Disruption and Community

I was moved, and both saddened, and encouraged by two trips to the theatre in the last couple of weeks First, Guildford’s Yvonne Arnaud presented The Bee Keeper of Aleppo, a powerful story of flight from war and persecution, of disrupted lives. This was followed by Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, the debut production of the new Welsh National Theatre, a co production with Kingston’s Rose Theatre, and what a production, one of the best I’ve seen in recent times in terms of design, direction and performance. Far from being a story of disruption, this is a hymn to community, a celebration of life and a reminder to savour the moment. The inhabitants of Grovers Corners are shown living their lives, their routines, their relationships with events in the wider world impinging but always off stage somewhere.

These were two powerful plays, taking us through sadness and joy. The first reminded us very powerfully of how inhuman human beings can be with the experiences of the central characters ranging from violence and death, through exploitation, unfriendly bureaucracy and a search for peace and a return to a settled life. The second pressed home the importance of community, of those very everyday settled lives that have been torn from the dispossessed who arrive seeking sanctuary.

The message of The Beekeeper was not lost on the audience, although we came away feeling that many more should see it, not least those who would not choose to go. One message I brought away from Our Town was the importance of savouring our good times, and appreciating those we love while we’re with them, not merely in retrospect. With that in mind I offer a moment from my childhood, featuring someone who was a very important part of my life, my grandfather – and bringing to my mind the relations between him and my parents.

Painting the Bath

The bath was cast iron and needed painting, 
acrylics and bathroom suites 
not yet having reached the West Riding

my father sought advice, or maybe 
advice was simply there, the offer made,
by my grandfather, his father-in-law,
a painter and decorator by trade

the whole operation was carefully planned,
three pages of note paper, written in a careful hand
set out in detail the procedure to be followed

the newspaper to be placed on the floor
the cleaning, the sanding down, the rinsing,
and then the break, a cup of tea,
leaving the bath to dry

then came the paint, a primer first, applied with care
smooth and even, then another break, another layer,
each lightly sanded, the residue washed away

then, only then, the true painting could begin
hoping the colour matched the picture on the tin 
and gently avoiding brush marks
gently sanding, rinsing, painting

three layers more, then waiting
until all was done, and paint was dry
more waiting as the bath was filled with cold water 

left to soak then left empty for a spell 
before it could be used
before hot water, bath salts and soap
could be applied

I do not recall how long it was 
before the old bath was replaced
how long we enjoyed the fruits of these labours

before we succumbed, like all our neighbours,
to the modern, acrylic, bathroom suite
matching basin, bath, and loo, in avocado,
nor do I recall what my grandfather made of the change