A Few Reflections From my Hotel Ward

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Atlanta, Charles Dickens, Covid19, Ebenezer Scrooge, Lebanon Ohio, Waynesville, Wilmington

Throughout this year’s tour, and with the realisation that I have been performing A Christmas Carol for nearly 30 years, I have been reflecting a lot about my life on the road.

So, while sitting alone in my hotel room letting Covid get out of my system, I thought that I would share a few of them. Some of these anecdotes feature in my new book, to be published next year, but I will try not to scoop myself too much.

When I first came to America, I was not a seasoned traveller, and everything was new to me. In fact, I seem to remember at my very first hotel I actually broke the key (yes, a real metal key), in the lock of my room. I can’t imagine what the manager of the hotel must have thought, or how much it must have cost him to replace the lock. I was in Atlanta, Georgia and had been booked to read at a very lavish open Christmas house in the affluent Buckhead area of the city. It was raining hard when I arrived, and everyone was rushing about trying to put the finishing touches to the decorations, and as one lady made her way into the large hallway, probably holding a poinsettia, she stopped, looked at me and said, ‘Oh, are you the Dickens guy? I thought you’d be older and fatter!’ and went on her way. At the time I thought that she seemed a little disappointed by my youth and slimness. However, nobody has said that for a few years now!

Another anecdote from my early years of touring came back to me just a few days ago when I spent time in Lenox with my friend Jeneene, she reminded me that she had come to see me in a show in Ohio, at the town of Waynesville, and there was quite a story behind that. Back in 1843 Charles Dickens had visited America and had travelled into Ohio, to the very edge of the great plains. He travelled by carriage and the roads were dusty and rough. He arrived in the small town of Lebanon where he stayed at the Golden Lamb Inn. Local legend has it that the great author was parched after his day’s travelling and requested a glass of brandy to satiate him. Unfortunately, the house was a temperance one, and not a drop of liquor would be served there. Dickens therefore marched down the main street to another inn but received the same response. Early next morning he departed, and that afternoon stopped in the even smaller town of Waynesville where once again he asked for brandy, only to rebuffed once more. He left in high dudgeon. When I was invited to perform there, the locals wanted to make amends, so that everywhere I visited I was given brandy – by the time I got to my evening performance in a high school auditorium I could hardly stand, let alone remember any lines!

I have performed in many of the great cities in America – New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Los Angeles, San Franscisco, Charlotte, Boston, Kansas City, Omaha, Birmingham, Memphis, Nashville, Dallas, San Antonia, Phoenix and others, but I have also performed in many small towns, where the sense of community and hospitality is so strong. I have stayed in great, lavish hotels, and in some wonderful B&Bs and private homes, I have performed in large theatres as well as in tiny halls, and it is that contrast that helps me keep the show fresh, because every day sees a new challenge, a new set of opportunities to adapt and change the performance to fit the venue, meaning that it never becomes routine or a chore. In fact, the last week has encompassed that perfectly: At Vaillancourt Folk Art I performed on a good-sized stage, beautifully decorated, with the audience on three sides of me, very close and intimate. In Virginia I was in the traditional setting of a beautiful theatre – lots of space on stage, and a large auditorium stretching back into the darkness, meaning that I had plenty of room to move and stretch the performance out, but the audience were invisible in the darkness, behind the lights. From Virginia to The Berkshires and a small Victorian parlour, performing on the floor at one end of the room, with the audience very close, and in that setting the show becomes more of an entertainment that may have been enjoyed by guests in the 1800s, and then to another large auditorium in Manchester, where once again I needed to expand and hold a larger hall.

I am sometimes asked if there are any performances that I have not been happy with, and one in particular always springs to mind. I was in Wilmington, Delaware and the venue was a lecture theatre, I think. From memory, and I may be mis-remembering this, I was on floor level with seating sloping up, but it may have been just a normal function room with chairs on the floor. It was grey, it was very grey, and illuminated by unforgiving and untheatrical fluorescent strip lighting. A chair and a stool and a hat rack were placed in the middle of the floor, rather lost in the large room. I remember that I wasn’t feeling great and that my voice was strained and tired (in those days I used to do 3 shows in a day, and had yet to realise how important it was to protect my throat, not only by using a good technique, but also via diet – I have since learned that consuming any dairy product in the hours before a show creates an extra thick lining to the throat making it much more difficult to project and therefore leads to straining). Much of the audience were on bust tours, and had the show included in their itinerary, so hadn’t necessarily made their own decisions to be there. I began, and it did not go well! I was sluggish and wasn’t engaging with the audience, nor they with me. As the show continued, I began to edit as I went on, cutting parts of dialogue, even whole scenes, just to bring this torture to an end for all of our sakes. I reached the final scene, and finished up with ‘God Bless Us, Every One!’ and bowed once. The front two rows were filled with people from one of the bus tours, and apparently worried that they would miss their departure time, they all stood up to leave, which lead to a most curious set of circumstances. The audience members further back saw everyone at the front standing, and must have assumed that they were giving me a standing ovation, so they stood also to join in. The bus tour at the front looked around and saw everyone else standing and applauding and obviously felt that they couldn’t leave, so continued to stand and clap. I, on stage, took a few more extremely embarrassed bows, for everyone in that room knew that my performance that day didn’t deserve such a response.

The show itself undergoes a constant process of change, and not intentionally, for very rarely do I sit down at the start of a season and think that I am going to change a scene. The alterations usually come to me during a show, sometimes by fortuitous accident, sometimes by a desire to improve how a scene works, how the characters are positioned on stage and are able to interact. For example, on this year’s tour I have decided that the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come will always point directly towards the grave, whereas in the past he has just pointed Scrooge to wherever they were travelling. In the opening scene I, in the character of Ebenezer, look down onto Jacob Marley’s grave, and at the end when he is being shown the vision of his own tombstone, it is in exactly the same spot. Even when Bob Cratchit is talking to his wife about the site of Tiny Tim’s grave, he gestures to that same corner of the stage, so that downstage right corner becomes the focus of Yet to Come’s journey – whatever else happens during his visit, it is all leading to one place.

So, when I return to a regular venue, the show has undergone what could be called a full cycle of change since my last visit, lots of tiny changes, maybe of movement, maybe of expression or tone, and regular audience members will say ‘It is different this year, you’ve changed it up a little!’, and I will have no idea, for I have just gone with the flow and let it develop.

I will finish this brief post (not knowing how long I may be rendered hors de combat, I need to save some stories), with an observation on how many versions of A Christmas Carol are being performed in theatres this year – I have never known a year like it. In England there must be about 30 different professional performances being advertised in many formats, including a few one man shows (‘Bah, Humbug!’ I say), but that really does tell you everything that you need to know about the enduring legacy, the durability, the importance and the sheer entertainment value of this amazing little book, which Charles Dickens hoped would haunt the houses of its readers pleasantly, ‘and no one wish to lay it’. Well, there is certainly no sign of that happening for a long time to come.

Perfect Preparation? Perhaps Not!

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Byers'Choice, Charles Dickens, Covid19, Doctor Marigold, Ebenezer Scrooge, Formula One, Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, Sikes and Nancy, The Signalman, Uber Eats, Ventfort Hall Mansion

Sunday 5 December saw my second day in The Berkshires and with one show at 3 o’clock it meant that there was a quiet morning in store. Maybe I could take a drive into the mountains, maybe I could explore some of the delightful neighbouring towns and villages, maybe I could breathe in the cold, clear, unpoluted air. No! There was a Grand Prix to watch! The TV coverage from Jeddah would begin at 11 am, and I had a little bit of housekeeping to do before then. Having bought breakfast (a yoghurt, granola and fruit collation, along with a muffin, orange juice and coffee), from the little Starbucks Cafe that the Courtyard hotels favour, I piled a load of laundry into a machine, and then took the car to a nearby grocery store to buy myself some lunch, as well as picking up a few other essentials.

As I drove back to the hotel, I noticed a signpost to ‘The Pleasant Valley Nature Reserve’, and apart from immediately breaking into my best Monkees impression, I thought that it sounded like a perfect way to spend a day off, as I would have on Monday.

I moved my laundry into the dryer, had another coffee and then settled down to watch the Formula One coverage. I know that this blog isn’t a Grand Prix fan site, but the events from Saudi Arabia did dominate my morning, so I can’t skip over it completely, but I promise I will not turn into an F1 journalist. The tension and excitement for the race, and the championship (this being the penultimate weekend) was obvious as soon as the coverage began, but before any action occurred there was a very moving tribute to the former team owner Frank Williams, who died last week. As all of the drivers and team members gathered around a large photo of Williams on the track, and a video compilation of his extraordinary career was shown, it was as if the current combatants were being told ‘honour him, perform to the standards that he would have performed to: win, but win well.’ It was a lesson that they should have heeded.

As the race time got closer, I popped my chicken and pasta dish into the microwave and settled down to watch. The start of the race passed without much incident, with Britain’s Lewis Hamilton leading easily and his great young Dutch rival, Max Verstappen stuck back in third, but then another driver crashed, and the race was stopped. Due to various decisions made by the two main teams, things were about to get spicey and at times downright dirty. Unfortunately for me, the delays to the race meant that I wouldn’t be able to watch it to its conclusion, as I actually had a show to do!

I continued listening to the coverage via my phone, until I once again pulled up at Ventfort Hall, where in the parking lot I was greeted by an audience member, who had arrived very early, saying ‘You must be Mr Dickens, I recognise you from your picture. Good luck today!’ That was very nice way to arrive and reminded me that I was there to entertain.

In the house Hayley and Chris were making the preparations for the afternoon and I checked that all of the furniture and props were in the right place, before retiring to my spacious dressing room, where I once again put the race coverage on as I dressed. Eventually, Lewis Hamilton emerged triumphant, with Max in 2nd place, but it didn’t sound a nice race with everyone playing every underhand trick that they could to gain an advantage. There was dangerous driving, there was bizarre driving, there was winging from the teams to the race director, who, in turn, sounded confused and weak, bartering with the Red Bull team over the severity of a particular penalty. Although incredibly exciting, it didn’t show F1 to the world in a good light. The final upshot was that Lewis and Max go into the final race next weekend absolutely level on points.

Fortunately, the race finished at around 2.20, which meant I had time to re-adjust my priorities and to become an actor again. Having got into costume and checked all of the things that had to be checked (watch wound, penny in waistcoat pocket, etc) I went and sat on the landing, looking down into the hall as the audience gathered. There was a very obvious sense of excitement and plenty of noise, and I soaked it up.

At 2.55 I creaked down the wooden staircase and Hayley confirmed that everyone had arrived, and that we were good to go. Chris sat at his laptop, ready to play the music cue, and Hayley welcomed everyone before starting the show. Straight away I could tell that this was a fun audience, they responded to everything from the very start (the first moment in the script that I can tell how a performance is going to go is when the narrator says ‘mind, I don’t mean to say that I know what there is particularly dead about a doornail….’ On this occasion they took the hint and laughed, obviously understanding that they were expected to be, and allowed to be, part of the show). We all had great fun, and it was a very satisfying performance. I had, quite naturally, been worried that my build-up to the show was not a conventional one and I might not have prepared myself well, but my fears were unfounded – I did a good job!

The Q&A was also fun, and there were some very good questions and lot of to-and-fro conversation, that makes sessions like this such a joy. After a while I became aware of Hayley hovering at the back of the room and knowing that pots of tea had been brewed and would be in danger of getting cold and stewed, I started to bring the session to an end, but there was one last question: ‘Is this your first time to The Berkshires?’ ‘No, it is my third visit, and I love it here!’, which got a loud round of applause and was a perfect time to sign off. There is indeed something very beautiful about the area, not just the scenery, but the community as well: it is a special place, and I would very much like to return during the summer months to perform some of my other shows: The Signalman would work well at Ventfort, as would Marigold and Sikes & Nancy. I know other venues would be interested in ‘out of season’ shows, so it would be lovely to try and put something together one day.

As the guests piled their plates high, I returned to my upstairs room and sat at my little table to eat my tea, before changing. I gathered up all of my belongings and went downstairs where I found Hayley and Chris to say goodbye, and to thank them for being such amazing colleagues over the last two days, and then I drove back to the hotel.

I had a quiet evening in, and at around 7 I logged on to my Uber Eats app and ordered a pizza from a nearby restaurant. I love going out and dining in restaurants, but the importance of remaining healthy and safe is paramount at the moment. It looks as if things are ramping up in Britain again, and the government has changed the regulations for entering the country yet again, meaning that the second Covid test, the PCR, that I purchased last week is also now redundant and I will have to have a test in the USA before I am allowed to fly home. With no idea as to how to get a test here I had earlier emailed Bob Byers, who had replied that he was looking into it on my behalf. It looks as if we will have to book something on my route from Lewes, Delaware to Byers’ Choice in Pennsylvania (the test has to be done within two days of flying), and this just adds a new logistical challenge to the end of the tour.

I watched a bit of TV, but felt myself nodding off, so retired for an early night.

On Monday I have a travel day with no shows and no commitments, and I think that the Pleasant Valley Nature Reserve sounds like an excellent way to relax!

Back on the Horse

Tags

Ashford, Covid19, Estella, Kent, Magwitch, Miss Havisham, Pip, Revelation Arts Centre, Wemmick

June 9 is always a very special day in the Dickens calendar and each year I try to mark it in a special way to commemorate the life of my great great grandfather who died on that date in 1870. On occasion I have stood at his graveside in Westminster Abbey at the annual wreath laying ceremony organised by the Dickens Fellowship (this year presided over by my brother Ian, the current President of the organization) and on one particularly memorable occasion I performed ‘Sikes and Nancy’, one of Dickens’s most energetic and violent readings, in the very room where he collapsed and died at the exact time of day he drew his last breath – the shivers certainly went down my spine that evening, to be sure!

This year June 9th was a particularly special day for not only was I able to honour Charles Dickens, but I was able to return to the stage for the first time in many months. At The Revelation Arts Centre in Ashford Kent I would be clambering back into the saddle and onto the horse. The whole process was a strange one for the feeling from beginning to end was one of uncertainty – not because I was worried about actually performing (although naturally there were a few fears in that area), but about the entire logistical process of gathering the correct costumes and props, loading the car, leaving on time, getting the stage set, working with the tech team on lighting and sound, preparing in the dressing room etc. All of those little things that have been such a natural part of my life over the last twenty five years felt awkward and confusing.

I had spent much of the day of the 8th preparing the car and checking off a long list to make sure I had everything for my show, which was to be Great Expectations: the props for the performance include a slim hat stand that becomes a kind of skeleton, draped with white fabric to represent the ever present Miss Havisham. Unfortunately the fabric to create this figure had been stored in a shed and become the victim of hungry mice (which is apt, actually, as Miss H describes her bride cake as having been ‘gnawed by the teeth of mice’), so I had purchased a new length for the show.

I left the house at 9am, and the roads were quiet meaning that I made excellent time. A sign of our current times came to me as I passed Heathrow airport where planes from around the globe used to make their final approaches in a never-ending ribbon of metal and fumes, but on that day I didn’t see a single flight coming in. The virus and resultant pandemic may have decimated the Earth’s human population, but has also meant that the fossil fuel pollution of our atmosphere has been eased, albeit temporarily I am sure.

Onwards around the M25 orbital motorway before spearing off in a south easterly direction towards the town of Ashford in the heart of the county of Kent.

The Revelation Arts Centre is housed within the impressive St Mary’s Church in the heart of the town and as I arrived I was delighted to see that the council had filled its municipal planters with scarlet geraniums which were Dickens’ favourite flowers and which made up the wreath on his grave.

I have performed at Revelation on many occasions and I represent the venue as an ambassador, so it was a great place to restart my career. As soon as I arrived the sense of excitement was palpable, for June 9th didn’t only mark my return to the stage but it was also the first time the venue had opened to the public in well over a year too and the sheer relief of injecting life back onto stage was evident in all. I was greeted by the centre manager Debra, and her front of house manager for the day, Jo. John who looks after the technical side of the operation waved a greeting from his eerie high at the back of the auditorium.

I was actually due to perform twice on the 9th, and the rigours of Great Expectations would have to wait for the evening. The first presentation, at lunchtime, was a talk about the research I have been undertaking for my book about the 1865 Staplehurst rail crash. The great disaster actually took place on June 9th 5 years to the day before Dickens’ death, so my talk was titled ‘The Day That Dickens Nearly Died’. I had prepared a few illustrations to accompany my words, so John and I needed to spend a little time making sure that PowerPoint spoke to the laptop, and the laptop spoke to the projector and the projector shone light upon the screen.

At 12.15 the doors were opened and I sat in my dressing room listening to one of the most beautiful sounds that an actor can hear – the building murmur of a gathering audience. At 1 o’clock Jo told me that we were ready to start and I walked onto the stage without introduction or ceremony, ready to take on one of the most difficult roles: myself. Actors, by and large, are insecure people who relish the opportunity to become someone else but who can struggle when they have to appear without disguise. As I strode onto the empty stage and looked at the well-lit auditorium (I couldn’t even hide behind the darkness beyond the stage), and I immediately felt safe and confident. I took a deep breath and launched into my lecture.

I spoke for about 45 minutes, explaining the circumstances that led to the rail crash and relating my own experience of visiting the accident scene and falling into the river where I briefly floundered submerged up to my neck in the muddy water thereby experiencing a closer affinity to the victims than perhaps was necessary.

At 1.45 I opened the floor to questions and made sure that I plugged my book by having a picture of the proposed cover art on the screen behind me and by 2.00pm I wrapped up the event and bowed gratefully to warm applause. The first part of my day had been completed successfully.

I now had five hours to prepare for the big show. Firstly I drove to check into my hotel, just five minutes away and had a shower and a bite of lunch, before heading back to Revelation at 4 to ‘get in’. The set for Great Ex is a simple one with sparse furniture arranged on each side of the stage: the right hand side representing Joe Gargery’s forge whilst the left is dominated by Miss Havisham at Satis House. During the first act I have to make some onstage costume changes (more additions rather than changes) so I had to make sure that the required clothing was carefully placed in a condition that I could easily slip into them when the time came. John was working hard at lighting cues and soon everything was in place and ready. It was 5 pm and there was still 2 hours and forty five minutes before curtains, so I decided to go back to the hotel and rest a little more.

Due to the ongoing Covid restrictions the audience would not be seated in theatre style rows, but at separate tables in a cabaret format and judging by the arrangement Deb and her team were expecting a goodly number. When I returned to St Mary’s I spent some time walking around the auditorium looking at sight lines around the great stone columns in the nave of the church. I wanted to be aware of which tables may struggle to see the action when I was at various parts of the stage and adapt my movements accordingly. I was aware there was no possibility of everybody seeing everything all the time, but if I was at least conscious of the limitations I could try to give those to the sides as much as I could.

Seven o’clock, and the doors opened. Once more I sat back stage and listened to the murmur. My script lay open and occasionally I turned to a certain passage that I was running through in my mind just to check the exact phrase or grammar. I had a great sense that not only did I need to give a good performance for my own self esteem, but that the audience who had been deprived live theatre for so many months craved and deserved one too.

At 7.40 Jo came to give me the five, and in no time the auditorium lights dimmed and the recorded voiceover that begins the show boomed out into the hall and as it ended with ….’Pip beginning to cry…’ I leapt into action as the savage Magwitch, grabbing the little orphan: ‘HOLD YOUR NOISE!

Great Expecations, or at least my version of it, is a little lopsided, in that the first act is relatively short compared to the second and takes young Pip up to the point where he leaves the village bound for London. Along the way we are introduced too all of the main characters – Pip, Magwitch, Mr and Mrs Joe, Jaggers, Miss Havisham and Estella and very briefly to Herbert Pocket, Biddy and Orlick.

The interval came and the applause that followed me to the dressing room was wonderful – the evening was going well! After changing from Pip’s rough blacksmith’s clothes into the formal and smart attire in which he would arrive in London, I returned surreptitiously to the stage in order to clear the act 1 detritus which include a scattered pack of playing cards, and various items of costume that had been discarded during the performance.

With everything placed as it should be I returned to the dressing room and waited for the ‘five’ once more.

The longer second act passed by in a blur and in no time I, as Pip, was walking through the ruins of Satis House and meeting Estella once more (this being the second ending that Dickens wrote to replace the incredibly downbeat original). He took her hand and left the ‘ruined place forever’ and after a moment of silence the auditorium of Revelation was filled with applause once more.

It had been a hugely successful evening both for me and the venue, and the audience, so long starved, made their way home hopefully with a feeling that a new phase of life had begun.

Having changed it was time to load up the car (meaning lugging my furniture and props through the dark graveyard, which somehow seemed appropriate) and having hugged all and sundry and said my goodbyes, I headed out to find a take away restaurant in the centre of Ashford. It was 10.15 on a Wednesday evening and it seemed as if everything had closed up shop on the stroke of 10, but I eventually tracked down a Domino’s Pizza outlet and returned to my hotel clutching a 10 inch Pepperoni.

As I drove home the next morning it seemed as if the world was bursting back into life: the fields of buttercups gleamed in the morning sun, shining out from behind the huge fluffy foamy hedgerows of cow parsley spilling over the pavements dotted with the first scarlet poppies of the season. Occasionally I glimpsed a field of linseed coming into flower peeping out with the gunmetal hints of the brilliant blue to come. Yes, hopefully, the World is moving forward into a better place.

A Blog Post for Lockdown

Tags

Abingdon, Chelthenham, Coronavirus, Covid19, Easter, Jimmy Carr, Nick Cope, Oxfordshire, Rainbows, Richard Osman, Running, The Ridgeway, VE Day

Back in March the country entered an uncertain period, as the global scourge that is Coronavirus made its silent presence known across our island.  We had been following the news from Wuhan Province for quite a while and I distinctly remember an expert confidently announce on the radio that the only risk was to those who had visited that particular region of China.  In the same week there were stories of The Diamond Princess cruise ship being held off shore like one of the prison hulks so memorably described in the opening chapters of Great Expectations.  The passengers and crew on board were gradually infecting each other until the reports of the first deaths made the news broadcasts.  For a while The Diamond Princess held the unfortunate honour of having the second largest infection rate in the world.  This was in February, a whole month before the British Prime Minister announced that severe restrictions would be placed on society.

Now, some four months later, the UK is gradually peeking out from behind its curtains as lockdown eases and some sense of normality returns to the country.  Celebrations are rife as hairdressers’ floors disappear under layers of clipped locks, and restaurants are once again able to deferentially ask their customers if ‘everything is alright?’ albeit from a sensible and apparently safe distance.  There are great debates as to the wisdom of letting the country loose when the virus is still at large, but that is not what this post is about:  I want to record some of my perceptions of life as it has been, good and bad, and preserve my memories of lockdown before they get lost in ‘the new normal’, which I fear will closely resemble the old one.

This is the story of a small household in Oxfordshire: me, Liz and our two primary school-aged daughters.

 

Early Thoughts

My first memory of lockdown is the state of our hands.  We are a pretty hygienic household anyway and we always wash our hands before and after meals, but government advice was to wash vigorously (whilst singing Happy Birthday twice through) at every opportunity so we all resolutely obeyed the edict and after just a week or so our hands were dried, cracked and ancient-looking.  Strangely as the weeks and months have passed our skin has returned to its natural state even thought the strident washing regime continues.

In the shops the shelves quickly emptied of certain goods (toilet roll and dried pasta being the most sought after commodities).  Panic buying became an art form and for a while the huge expanses of the supermarkets were almost empty of goods, as people stockpiled.  In our modest way we cleared out a little cupboard in our hallway, purchased some metal shelving and created a new larder to expand the amount of storage available to us.

The shops responded quickly to the panic and introduced strict limits on how much of any particular product could be purchased and little by little the shelves began to fill again.

Each day we followed the news briefings and listened in horror as the first deaths were announced.  Ever more restrictive guidelines were issued by the government and the  realisation dawned that for the next few months both Liz’s and my work would cease leading to a complete cessation of our incomes (both being self employed).  In this respect we were no different to millions of others throughout the country, and apart from the reality of the health tragedy that was quickly unfolding, the full horror of the economic disaster that was approaching became apparent as businesses shut their doors and events at local and national levels were cancelled.  However elsewhere many thousands of horse racing fans congregated at the Cheltenham race course for the annual festival.  Even as the country began to shut down so the little spa town on the edge of the Cotswolds became a breeding ground, Coronavirus spread silently through through the packed grandstands, around the parade ring, in the stables, through the car parks, and individuals carried it away ready to gradually unleash Covid 19 throughout a nervous nation.

 

Being Outside

In those early days of lockdown being outside was a strange experience for there was a sense that the very air we breathed was toxic, and yet the sky was blue, the clouds bright white and nature burgeoned all around.

The first perceptions of how life would be came upon us all gradually, the days took on a different rhythm and we all had to learn to be more tolerant and understanding with each other (not always successfully, it must be said).

We had been told to stay in our houses unless we had to shop, whilst periods of exercise were limited to one a day, and it was the wording of the latter precaution that gave so many people an essential escape clause, our family included.

Liz and I soon realised that being restricted to our small house for an indeterminate amount of time with two very active, confused and frustrated daughters was too horrific to even imagine, so we played the exercise card as often as we were able.  The need to get out into the open was increased as Liz was working from home, teaching piano via her laptop, meaning that the house needed to have an element of quiet and professionalism about it.

At first I would drive out into the countryside to find a walk and there were two reasons for this: firstly, the drive out and back added extra time to the journey, meaning that Liz could teach without interruption for longer, and secondly it gave me the opportunity to discover some new areas of our region to walk in.  Many of our itineraries featured different lengths of The Ridgeway path, an ancient trail traversing Oxfordshire atop a ridge of chalk hills.  The path runs for almost 90 miles and is recognised as one of the oldest, if not the oldest, roads in Britain.  The fact that The Ridgeway was  cut high above the surrounding country meant that ancient travellers could always be on the look out for those of nefarious intent  below them and that gives us our modern name for a road: the highway.

April and May saw a heatwave and day upon day of hot sunshine and warm weather made the countryside even more beautiful to be in, but there was more, for Mother Nature seemed to be revelling in the fact that the human race was being put on hold, that cars were not polluting the towns or planes the skies.  Foliage was abundant and bright, whilst the blossom bubbled and frothed vividly against the blue of the skies which were unmarked by the vapour trails of aircraft.  Birdsong seemed to be louder and wildlife seemed braver (on the television there were pictures of deer meandering through deserted town centres).  Satellite images backed up our own observations, showing much less pollution over China allowing nature to reclaim her planet for a while.

Our days of exploring the wider countryside would soon end though, for the lockdown restrictions became ever tighter and it was decreed that exercise could only be taken from your own home and that driving to beauty spots would no longer be allowed.

So, we explored Abingdon and discovered some amazing walks on our very doorstep, the other great bonus of the restrictions being that we could cycle without fear of cars, vans or huge trucks threatening to crush us as they thundered past.  The roads were almost deserted and when in the past we might have to wait for a while to cross, now we could just stroll as if we were walking in a park.

 

 

One walk to the pretty village of Sunningwell took us over a footbridge which crossed the usually busy A34 trunk road and we loved standing waiting for a lonely truck or car to flash by beneath us as we waved to the drivers, who usually waved back or flashed their lights and hooted their horns.

These days were the happiest of lockdown, with nature thriving and everyone being forced into a slower, more relaxed pace of life.  We all had to learn a new way of living.

 

Neighbourhood Strolls and Art

Many of our local walks took us through residential streets that we had never really noticed before interconnected by hidden footpaths, or ‘twittens’ as we used to call them back in Kent when I was growing up.  As we walked we loved admiring carefully tended gardens and the ever-increasing amount of children’s window art.  I don’t quite know how it started or who first suggested it, but children across the country began to create rainbows to display in their windows as a symbol of hope.  Some rainbows were simply printed and then coloured with pen or pencil, others were painted, yet more were a spectacular result of mixed-media projects.  Some were large, others small, and a few had positive and uplifting message carefully written alongside.  All of this meant that a neighbourhood stroll became a a trip to a gallery in which we could discuss and compare the artwork.  In our own living room window the girls’ efforts were proudly displayed and the sheer pride and joy we felt when a young mother pushing a buggy stopped one day to tell us how much the pictures cheered her up and how she always admired our front garden can hardly be described.

The warmth of the feeling was so great that we started to do the same to others, praising gardens and art as we passed by and we relished the beams that resulted.

At Easter we decorated foam egg-shaped cut outs and hung them from the large and gnarled Rosemary bush that overhangs our front wall, and when the country celebrated the anniversary of Victory in Europe Day in May we made our own red, white and blue bunting which we hung proudly over the front of the house.

Other families did the same so that previously drab, anonymous estates became bright, fun and vibrant places to be. Through this shared artwork communities grew closer – another great positive consequence of the Coronavirus.

At home our artistic endeavours went further than creating displays for passers-by, as our craft box allowed us to create a series of pictures and models inspired by our good friends Martin and Nikki with whom we shared a weekly Zoom call in an attempt to broaden our attempts at the girls’ home schooling .  Each week either Nikki or Martin would suggest a theme for the following session and we would all be required to come up with some work to show them – our eldest, who is eight years old, loved to do lots of reading and research and then present her findings, whilst all of us took to felt-tipped pens, coloured pencils and paints to create large murals on long rolls of paper.  One week we did an under-sea vista and on another we went into outer space (I was particularly proud of my Saturn V rocket made out of loo rolls, with sheets of red and orange tissue paper issuing from the ‘engine’ as the mighty beast ‘cleared the tower’).  We explored the world of Kings and Queens, fairy tales as well as Walt Disney (again, ridiculous amounts of pride for my painted representation of Scrooge McDuck).  On the day appointed for our presentations we would gather in front of my laptop in great excitement and Nikki and Martin would watch, comment on our efforts and present their own offerings.  For a little while each week what was happening in the big bad world was forgotten and became irrelevant.

 

 

A New Etiquette

Being forced to stay within the limits of our own towns to take our exercise meant that naturally there were more people walking on the pavements which created its own issues.  By now we were being told that to prevent the spread of the virus we should all keep 2 meters apart from anyone outside our own household group, and so the phrase ‘social distancing’ entered our language and dominated it (as had ‘self isolation’ and ‘underlying health issues’ a few weeks earlier).  As we walked we would keep a careful watch for others coming towards us and made sure that we were able to position ourselves so that we could pass with the requisite gap between us.  It was interesting to observe how society coped with this and how different people reacted.  We as a family tried to be positive and friendly, greeting everyone we met with a smile and a ‘good morning!’   If someone had paused to let us pass or gone out of their way to give us a clear way we thanked them, and being British we often exchanged pleasantries about the weather.  But not all responded the same way, for some people walked with their eyes down and viewed all around them with suspicion, barely willing or able to converse, on the whole this was not born or rudeness, but of fear.  Whilst our daily walks were an essential part of our mental and physical wellbeing, to others being in the open obviously felt an unnatural risk to be endured and ended as soon as possible.  Very soon we learned to identify the sort of person who was approaching and could modify our own behaviour accordingly.

There was a third category too, next to the friendly and fearful, and that was those who insisted that regulation and order be maintained at all costs.  I recall riding my bike along a pathway which was clearly marked with two lanes, one for cycles and one for pedestrians.  It was a sunny day and quite a few people were out enjoying their exercise. Being a responsible and good citizen I was riding on the cycle side of the path but noticed ahead of me a lady stopping to smell some beautiful blossom on a tree which overhung my way, so I steered to pass by on the other side so as not to prevent her enjoying a moment which obviously meant a great deal to her.  Now I was in the pedestrian lane and striding towards me were two more ladies, with water bottles in hand obviously out on a fitness walk, rather than an amble.  What to do?  I pulled as far into the side of the path as I could and stopped, leaving plenty of room so that they could pass by.  Rather than thanking me, one of the ladies scowled ‘actually this lane is for pedestrians, THAT lane is for bicycles!’ and on they strode muttering to one another.  Yes, technically they were correct, I was not in the proper lane, but the level of anger seemed disproportionate, especially as I’d only been trying to let a lady smell some blossom without being disturbed!

 

Keeping Fit and Healthy

As I touched on earlier, the need to be in the great outdoors was born not only of physical wellbeing but of the importance of good mental health too.  Being cooped up  inside a house for hours, days, weeks on end  could and most like would result in depression and anger.  Certainly during the long school days when Liz was teaching she noticed that her mental health was suffering as a result of being confined for long periods.

As restrictions were gradually eased and exercise away from your own neighbourhood was permitted once more so our countryside walks once more became a major part of our weekly routine and the girls (only 8 and 5, remember), amazed me by happily striding out on 6 mile hikes through the Oxfordshire countryside.  I would pack a picnic full of treats into a rucksack and we would find a cool woodland glade somewhere to spread out our rug and relax before pushing on to the end.  The huge expanses of scenery seemed to cosset and care for us as it welcomed us in.  I know that we are extremely lucky to live in a part of the country where such expeditions are possible and I cannot imagine being stuck for four months in a tower block or estate with little or no access to outdoor space.

However it was not just those beautiful walks that kept me fit, for during lockdown I actually took up running.  Running and I haven’t been happy bedfellows over the years,  I have tried to take on an effective fitness regime a few times but always without success.  As long ago as thirty five years ago my good school friend Chris tried to encourage me to join him in his then new hobby of running, but after a couple of aborted attempts I left him to it.  Chris went on to run a number of London Marathons and still runs most days in his adopted homeland of New Zealand.

The fact is that I do not find running a pleasurable experience, I get no inherent joy from the action of pounding on a road, getting breathless and hot knowing that there is no relief from the sheer torture and monotony.

In March I started running again purely as a way of  giving our 8 – year old some sort of routine in the mornings, at a time when she would usually be getting ready for a school day.  We had noticed she became easily distracted and frustrated and as one of her best friends liked to run we thought that we would suggest it.  She liked the idea and so we were committed.  On my last half-hearted attempt at running a few years ago I had downloaded the ‘Couch to 5K’ app onto my phone so we thought that we would start from the very beginning and strictly follow that programme for as long as we could.  The Couch to 5K system starts with very short simple runs – 1 minute running with 1.5 minutes of walking between: we could just about manage that!  After a week we moved to level two which increased the length of the run to 2 minutes, but also allowed us an extra 30 seconds of ‘rest’.  Again, we achieved that.  Week three saw us remaining at 2 minutes but the walk was shortened.  Week four was when we began to struggle: 2 and a half minutes of running within only thirty seconds to recover saw me panting and wheezing and my daughter starting to complain of stiches, sore ankles and blisters.

After a few mornings it became apparent that she had reached the end of her running journey and I was on my own once more.  This time, however,  I was determined not to give up and set myself the challenge of continuing for as long as I could, even if I didn’t reach my 5k goal, which seemed unlikely considering that would mean running for around 40 minutes without a break and I was currently struggling with 2 and a half!

But on I went.  I have always been an early riser so I decided to run as soon as I woke, at around 5.15 and this is when I started to actually, dare I say it,  enjoy myself.  The air at that hour is cool and the streets and pathways deserted.  I still struggled at times, but over a period of weeks I began to move onto more advanced levels until something extraordinary happened: I decided to run through my rest periods.

I assume there are learned articles and studies about fitness and the body which cover this phenomenon but my uneducated and uninformed mind came to a conclusion: it seemed to me as if there were a moment when the excess body fat and weight burned off and the newfound muscle tone and stamina took over, like a tipping set of scales.

And from finding it difficult to run for three minutes I was suddenly running for twenty, then twenty five, then twenty eight minutes at a time.  I have definitely lost weight, I have definitely become fitter as a result and I feel a great deal of pride for pushing on and continuing with something that isn’t completely natural to me.

On the morning of 18th July, 2020, I ran for 34 minutes and for the very first time achieved my 5K goal!

5k for the first time!

 

 

New Friends

Joe Wicks

Confined to our house we, like most of the country, searched for new virtual friends to help us pass the time and they presented themselves to us via different forums.  Firstly we joined in with the national TV phenomenon that was Joe Wicks’ ‘PE With Joe’.  For those of you who don’t know, Joe had built an incredibly strong fitness brand based on workout programmes released on his YouTube channel, but as lockdown confined entire families to their front rooms so he began to run a 20 minute workout each morning for everyone to join in with.  The exercises were simple and Wicks’ energetic and engaging repartee engaged the whole family as we looked for which ornaments had changed place in his rather stylish and expensive living room.  We all togged up in our ‘fitness gear’ after breakfast and followed Joe for a few weeks, which was a really fun and valuable bonding time, but our youngest struggled with focus and attention after a while and we quietly bade farewell to Joe.

 

Nick Cope

The girls’ school were superb at sending all sorts of resources to parents so that all of the children had plenty to occupy them – this wasn’t necessarily a pre-planned curriculum of lessons to be strictly adhered to, but a series of suggested activities.  Our 5 year old is in the Reception class and one of the links that her teacher sent was to a singer called Nick Cope who was broadcasting regular mini concerts from his front room.  Cope used to be the lead singer of a band called The Candyskins who had success at the beginning of the Britpop era of the early 1990s.  These days Nick has made a brilliant career of writing and singing a series of gentle and witty songs for children and had actually visited the school to perform for the younger year groups.  Soon we were all becoming familiar with his  repertoire and downloaded his albums to play in the car on longer journeys (each time a new song came on our daughter would shout out ‘he did this one at school, its my FAVOURITE!’  In which case it must have been a VERY long concert!)

One particular favourite number was ‘A Round of Applause for the Dinosaurs’ part of the refrain of which goes: ‘Brontosaurus, Stegosaurus and T-Rex, not forgetting Diplodocus with his long neck!’ and on one of our neighbourhood walks we would pass a house where models of those particular species were displayed on an upstairs windowsill: fellow fans we guessed, and we would walk down the street singing the song out loud!

 

Jimmy Carr and Richard Osman

On a more adult level for Liz and me the passing of the early days of lockdown were marked by a daily quiz hosted by comedian Jimmy Carr, which he called ‘The Little Tiny Quiz of the Lockdown’  The format was simple, ten trivia questions, answers broadcast a short while later.  No prizes, no competition, just a little mental stimulation after the children were in bed which became an almost essential marking of the passing of another day.  The quizes ran for about 5 or 6 weeks until presumably Jimmy Carr ran out of trivia, but during those early days they a real feature of our days.

The quiz theme was then taken up by TV producer and host of the ‘Pointless’ TV series Richard Osman, who as a way of promoting his first novel ‘The Thursday Murder Club’ wrote a weekly newsletter (published appropriately on a Thursday) to his very many fans which included a quiz.  Each week all of the answers began with the same letter of the alphabet and at the time of writing we have reached the letter R.  As with Carr’s daily quiz the arrival of ‘Osman night’ marked the passing of another week and gave a sense of routine and stability to a fluid and uncertain reality.

 

Moving Out Of Lockdown

Although Coronavirus is still present in our society and a vaccine has yet to be officially distributed, the more stringent lockdown regulations have now been lifted and a sense of normality is returning to our towns and cities.  Shops are opening, although the wearing of facemasks (which we have done since the start anyway) is now mandatory.  Hair salons are doing a roaring trade, as are pubs and restaurants with careful policies in place.

As far as we are concerned there is really no change in that ‘normality’ coincided with the start of the school holidays meaning that we would all have been at home anyway.  Our days will still be filled with walks, cycle rides and art projects, but hopefully we can actually meet up with friends for picnics etc, as well as visiting playparks.

The roads are busier now and we have to wait for much longer periods to cross.  Cycling is more stressful too, but we still get out on our bikes when we can.  Standing on the footbridge over the A34 the traffic thunders along and drivers are in too much of a rush to notice a family waving to them.

Slowly ‘normal’ life is returning and some of those precious moments are being lost.

In writing these words I do not set out to pretend that our life through the last four months has been perfect and wonderful: it definitely has not been and there have been plenty of days when we have all become increasingly impatient and angry with each other leading to tantrums on all sides which probably have made our neighbours wince.

In writing this blog post I simply wanted to preserve some of those little  memories that may otherwise get swept away in the course of time.

 

 

The Ridgeway

The Ridgeway

 

Richard Osman

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/315815/the-thursday-murder-club/9780241425442.html

 

Nick Cope

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/315815/the-thursday-murder-club/9780241425442.html

 

Jimmy Carr

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