Heat, a hat and heady honeysuckle
An uneventful and leisurely drive down from
Salisbury to Ilfracombe. Salisbury,
where I spent a morning en flaneur re-visiting all my old haunts from over
forty years ago where as a young, ex-drama school, full-of myself acting asm I
joined Salisbury Playhouse and three weekly rep for my first professional
engagement. Much of it was as it was and
much was gone and very different. The
best was to visit the Arts centre in which, two years later, in 1973 or 74, I
ran the first event which helped launch it from a beautiful but redundant
church into a vibrant community arts centre.
A Five-Penny Festival ran every day of the Easter School holidays and
over four hundred children came there daily for drama, events, making and processions
for five pence a day (you could buy a large Kitkat for 5p then). The space
there now is spectacular. (www.salisburyartscentre.co.uk)
I spoke briefly to the operations manager, one of a team of 18 full time staff
and almost as many part timers who now work there developing the arts for
people, just as we dreamed of all those decades ago when the odd band of
individuals found ourselves in possession of the keys to the church. I was uplifted and so proud to see that
wonderful space now extended and renovated, vibrant, popular and successful and
to think that I had somehow helped the rebirth of that extraordinary space.
And so to Devon where the sun is shining
and provides my dream location, next to the theatre overlooking the bay (photo
below) and just along from the harbour, complete with the infamous huge
pregnant woman sculpture by Whatshisname.
The half a cow ‘artist’. The
scent of honeysuckle is all-pervading here this year. Everywhere we walk around the lorry, it’s
optimistic aroma assaults the senses. The
area was the Victorian gardens of a huge hotel, demolished a few years ago to
make way for the Landmark Theatre. I think it isn’t actually honeysuckle but a species
of palm which grows everywhere in this balmy gulf stream infused county. And it’s warm and mellow and it’s oh so
happy. So happy that I bought a
hat! A replacement for my two-year-old
panama which now is held together by hidden Jaffa tape (an extra sticky
brilliant orange version of gaffer tape!).
It was expensive but at least I now am earning and can afford to invest
a little into the show, and especially as the old one was looking below
standard.
A couple of days to do the washing, roam and
relax and tomorrow I am revising some evaluation reports for Cat’s Paw Theatre,
so I am keeping myself rooted a little in the real world and not becoming
totally seduced by the romance of my life, which, accentuated ferociously by
the heady notes of honeysuckle, the wonderful warmth of the summer sun and the
shade of my lovely new hat has threatened to take me over at times today.
Victorian Week in Ilfracombe is another of
those volunteer-run events whose core of dedicated individuals never cease to
amaze and excite me with their energy, enthusiasm and eccentricity. I am trying to come up with a Mr Alexander
special for them again this year but as yet nothing has emerged. Last year it was ‘Christmas Day in the
Workhouse’, a recitation of the famous Victorian Parlour poem which I had
learned by heart for the occasion. Not
sure how to top that one this time.
Perhaps better to attempt something of an entirely different
nature. Let it ferment for a couple of
days and something will emerge. I fancy something of a mentalist nature, but
not sure what.
The weather forecast is mixed but we’ll
see. I shall put the awning up which now
has a brand new and rather fetchingly camp burgundy beaded fringe along the top
edge. A great success and lends the
awning a real Victorian look, rather like a flamboyant standard lampshade!
All the best from a road near you,
Mr Alexander
The view from my window towards Ilfracombe harbour at night (the dark bit in the middle is the sea which you can't see!)
