Something to be proud of...

I made a vow nearly three years ago that I would treat the DEB to a trip to China for our joint birthday in August 2012. It's been a challenge, but I've done it! I have squirreled away all my pounds and random pence for the better part of a year and a half, and I have just today made the final payment on our mega-excursion to the Far East!


It is a wonderful and much-needed sense of achievement. I set my mind to it, and I did it! Despite my constant and ongoing struggle to find consistent work. 


I did it. 


And, it was worth all the blood, sweat and tears to see the DEB's face on New Year's Eve, when he opened his fortune cookie to find that he would be going on a holiday of a lifetime! It's something he's always wanted to do, and I thought, why not, I'm going to make that happen for him!


That's not to say I'm not looking forward to it, too. China has definitely been on my "Must Go To" list, as well, although right now, I must say, I'd love a holiday somewhere hot and sunny, with a beach and a pool!


But, I sure this trip will be unforgettable. It already has been. Sometimes, it's the little victories in life that mean the most.

More on 'Song of Songs'

Timothy West & Prunella Scales

 “I have a good eye, and, I can see a church by daylight.” – Much Ado About Nothing

Recently, whilst leading a party of university students around Westminster Abbey, I was lost for words. A precise word, in fact. Seeking to describe my fondness for churches, I invented a new word: Ecclesiophile. An ecclesiophile is “one who indulges in Ecclesiophilia; a lover of churches, church buildings and architecture”.

Although initially delighted by my own cleverness – surely there’s some sort of prize for contributing positively to the English language? – I assumed  ecclesiophile could hardly have been my own invention. However, after hours of scouring the online pages of the  Oxford English Dictionary, the mother of all dictionaries, I struggled to find this term or any comparable alternative. (Suggestions welcome!) Ironically, while ecclesiophile is not in general usage, its opposite, Ecclesiophobe – one who fears churches and church buildings—is.

Without a doubt, whether it is the correct term or not, Warwickshire is an ecclesiophile’s paradise! There are roughly 300 historic churches in the county, many with great historical importance, all beautiful edifices of faith, history and heritage. 

A recent survey conducted by the Warwickshire and Coventry Historic Churches Trust  revealed that 86% of the British public visited a church in the past 12 months, illustrating the significance of these buildings and, no doubt, the services and the events that take place within them, to British cultural life. The value of an individual church to its locality is of course unique to each community. And now, more than ever, Warwickshire churches need support from their local communities.

Historic church buildings in Britain do not receive government support for maintenance and upkeep, so the responsibility falls to parishioners to think creatively to raise much-needed finances. As a member of the Barford Church PCC, this is an issue I have come to appreciate quite profoundly. I love that “little grey church” across the road, and hope my flair for “show biz” can help the PCC as it pursues imaginative ways of raising funds.

Our wonderful rector, David Jessett, can rest assured that we won’t be following the example of All Saints Church in Nuneaton, who, for a fundraising fête in 2008, placed their fearless vicar, the Reverend John Plant, in the stocks to be pelted by parishioners hurling wet sponges! Rather, there’s talk here of creating a “Friends of Barford Church” society, and plans to continue developing a programme of high profile arts events.

I’ve taken the lead on one such event - a dramatic reading of the biblical book Song of Songs featuring legendary performers Prunella Scales and Timothy West. I daren’t claim that I shall be ‘directing’ this dynamic duo, as they need no direction at all! But, I’m honoured to have this opportunity to collaborate with them, and greatly appreciate their support of our little village church.

As every good Ecclesiophile knows, historic church buildings are timelessly beautiful facets of everyday English landscapes, an integral part of British cultural heritage, and well worth whatever efforts we can make to keep them standing.

---------

 “Song of Songs”, a dramatic reading starring Prunella Scales & Timothy West, presented at St. Peter’s Church, Barford on 1 July 2012, 8:00 PM. Tickets £15 (inc a glass of wine) available at Presto Classical in Leamington Spa (01926-317025)

One of the 5,000 things I'm working on at the moment...

Anniversary thoughts

As our anniversary falls on a weekday this year, our plans have been a bit sporadic. We started celebrating over the weekend with a day trip to London to see our chum, Lucy Briggs-Owen, in the fantastic West End production of Noises Off.

The show was hilarious, and we were ever so proud of Lucy, who did a superific job in the role of Brooke/Vicki. Here she is outside the theatre, in front of the giant poster of herself!

Lucy Briggs-Owen outside the Novello Theatre

The DEB and I love our days out in London, which inevitable include a stroll and a meal in Covent Garden. To be honest, being anywhere, together is a treat and a celebration in itself!

On today, our special day, we've spent a lovely, leisurely, sunny morning together, with cards and pressies (a beautiful pair of pearl and diamond stud earrings for me; a pair of pewter cufflinks for him!) and a champagne brunch out on our sunny deck. All this before the DEB rushes off for a business meeting in Sweden!

Our celebrations over the coming weekend, which is of course, Jubilee Weekend!
Barford is gearing up for high-spirited festivities, and I am of course doing my part. More on that a bit later!

Three years ago today

No sooner met but they look'd; 

No sooner look'd but they lov'd;  

No sooner lov'd but they sighed;

 No sooner sighed but they ask'd one another the reason; 

No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy:

And in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to Marriage.

(As You Like It, V.ii.) 

It was on a bright, beautiful sunny day in May, a day very much like today, that I married my DEB in that little grey church here in Barford.
I can hardly believe it has been three years already! It was truly the happiest day of my life!
There were so many moments to cherish, and one the fondest for me was when my Darling English Boy stood before our families and friends and cited these lines from Shakespeare's As You Like It.
Without a doubt, there is truly nothing more sexy than a man who knows his Shakespeare!

Shakespeare's ambassador

Cicely Berry

“Thou must be my ambassador to them.” – Troilus and Cressida, III.iii.

The journey I make to Cicely Berry’s house is short, but sensational. Trundle from Barford toward Wellesbourne, whiz through that tiny, bustling village - pass the Co-op, then a sharp left. Suddenly and stunningly, the Warwickshire landscape opens wide to view, in all its verdant lushness. On a rainy, Spring day, the flooded road to Walton forces me to inch along its winding road gingerly, under sudden squalls and through pond-sized puddles, whilst skillfully avoiding the oncoming path of less cautious drivers.

Swish, swish, swish  – and then finally I arrive at the beautiful, Victorian schoolhouse that is Cicely’s home. An appropriately dramatic route to visit a woman whose remarkable life has been full of far more extraordinary and epic journeys, as one of Shakespeare’s most passionate ambassadors.

As the legendary Voice Director of the RSC, Cicely has spent over forty years training and coaching a pantheon of stars, politicians, and royalty: HRH Prince Charles and Neil Kinnock (“I tried to teach them both how to relax,” she said.), Judi Dench, Sean Connery, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen – the list of her pupils is truly inexhaustible. However, driven by her uncompromising politics, Cicely’s true mission has been that of sharing the joy and pleasure of Shakespeare around the globe.

A tiny, but formidable octogenarian, Cicely regularly travels far from this bucolic setting, with its stunning views across the fields of Walton, to prisons, detention centres, and some of the most remote and dangerous areas on the planet, such as Zagreb, Zimbabwe, China, Brazil (another inexhaustible list). She ventures to these places preaching the gospel of words, and using Shakespeare as a tool of empowerment. As she often explains, “Everyone has the right to speak. Everyone has a right to Shakespeare.” For Cicely, Shakespeare’s words are indispensible channels of expression, and she believes it is by freeing the voice through work on such full, rich and political language that ultimately allows one the freedom to express the inner self.

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

Over steaming cups of Lapsang souchong in Cicely’s cosy sitting room, I once again state my desire to accompany her on one of her trips to Brazil, to observe her in action. “Oh, that would be great, darling!” she says, enthusiastically. “But,” she adds ruefully, “You must understand, it is not safe at all.”   

A scene from Nos de Morro's "Two Gentlemen of Verona"

Since 1997, Cicely has conducted workshops with “Nós de Morro” (“We are from the hillside”), a theatre group based in Vidigal, one of the slums (favelas) in the hills that surround the beautiful and opulent city of Rio de Janeiro. It is a place run by drug cartels, replete with guns, gangs, and violence. It is place into which police do not venture except in armoured cars. And, yet, in this place, armed with the works of Shakespeare, Cicely confidently competes with the drug lords for the hearts, minds and souls of the favelados (young people living in the slums). Life is these favelas has been depicted vividly in the brutal, but truthful film City of God (2002). I remember watching that film, and being dumbstruck at the thought of precious Cicely traversing such a place. Indeed, if I’m honest, my heart sinks a little whenever she informs me she’s headed there.

As the world comes to Stratford-upon-Avon this month for start of the World Shakespeare Festival (happening here through October 2012), my thoughts are drawn to the indefatigable Warwickshire woman who champions Shakespeare around the world routinely. Her politics, her honesty, dedication and bravery (though she denies it) are awe-inspiring. She leads by example, wherever her Shakespeare journey takes her - and Shakespeare could not ask for a better messenger.

March mystery

“You would pluck out the heart of my mystery.” – Hamlet

There is a memorial plaque on the vestibule wall of St. Peter’s Church, Barford that always catches my eye. It commemorates two young lives cut tragically short:

Francis Bruckfield Byerley Died August 5, 1818, on his passage from the West Indies Aged 19                                                                       Octavia Charlotte Byerley Died September 26, 1818 Aged 17

Seeing their names week after week piqued my curiosity: who were these two, and what brought about their untimely ends? A mystery. And, what could be more English than a good mystery? Furthermore, what could be more pleasurable than finding one staring you in the face. Not a mystery of the “murder-in-the-drawing-room-with-a-candlestick” variety, perhaps, but still a riddle worthy of a bit of sleuthing.

My initial inquiries into the identity of pair led to a surprising revelation – a Barford connection to the famous Wedgwood firm and family. The two young Byerleys were children of Thomas Byerley (1747-1810), who was nephew of Josiah Wedgwood, and made a partner of the firm in 1790. The firm then traded as: “Josiah Wedgwood, Sons and Byerley”. Finding no further details about the tragic siblings, I allowed myself to imagine, rather romantically, that Francis was spirited away, having answered the clarion call of the sea, dying heroically in a valiant battle against pirates in the Caribbean; and poor, poor, Charlotte, languishing here on dry land, her demise precipitated by the loss of her dearly beloved brother, with a grief as deep as the sea.

The trail, as they say in detective novels, had run cold. Then, an email from the Wedgwood Museum archivist informing me that the Byerley association had further connections to reveal – and quite significant ones, indeed. Francis and Charlotte’s sisters: Katherine, Frances and Jane established The Byerley School in Barford in 1817. It was located at what is now Barford House, a private residence. The Byerley teachers and their pupils regularly attended St Peter’s Church, where the school held designated pews.

The Byerley sisters’ school was renowned for its curriculum and the literary talents of its teachers – each a published authoress. Their most successful by-product was Elizabeth Stevenson, who later became the great Victorian author and critic, Mrs. Gaskell. Although Knutsford in Cheshire prides itself on being the inspiration for Gaskell’s much-loved Cranford, Barford, in fact, holds a prior claim. Living in Barford during her most formative years, Gaskell studied the classics whilst enjoying rural life in this idyllic Warwickshire setting. This village no doubt set the seeds that would later blossom in Gaskell’s literary career. Gaskell was undoubtedly fond of Barford, it appears in [ITALICS START] My Lady Ludlow (1858), and is remembered affectionately in her novella, [ITALICS START] Lois the Witch (1859). That story’s tragic heroine, the orphaned Lois Barclay, is a happy Barfordian before her reluctant emigration to Salem, Massachusetts:

“In the dim sea mist which she gazed upon with aching eyes - there rose the little village church of Barford…the little, old, grey church…What would they think of it at home – real, dear home at Barford, in England? There they had loved her; there she had gone about, singing and rejoicing all the day long in the pleasant meadows by the Avonside.”

Like Mrs. Gaskell, and Lois Barclay, I, too, share an achingly sentimental love of Barford and its ‘little, old, grey church’. And, perhaps like me, the young Elizabeth Stevenson may have routinely spied a memorial plaque on the church’s vestibule wall that set her mind and curiosity adrift. To be sure, the greatest reward of every good mystery is the joy of unexpected discovery.