Tags
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, Lenox, Mr Fezziwig, Quentin Blake, The Berkshires, Ventfort Hall Mansion
I was tired on Friday morning. I could feel as I woke, at a decent time, that my body was tired. That was a strange thing to feel, for this is part of the tour that is not a particular whirlwind of travel and performing, with a whole series of venues only staging one show a day. I have been in the USA for a week now and the first performances of this leg of the trip seem a long time ago, and looking ahead to the city of Leicester on December 23 seemed a long time in the future, so I am I think that I am suffering a sort of mid-tour sense of emotional fatigue.
I got up, wrote my blog post and went to the lobby where I bought a small breakfast, and then returned to the room, where I spent the morning spreading the word about the availability of my new book (perhaps you hadn’t heard, but ‘Gerald Dickens: My Life on the Road With A Christmas Carol’ is now published, and available on Amazon……). As I was working I received a message from Liz, with a picture of the first actual copy of the book to be delivered, which was a very exciting moment. She also sent me the first image of an advent calendar that she had bought for me, featuring the illustrations of Quentin Blake. She will keep opening each window, until I am home to take over!
I remained in my room for the morning, as I had a Zoom interview scheduled for 12, to promote one of my forthcoming performances on Long Island. During those dark days of the pandemic, Zoom seemed to come from nowhere, like the cavalry in a cowboy film, and provided us with a really effective and easy way to keep in touch, be it with family and friends, or school and work . Just click the link and say ‘hello!’ Everything seemed very easy, but on Friday morning Mr Zoom seemed very recalcitrant and would NOT let me in. On clicking the link, a message came up telling me that only authorized people could attend this meeting, and that I should sign in here. I signed in (although I was already signed in anyway) ‘We have detected unusual activity on your account. We have sent a code to your registered email, please enter it here’ I opened the email, got the code and entered it. ‘Please sign in to your account’ I once again did as I were bidden. ‘Only authorized members can attend this meeting’. I tried adding the meeting ID manually, but just got the same messages, and yet more passcodes to enter. I tried on my phone, instead of my laptop, but that produced a message telling that an attempt had been made to log in on another device, please confirm that this is genuine by entering a one time passcode, which we have sent to your registered email address.
I just went round and round in circles, and 12 o’clock came and went. In the end I gave up and sent an email to the journalist, saying that it was probably better that I called her by phone, to which she agreed. We talked about my background and childhood, about the history of the show and about what audiences should expect from it (the venue in question is a new one, and it is always a bit of a challenge for promoters to sell the idea of my one man show, before they have witnessed it).
The interview finished at around 12.30, and then I wrapped up warm and headed out to get some lunch. Last year I had met some friends in a small cafe nearby, and it had been very good, so I went back there. I was aware of the signs of a slight cold, a minor tightening of the throat, a slightly hot head, was that a sniffle? And then I realised why I was feeling a little down and tired, it was not because I was actually physically ill, but because it was here in Lenox that I started to feel the symptoms that would develop into Covid last year, and now every ache, every twinge, every sneeze was taking me straight back to those days, and the hiatus it caused in the tour and life. I realised that wasn’t suffering from a cold, but a form of Covid PTSD, the associations with that time were creating new fears in me now and I was hyper-aware of every possible symptom. Strangely, that realisation made me feel better, and I was able to shrug off the natural aches and pains of being on the road.
For lunch I had a crabcake sandwich, and when I had finished I got into the car and just drove towards the hills. I found a ski resort, which was closed, although some of the slopes where white with artificial snow. Chair and drag lifts hung almost still, swaying gently in the breeze. I drove on through small villages and hamlets, I passed a tiny old school house set at an intersection of four roads, and imagined the sepia kids from the various farms and homesteads gathering there. At this time of year a quote from A Christmas Carol is never far away, and the scene when Scrooge first sees his old school friends came into my mind:
‘Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it!
“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”
The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several homes!’
It was almost as if I could feel the ghosts of schoolchildren at that crossing.
Eventually I found myself back in Lenox, not due to following my GPS, but just by following wherever the roads took me. It was a lovely drive.
Back at the hotel I napped for an hour or so, and then showered to wake myself fully, and returned to Ventfort Hall ready for the evening performance. Wendy and Haley were there to greet me, and I set up the room as I needed it, and then just sat alone in the library gathering my thoughts, and building my strength for the evening ahead. As is always the case at Ventfort, the audience began arriving very early, even though the tea room would not be open until 5.30, so I took myself up the green room and relaxed alone there – playing a little backgammon on my phone until it was time to retrieve my costume from the large wardrobe and change.
Downstairs the Grand Hall was filled with people milling about, and there was a goodly supply of red sweaters about, giving the scene a very festive feel. Many people came up to me, welcoming me back or reminding me that they had seen me perform at various other venues. One gentleman was grasping a bottle of wine in his hand (maybe the Tetley Tea was not quite strong enough) and shook me warmly by the had, and then presented the bottle to me – it was a specially branded ‘A Christmas Carol’ red. People are really very thoughtful and generous.
I mingled with the audience, signing books and posing for photographs, and then at 6pm I returned to the green room to prepare for the show itself. At 6.30 I put my scarf and my hat on, and went to the hall, where most of the audience had taken their seats. Wendy was gathering the last few folk, and then it was time to begin.
All of my worries and aches and phantom cold symptoms disappeared and the show ran seamlessly and smoothly. They were a lovely audience who laughed from the very start, and who applauded Mr Fezziwig’s dance, which is always appreciated. I toned down the performance a bit, as the Library at Ventfort is such a small, intimate space. On Thursday evening I think I had rather overdone it, having just come from two large auditoria, and I needed to recapture the idea of a Victorian parlour entertainment. It worked very well, and the audience were once again very very generous in their ovation.
Having left the stage, I lingered in the Great Hall and signed more books, and posed for more photos, until the guests had left and I could gather my belongings. Wendy and Haley had offered to take me out to dinner, and at 9pm we met up at Frankie’s Italian restaurant. I chose a good old fashioned bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese (I removed my light grey fleece, to reveal a red shirt beneath which I thought was a prudent precaution), and we all had a lovely dinner. We talked about the shows and future possibilities, and by the time we left, the only other people in the restaurant were the staff, rather obviously waiting to go home.
I bade farewell to my generous hosts and drove back to the hotel, where I realised that I was feeling just fine!