MEDITATION 63

As I sit here gazing at the candle beside my tablet, I am recalling a different light, or rather lights from a visit I made last week. They were not candles but little electric lights and they were glimmering in trees in a park on a balmy eveningas darkness was slowly descending. The park was situated in Chichester, where a friend and myself had made a return visit after a rather rainy one last autumn. I noticed the lights when we came out of the Festival Theatre after a performance of a new production of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, ‘South Pacific’. Just as the lights were glowing on the branches, so we were glowing too after a wonderful and rather emotional performance.

To my shame, I have never visited the Festival Theatre at Chichester before. It is one of the items on my retirement bucket list. I guess I can cross that one off now! My friend and I seemed to have fallen in love with the town and its environs on our visit last October so we decided to have an overnight stay as well as visiting the theatre. It was an opportunity to revisit the Cathedral and its beautiful gardens among other places.

What could be better than a big musical with big tunes for a first live theatre outing after the asperity of the last eighteen months? The performance was quite an emotional occasion precisely because it was our first live theatre outing since lockdown. It was probably the same for most of the audience. Because of this, I sensed that the emotional moments in the show were somehow heightened, more potent than they might have been in a performance under more usual circumstances.

I knew the songs but had never seen ‘South Pacific’ live before. It was a highly imaginative and at times beautiful production, by artistic director Daniel Evans, with wonderful singing and dance numbers. It was one of those productions that never puts a foot wrong from curtain up to curtain call.

I must admit to being a little uneasy when I entered the theatre. As with everything else at present, there were rules to follow about moving around in the building. Also, as I mentioned earlier, I have never been in Festival theatre before. Activities I usually never think twice about, such as walking into a restaurant or catching a train have become a little complicated because of the restrictions, hence my unease. However, the front of house staff were very welcoming and helpful and once I was in my seat, I felt at home (as I always do in a theatre).

I was also a little apprehensive about how the performance would be received. After all the theatre was half-full because of social distancing and we were all wearing masks in the audience. Would the performers be able to achieve a rapport with the audience? Would the audience feel restricted in their response because of their masks. As soon as the orchestra struck up and the lights went up on that stage, I forgot all that. Mr Rodgers and Mr Hammerstein began to weave their spell. More than that, jaded theatre-goer that I am, I felt a visceral excitement as if I’d never seen a theatre performance before. This excitement seemed to pervade the auditorium. There was an eagerness to be entertained, no, more than that, a hunger.

In the end, the fact that the audience were socially distanced and masked didn’t matter. We were totally with the show. The silence and attentiveness of the audience were palpable. The final applause was genuine, heartwarming – an act of love from us to the company. I suppose we were so acutely aware that we were so fortunate to be able to experience a big live show in these times. I think we also appreciated just how difficult rehearsals must have been, judging from the rehearsal photos in the programme with everyone in masks and visors, and not to mention the endless testing of such a large cast and necessary absences that must have taken place, which has been true of all work places. We were applauding to show our appreciation of not just the performance, but of the company’s struggle to get it on the stage.

I remember that in one of my early blogs, I mentioned seeing performances of Wagner’s epic ‘Ring’ cycle of four operas at the Royal Opera House. This would have been in autumn 2018, I think. In that meditation, I mentioned that just as the evil Alberich and his brother Mime forge the Ring on stage, that a ring was also forged between the performers and the audience over the four operas. The mark of a successful performance is when the performers and audience become an invisible and indivisible ring or circle. It may not happen for the whole performance but when it does happen, those moments are magical. That was true of the performance of ‘South Pacific’ which I experienced last Friday. The experience was doubly magical because the ring or circle was somehow created in the midst of our common adversity. Theatre is at its most sublime when it renews the audience and the cast too, hopefully. The performance I saw was an act of renewal for all of us who saw it or performed it. It has reminded me of just how important theatre is. It is a crying shame that our present government fails to see this.

The auditorium of the Festival Theatre is based on the shape of the Ancient Greek and Roman amphitheatres, with the audience as two thirds of the circle and the stage completing it. Therefore, the configuration of the auditorium no doubt helped the company to achieve that magic circle with the audience.

I mentioned earlier that I hadn’t been there before. However I have been to its successor many times – the Olivier Theatre on London’s South Bank. Its auditorium is based on the Chichester one. Initially Laurence Olivier was involved in establishing the Festival Theatre which opened in 1962 and, together with complementary performances at the Old Vic theatre in London, it was the genesis of the National Theatre. When the National Theatre finally developed its home on the South Bank, one of the three auditoriums, the Olivier, was given a similar design to the Festival Theatre.

I have also been to the Festival Theatre’s predecessor several times. The design of the Festival Theatre auditorium, in turn, was based on the Festival Theatre at Stratford, Ontario in Canada. They have an annual Shakespeare Festival there, which I attended several times in the early 1990’s.

I was thinking of those two theatres, the Olivier, on London’s South Bank and the one at Stratford, Ontario, while I sat waiting for the performance of ‘South Pacific’ to begin at Chichester. Here I was, sitting at last in the third of the trio, the Festival Theatre in Chichester, or rather the middle one as regards their opening.

How many theatres have I attended in my life? How many magic circles have I been part of? Not in every theatre or every performance I attended. But when it happens, you know you have experienced something special. How many productions have I directed or appeared in that have succeeded in achieving that circle with an audience? Again, not every one. But when it happens, you know you have been part of something special. It is nothing to do with the price of the ticket or with your hard work as director or performer.

And it is not guaranteed in every performance. It just happens. It is magic, the circle is magic. A magic which streaming at home cannot provide.

I am looking forward to being part of that magic again in the future. Certainly as an audience member. Perhaps as an actor or director – who knows?

Ave atque Vale – Hail and Farewell – until the next blog!

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Neilus Aurelius

Meditation 49

As I sit here gazing at my candle I am aware that, as I write, the night is chill outside. Winter approaches and this is the first night of another full lockdown. All the more reason to gaze at the magnets on my fridge door and to hearken back to memories of warmer and sunnier climes and carefree times.

There are two new magnets in my collection for, though I was not able to go to Puglia with my friend Simon, we did have three days in Chichester and the surrounding Sussex countryside a week or so ago. Chichester is a cathedral town and the Cathedral itself and the gardens are quite stunning. Unfortunately the cathedral gift shop was closed when we were there. As I wandered around the town, it was difficult to find a shop that sold fridge magnets. It was equally difficult to find a shop that sold picture postcards. I guess they go together, being souvenir merchandise. Eventually, having gone a complete circle round the town one morning and ending up almost back to where we were staying, we discovered a cosy little gift shop, crammed with all sorts of gifts including magnets and quite a large selection of postcards.

Picture postcards are fast going out of fashion. Who these days would send a postcard when on holiday or on a visit, if they can instantly send a photo with a brief message from their phone instead? A photo taken on a mobile phone is more personal too. It is your own view, selected and taken by yourself and not by a photographer, probably years before (as if you look closely at some picture postcards, the photo is definitely not up to date). You can be in the picture too if you wish. You don’t even need someone else to take the picture for you as you can take a ‘selfie’. Plus it is less arduous and time consuming than sitting down and writing then addressing a card, even if you write the briefest of messages. Then, of course, there is the added chore of posting it! You are also able to send a message and text on your mobile phone to lots of people at once, of course, rather than writing lots of postcards!

And yet everyone likes to receive a card. I still enjoy sending them and receiving them. Some of my friends aren’t on social media and some don’t have an up to date phone so they appreciate getting a card, especially if they live alone. I used to have a notice board in my kitchen (before I began my fridge magnet collection!) and would pin postcards sent by friends on it. In those days, over the summer, it would soon fill up with a variety of views and reminded me of my circle of friends and family who sent them.

Perhaps the age of the picture postcard is fast ebbing away. It is an age that has lasted since the 1840’s (with the institution of the first ever postal service here in the UK – the ‘penny post’). Originally the postcards had reproductions of artists’ drawings of picturesque scenes and later on photographs of views were cheaply reproduced too (and cartoons of saucy seaside humour!). Hotels issued free postcards of their premises in their reception areas (and still do) as an advertising ploy.

They have become a document of social history of the last 150 years or more and an indication of how people spent their holidays over the decades, including the well to do and famous. So, they have been often quoted and featured as illustrations in biographies of famous personalities too. Sometimes both sides of the card are reprinted and the reader can have a tantalising view of the famous person’s handwriting (often far clearer than my own!).

Sending a card was a social tradition: sending one to relatives, friends and acquaintances to show them where you were staying on holiday with a brief description even if only ‘Having a a good time. Wish you were here.’

There were (and maybe there still are) plain postcards with no picture at all. There was room for the address on the front and a blank space for a short message on the reverse. I left a stamped and addressed postcard at my Oxford college for my degree results, I remember. But that was many years ago!

The postcard and it’s short message (with or without a picture) has been replaced by email or more accurately, by texting. On social media now, you can include not only a photo with your brief message, but even a short video. The advantage of texting in all its forms is that it is immediate and doesn’t depend on postal delivery. Though it’s always fun to receive a text from a friend on holiday, I still think there is something special about receiving a card, especially as so little private correspondence is sent by mail now. Also writing a postcard can involve a little reflection on the part of the sender whereas texting and twittering often involves no reflection or even thought at all! Witness the twitterings of the outgoing President of the U.S.A.!

On our little holiday we spent an afternoon in the village of Bosham which is on the estuary that goes into the English Channel. It is about 3 miles out of Chichester and is a peninsula which goes into what is called Chichester Harbour, a natural harbour of small villages and marinas. Bosham has a little arts centre with, yes, another cosy little shop where I purchased some more postcards and another magnet!

On arriving, Bosham has the look of a village inland with its thatched cottages, small lanes, picturesque pub and parish church and graveyard. There is a small river and a lock too.There is no seaside atmosphere and nothing particularly nautical about it either, until you arrive at a small marina, Bosham Quay, which is adjacent to the church and churchyard. Quite a few streets eventually lead to the water as the villages is skirted by the estuary. We very quickly found this out.

After leaving the car in the car park we walked down towards the water and decided to walk along the shore around the natural harbour to explore the other side. Then we noticed a cafe at the end of the road up some steps. So we decide to have a snack lunch there first, where they served the most filling homemade pasties ever.

It was when we left the cafe that we realised why it was up some steps as where we had been previously standing and admiring the view, was now completely under water. The tide was is and beginning to make its slow inexorable way up the street. If we had gone for our walk first, we would probably have found ourselves stranded on the other side. However the water didn’t impede our walk to the church and quay, admiring the quaint little cottages on the way and noticing that their little pretty front doors had not so pretty modern flood barriers.

Bosham was originally a Roman settlement, as was Chichester itself of course. It is now thought that the remains of Harold Godwinson, the last Saxon King of England, were buried in the parish church, after he was defeated by William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

Another king associated with Bosham is the Danish King Canute, who was King of Denmark, Norway and England with his own North Sea empire before his demise in 1035. Legend has it that it was here, at Bosham, that he commanded the waves to go back on his orders. We were unable to do so, of course! Canute was reputed to have magical powers, but is unclear from the legend, whether his attempt to force the waves back was an act of arrogant self delusion or whether he did it to rebuke his flattering courtiers. In other words, was his failure a reality check for his courtiers or himself?

I am once again reminded of the present incumbent of the Presidency of the United States who thinks he can push back the waves of votes he didn’t receive. But again, we are unsure whether this is his own act of self delusion or of his flattering staff. Though I have my suspicions.

We all need a reality check at times and this pandemic has been a global one, reminding us of our vulnerability and of the fragility of life. A reality check is only effective if we accept it, hard as it may be, and act upon it (as most of us have). There is now a glimmer of hope with news of a vaccine, which is wonderful news. The best Christmas present we could ask for at the moment. Here’s hoping it is effective.

Ave atque Vale – Hail and Farewell – until the next blog!

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Many thanks,

Neilus Aurelius

As I begin to write, I look for a moment at the little flame of the candle behind my tablet. I realise what damage a small flame can do, as I reflect upon the devastation caused by the fire in Norte Dame Cathedral in Paris. Although, at present, we do not know how that momentous conflagration was caused.

So, for several days I have not been candle-gazing but fire-gazing as I have been following the incident on the television news. When I first saw the news late on Tuesday evening, I must confess to being initially as shocked as the crowds who quickly assembled on the Ile De La Cite to witness the blaze. Their shock was palpable as they silently watched the cathedral enveloped by flames. The heart of the Gothic Cathedral was a roaring fire and easily visible as the roof had caved in. It was the shock of disbelief and impotence as there was nothing the numerous bystanders could do except watch as the hundreds of firefighters, dwarfed by the conflagration, fought to douse the flames. The shock was shared by millions around the globe.

It is remarkable that this cathedral in Paris inspires so much international affection, perhaps because it is a main tourist attraction in Paris and so many have visited the basilica as a tourist, or, like myself, as a Christian, to worship as well. This affection has resulted in an outpouring of donations to restore Notre Dame.

I find it even more remarkable that, over the last few days, the cathedral has emerged as a potent symbol not only for Parisians but for the French nation, that it has a special place in their consciousness, in their hearts. It is a symbol of Paris, of France itself and perhaps because of recent terrorist attacks, even more potent.

Perhaps this is partly due to Victor Hugo’s famous novel ‘Notre Dame de Paris’. The book has been frequently mentioned over the last few days in the media in connection with the fire. Hugo’s famous 1831 story of the hunchback bell ringer Quasimodo and the gypsy girl Esmeralda has made the building a part of global culture. Indeed, Hugo has created our image of the cathedral, much as Shakespeare has of ancient Rome. The cathedral itself is a character in the novel, it could be argued the main character, so detailed and atmospheric is Hugo’s description of the ‘majestic and sublime edifice.’ Prophetically, the building catches fire towards the end of the novel as Quasimodo wards off armies of the populace by pouring boiling oil on them as they try to rescue Esmeralda from the cathedral: ‘two spouts terminating in gargoyles, vomited sheets of fiery rain.’

Hugo wrote the book to draw attention to the dilapidated cathedral itself – ‘the countless defacements and mutilations which men and time have subjected to that venerable monument’ – and other historic churches and buildings of Gothic architecture which had been ransacked and defaced in the revolution and left to go to ruin or destroyed to make way for new buildings. In a way his novel is a campaign document and he does digress from the plot at times (and at length) to make his point. As a result his novel and his campaigning led to the extensive renovation of the cathedral. So, to some extent Hugo has come to rescue of the cathedral once again in 2019. Apparently sales of his novel have soared in the last few days on Amazon!

I have always been haunted by the story since seeing the classic 1939 film as a child (and many times since). Charles Laughton brings great dignity and pathos to the role of Quasimodo in one of the greatest acting performances on film. I have recently looked at the film again on a luminous blue ray transfer. The film is very true to Hugo’s vision of medieval Paris with amazing sets and highly detailed artwork and detailed crowd scenes (all filmed under the sweltering Californian sunshine!).

The film led me to read the novel as a teenager and again years later. I had the idea of dramatising it as a school production a few years after I first came to the school. Going to Paris and seeing the Cathedral for myself finally inspired me to write it along with my colleague Phil Watkins in 2006. He had thought it would be a good project for a school production too. Now the burnt out Cathedral seems to be calling me, telling me to revive that production again.

The burnt out shell seems to be an image of Europe itself, an image of European civilisation even, dilapidated, crumbling, falling in on itself. Yet still standing; it is not completely destroyed. The rose windows are still intact and the April sun shines through them, the interlaced stained glass, an image of the interdependence and good will of nations. What is precious has miraculously been preserved. It is an image of survival. Hopefully, in the not too distant future, it will also be an image of renewal. Of resurrection.

Ave atque vale until the next blog.

If you are enjoying my blog, and have not already done so, please sign up below to receive notification of each new blog by e mail.

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I would also value any feedback on nzolad53@gmail.com or my Facebook page or Twitter.

Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius