Help! revisited

A blessed day off thanks to a Cat’s Paw cancellation and a chance to catch up with washing, cleaning, letter writing and the myriad little things we all have to do to stay afloat.  I imagine with my action list for the day in front of me now, the day will be gone in a flash.  At least we’re having that little half hour longer in the day now which seems to make all the difference, if only psychologically.  The promised snow didn’t arrive but the rain is pattering on the lorry roof and hissing as it hits the hot chimney cowl.  A rather pleasant sound, amplifying the feeling of cosy warmth inside from the woodburner and the dogs having a lie-in on my bed.  We’ve all been up at sparrow’s burp lately and it’s great to have an easy day for a change.

In re-reading the latest part of my ongoing saga of a former me, I am amazed how much my life has changed “in oh so many ways”.  The boy I am writing about seems to be a very different person.  I remember little about our escapade shoplifting in Horsham, but snatches keep coming back like a half-remembered dream.  I have this feeling there were more boys doing it than the two of us who were expelled (although that has a fascinating aspect of the story yet to come).  In the process of reviewing all the paperwork, which has been sitting in an old box file passed down to me when my Mum died a few years ago and which I left untouched until recently, I have discovered a mystery which will probably never be fully unravelled.  It is fascinating though and I shall explore it a bit in the next few chapters. It’s like a detective story at a vast distance of time away. I am disguising the names of those involved as at least one of them is still around and I have tried to contact them on the internet.  I wonder if they can remember any of what went on.  I can only remember patches.

I had a very close friend at CH.  He will be putting in an appearance in the story.  I will call him Andrew.  I don’t know whether Andrew knew what was going on in Horsham. I can’t remember how many boys took the short train ride from Christ’s Hospital (like Hogwart’s, it has its own railway station) into Horsham that July afternoon in 1965, but I have a feeling it was five. I will start from there in my next episode.  What I am unsure about is whether Andrew was with us, and this is crucial for the story.  If he wasn’t, did he know we were going into town to steal stuff?  I am sure we did talk about it beforehand, and I think we split into two groups.  I was with another friend and the other three went on a different route through the town.  I think there was a rivalry between the two groups about what we could get away with, but this is really only conjecture.  It was my friend and I who were caught, or at least observed and later identified.  The other three denied it and weren’t punished.  I think we would not have snitched on them.   There was a code of honour in the Christ’s Hospital Alibi Club.

Back in the lorry in 2015, the phone calls and emails are starting to happen.  The booking enquiries for Summer 2015 are coming in.  It’s great because, almost for the first time ever, I have not been through a period of personal gloom through December and January.  Partly it’s being so busy with Cat’s Paw and the DVD but also it’s because of the generous application of real help by a few good friends, several of them in Wallingford and one in Sheffield, who have made it their business to keep me feeling buoyant. They helped me “keep my feet back on the ground”.

They know who they are and I thank them for their real friendship. 

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Help!

‘Help, I need somebody…HE…EH…ELP!’

The dayroom radio blasted out the Beatles' latest.  Several boys who already knew the words showed off by singing along with the Fab Four, screeching and doing imitations of John and Paul at the microphone.

David’s stomach churned.  The next half an hour would tear him apart inside out.  Clarence had said he would be writing today so today was David’s last chance to do the same.  It had to be written. The letter paper stared at him. What to say?

‘Help me if you can, I’m feeling down

And I do appreciate you being ‘round

Help me get my feet back on the ground

Won’t you please, please help me’

The irony of the words was lost on David.  He had the most difficult letter of his life to write.  And after the most difficult term with O levels winding to an end, the dreaded results due this summer which were probably going to be a great disappointment to his parents.  Keeley, the Housemaster, said in his report this term ‘It is high time he learnt to stand on his own two feet, and not to excuse his behaviour, particularly to himself, as being the result of circumstances beyond his control’.  And now this.

He began

Dear Pat and Richard,

He always put his Mother’s name first, from the day she had written secretly asking him to include his Father’s name on letters.  He had previously addressed only her in his weekly letters home.

I don’t know whose letter you will receive first mine or the headmasters, but if you already know about this dreadfull business, please don’t worry about me.

He could imagine his Mother’s face when she read the letter from Clarence. The Headmaster had not included her at the top of his letter, but she would have been passed the letter, silently, by his Father.  ‘I am sorry to say that your elder son has got himself into some serious trouble which I must discuss with you.’  David imagined the scene and the thought tore through his stomach like a bayonet.

I have been taking some things from shops in Horsham, I really don’t know what the outcome of it will be. I have of course seen the Headmaster about it.

Clarence’s beak-like nose twitched as he stared at David.  This had to be real trouble.  Would it be another beating?  David had heard that Clarence was the worst.  His cane hung on one of the hooks on the wooden coat stand behind the black leather-topped desk.  David eyed it nervously. What did he know?  What was it this time?  Within ten minutes David knew that this was far too serious for the cane. Some Horsham shopkeepers had been to the school to report that boys had been seen shoplifting last Saturday.  David didn’t know how they knew it was him.  But it was true and David didn’t deny it.  Clarence had told him he would be writing that day to his parents to tell them to come down to the school as soon as possible. He advised David to do the same.

I have been doing alright in O levels but the whole week has unerved me a lot.  I really don’t know why we all did it. I expect it might be helpfull for you to talk with one of my friends mother about this (WOO5805) I have been so looking forward to the end of term as well.  I don’t think Paul knows but I will tell him. Maybe it’s better if you don’t see me before the Headmaster.  The whole thing is ridiculous and we all realise what we have done.  We are all sorry.  Don’t worry it will turn out all right.  I have learned my lesson and that would be better than going on and getting bigger and bigger.  All my love, David

(to be continued)

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Editing the DVD

I have been up to my ears over the last few days and must apologise to my readers for the delay in writing this chapter of the blog.  There may be those who have be expecting the next episode in the life and times of a boarder at Christ’s Hospital, trying to make sense of the world in the early nineteen sixties.  I am sorry but that episode will have to wait for a while. No real excuse but I have been helping Rhys Edwards with the editing of the DVD and talking to the manufacturers about the design of the cover and booklet.  All of which I am very pleased to report has been progressing excellently.  Rhys has finished the short version of his film which he is to enter for the Sheffield Documentary Film Festival (https://sheffdocfest.com) which is in June.  It’s eight minutes long and is magical.  Of course yes it is about Mr Alexander, but that’s not why his film is magical.  Rhys has managed to capture exactly what I do and my life on the road.  Quite simply it is the nicest compliment and complement to the show. I am so pleased with the film and, even though it is about me, it is also a great little film.

I am hoping that once the film has entered the competition it will be available for everyone to see via the internet.

The longer version for the DVD is also shaping up very nicely.  It has been fascinating to sit next to Rhys at his editing suite watching the skills of a film maker.  I love watching any skilled artist creating their work.  There is a fluency and ease about the practical skills that they use and watching Rhys create the moments of the film, deleting microseconds, fitting music to the shots and allowing the whole to emerge was exactly that; fluent and easy.  Maff’s wonderful Mr Alexander suite of ragtime music fits at least as well as Scott Joplin’s and in some ways even better because it is personal and completely unknown.  I love The Entertainer, but it is almost a cliché and therefore has to be treated with care, whereas Maff’s music has all the wistful pathos of Joplin, say in his almost sad tune Solace, but of course it’s original which makes it more special.  The final tune of the documentary is perfectly suited to the theme and the content at that point in the ‘story’ and I am so happy with it.

I have also been talking to the artist who is designing the DVD cover and booklet inside.  This is planned to look like a period theatre programme complete with mock adverts and all the usual articles that might be in such a thing. 

So it’s been very busy and as well as all that I’m starting a four week, every day, tour with Cat’s Paw Theatre, including a newly devised piece for 16 plus year olds, still on the same subject (rape and sexual consent) but with a new cast and a new story which is more appropriate for that age.  It seems that the North Wales police are finding that (hopefully as a result of our visiting every school with the version for Year 9, 14 year old children) that the demographic of reported rape crime has shifted away from under 16s to the older ones; the college students and sixth formers.  Of course we can’t claim that this shift is as a direct result of the work we have done raising awareness, but we know that over five thousand 14 year olds every year have seen the production and leave the hall after our show knowing what rape is and the clear definition of the complexities of sexual consent.

I won’t promise to continue the story about my own childhood education in Christ’s Hospital next time, particularly as it requires some very careful and slightly painful thought, but I will try to do it.  Various people have told me they find it a fascinating insight into boarding school life in the nineteen sixties so I think it’s worth continuing.

In the meantime, all the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Last shows of the year

Well that’s it. 2014 all but over and a time to review and predict.  My last show at the rather bleak Brookfield shopping centre in Cheshunt was relieved by the very welcoming and friendly people who work there and who manage to keep the whole site immaculate, safe and welcoming for the thousands who shop at the two giant supermarkets.  I do mean immaculate too.  I didn’t see one cigarette end on the carpark and no abandoned forgotten trolleys in the far corners and every morning forecourt was swept and scrubbed by guys who really take particular effort and care to make it so.  And all achieved with a smile and a friendly approach to what could be a daunting and dismal occupation.

Sadly I couldn’t say the same about the previous week at Aylesbury where predicted high winds (which in the end didn’t materialise) meant that the event was transferred to the bleak soulless mind-numbingly awful Friars Square shopping precinct.  Like every precinct in every town across our country, it is an amazingly different environment from the quaint cobbled Town Square outside which for the last few years has been transformed into a magical Victorian Christmas market and in which my stage has looked perfectly suited.  The antithesis inside as I tried to interest the bored passers-by in that bleak place was, like the architecture, insipid, dull and uninspiring.  And without my stage the show has considerably less impact. I don’t think I’ll be there next year as I heard that the organisers preferred the indoor event.  Ah well, one door closes…

Earlier this week I visited wonderful Wallingford and spent a great day with Mr Alexander’s Ragtime Band at the recording studio.  Hearing Maff’s original music grow in the hands of the talented band of musicians was an enormous joy and I am really excited to hear the end result which will be soon.  I am hugely grateful to those who pledged money to this project.  The next step is to spend time with Rhys the film maker to edit and add the music to the DVD. I will be contacting all those who helped fund the project with more updates about the release date for the DVD.  For those who would like a copy when it does come out, watch this space.

So it’s now back in my yard in Chester to prepare for the down time.  Except it’s not really down as there’s loads to be done to prepare for the 2015 season.  Everything has to be taken out of the trailer, assessed, repaired, repainted and varnished.  I am going to spend some time on the outside of the trailer this winter as it has taken some bashing over the last couple of years and needs to be refreshed.  I would dearly love to have the other side of the lorry painted too, but need to find another artist to take that on. If you know of anyone…

There is also the new backdrop to the stage to be constructed, painted and installed. Cheshire artist Liz Ellis has designed a very special new moon cloth and cabinet maker, Suzanne Hodgson are going to paint it in the next few weeks.  I’m very excited about it so another new element to the show for 2015.  And maybe the Materialising Motorbike will materialise in 2015.

When I remember my mental state this time last year, I have to say that things are considerably improved now.  In fact it’s a world of difference. Although I’m not exactly well off, at least this year I think I shall survive financially without the generous assistance of mystery benefactors or credit cards.  Many people helped me psychologically through the difficult times and I need to thank them.  I won’t name them but they know who they are, and thanks, very much, for what you did.

So all is good and can only get better.  The next blog is part of my series of stories from my youth and includes the copy of a real letter I sent home after one of my escapades at Christ’s Hospital.  It’s very revealing.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

First day

The knot in David’s stomach had been there for days on and off, but for the past two or three hours it had grown to a state of permanent and unavoidable presence.  Nothing Pat or Richard said would shift it.  His mum tried to make him feel better by saying how soon it would be before they would see him on a visit.  His dad was impressed by the architecture of the school and tried to encourage him to see it too.  Nothing helped.  All there was to do was to pretend to be brave and he wasn’t doing that very well.

The morning had started early.  They had to be two hours away in Horsham by noon and the car had to be packed.  A typed list sent from the school four weeks earlier made it clear what was and what wasn’t allowed.  Most of his favourite stuff had to stay at home.  The drive had been uncomfortable with his father talking about how proud he was and what a good opportunity it would be and what a great school it was.  His mum kept quiet and David felt her anxiety.  His brother and sister, stiff in their best clothes sat alongside him in the back of the Rover, making occasional comments to pass the time.  ‘I spy’ was tried without any enthusiasm.  They were all mostly silent with their own thoughts.

The first impression as they drove through the ornate iron gates to the school was of a long country house drive with red brick houses either side.  It felt very different from the photos David had seen in the brochure. It felt hard and cruel in the September sun. They drove slowly, wide-eyed faces peering nervously from the car windows, following the signs put out to direct new parents.  Various cars had recently arrived and David saw other worried-looking boys arriving with their families. Once parked more signs directed them to a big hall overlooking a grassed quadrangle, a chapel on one side and another big hall opposite.  Cloisters ran along two sides and as the family walked silently along one they passed notice boards giving information about school activities, lists of rugby teams and faded notices.  A silent wait as they gazed around the hall with plaques dedicated to famous old blues as old boys of the school were called. They listened with all the other families to a speech by the Headmaster, a small, unsmiling, owl-faced man with a Cambridge gown who then directed the new boys to their various houses where it was expected that they should attend to matron’s office for uniform fitting. The parents and families were free to wander around the school while this happened.

For David the next hour was a strange and worrying experience.  Suddenly and unexpectedly split from their parents, David and three other boys found their way to their allocated House and once there were directed to Matron’s office. The old woman was fat and unsmiling. Fitting the uniform meant David had to strip to his underpants in front of her as she tried on various sizes. Matron’s gaze frightened him and even though he had known about it, he hated the uniform from the start.  Through his last years at Primary he had been looking forward to wearing long trousers, but what he had been given to wear today was a pair of thick wool breeches with silvered buttons just below the knee, long bright yellow wool socks, a shirt stiff with starch, clerical bands at the collar which had to be fastened with two safety pins and to top it all a heavy dark blue wool coat reaching to the floor with silver buttons down the front and a leather hip belt.  It all felt heavy and itchy and alien. From the time he had put it on and was passed as fit by Matron, he knew this was for real.  The reality at that moment was that this was his new life, this discomfort in a place with no warmth, no friendliness, no understanding of what was going on inside his head.

Meeting up again with his family dressed like this was difficult for them all.  Surely they could see how much he hated it?  Nothing was said though and almost without any more discussion it was time for them to part.  Goodbyes were awkward and dreadful but nothing more was said. 

David watched as the Rover disappeared back down the drive.  It would soon be teatime and uniformed boys were gathering in the House Day room.  David had unpacked his trunk and put the box of Quality Street, Miss Heathcott’s gift to him, in his locker. He crept into the dayroom.  In one corner a group of boys were listening to a radio.  They ignored him. Pop music David didn’t like.  He was feeling desperate.  He fetched the Quality Street, opened it and offered the tin to one of the boys. 

‘You don’t offer us sweets.  You don’t talk to us.’ The boy sneered and turned away, laughing at the squit’s audacity.

Life would never be the same again for David and he knew it at that moment.  His past life was forced to fade into distant memory by the sharp pain of rejection. Instantly he was on guard, ready for the next assault.  It wouldn’t be long in coming as the Christ’s Hospital bell rang for tea.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander