War Horse

The adaptation of Michael Morpurgo’s novel ‘War Horse’ by The National Theatre has to be one of the greatest theatrical achievements of the new millennium. The plot in its original form focuses on the carnage of the First World War from the perspective of Joey, a Devonshire thoroughbred who is sold by his cruel owner to the local yeomanry at the outbreak of the conflict. In the novel, Joey relates the highs and lows of his experience of the ‘Great War’ including his first cavalry charge, his capture by the Germans, and the different relationships he formed along the way with his various riders and the other horses who suffered the folly and brutality of that darkest episode in British history.
In this dramatization, the horses are portrayed by life-size puppets created for the production by the South African Company Handspring. These beautiful creations are made from bamboo, leather and gauze and each are manipulated by three actors who have been brilliantly trained by Handspring over the course of rehearsals to bring them to life. One actor operates the neck and head from outside with a rod, the other two manoeuvre the back and front legs from within its vast body. Although these magnificent ‘horses’ do not speak, we somehow see the action of the drama from their perspective and they are undoubtedly the stars of the show, especially Joey.
War Horse is a love story between the eponymous hero and Albert, the son of the cruel farmer who sells his beloved horse to the Yeomanry at the outset of the conflict. Albert finds in Joey in those brief years before the war everything missing in his father; affection, nobility, transcendence and he devotes himself to caring for the horse, protecting him from his hateful owner. Joey responds with all the admirable loyalty animals can offer humanity.
The wider story of the First World War that is told in ‘War Horse’ is in one sense very familiar; the horror of the guns, the desperate, doomed charges against the enemy, the gas, the shell shock of the soldiers. However, the unusual perspective we are given brings home both its tragedy and folly as if we are hearing about war for the first time. There is something very poignant about the mute chorus of puppets we encounter throughout the play. They are the silent witnesses of one of the most unforgivable crimes of that bloody century, and also the most innocent of its many victims.
Through the strange upside-down logic of theatre, the fact that they are puppets and that we can see the actors manipulating them makes them all the more real as we increasingly suspend our disbelief during the progress of the play. This is partly a tribute to the art of the puppeteers. The bamboo is cleverly crafted to define the geometric shapes that comprise the animal; the leather gives the colour and texture of the horse especially under stage lights. The skill and indeed humility of the puppeteers render themselves almost invisible after a while which makes the horses appear to have a life of their own. I became riveted by the mysterious impulses of these creatures throughout the course of the play. It was as though their puppeteers were acting as channels of some mysterious force that moved the horses at unexpected moments to respond to events happening on stage. The ‘horses’ manifested that strange intuitive wisdom that we associate with what’s best in animals and it was as though they alone could sense the impending doom as the British armies marched jauntily off to war in their bright buttoned uniforms, to the absurd sound of the brass bands.
There is something almost mechanical about the appearance of these creatures, with wheel-like hip joints tapering into stilt-like legs which break at intricately designed sockets. This underlines both the sheer beauty of the animal’s design and also the way a reckless humanity reduces such beauty to a mere function in its absurd projects like the ‘Great War.’ The insanity which swept Europe into this futile conflict, is frequently underlined in the production by the fact the many of the soldiers have no idea how to look after their horses. They use hunting horses like Joey and Topthorn as farm horses to cart weaponry across the boggy fields of France, and one of the most pitiful sights in the play, is the latter’s inevitable collapse from sheer exhaustion. When man loses touch with nature, all hell breaks loose. We are still learning this, alas.
Despite the grim realism of the plot, there was in this adaptation a haunting mysticism which brought a sense of transcendence to the drama. This was achieved largely through some glorious folk songs from the composer John Tams. These were performed by a lone figure with his accordion standing chorus-like, on the edge of the stage between the battles. He sang of the cycles of nature, the hardiness of the land and its enduring capacity for renewal, and through this and the heroism of characters like Joey and Albert, we are left with hope. People often ask where God might be, when we witness the worst that humanity can do. One answer that is often suggested is to say that he is to be found in the innocent victim. In this re-telling of the horror of war, the Divine was made manifest in Joey, the noble and courageous war horse brought vividly to life by his sensitive puppeteers. If you don’t get to see the play, read the book.

Marley and Me

We were visiting the girls Grandma in the Easter holidays and our elder daughter was keen to see the new film ‘Marley and Me’ based on the book by John Grogan. Part of a Dad’s duty, and sometimes delight, is to go with his children to see movies he wouldn’t go to of his own accord. This is fair enough, particularly as I had dragged Charlotte off to look round a Georgian stately home in The Fens on our way to my mother’s. Charlotte had actually found exploring the beautiful house and its two acre walled garden a surprisingly positive experience. Perhaps I would be similarly inspired by this rather slushy sounding film starring Jennifer Aniston.
It’s about newly-weds, John and Jennifer Grogan, who are, like many winning combinations, total opposites, although they share the same occupation as journalists. She is feisty and efficient, and propels them forward along their new journey together, by working through a tick-list of priorities to ensure their life is as happy as can be. Within days of the completed honeymoon, they have headed south to find work in sunny Florida. Once this is accomplished, she drives them off to find a house by the sea. John on the other hand, is charmingly laid-back, with floppy blond hair and a beguiling James Stewart drawl. He admits to his new employer at the local paper, that he is constantly surprised by his own achievements, and in particular finding such a beautiful girl to marry him. In spite of this engaging humility, John does have some ambition, and wants to become a successful reporter one day on a reputable journal like the New York Times. Therefore, he is a little wary of getting saddled with kids before he’s begun to make his mark. His sharper, sassier colleague and friend in Florida, Sebastian, advises him to get a dog to deflect the issue of starting a family from his wife, and so within a short time Marley, an adorable Labrador puppy has been adopted by John and Jenny Grogan. This is the point where our newly weds discover what marriage is all about. Marley may be adorable, but he is also virtually untameable, and far more demanding than they had bargained for. He eats like a horse rather than a puppy, chews through their fixtures and fittings, and has no respect for public decorum. Marley’s problem, which soon becomes theirs, is that he is so full of joie de vivre, that he crashes through every barrier, whether physical or social, in his eagerness to experience life to the full. Inevitably the film exploits the comedy of Marley’s behaviour, but as the story of the Grogan’s marriage develops, we see there is much more to this over-grown puppy than a simple figure of fun. As time goes by, John finds himself somewhat side-lined on the paper. He is asked to write a weekly column about local trivia, while his friend Sebastian is sent off to report on important events unfolding in the wider world. Initially John is understandably ‘blocked’ in his attempt to say anything interesting about the local gossip, but Marley’s eccentric companionship as they rove the neighbourhood, ensures he always finds an interesting anecdote to thread into his new column. Somehow, Marley roots John’s life, and thus his writing, in the messy practical details of everyday existence, and though he still yearns for the big-time, his weekly journal becomes a great success with his local readers. However, when John and Jennifer have children, in fact three in fairly quick succession, the Grogan’s marriage is placed under great strain, particularly since Marley demands the equivalent care of at least the same number again. Jennifer becomes so overwhelmed at one point, that she tears into her gentle giant of a husband. They talk about separation and Jennifer demands at the very least, that John gets rid of Marley once and for all. This crisis forces them to take stock of their life together, and through this they discover what matters most. Both the marriage and Marley, they ultimately decide, are here to stay.
Although, as the film’s title suggests, Marley is very much in the foreground of the film’s action and narrative, he also provides a back-drop for it’s examination of a typical modern marriage. John and Jennifer Grogan struggle with all the common tensions of most middle-class couples in the West today, as they seek to build a family and a future together; the choice between motherhood and career, finding a healthy work-life balance, letting go of unfulfilled ambitions at mid-life, growing to understand and positively accept themselves as they truly are, becoming wise and loving parents. Marley symbolizes the messy chaos of creating a family, the endless needs that have to be met in the process of caring for dependants. This reality is cleverly contrasted with Sebastian’s slicker, yet somewhat selfish, existence as a single-man, dating women wherever he is sent as a successful reporter for The New York Times. To its credit the film does not judge Sebastian, who is portrayed with warmth and humour, but it perhaps hints at what he may be missing. In spite of his boundless energy, Marley inevitably begins to slow down and crawl toward death as the years roll by. This is the messiest and most chaotic factor in caring for anyone, striking painfully at the deep emotional bond that has been formed over the years. Though the film is unashamedly sentimental in showing the Grogan’s pain at facing up to Marley’s death, it is never cheaply so. John, Jennifer and the children are quite understandably devastated at having to say goodbye to their vivacious, affectionate companion through the highs and lows of family life. In a wistful monologue at the end of the film, John reflects how Marley’s love for them had been utterly spontaneous and unconditional. It mattered not a jot to Marley whether they were rich or poor, successful or otherwise . As John muses before the credits roll, how many others love us in quite that way?
In this, the first week of Easter, I found the film uplifting and life-affirming, despite the pathos of its ending. In the Christian story, we are taught that God began the messy, chaotic process of creating a family when he made human-kind in His own image. We learn, especially in the narrative of the crucifixion, just how much that cost him. Yet we are reminded supremely in the Resurrection, that the cost was worth it. In the Crucifixion and Resurrection, God in His love for his wild, unruly family, shares the highs and lows of human history. These momentous paschal events reveal, through the story of Jesus, not only our frightening tendency for self-destruction, but also our ultimate capacity for overcoming the worst that life can throw at us. Every family that perseveres, discovers this wonderful truth. Rachel and I will drive back to Sussex with our girls this Easter, with a renewed vision for our own marriage and family, even if I still can’t persuade her after all these years to let us get a dog.

Seven Last Words

There’s a handful of village churches clustered close together in the Surrey hills known as ‘The Leith Hill Group.’ On Good Friday, the two pieces of the Cross are brought over Leith Hill to St. James Church in Abinger by members of the other congregations, and banged together at the start of a midday service of meditation. Apart from the obvious symbolism of this ritual, it makes for a wonderful ramble across Vaughn Williams countryside on this most poignant day of the Christian calendar. For the evening, our friend Francis Cave had again organized a concert of music and readings at the little church perched above the village green in Holmbury St. Mary. Francis sings in the village choral society, and they had decided to present some of the more relevant pieces from Handel’s Messiah, in the first part of the programme. My wife Rachel, a violinist, played Abodah, a sombre Jewish lament by Ernest Bloch, for the second half of the programme, and I followed this by reading ‘Seven Sonnets for a Friday Afternoon.’ I had written these poems, based on Christ’s last words from the Cross, especially for this occasion. This had given me a tough creative challenge during lent, especially as I have barely written any verse at all up till now. However, one advantage of choosing this theme as my subject matter, is that the first line is already there for each poem, should one choose to use it as a starting point. Moreover, there is inherent drama and lyricism in the words of a dying man, especially those of the incarnate God. Yet therein also lies a stumbling block for the artist. The subject is rather too familiar, the path so well worn over the past couple of millennia. How can it be approached afresh? No doubt every clergyman asks this same question, when preparing sermons during Holy Week. I wrote the first six poems back in February, and felt vaguely positive about them until I wrote the seventh, which I realized was markedly better than my previous efforts.

It is finished.
The actor bows his head in silence.
The drama is done.
Folds of darkness shroud The Icon
Etched forever on those beating breasts
Recoiling from the tragic scene-
Deaf to the applause of Heaven.
At the Temple in the City
The curtain opens on another stage.
Now everyone’s an actor
With a role to play
In the Holy Company of Fools.
It is finished.
Let the Comedy begin!

The more I compared this to the others, the more dissatisfied I felt with the first six. Apart from a rather clumsy formlessness, they lacked any kind of integrity as a series. An obvious point about the last words of Christ, is that they are variations on a theme from the lips of one man, uttered at the climactic hours of his life. Back to the drawing board! So I began again, with this more successful one as my starting point, and worked backwards, totally rewriting the others.
The key which helped me unlock something of the mystery of Christ’s passion when writing this seventh poem, was using imagery from a world I understood, namely that of theatre and drama. I felt comfortable using this familiar language and playing with its metaphorical possibilities. Even though this is by no means an original approach to the Crucifixion, I feel it gave the poem an authentic, resonant tone, especially for a novice! The other discovery I made when I analysed the verse, was that I had unconsciously used the sonnet form. I decided to do keep to this form for the first six poems too, and again draw upon imagery from the arts, such as painting, sculpture, or music to suggest Christ’s profound awareness of the creative essence of his sacrifice. Restricting yourself to just fourteen lines, forces you to choose and use words sparingly, making sure each one earns its place in the great parade of sound and sense! Brevity is indeed the soul of wit, and perhaps of theology, too. Christ himself, was the master of economy, when for example, he reduced his great wisdom on prayer down to the ‘Our Father,’ or the secret of happiness to those pithy lines known as ‘The Beatitudes.’ ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.’ Indeed his seven last sayings are likewise remarkable for their extraordinary compression, notably that final sentence of just three words. ‘It is finished.’ The Gospel of John beautifully reflects Christ’s instinctive poetic vision when recording the many metaphors he used to reveal his unique nature as both man and God. ‘I am the light of the world’ etc. Yet above all, it is his fleeting life and ministry that speaks with the elegance and eloquence of a sonnet. Here is the son of man breaking bread with the outcasts of Palestine, walking the way to dusty death in Jerusalem, and then appearing on the sparkling shores of Galilee, where it all began. His life, death and resurrection as recorded by his followers trace the mystical cycle of spiritual growth and renewal. So with this in mind, I’ll say no more about the mystery of the Cross, other than to present the rest of the poems which I developed after I had completed the seventh. I was thrilled to discover they were well received by the congregation, along with Rachel’s Abodah, and the Choir’s Messiah. Happy Easter!


Sonnets for a Friday Afternoon

1. Father Forgive Them

Father forgive them; they know not what they do
When they deface the Son of Man and mar
The radiant Holy image printed there
The countenance divine, the morning star.

Your kingly brow is pierced by crown of thorns
To smear your royal cheek with stain of red,
Convert a gracious smile to gruesome leer,
A face of beauty, to a mask of dread.

They hail their work of art with mocking sign
And hang it on a hill for all to see.
Yet what they make, is but an image of themselves
Sundered from the Heart which set them free

And who they mar’s their Father and His Son
The Holy Spirit, God, the Three in One.

2. Paradise

This day you’ll be with me in paradise
Living monument to my Father’s grace
In a mansion set in fragrant gardens,
Eternal realm transcending time and place

Though now, your naked form, wasted and worn,
Wrenched wide in exposition of offence
Before the wrathful glare of baking sun,
Draws howls of horror from your audience

Yet, soon, this very day, your sacred soul
Shall be regarded in a softer light
At rest beneath an arc of weeping willow
With deep compassion and with tender sight.

For all my father fashions from this clay
I offer up in love, this Paschal day.

3. Mother Behold You Son

You were chosen as a virgin
To bear the pain of suffering
Wear the robes of mourning
Share with God, the role of grieving
For His children of the earth.

Yet in truth, my darling woman
Your part has just begun.
For He’s made you Queen of Heaven,
Enthroned till Kingdom Come,
Madonna to the host of nations,
Mother to His Sons.

The Lord has lifted up the humble
And sent away the proud.
He will clothe you with a light celestial,
He will cast away the shroud.

4. I Am Thirsty

From far and wide they came
Drawing water from The Spring;
Hungry minds and thirsty souls
For a taste of things to come.

So I turned their water into wine
Their stale and stagnant souls
Into a Holy temple washed with Love
Flowing streams within.

Now at last I’m thirsty too,
An empty well run dry.
My sap has withered in the heat
And died upon The Tree.

Yet spite of this, My God, I offer up to you,
This shattered pot of clay, to fashion it anew.

5. Why Have You Forsaken Me?

My God, my God why have you forsaken me
Your living Word, begotten Son?
Have you nothing left to say?
Are there no more words to scribe
Upon the tablet of my heart?
In You I’ve lived, and moved and breathed
According to Your inspiration
Through the passage of my days.
You spoke me into life through Your Divine command
And shaped my soul through every shifting scene
To this climactic hour.
Now I’m fixed in time, suspended in the dark,
Waiting for the sign that speaks my end-
That I may live it to the last.


6. Into Your hands

Into Your hands I commit my spirit.
O God in whom I trust.
Dying breath of sad lament
For this scarred and blood-soaked earth.
I have sighed and swayed with sacred songs
For those with ears to hear.
Songs to guide the wandering pilgrim
Lost along her way.
Songs to ease the troubled sinner
Shackled in his soul.
Now, this cadence is for You, my God
This cadence is for You.
May this ebbing sigh of grief inspire
A rousing ode to joy.

Goglin Market - a tale of two sisters.

As the congregation of St. John’s drifted out of the church clutching their Palm crosses, I began to set up for the final production of ‘Visions in the Wilderness.’ The Space Drama Company which on this occasion consisted of five middle-aged actors were due to present an adaptation of Christina Rossetti’s highly acclaimed poem, ‘Goblin Market’ written one hundred and fifty years ago. As we are planning to tour this show to diverse community venues in the coming weeks, we have kept the staging as minimalist as possible. The poem tells the story of two Victorian sisters who live on the edge of the woods, and relates their dramatic encounters with goblin merchants who entice them with forbidden fruits at night. Laura succumbs to temptation and suffers a terrible sickness of body and soul, until she is restored by her heroic sibling Lizzie. To do so, Lizzie has to visit the dreaded goblins in the woods and withstand their sinister assaults, as they seek to defile her in the same way as her sister. I borrowed five cleverly crafted tree stumps from the props department at my school, piled bark-chippings around each one, to give them a more rooted appearance - and hey presto, we were in the woods! The stumps were arranged within a large circle of seats, providing somewhere for each actor to perch, whilst narrating the poem to the surrounding audience. As well as reciting the poem, we physically embodied the characters and dramatic encounters as often as we could, to really bring the verse off the page. Two members of the church had created an over-hanging orchard of exotic fruits which was lowered on a winch from the ceiling during the opening chant of the goblins: ‘Come buy, come buy!’ Sadly we won’t be taking this design feature with us ‘on the road’, but for now, this gave a powerful focal point for the symbolic heart of the poem. What are Rossetti’s forbidden fruits supposed to represent? Literary scholars have discussed this question, just as Biblical commentators have reflected on those hanging in the garden of Eden. Biographical facts provide some clues. Rossetti wrote Goblin Market around the time she began caring for fallen women in Highgate Penitentiary. Many of these were still teenagers, and had been lured into prostitution by pimps who strolled the streets of London by night. The girls were enticed by the prospect of escaping a life of poverty, since they could make more money in an evening, than many hours of grinding toil in the workhouse. However, apart from the hazard of disease, prostitution often led to a complete spiritual collapse for these poor souls, since they were ostracised from family and society in general. Many a girl ended up face down in the River Thames, unless they found a ‘sister’ like Lizzie to rescue them before it was too late. Rossetti, inspired by her robust Christian faith, became such a sister at the Highgate Penitentiary in the mid 1850’s, and her experience of serving there must surely have fired her imagination while writing the poem. However, it has been suggested that the poem reflects Rossetti’s spiritual journey in more complex ways. She was a sickly lass, herself, from her adolescence onwards. Her illness seems to have been both physical and psychological. If she lived in our time, we should say she was prone to bouts of acute depression. We may also conclude, as her brothers William and Dante Gabriel did even then, that her intense religious faith was as much the cause as the cure of her frequent maladies. Her older sister Maria was perhaps more the model for the heroic Lizzie in the poem than the authoress. Maria eventually became a nun, and throughout her life embodied the solid Victorian virtues expected of healthy females of the time. Christina was the poet, the artist struggling to give expression to an intense inner life, at a time when women were beginning to emerge from centuries of social and psychological oppression. Thus on one level, the poem can be read as a didactic tract for fallen women, pointing along the path of salvation from the degradation of vice. Yet at the same time it captures the tension between two sides of the poet herself, and perhaps many of her more intelligent, sensitive contemporaries. There is Lizzie the more conventional sister who listens to the advice of her elders and thus manages to survive in the brutal patriarchal society governed by Goblin merchants. The fat cats of the Victorian age? And there is Laura, who yearns to break out of the tightly proscribed lifestyle for virtuous young maids of her age, and discovers how vulnerable that makes her, in the ruthless, competitive society of the Darwinian age. Although Rossetti was a Christian and in many ways a high achieving woman for her time, she does not appear to be a happy or whole individual judging by recent biography. Her writing often seems to be a form of therapy, disguised behind the formal patterns of the verse. Many a commentator has remarked on the rich, even erotic sensuality of her description of fruit in the poem. On the one hand she preaches against forbidden desires, on the other she seems to almost celebrate them, in a splendid display of linguistic virtuosity. Whilst Lizzie is being force-fed the fruits by her goblin tormentors, Rossetti writes: ‘ Lizzie uttered not a word; / would not open lip from lip / Lest they should cram a mouthful in: / But laughed in her heart to feel the drip / Of juice that syruped all her face / And lodged in dimples of her chin, / And streaked her neck with quaked like curd.’ There is a fine line between a positive self-denial and a negative repression and it so easily becomes blurred in our quest for fulfilment. There is much talk today from both religious teachers and pyschologists, about the importance of acknowledging our shadow side. That ofcourse is not the same as indulging it, but rather learning to understand and harness the deep conflicts within us in a constructive and creative way. I suspect that Rossetti's personal struggles resulted from her fear, or even disgust of her shadow side. Without the wisdom of Jung, Victorian moralists saw only the black and white of good and evil. This leads to self rejection, and thus often to depression. Yet in her writing, in her art, Rossetti expresses this shadow side in a way that is ultimately healing. In the character of Laura for example, she finds a sensuous and playful way of exploring this side of herself. Then through Lizzie, she expresses compassion and forgiveness to her darker side which brings empowerment to both the sisters by the end of the poem. So with this tale of two sisters, Rossetti brings us to the heart of her complex inner world. It's sad, though perhaps not surprising, considering the era she lived in, that Rossetti herself was not liberated or empowered by such spiritual insights in poems like 'Goblin Market.' Yet perhaps we may benefit from them, in our more enlightened age. A mature spirituality teaches us to live with, and positively embrace ambiguity, paradox and contradiction rather than reduce our world to a black and white of simplistic moral absolutes. The Space Drama Company will take this dramatized poem to the YMCA in Horsham, a retreat centre for the blind and partially sighted in Burgess Hill, a psychiatric ward in Crawley, perhaps a prison or two in Sussex. I hope and pray that this tale of two sisters, the goblins and their fruits, will be an entertaining and stimulating starting point for much discussion and reflection for us all! Watch this space!