As I write this meditation, the candle flickers in front of me through the painted glass of a small Christmas bowl. Painted around the bowl is a winter rural scene: farmhouses dripping with ice and a sleigh being pulled by horses in a snow drift lit by a half moon. I purchased it in Budapest and have given several others as Christmas gifts to friends and family. Candles in bowls would probably have been on Marcus’ table too as he wrote his Meditations or oil lamps of course.

The scene reminds me of the production of ‘A Christmas Carol’ which I mentioned in my last blog. We performed it in our studio theatre last week (to great success) and we used projected digital images to set the many scenes and to create the magical effects. One of the images was similar to the winter rural scene painted on my candle bowl.

In the play (and novel) Scrooge is taken by the Spirit of Christmas Past to revisit his old school days. This is where the image appeared as a backdrop. Scrooge says ‘Good heavens! I know this lane. And this is my old school!’ One of the most disconcerting experiences for Scrooge in the play is to have to witness scenes from his past and especially how he lost the love of his life, Bella, because of his addiction to creating wealth.

It would be disconcerting for us to have the opportunity to see ourselves as we once were. And to be forced to do so, as Scrooge is by the Spirit. Not only to see ourselves but also to observe our behaviour and hear what we said, especially in moments we would, like Scrooge, prefer to forget.

In the summer I experienced a little of that, when I was visiting family in Canada. My aunt Barbara has an obsession for photographs. She possesses dozens of albums from years ago. Every time I visit she gives me photos of the family or copies, for some are very precious to her. She left several in an envelope in my room this time.

One was a photo taken outside my parents’ house in Redcar. I am there standing in my school uniform with my father beside me. I must have been in the fifth year (Year 11) as we had a different uniform for the Sixth Form. I have a shock of black hair and a few discernible spots: the picture of adolescence! There I am with my trusty black brief case and a carrier bag of LP’s. Well it was 1970! I am barely smiling and I look self conscious as I never liked having my photo taken then. Photos were a rare occurrence: the age of the mobile phone camera and the selfie were a long way away. I look gauche. Lacking in self-confidence. Shy. Innocent. And I was then as I remember.

As I looked closely at the photo in my room in my aunt’s apartment on Vancouver Island I realised how far I had travelled. I was literally, physically thousands of miles away from Redcar in the North East of England and also thousands of miles away from myself as I

was then, aged 16. As I looked closely at my face I felt a sadness come upon me too. It was similar to the sadness that Scrooge feels as he witnesses his past again. Or at least, when I was watching Robert’s reactions as Scrooge in the scenes last week, I was reminded of the sadness I felt at that moment, looking at my 16 year old self in the photo in auntie’s apartment last summer.

As I looked at my young face, I thought about all the things that were going to happen to me afterwards, things I could never have predicted of course. And the sadness lingered a little. I didn’t have a very happy youth. And then I thought of those who befriended me and those who rescued me. And those who have stayed friends through all my life. And my family. And friends I didn’t know existed at the time (most of whom probably weren’t even born then). And all the places I never imagined visiting or living in then. All the places I never knew existed: like the house where I have lived for 25 years and my school where I have worked for 34. And I thought of my faith, through it all I kept my faith.

So I went out for a walk and sat on a bench looking out to the Pacific and the low grey mounds of the little islands in the ocean. And I had a Marcus moment. I recalled all my friends and their good qualities.

So the production was a success. My cast did become a company, indeed a little community, which is always my aim as a director (as I mentioned in a previous blog). And, (as I also mentioned in the same blog) the invisible ring between cast and audience was achieved I think, at least according to all the appreciative comments I have received from audience members. Even though we are a small oblong of a studio theatre and not a grand horseshoe-shaped opera house like Covent Garden. Despite the vicissitudes of all the scene changes in our 19 scene play, the actors and crew worked so well together, that I was able to enjoy the play a little from backstage and on the last night from the side of the audience too.

It goes without saying that a director sees the scenes over and over again in rehearsals and performance. It is a very special feeling to see performances grow in rehearsal and in performance and that is the real bonus for a director. Because of seeing scenes over and over again, there are individual scenes I can remember really well, moment by moment, even from years ago. And there are a few I’d rather forget of course! There are even certain lines, spoken by certain students, that I can hear in my mind. Maybe in my final moments on this earth, I shall hear them again at the last. (I hope that those of you reading this, who are my ex- Drama students won’t be bombarding me with texts and messages saying ‘Do you remember my scene? Do you remember my line?’!). There are several wonderful moments and speeches I am sure I will remember from my latest production.

But also, observing the play over and over again, a director realises aspects he hadn’t thought of. For instance, in rehearsal I began to realise that the real villain in the story is not Scrooge but Jacob Marley for it is young Marley who corrupts young Scrooge and leads him to become fixated on accumulating more wealth: ‘Business is business, Ebenezer.’

I have also realised that Scrooge (as an old man) begins the play as a person closed in on himself: ‘Secret and self-contained, as solitary as an oyster; warning all human sympathy to keep its distance.’ But by the end of the play, when he has learnt from observing his past, present and future, he opens himself up to everyone: ‘A Merry Christmas to everyone. A Happy New Year to the whole world!’

I hope and pray my own personal trajectory has been the same. This is the meaning of Christmas: to be open to everyone, not closed. It is the true open season.

Ave atque vale! Until the next blog.