quite literally put down roots here in Barford. So you two are here for good now. No two ways about it." 

I certainly hope Jackie 1 is right.