Showing posts with label Calendar Girls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Calendar Girls. Show all posts

17 June 2010

May column: "Why I W.I."

There have been few moments in my life more powerful than one I had a few months ago in Leamington Spa. On a bright, spring day in March, I found myself in the auditorium of the Spa Centre, in the midst of roughly 1,000 Warwickshire women, standing shoulder to shoulder, singing a rousing rendition of “Jerusalem”. My heart swelled with pride, and I fought back tears, as I surveyed the sea of sisterhood that surrounded me.

I am proud to be a member of the WI.

I will confess, when I first joined the Barford WI in 2008, I was secretly harbouring an ambition be “Miss August” – but I soon realized that there is more to being a member of the WI than Calendar Girls.

Surely, I can be forgiven for my initial, naïve assumption. In my American imagination, fueled by novels, television, and films, I envisioned the quaint world of the WI as one teeming with formidable, handsome women, dressed in sensible skirts of year-round tweed; gliding through idyllic, English villages to their monthly meetings on little bicycles, with wicker baskets affixed to their handle-bars, filled to the brim with flowers that had been arranged with great care. To be sure, I also understood that the niceties and tweed of this Marplesque world were on occasion put aside, or rather, shed for the camera in aid of a good cause.

First formed in 1915, the Women’s Institute, was established with two key objectives: to revitalise rural communities, and to encourage women to become more involved in food production during the First World War. Since that time, the WI’s aims have broadened to play a unique role in providing women with educational opportunities, the chance to learn new skills, to take part in a wide variety of activities, and to campaign on issues that matter to them and their communities.

The WI is the largest voluntary organization for women in the United Kingdom, with over 205,000 members. Of course, the WI was emblazoned upon the global imagination by the film Calendar Girls. However, beyond the delightful characters, and the wonderful controversy of the film’s storyline, I was most impressed by the incredible sense of community these women espoused, and their willingness to ‘tough it out’ together. The cause that spurred them on was immediate and personal - one woman’s loss became the community’s crusade.

I was moved by the evocative ending of the film wherein the dynamic Calendar Girls returned to their tiny village, after their somewhat fraught promotional trip to Los Angeles. They arrive just as the monthly WI meeting has commenced, they creep into the village hall tentatively, unsure of their welcome; but rather than being shunned, as they expect, they are enthusiastically gathered back into the flock, just in time to join in singing “Jerusalem”.

I recall my own apprehensive approach into the WI on a brisk, autumnal night in 2008. I slipped shyly into the Barford Village Hall, unsure of my reception, and was met immediately by the warm, smiling face of Jean Tuck, Barford WI Registrar at the time, who encouraged me to sign the book. With a giddy heart and trembling hand, I added my name, just as then-President, Angela Watkins, lowered her gavel to start the meeting. There and then, I, too, was welcomed and embraced into this incredible fold. Never once feeling out of place, out of step, or out of sorts. I felt, and still do, that I belonged.

I never had the opportunity to join a sorority in my undergraduate or post-graduate university days – as nearly all of the women of my family have done. So perhaps, now, at this stage in my life, I am seeking out sisterhood - beyond the standard bonds of family or friendship - an ‘incorporated sisterhood,’ or, a sisterhood with a mission statement.

Despite long-held views of the WI being merely a composite of ‘middle-aged, middle-class, Middle England,’ in truth, the modern WI is a thriving and evolving organization that has a solid appeal to women across ages, cultures, economic backgrounds, races, and geography.

Notably, in recent years there has been a rise in the number of newly-formed WIs, particularly of a younger generation variety, who have dubbed themselves “WI Lite”; as well as a steadily growing number of urban and inner-city WIs, springing up in places as seemingly un-‘bicycles-with-wicker-baskets’ as Hackney and Manchester.

Such evolution should be no surprise in our age of economic re-evaluation, clarion calls to thriftiness, and communal goals of living more simply and responsibly. With its utopian ideals of ‘building Jerusalem’ from the hearth, home and garden, the WI has always been at the fore of progressive thinking, long before the now-fashionable ‘mend, make, and recycle’ trends being championed today by such social commentators as India Knight.

But just what does the WI mean to the diverse range of women who are being drawn into its ranks? I can only speak for myself and surmise what it has meant to and for me.

The WI has helped me to re-connect with the more practical and crafty side of myself; offered opportunities to campaign for a tidier village, the British honeybee, trees in Ethiopia, AIDS prevention in South India, and against violence to women; provided an outlet for my longstanding trivia addiction with its regular Quizzes; and has renewed my interest in the all-important hearth and domestic realm; which, in turn has rejuvenated my professional life as a Shakespeare scholar, by inspiring me to pursue a cookery book project centred on Shakespeare and food. In short, the WI has improved the overall quality of my life.

In addition, and in some ways more importantly, the WI has shown me the true meaning of community. My status as a newcomer to this area could not have been more pronounced for me than last year, when my ‘Darling English Boy’ proposed (on Christmas Eve, no less) and we decided to marry in May 2009.

Here I was, a lone bride-to-be with family and friends an ocean away. My WI chums became the mothers, aunts, and sisters that I so desperately needed. They were quite literally and metaphorically, anchors of support in the midst of my nuptial travails.

Their ingenuity, creativity, good humour, and endless cups of tea helped me through the drama of orchestrating a transatlantic wedding: from offering advice on wedding music (“Jerusalem” was the chosen as the closing hymn, of course); to churning out vats of the Lavender Jam (made from a recipe we invented) that became the precious wedding tokens given to our reception guests.

Their role and importance on the wedding day itself cannot be overlooked. As Queen Victoria once noted, every bride, no matter who she may be, is ‘pale and anxious’ on her wedding day. As I stepped into St. Peter’s Church, that glorious May afternoon, I was indeed somewhat pale, and undoubtedly anxious.

Then, I heard the sturdy tones of my fellow WI-er, Philippa Wilson, who declared resolutely in my direction, “Beautiful.” My nerves subsided instantly as I looked up and saw her, and a gaggle of the Barford WI filling the rear pews of the church.

Just as they shepherded my arrival, the Barford WI enriched our coming forth. As my new husband and I exited the church, to our surprise, we were flanked on either side by a stunning WI guard of honour, holding aloft long wooden spoons decorated beautifully with garlands of flowers and streaming ribbon.

It was an incredible moment. Like a scene from a Jane Austen novel! But more than that, it seemed to encapsulate my rite of passage from one phase of womanhood to another, shielded by the matrons of the WI.

Clearly, on that fortuitous evening in October 2008, I came away from my first WI meeting with far more than just a jar of green tomato chutney and blackberry jam. The Barford WI is a group of terrific, dynamic, engaged and engaging women. Women I am proud to call my friends. Our membership spans an age range of ‘the nearly 100s’ to the ‘nearly 40s’. The fellowship, exchanges of ideas, sharing of wisdom, tradition, history, and life experience that transpire therein are quite remarkable.

I have yet to master ‘the merciless Marmalade’ (my sole attempt at the great WI institution that is “Seville Orange Marmalade” was more akin to congealed orange Fanta), I doubt I will ever win the Annual Corsage competition, and sometimes, I still hanker to be “Miss August,” but beyond a shadow of any doubt, joining the WI is one of the best life choices I have ever made.

27 October 2009

Calendar Girls and Ladies who lunch

Gorgeous, glistening, Autumn day – I love October! English landscape whizzing past, dressed in dazzling colours of Indian summer. 

I am riding ‘shot gun,’ with our W.I. President, en route to Claverdon for the Myton Hospice Ladies Lunch at Ardencote Manor.

Upon our arrival, my fearless leader makes a bee-line for a tall, blonde woman at the bar. It was Tricia Stewart, the leader of the original Calendar Girls. (Helen Mirren played her in the movie.)

I was thrilled to have an opportunity to meet her, she was stunning! And she was just as ballsy and effervescent standing before me, as she had been portrayed in the film. 

After we were introduced (and I’d taken a ton of photos), over a “welcome drink,” we chatted about W.I., New York City and writing.

She has written a memoir of her Calendar Girl experience, and had a copy of the Japanese edition with her. (“I have no idea what it says,” she beamed brightly, “but the pictures are the same, so I guess that's alright!”)

She shared with me the hilarious story of a friend of hers, a struggling, New York writer (aren’t we all?) who, in act of sheer desperation and utter genius, successfully pretended to be her own agent! 

Tricia’s friend used a false name, a fake voice and 'do-it-yourself' letterhead, and managed not only to get her feet through numerous, previously locked “we-only-deal-with-agents” doors, but actually she got her manuscript onto the right desks, and negotiated a very nice book deal for her top 'client': herself!

What a hoot! Happy, happy, joy, joy, to think of all those silly publishers getting duped by a super savvy writer!! Ha! And, quite frankly, they all deserve it.

Our conversation was interrupted by one the formally dressed Ardencote Servers inviting us to take our seats in the grand dining room. 

The tables were gorgeously decorated with autumn flowers, brightly polished silver, menu cards with Tricia’s picture on the front, and a small collection box for donations to the Hospice charity.

As I took my place, I glanced about the room, and I was struck by the realization that in that instant, I had become my mother... 

Around me was a beautiful sea of fashionably coiffed graying heads; richly clad in designer bouclé and pearls.

I was undoubtedly one of the few women in the room under the age of 60, and yet, I felt at home, and a strong sense of kinship. 

I recalled the times when my mother would allow me to skip school for the afternoon, to attend one of these same sort of lovely, special, charity, social lunches with her, in aid of the League of Women Voters, UNICEF, or the March of Dimes, to name but a few.

It may be an ocean apart from the tiny world outside Little Rock that I grew up in, but clearly  not so different in some ways. 

For, here I am now, bazillion miles and dozens of years away from that time and place, continuing that great feminine tradition of women who care, and hope in some little way to make a difference.

(In this moment, I miss my mother incredibly, and she seems, as she is, an ocean away. I wish that she could have been there beside me.)

Over the elegant servings of lamb shanks and mustard mash, Jo, the delightful octogenarian seated to my right, tells me of the joy she feels giving her time as a regular volunteer at the Myton Hospice.

Jo’s body is slowly giving way to time, yet her spirit as quick, lively and fresh as a teenager’s. 

“There is so much to give, and the smallest thing can make a big difference,” she tells me, her crystal, blue eyes sparkling.

One person can make a difference. 

And this sentiment was at the heart of Tricia Stewart’s dynamic, after-lunch speech.

Tricia electrifies the room with her hilarious tales of how the Calendar Girls came to be the global phenomenon that they are.

Humble and humorous, in true-blue, Yorkshire fashion, Tricia regaled us with the highs and lows of her Calendar Girl experiences:

“Helen Mirren cut her teeth playing me, then went on to play The Queen!”- Tricia Stewart

I left that afternoon feeling energized and inspired.

 At the heart of Tricia’s message was the indefatigable power of love, and the power of one.        


03 October 2008

Jam and Jerusalem

A few weeks ago, I was invited to join the Barford W.I. (Women’s Institute). And last night, I did just that! At a cost of a mere £29 (@ $60)—and two jars of homemade preserves—I aligned myself, for the next 14 months at least, with what has always been to my mind the quintessential establishment of British womanhood.

The Womens Institute (www.womens-institute.co.uk) was first formed in 1915. At that time, it was established with two objectives: “to revitalise rural communities and to encourage women to become more involved in producing food during the First World War.” Since that time, the W.I.’s aims have broadened to “play a unique role in providing women with educational opportunities and the chance to build new skills, to take part in a wide variety of activities and to campaign on issues that matter to them and their communities.” The W.I. is the largest women’s organization in the United Kingdom with 205,000 members. Plus one!

Of course, to the rest of world England’s W.I. was immortalized in the popular imagination by the film Calendar Girls, starring Julie Walters and Helen Mirren, as two best friends, leading a heady brigade of plucky women determined to give cancer a run for its money. Central to the plot is their controversial—and highly successful—idea of producing a calendar with teasingly provocative portraits of their local W.I. membership.

What impressed me most about the women in that film was their incredible sense of community, and their willingness to tough it out together. The cause that spurred them on was immediate and personal - one woman’s loss became the community’s crusade. I remember vividly how I cried at the end of that film, when the Calendar Girls’ ‘representatives’ returned to their tiny village after a somewhat fraught trip to L.A. They arrive back home, as the monthly W.I. meeting is about to start, they rush into the hall shyly, but are enthusiastically gathered into the fold, just in time to join in the singing of “Jerusalem.”

Unlike my mother, two sisters, and even my sister-in-law, who are all proud sorority sisters, I never had the good fortunate to join a sorority in my undergraduate or post-graduate days. And, truth be told, from what I could see, and I confess my experience is limited, the sorority scene that I have witnessed over the years had more to do with partying with frat boys and being “the pretty clique,” than supporting or engendering community. So, perhaps, at this stage in my life, I am searching for sisterhood, beyond the standard bonds of family or friendship - an “incorporated sisterhood,” or sisterhood with a mission statement.

It’s about community. And I above all else, I want to be a part of my little community here in Barford, and not just live and breathe in Barford. As I learned in my wonderful, wonderful, blessed community at St. Luke’s back in New York, the only way one can feel and truly be a part of a community is to get involved. So, I have rolled up my sleeves and joined the Barford W.I.

When I told my dear friend and mentor, Sue (a.k.a. “Greatest Directing Teacher on Earth”), that I’d joined the W.I. she chuckled and said, “How English of you. You must be settling in well.” Indeed, I think I am. However, I don’t intend to just settle into my new status as a Barford W.I. member. (I don’t need to state that I was the youngest person in the room last night, do I?) I refuse to be merely a casual observer, I intend to get involved.

The Barford W.I. is a group of terrific, dynamic, engaged and engaging women. I think I shall come away from this experience with far more than just two jars of green tomato chutney and blackberry jam.

Post Script -

Shall hopeful see a few of my new “W.I. chums” at the “Harvest Supper” tonight at St. Peter’s Church.  The D.E.B. just phoned, he has dutifully completed a short Sainsbury’s run for us. He had to also gather a few things for us to take along to the Harvest Supper tonight. The Harvest Supper is a fundraiser for St. Peter’s Clock and Bell that both need repair, and a means of gathering goods for the winter for those in need.