Tags
A Christmas Carol, Bayeux Tapestry, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Llandrindod Golf Course, Llandrindod Wells Victorian Festival, MRI, Running
Throughout July and August I have enjoyed a Summer break from performing, and spent plenty of time with the family. Once the children had finished their school year, and spent a week rediscovering the boredom of freedom, we packed up our car and headed to France for a week. I tell you this not to give you a blow by blow account of our holidays, but to describe a visit to an exhibit that I have wanted to see since my childhood: The Bayeux Tapestry.
Bayeux
In England the date 1066 is as well known to schoolchildren as 1776 is in America, for it was the last time an English Monarch was defeated by a foreign invader. With the death of King Edward the Confessor there was a dispute over the throne of England and two contenders came to the fore: firstly, Harold Godwinson, a Saxon King, who claimed that Edward (his brother-in-law) had promised him the throne on his deathbed. Across the English Channel William, the Duke of Normandy, was somewhat irked for he was of the opinion that Edward (first cousin, once removed) had promised the throne to him. Not only that, but Harold had actually pledged an oath of allegiance to William, so when William heard that the crown of England has been placed on the the wrong head he drew up his plans to get it back.
Things moved quickly, William had a fleet of ships built in the small Normandy port of Dives (actually very close to our camping site), and in October 1066 sailed the channel with a well prepared army to confront Harold at Senlac Hill, near Hastings on the south coast. Harold’s forces were already weary having marched to the north east of England to defeat King Hardrada of Norway (yet another pretender to the throne) before marching all the way back to the south to meet the Normans. Usually conflicts over sovereignty develop into wars lasting many years (the aforementioned Revolutionary War lasting for 8 years), but the Battle of Hastings, which would change Britain forever, lasted less than a day with William defeating Harold on 14 October 1066. Anyone who would like a more genuinely Dickensian account of that time can read Chapter VII of Charles’s ‘A Child’s History of England’.
Much of our knowledge of that day comes from a remarkable artefact The Bayeux Tapestry, which is in fact an embroidery, not a tapestry, and was probably made in Canterbury, not in Bayeux. The tapestry (let us call it that) is 230 feet long and 20 inches tall and details in almost comic-book form events leading up to, during and the end of the battle. It has lasted in remarkable condition for almost 1,000 years and is now displayed in a museum in Bayeux itself, not far from the grand cathedral in which it was originally shown to the Norman populus. When I was a boy at school I was fascinated by the tapestry, and we had a book at home which showed each scene on a separate page, complete with a description of the action shown: I devoured that book. The most thumbed page being the famous scene in which King Harold is slain, apparently from an arrow in his eye, although many historians believe that the injury was not mortal, and he was in fact later hacked to pieces by Norman swordsmen.
Recently our eldest daughter has been studying the Battle of Hastings, and as the city of Bayeux was less than an hour’s drive from our site, the opportunity to see the real thing up close was too good to pass up,
On a rainy day we queued beneath bedraggled flags of the Normandy region: two golden lions passant guardant on a red background – a heraldic device that still appears on Britain’s Royal standard, albeit now with an extra lion added. The tapestry itself is stretched out in a huge U shape, and every visitor is given an audio guide, meaning that the crowd shuffles along at the same pace as if they are all on a conveyor belt. I have to say that I was profoundly moved to be so close to the cloth, and had to remind myself to not get too caught up in the story but to look closely at the design and stitching created by the fingers of nuns in the 11th century. I really felt that I was almost touching history: an incredible day.
Running out of Puff, and Running Back into it Again
Another very pleasing aspect to this Summer has been my return to running. Back at the beginning of the year my various medical issues resulting from my bout of Covid took all of my energy from me. Various tests and scans at the time discovered that my blood pressure had soared to dangerous levels, and that I had suffered a carotid dissection (a small split in the carotid artery), and that I would need to be on medication to control the blood pressure as well as Aspirin to thin my blood until the doctors were certain that the split had healed. I was advised that exercise was vital, and since I had trained for – and completed – a half marathon in October, running seemed to be my best bet, but I discovered that as soon as I started I was breathless, and had to slow to a walk, even half a mile was a struggle. Of course the walking was a positive, so I kept at it, but I became so frustrated watching other runners pounding the streets with apparent ease – even some of the less fit folk seemed to be able to keep up a good pace without stopping. At first I convinced myself that just by getting out regularly my fitness would develop and I would soon be running properly again, but it never happened, I just became more and more depressed about the whole thing. I came to the conclusion that my fitness regime would now be of a more pedestrian pace.
A couple of months ago I was called back to the hospital for a follow-up MRI scan,to see if the dissection had healed completely. For the second time in my life I slid into the huge white tube and endured over an hour of a science fiction-style soundscape with whirs and clicks and beats and tones all assaulting my mind. As with the first time I had such a scan my thoughts were for others who had lain on that same table, and whose lives were changed forever by the news they received. I had a deep sense of melancholy and sadness, not out of fear for myself, but for them.
Fortunately my results showed that all was well and when I spoke to the consultant he told me that I could stop taking the Asprin. I was still going for my hybrid walk/run sessions, and a few weeks after changing the medication I discovered that I could run further, before needing to walk. The change was hardly noticeable at first, but little by little I realised I had higher energy levels. Over the past two weeks the progress has speeded up remarkably, and the walk/run ratio has tipped firmly in favour of running, and I am getting back to where I was a year ago. I couldn’t do a half marathon, there is still a lot of work to do to get back to those levels of fitness, but I am beginning to think of myself as a runner once more. My puff has returned!
LLandrindod Wells
On Tuesday 22 August it was time to turn my attentions back to work, as I was booked to return to the mid-Wales spa town of Llandrindod Wells to appear at the annual Victorian Festival there. I have been visiting Llandrindod for many years and the festival has become a regular feature in my calendar, but the 2023 performance would have particular significance for me. When I first spoke to the festival organisers earlier in the year they mentioned to me that the theme for the ’23 festival was ‘Christmas in August’, and I naturally suggested that a performance of A Christmas Carol would be appropriate, which meant that I would be starting my 30th anniversary tour in Wales.
At home in Oxfordshire I loaded the car with all of the props and costume that will become so familiar over the coming months, and set off at around 10.30am. I had a nagging doubt that I had forgotten something, but couldn’t for my life think what it was. 2 costume, complete with shirts, socks and shoes: check. Table and chair: check. Stool: check. Top hat and cane: check, check. Copies of my book: check. No, I was fairly certain that I had everything, and the relative emptiness in the back of the car must just have been because I had become used to hauling my old heavy reading desk about for the various performances of Nickleby and Mr Dickens is Coming.
All went well with the journey, and I skirted to the south of Birmingham and set West towards Wales, stopping briefly for lunch at Shifnal (where Charles Dickens took Little Nell and her grandfather in The Old Curiosity Shop, and it was in the Village Church that Nell died, a scene that prompted Oscar Wilde to write: “One must have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without laughing”)
Back on the road and driving past the Ironbridge gorge I was quietly running through my lines when one word suddenly flashed through my mind: HATSTAND! That is what I had failed to pack. It was too late to go back, so I pulled over and sent a message to the event organisers asking if it may be possible to find a hatstand somewhere in Llandrindod – maybe a hotel, or antique shop would help. I felt very foolish, but there was nothing I could do and on I drove.
Every aspect of my visits to Llandrindod is familiar, and I did not need assistance from my navigation app to pull up outside the Portland guest house which is my home in the town. I was greeted at the door by Ruth, the proprietor, and was soon relaxing on the bed in room 5 on the top floor (that ascent becomes a little more tiring each year).
I was due at the theatre at 6pm, and since the journey from The Portland to The Albert Hall is little more that 500 yards I left my room at 5.50. It was lovely to be back in the beautiful little theatre which is celebrating its own anniversary this year, as it opened as a place of entertainment in 1923. I was greeted by theatre manager Ben, and his father Jon, who run the venue with a sense of love, duty and respect for the old building. Since the pandemic, and due to the ever-increasing cost of living crisis, theatres are struggling at the moment, but at the Albert Hall they are trying anything to get people through the doors. Ben told me of their low-cost cinema events, where tickets are sold for a mere 50p, meaning that visitors can see a movie, have some popcorn and a drink all for under £2.00. The theatre doesn’t make a profit on these events, but they do get bums on seats, and many of those bums will be attached to people who haven’t visited before, and now know of the Albert Hall’s existence.
As I entered I noticed that some large silver helium balloons, relics of some celebration or other, had floated to the foyer’s ceiling and were stuck incongruously there.
As to my preparations, I unloaded my furniture, and placed the furniture on the stage. Unfortunately there wasn’t a hatstand available, but the guys in the theatre managed to find a small wooden table that would suffice. I had sent Ben the script marked up with my sound cues and the seven audio files, and he was well prepared for the evening ahead. I ran through the script with him, just making sure that we both knew what we were doing, and then I started running through my lines on stage. I hadn’t performed A Christmas Carol since my final 2022 performance at Leicester Guildhall, at which time I hadn’t been feeling well, and knew I had to see a doctor as soon as possible. With those negative memories in my mind, I was actually very nervous about performing this week, so the opportunity to be on an empty stage and run through the lines was a very necessary one. I had been running through the lines during the previous weeks at all, but now was the time to release them into their natural habitat.
After twenty minutes or so of rehearsing I retreated to my dressing room and listened to the gently increasing murmur from the auditorium as the audience gathered. At 7.30 Ben appeared to check that I was ready to go, and I took my place in the wings, and listened while Queen Victoria was announced, (a long tradition of the Victorian Festival). With the formalities completed, Ben brought the house lights down, and the opening music cue played…….It felt so good to back with Ebenezer and Bob and Fred, and all of the others, so natural. All of the moves and gestures came right back to me, as did the little asides to the audience and thew whole show ran very smoothly and successfully . When I took my bows the audience were cheering and whooping in a most un-Victorian manner!
I returned to my dressing room, elated, and having taken some time to reflect on the evening, started to change. I was visited by the Mayor of Llandrindod, who offered her thanks and congratulations, and posed for a selfie in the wings. Eventually I gathered all of my things together and returned to the stage, where I started to carry the furniture to the front of the theatre ready to load my car.
I was surprised to find that the theatre had chosen this moment to retrieve the large silver balloons from the lobby, and even more surprised that they had just left them lying on the pavement outside. Surprising, also, was the fact that a large group of costumed characters were kneeling around the silver mass, apparently with a sense of concern and bewilderment. It then became apparent to me that the silver was not from the balloons, but a first-aid blanket covering a figure on the floor. A member of the audience, one of the Festival’s stalwart supporters and organisers, had fallen backwards down the steps and cracked her head on the pavement, she was bleeding and an ambulance had been called. This was truly a shocking way to finish the evening, and it cast a pall over proceedings.
It has been a tradition in Llandrindod that after my show I and others from the festival are invited back to the house of my friend John,where we share a Chinese takeaway and gently wind down. It is always a fun evening, but this year it was slightly more sombre. We regularly got updates from the theatre where the patient still lay outside. There is much to celebrate about Britain’s National Health Service, but on this evening its inadequacies were shown in the most brutal way, for an ambulance would not be able to attend the scene for 4-5 hours, during which time it would be impossible to move the lady in case of spinal or head injuries. Fortunately one of our fellow guests was the Mayor, and she pulled a few strings and called a friend who had just come off shift as a first responder. We heard in due course that she was able to get the patient moved and driven to Hereford Hospital, where she could be assessed and treated overnight.
It had not been a good week for the Festival, for Rita, the lady who portrays Queen Victoria, had fallen onto her face the day before and damaged her nose!
I had time to myself on Wednesday morning, and had booked myself a round of golf at the local course, as has become tradition. I arrived at 9.00am, to be greeted by Phil Davies, the pro, who has become a friend over the past few years. As I would need to be in Victorian costume for an event that afternoon, I asked if I could use the club’s locker room to change in, and we agreed to do some quirky photos of me in costume on the course, for his social media pages (as we did last year also). The golf was my usual mix of impressive and woeful, but that was all irrelevant, considering the amazing scenery that surrounds Llandrindod and that makes a round of golf so pleasurable and restorative.
I finished at around 12, and having done some shopping in town, and eaten a lunch of fish and chips in one of the hotel bars, I returned to the golf club where I changed into my costume and went to the putting green. Phil joined me, and we spent 15 minutes or so taking pictures with the magnificent scenery and moody clouds as a backdrop.
My afternoon commitment was in the centre of town, on the green. As the festival’s theme was Christmas in August, I had been asked to talk about my show – in fact the event was a perfect opportunity to give a presentation based on my new book: ‘Gerald Dickens: My Life on the Road With A Christmas Carol’, which unfortunately has yet to be printed.
As 3 o’clock neared, so all of the Victorian character started to assemble in a beautifully planted garden, complete with a raised bed of red geraniums in the centre (I mention this, as geraniums were Charles Dickens’ favourite flowers, and the beds at Gad’s Hill Place were filled with them). The various attendees looked stunning, and we all attracted a great deal of attention from various passers-by. Fresh strawberries were piled onto dishes and champagne corks popped. The news of Jan, the lady who had fallen the night before, was positive, she had been patched up and sent home, and even then was worrying about details of the festival, which was good to know. More and more guests arrived,until one gentleman started to manoeuvre his disability scooter around the path, but caught a wheel in a flower bed and the whole thing tipped over onto its side, trapping him against the earth and rose bushes: for the third time in as many days a crowd of Victorian characters were gathered around one of their own, laying prone on the ground. Fortunately on this occasion there was no injury or need for first air, and in no time the scooter and rider where upright again, but it did seem as if the 2023 festival was cursed in some way!
My talk was fun, and everyone seemed to enjoy what I had to say – Naturally the talk featured many of my old anecdotes – the Nativity cockerel, the first reading of ACC in 1993, losing my book and performing from memory in 96, and then talking about the modern show and sharing a few tricks of the trade (the new book has my complete acting notes, explaining how and why I perform in the way I do).
When I finished I bowed to generous applause and then set to signing copies of Dickens and Staplehurst, and some of the old A Christmas Carol Souvenir Brochures. It was around 4.30 by the time I said my goodbyes and climbed into the car to head for home.
As ever it had been a fun trip to mid-Wales, but I was rather relieved to depart unschathed!
Postscript
A day after I returned home I was out running in some woodland, when my foot caught a tree root, and I fell forward grazing my knee and elbow – Llandrindod ’23 had taken its latest victim!
I wish Jan a speedy recovery from her fall and hope that she will be back in costume with the rest of them as the week continues.