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Last week over two days I was transported back to my youth, specifically to the mid 1970s and the town in which I was born and raised, Royal Tunbridge Wells. The circumstance that took me back was a sad one, although bringing back very happy memories, for I travelled home to attend a funeral.

In September 1975 I moved up from my Primary School to a Secondary Modern School which was called Huntley’s School for Boys. It wasn’t an academic school by any means, and was renowned as the roughest school in town, maybe not the perfect atmosphere for a shy, sensitive little boy to be thrown into, but my brother had attended before me and had thrived there, so my parents decided that I would follow. In no time I met another boy called Chris, Chris Hooper, and we shared the common interests of cricket and theatre, and soon became close friends. It was Chris who suggested that I join a theatre group that he belonged to, called DTW (Design Theatre Workshop), and he also suggested that together we ask a local cricket club if we could join them, and so we became junior members of The Borderer’s Cricket Club (so called because their two grounds straddled the border of Kent and Sussex).

Over the years Chris and I became close friends, and after a school day was done we would inevitably end up at his house or mine. His parents, Jean and Tony, were so kind to me and almost treated me like another son. If I were at their house in the Hawkenbury area of Tunbridge Wells, they would feed me, and Jean’s custard left a lifelong impression on me! They watched shows that we were both in, they came to our cricket matches. I should say that of course my parents did the same – there was never a feeling that I felt I needed surrogate parents, it was just that the Hooper family were generous, kind people.

On one occasion the Hooper clan decided to stage a small pantomime in their living room, in order to raise money for charity. The show was Aladdin, and I played the genie. The play was directed by Chris’s sister Sandra, whilst their younger brother Peter took the role of the villain. I don’t recall what role Chris himself had, but I remember his father providing musical accompaniment on the piano. We did two shows, one in the afternoon for residents in the area, and then an early evening show for our families. Peter remembers my father sitting in the front row engaging fully in the requisite audience participation, bellowing ‘HE’S BEHIND YOU!’ and ‘OH YES HE IS!’ at the top of his voice.

With school years long passed, Chris and I stayed in touch, and he eventually married a New Zealand girl called Sue. After periods living in both countries, they finally settled in the southern hemisphere. Chris’s trips back to the UK are sadly few and far between, but whenever he comes home to visit the family we always try to meet up and play some golf (at which he is always victorious).

Last October it was with great sadness that I learned that Chris’s mother Jean had died in a care home. Chris came home for the funeral, and stayed for a while but unfortunately I was busy touring and couldn’t get to join the family for the commemoration of her life.

Just a few weeks ago the news came through that Chris’s dad, Tony had also died at the age of 92. The first half of the year is traditionally quiet for me and it was a sense of relief that I would be able to attend the funeral service which, for me, would honour both. Having used all of his available annual leave, Chris wasn’t able to make the trip. He was able to justify not coming home in the knowledge that his father, an accountant by trade, would have regarded travelling half way around the world for a single afternoon quite ridiculous! Chris and Sue would take themselves to a peaceful beauty spot in New Zealand where they could honour Tony in their own way.

The funeral was on June 6th, which was also the day on which the bravery of D-Day was commemorated. I drove down to Kent, and rather than following the tedious M25 orbital motorway all the way, I turned off and took some well-remembered minor roads through the hedgerows of Kent. On the way I passed Winston Churchill’s home at Chartwell, which seemed appropriate, especially as I was listening to the very moving ceremonies that were taking place on the Normandy beaches. I arrived in Tunbridge Wells in very good time, so spent some time just driving around the town, which hasn’t changed an awful lot, other than the predominance of new coffee shops, and barbers, which seems to be the case in most town centres these days.

Having had some lunch I made my way to the crematorium, where I met up with the Hooper family, which although under such sad circumstances, was a lovely thing to do. I am not going to talk about the ceremony itself, for that was a private and family time of mourning for the family, but as I drove away after the service I found myself passing the Bayham Road Cricket Ground, one of the home pitches of the Borderer’s Cricket Club, where Chris and I had played some epic matches (I seem to think that he recounts a tale of having a superb bowling performance on that ground, although Chris’s stories can sometimes grow through retelling: something that I would never do……).

After the service, we all went to a Church in the town centre where we had a second service, this one more a celebration of Tony and Jean’s life, followed by an afternoon tea reception. During the second ceremony a video that Chris had recorded was shown, and it was very special to see my old friend again.

My hotel in the town was The Royal Wells Inn, on the Mount Ephraim ridge. The town of Tunbridge Wells is basically situated in a valley between Mount Ephraim to the North, and Forest Road to the South. My childhood home was just off Mount Ephraim, whereas Chris’s was on the Forest Road side, and on one occasion we both took mirrors up to send light signals to each other. I was so excited to see the answering flashes from across the town that I ran back to our house as fast as I could to phone Chris and to confirm how successful the experiment was. Rather than speaking to Chris, the phone was answered by his sister Sandra, who told me that he wasn’t in, he was up at Forest Road with a mirror: the poor lad was still busily manipulating his mirror with no idea that I had abandoned my station!

I had dinner at the hotel, and in the evening I met up with another old friend, Paul Standen. When Chris and I first joined the DTW theatre group, it was Paul who was one of the leaders, and over the years we collaborated on many plays, often with me acting and he directing, although he was a fantastic actor himself, giving an amazing performance in Peter Shaffer’s harrowing play, Equus. Later, when I was starting my ‘Dickens’ career, it was Paul who became my first manager and agent, setting up the first trip to America for me, as well as touring in the UK, travelling to Yorkshire in an old Transit Van packed with lights and stands.

Paul and I hadn’t seen each other for many years, but in no time the reminiscences and anecdotes were flowing. We also talked about the changes in our lives and families since last we met and there was much to discuss. It was so good to see Paul again, and hopefully I can perform in Kent soon, so that he can come to a show (no doubt he will offer director’s notes on the performance, which I will receive gratefully!)

I was staying in Tunbridge Wells because I had a commitment in the seaside town of Hastings the next day, which was a drive of only 40 minutes or so. I didn’t have to be at the venue until 12.30, so I had most of the morning to myself, and a beautiful morning it was to be sure.

Having enjoyed a breakfast ordered from a menu (somewhat rare these days, so quite the treat), I walked into my childhood. Down the steep path across the common to Church road, passed Jordan Cottage where items of Tunbridge ware used to be made. Tunbridge ware is a very specific form of marquetry, much sought after and collected today.

From there I walked through the centre of the town, passing the library, Monson Road (where I used to swim in the public baths every Saturday morning), up Calverley Road where once I had led a giant Loch Ness Monster between cheering crowds (you need to buy the book for an explanation to that!). Then I strolled through Calverley Crescent and past the huge villas built by Decimus Burton in the Victorian years.

Into the public gardens where each Easter the Dickens family rolled decorated eggs down a huge hill (although it didn’t seem nearly as huge now), and into the High Street before making my way to the spot where the town was created – the chalybeate spring in The Pantiles.

The waters around the area are rich in iron, and in 1606 a young nobleman discovered a natural spring. He returned to court and told everyone there about the health giving qualities of the waters, and soon visitors arrived each season. A small community grew around the spring, and a fashionable colonnade was built so that the rich folk could promenade in their finest fashions, and that is what is known as The Pantiles. At the spring itself, a large ceramic bowl was placed over the water and a lady known as ‘The Dipper’ would ladle the efficacious liquid into small goblets in return for a small charge. Of course it was only the gentry who availed themselves of this service, their servants had to make do by kneeling in the mud a few yards away and cupping their hands into the overflow.

As a young actor I used to portray a Georgian street sweeper called Thomas Cobblestone, and regaled visitors with little historical nuggets, as well as encouraging them to take the services of The Dipper. I was quite shocked last week when I discovered that the gentrified part of the spring has been covered over with paving stones, leaving only the overflow side for visitors to admire. And, would you believe, where once the fops and ladies took the waters, there now stands a vending machine with TW-branded water bottles available for sale. ‘Hurrumph!’ said Disgusted, of Tunbridge Wells.

The Pantiles itself was looking in fine fettle with lots of cafes and restaurants, each of which provided outdoor seating. On this sunny morning folk were sat enjoying coffees and pastries in a most European manner. Some were meeting socially, some were conducting alfresco business meetings, all seemed relaxed and happy.

From The Pantiles I then took a series of paths through the beautiful woods that make up part of Tunbridge Wells Common, and remembering the time when as a frightened child I discovered a motionless figure laying in the undergrowth. I had run to the police station and told them that I had found a dead body, but when we returned however, they recognised the man as a frequent customer of theirs. He had a habit of sleeping wherever he fell having spent the day contemplating an ever diminishing bottle of whisky.

From the common I walked back towards the town to The Trinity Theatre, where many of DTW’s productions were staged. I had a cup of coffee, before returning to the stage and looking up into the auditorium. So many memories came flooding back to me. The stage at Trinity is at floor level, with the seats rising steeply, and whenever I am in a venue with the same arrangement I get very nostalgic.

I returned to the hotel and checked out, and then started to drive towards Hastings. I was very lucky in that there were roadworks causing heavy traffic on the two main routes out of Tunbridge Wells, so my satnav suggested that I took a cross country route through the villages of Frant, Wadhurst, Stonegate and Ticehurst, before joining the A21 road to the coast.

My appointment in Hastings was at a Care Home to perform for the residents there. I had been invited a few weeks before by the daughter of a teacher from Huntley’s School, who had made vain attempts to instruct us in French. Jean Jurriannse had christened Chris and me ‘The Two Ronnies’ (after a popular UK comedy double act of the time), because the homework we handed in was always identical!

Jean is now 93, and had recently moved to the Hastings Court Care Home, to be near to her daughter, and she had asked if it would be possible for me to pop by and visit sometime. Her daughter, Helena, had suggested that I actually do a short presentation for the residents at the home, and so here I was.

Jean and Helena were waiting for me in the main hallway as I arrived, and once I had managed to work out how to sign in on the tablet near the door, I was able to give my former French teacher a big hug. She said, ‘your eyes still crinkle up at the edges like they always used to do at school – usually when you had done something that you shouldn’t have done!’

Helena and Jean had invited me for lunch, so we were shown to a small room upstairs, and chatted away, catching up and reminiscing as we had a bowl of chicken soup, a plate of fish and chips and some apple pie. It was during lunch that we were introduced to Dan, who looks after a lot of the activities that the residents are offered at Hastings Court. His face was quite familiar, and sure enough another staff member mentioned he is an actor and writer who used to appear in a very popular UK sit-com. His father, also a very well known actor, who appeared in a different very popular UK sit-com, had suffered from dementia, and Dan cared for him until his death; at that point he decided to devote his life to working in the care industry and it has obviously suited him down to the ground. He was cheeky, straight-talking and fun – it is was clear that the residents absolutely adore him.

As show time approached, Jean and Helena gave me a quick tour of the building, even introducing me to some tiny, fluffy partridge chicks that had hatched only a day or so before. Tour over, we went to the room where I was to perform. A few residents were watching the end of a film on a huge TV, and others started to gather, many being pushed in their chairs by staff. Dan was meanwhile trying to find some suitable images on YouTube that could act as a backdrop and eventually settled on a series of animation backdrops featuring scenes from A Christmas Carol. It took quite a while to get everyone in, the logistics of manoeuvring bulky wheelchairs into place being rather complicated, but eventually Dan stood to welcome me, and off I went.

I had put together a talk featuring stories of CD’s life, interspersed with various readings, without getting too heavy or wordy. I had a section featuring some of the best opening passages (A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield and Bleak House), and another about the fact that all of the teenage heroines that people his novels were based on his sister in law Mary Hogarth, who died in his arms at the age of seventeen.

Naturally the response was not lively, but there was an energy in the room that encouraged me to give my all throughout the 45 minute event. Most of all I loved seeing Jean sat in the front row, watching me as she had when I was a school boy giving a talk at the school assembly (usually about motor racing or cricket – most definitely NOT about Charles Dickens!). I brought the session to a gentle end, rejecting my original idea of closing with the final words of a Tale of Two Cities: ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.’ which I thought may not be entirely appropriate., and then there was the most wonderful applause, followed by questions. Plenty of questions. The session continued and we had a lovely conversation which ranged over many topics as various members of the audience chimed in with new avenues to chat about. Dan was there with his camera, and I posed for lots of photographs with a very happy group of people.

Finally my time at Hastings Court came to a close and I said goodbye to Helena and Jean, as well as the staff who had watched my show and made me feel so welcome. Dan told me how much he had enjoyed the presentation, which meant a great deal, for it is always good to receive the praise and affirmation of another actor.

And so my two days wallowing in nostalgia came to an end, and I joined the Friday night traffic on the M25 as I drove back to Oxfordshire.