Whilst researching for the Hartfield Community Play, A.A. Milne’s home village, I read his autobiography; in it he writes about a time when he was a guest at a dinner of Preparatory School Headmasters: They all, so it seemed, made speeches; and the burden of all their speeches was the obstructiveness of the parents to their beneficent labours. I had disclaimed any desire to make a speech, but by this time I wanted to. I told them that on this very evening, I had offered the alternatives of a proposition of Euclid’s or a chapter of Treasure Island as a bedtime story, and my own boy had chosen Euclid: "it was so much more fun". "All children”, I said (perhaps rashly) “are like that. There is nothing they are not eager to learn. And then we send them to your schools, and in two years, three years, four years, you have killed all their enthusiasm. At fifteen their own eagerness is to escape learning anything." It was not a popular speech. But he’s right. I think I would have liked Alan Milne. I blame some teachers; I certainly don’t blame all of them. In fact one headmaster approached Milne after his speech and said he thought it absolutely true what he was saying…“ but why is it? What do we do? I’ve often wondered”. As human beings we are bestowed with this astonishing gift of imagination. We have the capacity to bring to mind things that are not present, to hypothesize about things that have never been but could be. Every feature of human culture is the consequence of this facility. Our imagination has produced an astounding diversity of culture, of enterprise and innovation. As a species we speak 6,000 languages, we have produced Hamlet, Mozart, great symphonies, jazz, air travel, quantum mechanics, the theory of relativity; everything that exemplifies the rise of human culture. We can be extraordinary. But I believe we systematically strangle this in-born ability of imagination in our children and in ourselves. I’m sure we don’t do it deliberately but we do it habitually and unthinkingly. I can’t imagine there’s a teacher anywhere who gets up in the morning thinking “Great now whose life shall I screw up today?” Nevertheless I think by assuming certain ideas about what it is to be educated we do screw up lives. I, among millions, have grown up with a system of public education that is dominated by a concept of economic usefulness. It’s inherent in the hierarchy of subjects in the school curriculum. Maths, Science and English are always deemed to be the most important, then the humanities and then the Arts, way down at the bottom. And with in the Arts there’s another hierarchy. Music and Art are always thought to be more important than dance and drama. There isn’t a school system anywhere that advocates systematically teaching dance everyday to every child in the way we require them to learn mathematics. Why? I’m not against mathematics, on the contrary but why is dance so underrated, children love to dance. The reason, quite simply, is that the government, and those who determine the curriculum, see no economic point in it. There’s an economic judgement made in constructing the school curriculum. I’m sure like me you were steered away from things you were good at; towards things that other people advised would be of more value to you. So in effect our school curriculum is based on the assertion that there are two kinds of subjects useful ones, and useless ones and the useless ones fall away especially when money is tight. There was survey carried out on 1,500 people that tested individual’s ability for divergent thinking. Divergent thinking is the ability to develop original and unique ideas and to envision multiple solutions to a problem; psychologist J.P. Guilford developed the concept in the 1950s and he saw it as a major component of creativity. Typical ‘test’ paper would be: Below are five everyday objects. Think of as many different uses as you can for each
There’s no time limit but people usually completed it within fifteen minutes. A ‘dull’ person might come up with three answers; an average with ten, a brilliant divergent thinker might come up with twenty five, a genius with a fifty or more. Genius divergent thinkers are even prone to challenge the precepts of the question by asking – “Can the paper clip be twenty feet high?” “Can the brick be made of foam rubber?” What percentage of people do you think scored at genius level? I should tell you one more thing about the group tested; they were all aged between 3 and 5 years old. The most revealing aspect was that this was a longitudinal test; the same children were tested every five years, between 8 and 10, then 13 to 15. They finally tested 2,000 adults 25years and older as a control. How do you think the different groups performed? Here are the results: 3 to 5 year olds 98% They retested again 5 years later 8 to 10 year olds 32% You can possibly already see a trend here can’t you? 13 to 15 year olds 10% They finally tested 20,000 adults, just once as a control. 25 year olds and over 2% One would expect, or at least have some hope that we’d start not being very good and you get better as we get older. So it appears we are all born with the ability to think divergently and it mostly deteriorates. A lot has happened to these children as they’ve grown up; and one of the most important things that have happened to them is they have become educated. To a large extent, this decline in divergent thinking has to be because children spend and great proportion of their schooling being told that there’s only one answer. The answer may well be at the back of the book, but you can’t look, that’s cheating; paradoxically in the real world it’s called research and ‘copying’ is called collaboration.
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I visited Dorchester’s sixth Community Play at the weekend. Written and directed by Rupert Creed, it is built around the tale of Thomas Hardy’s poem. Drummer Hodge is an overtly political debate about Britain’s foreign wars. It flies in the face of the idea that community plays should not be political on the grounds that politics is divisive, and community plays should be uniting. I’ve never believed that. It’s especially evident with Drummer Hodge, that here is a left wing view being expressed strongly in a right wing town; a risky move? Maybe, but I heard nor saw anything in the passion with which the cast presented the play that even verged on division. In the second half of the play, we see an act of kindness by Drummer Hodge towards civilian Boer prisoners, which ultimately leads to his death; it throws up questions about our shared humanity. The messages are so relevant and transferable to today. It points to how the simplistic and ill-concieved demonisation of others can be used to convince us to enter into and support unnecessary wars. It demonstrates how history can inform us and challenge our perceptions about contemporary issues.
On a personal level I found the evening very moving. There was a much loved line from David Edgar’s play Entertaining Strangers, that I’ve remembered, often quoted and, I think, even stolen : “Tis not so much the matter, as the manner…sir” It’s a great line and an object lesson worth remembering. After the show a man in his late forties approached and asked if I remembered him, No I didn’t…then he quoted the line and I knew directly. Paul, now 48 was 19 when he spoke the lines as a disgruntled younger member of a the gallery musicians sacked unsympathetically by the Reverend Moule. Maybe I can be forgiven for not recognising him, but I remember him. I was reunited with people from as far back as 29 years. In the audience were past cast members from Entertaining Strangers (Dorchester 1985); Out of the Blue (1989) Listenstone (1991); Vital Spark (1992); On the Green Rock (2000); Time to Keep (2007). It’s gratifying to see just how large the community play family has got. The feelings of the experience are sustained for years, and being involved in one play connects us to the others. A vivid memory I’ll come away with from Dorchester’s present play is seeing three generations of one family on stage together, some of whom were in Time to Keep that I directed seven years ago. The story is best picked up by Fran Samson who posted it on the Dorchester Community Play website below: The Sansom Family FRAN SANSOM who with husband Rob and daughter Maisie were members of the smuggling fraternity in the last community play while daughter Kitty cheered up her fellow prisoners; recounts the impact which the Dorchester Community Plays have had on her life and that of the whole family. Since the last play another member for a future cast has made her appearance. The five Dorchester Community Plays have been part of my growing up and a part of our family life. My mother was involved from the start with roles in the plays and involvement in the trusts and committees bringing the plays to fruition; so I had an idea what a huge project a community play was from the outset, and the difference it could make to people’s lives. In 1984 our first play was “Entertaining Strangers” and my brother and I were in the band. I became friendly with the lad playing my mother’s son in the production. Twenty eight years, a wedding and three children later, and we are “friendlier” than ever. Community Plays are greater than the sum of their parts. They are confidence enhancing, skill revealing, friendship forming, and life-changing events. Everyone has a place in them whatever skills you may have – and if you think you have none, then a Community play will show you otherwise. The opportunity to be involved at so many levels; fund raising, publicity, costume making and construction, and, of course acting and music, make you feel like you own this play in a way you never can with a regular production. As a family we have been involved in just about every aspect of the last five plays, at one time or another. And that’s the best thing; we have done it as a family; first as a teenager with my mum and brother, then with my husband, and in 2008, as a family with our two small daughters. The play was “A Time to Keep” and had a cast of over a hundred. The stages were many, large and made of scaffolding; the rehearsals often long with time spent just waiting, and there was a lot to learn. We had a fabulous time. Our daughters were then 7 and 4. It may surprise you to know that Kitty, the elder, was not a smuggler with the three of us, but a prisoner, working with children and adults that she had not previously known; and she flourished. She felt safe and supported, said lines and sang a song, and blossomed among new friends. At only 7 she found a new confidence and new skills. It may also surprise you to learn that Maisie has Downs Syndrome and, particularly at 4, had little sense of danger, scant regard for personal space, and liked to take centre stage. We never felt that she was anything less than totally accepted, and there was a great sense of protection and affection for her. If ever we lost track of her, someone else always knew where she was. When the older children played under the stage, they helped her join in. When she stood next to the director and helped to dramatically illustrate his direction, it was accepted with tolerance and remarkable good humour. At a difficult time in our lives; my lovely Dad died as we were starting rehearsals, A Time to Keep gave Rob and me, our daughters and my mum, a positive focus, a wonderful experience, and some fabulous memories. Community plays are important. They are inclusive, empowering, and family friendly. What more could you ask for? Fran & Rob Sansom September 2012 I’m fond of telling the story of a particular moment that won me over to the idea of the community play
In 1981 I had travelled down from Norfolk to Dorset to see a new phenomenon I’d been hearing so much about, Ann Jellicoe’s third community play, The Poor Man’s Friend written for Bridport by Howard Barker. It was not only the first community play I’d seen, it was the first promenade performance. I stood in the hall of the Colfox School with stages on three sides surrounded by cast and audience. Scenes happened all round and in our midst. Howard had written a play around a simple fact he’d been given about a local Bridport boy of 14 in the 18th century who had been hung for setting fire to field of flax. The moment came when the judge passed sentence. “Sylvester Wilkins, you have been found guilty of the crime of arson. To see one so young and so cruelly misled as to attack the law of property is to know the breadth of the current delinquency. My only duty is to pass the sentence which the law awards.” As he put the black cap on and pronounced the boy’s execution the cast around me became restless. A young girl of about eight and her mother, both in eighteenth century costume, were standing beside me. The girl tugged at my sleeve. “Why?” “Why would they do that?” I didn’t know if I should respond. A choir sang: “Sylvester they didn’t want to do it, but old England says your dying, will make sure no one does it again.” The girl asked more insistently “Is that true, why does he have to die?” She was now clearly demanding an answer. I looked to her mother for help, it wasn’t there; only a look that said “Well answer her.” I can’t remember what I said, probably something like: “No, it’s not just” What I do remember was an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. I felt implicated in the drama, I felt that I should somehow be doing something. I tell the story often and keep coming back it because; it seems to me, everything potent about the community play is there in that one moment. What was exceptional about the experience was that she was asking me not just to respond imaginatively, but creatively. Almost all of us have this power of imagination, by which I mean the ability of seeing in our mind’s eye. Through imagination we can all call to mind people, events, feelings and experiences that are not present here and now. Some people argue that imagination is what separates us from other animals but as I don’t know what goes on in the minds of animals, I wouldn’t want to say; my instincts tell me they can imagine, who hasn’t seen a seen dog apparently chasing cats in their sleep? But creativity is a step further. Imagination can be an entirely private process, you can close your eyes and be in a fever of imagination and no one would know it. Creativity is different; it requires action and has an impact on the outside world. Normally when I go and see a play I respond imaginatively, but in the instance of the Bridport play the young girl was asking me to act, to take part. It opens up the possibility of the audience becoming performers. This apparent tiny act of a member of the community playing a character and treating an audience member as a character in her dramatic world has repercussions and throws up a huge array of possibilities. Add the fact that audience and cast are mostly from the same community and it goes to the heart of what makes these plays so extraordinary. It’s the implication of that moment and hundreds of other similar moments since that I want to start exploring over the coming weeks. I’d like to have your thoughts and experiences too. Have there been moments in theatre when you’ve felt implicated, responsible for the outcome of the drama you were watching or felt the impulse to take part and what was it that provoked it? On January 19th 2012 a memorial service was held for John Marshall in the chapel of Tonbridge School. Over 500 people attended. The CREATE Choir, Tonbridge School Choir and Quintus – sung some of John’s favourite music. Tributes were made by Geoff and Charles Marshall (John’s father and brother) Mike Morrison (representing the school) and myself as a friend and colleague. John was a member of Claque Theatre Board and an inspiration and collaborator in the Camden Road Community Play. This is my ‘Tribute to a friend’
Before I talk about John I want to ask his parents: what wonderful spell did you weave to produce two such remarkable sons? On behalf of everyone here, thank you, thank you for John. And thank you, Charles, for taking on the new role of a big brother to all of us. Your strength and affection has helped us all hold it together. Some years ago John asked if I would do a community play in Tunbridge Wells. I made some excuse but obviously wasn’t emphatic enough because, from that day on, he relentlessly reminded me of the pending local play I’d promised. In time hypnotised by John’s enthusiasm to do something spectacular I said yes. How could you say no to that face? I have a spaniel that gives me the same look. John was able to present a quiet and gentle manner that one could easily mistake for ‘sensible’. Yet he was an ardent Impresario and risk taker. He fearlessly undertook big projects. He loved the high arts, thrilled at seeing, listening, and especially working with the best in their field. He was so motivated and proud of his dear friends in Quintus. John was central to the success of Camden Road the Musical and supporting two years of projects that culminated in The Vanishing Elephant. Following the play, as a founder member of CREATE he tirelessly collaborated in sustaining cultural events for Camden Road. He was a board member of Claque. John had personal ambitions and dreams of his own that he wanted to fulfil, but, put them on hold because he was more and more consumed helping others fulfil theirs. Over the past few years John was re-inventing himself, tackling things just out of range, just to see what he might learn. One such was the CREATE choir. John was a paradox, because, however talented we all perceived him to be, his humility verged on self deprecation and however encouraging and optimistic he appeared he was haunted by the thought that he wasn’t up to the task of leading a community choir. How wrong he was but he felt it all the same. It took a step of courage, but facing his devils was a better option to him than letting his friends down. In the process something changed. I want to say to the choir, that his joy of working with you went through the roof. Through you, he was beginning to see in himself something of the inspirational teacher he could be. He had the ability to teach you and learn from you at the same time and it allowed him to be both leader and member of the choir and to transform you from being a community to being a family. Many beautiful words have been written about John recently, what’s telling is that everyone refers to how he lit up a room. But I’ve not heard anyone say why. Well I think it was you, he lit up because he’d seen you. He simply lit up when he saw any of us. And when you talked to John it was the “you and he and here and now” that mattered. He really knew how to attend. It’s what made us all think we were his best friends. I don’t just mean that this chapel is full of his best friends, of course it is, but that most of us will be thinking, “I was John’s best friend.” How is that possible? Well John was a social magician. There’s a 40-second video clip that Alex put on face book of John playing with his baby nephew James. John is lying on the floor and James is tapping at John’s face. There’s a moment when John buries his face into James’s tummy and inhales. Talk about living in the present. It’s where children live, but it’s where John lived too. Most of us lose this in adulthood, John didn’t. When Dennis Potter was told that he had as little as three months to live, he gave a last interview. John and I both loved this passage: Below my window in Ross, the blossom is out in full … it’s white, and looking at it, instead of saying “Oh that’s nice blossom” … last week looking at it through the window .. I see it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomest blossom that there ever could be, and I can see it. Things are both more trivial than they ever were, and more important than they ever were, and the difference between the trivial and the important doesn’t seem to matter. But the nowness of everything is absolutely wondrous, and if people could see that, you know. There’s no way of telling you; you have to experience it, but the glory of it, if you like…. The fact is, if you see the present tense, boy do you see it! And boy can you celebrate it. John saw it. But he filled every moment of each day not because he thought it would be his last but because he knew the worth of a day and the value of a moment. I’m not looking for reassurance. This depth of grief we feel is because we loved and were loved and it seems this pain is the price we pay. But, Oh, the joy of him, how privileged we all are. I don’t want to construct some reason why John died it would diminish him for me. There simply isn’t one, not when he had so much more to do, and to give; and so much more to experience. It is wrong in every sense. And as much as we would like to call John back and indeed yearn to, we can’t. I need to come to terms with that and somehow redefine the relationship. I do know where it look for it, – it’s to be found holding him in my head and heart, in remembering his ideals, what he stood for, what I understood of his values, his sense of justice and injustice, his ridiculous sense of humour, his vision, dreams, compassion, hopes, fears, his unanswered question, these are things of him, in me now that will continue to influence my life. He was and will always be an inspiration. He has become an integral part of the inbuilt compass. It’s nothing like as good or accurate as the real thing, but it will have to do. Most of all, I must try to absorb at least a little of that remarkable talent he had for living. It’s tragic that there was has been no reference to Dorothy Heathcote in the National press since her recent death. On the other hand it comes as no surprise. Recognition, not for herself, but her ideas, was a battle she fought all her life. I’ve heard the intellectual traditionalists describe her as one of those soft liberals. It’s a mistake, she was first and foremost passionate about intellectual pursuit, I know very few who were so well read and had such a breath of knowledge, and she was also about children’s quest for knowledge. People respond to Dorothy’s work on a number of levels, for thousands of individuals it is inspiring and life changing; many educationalists, without a second glance dismiss it as wishy-washy and see no discernable connection between it and academic advancement; a great number are simply overwhelmed by the challenges it demands in teaching style and the reassessment of what ‘education’ really is. So her concept of education has generally been kept confined to the educational backburner. I say back burner rather than ‘bin’ as an indication of hope. She was ahead of her time but the traditionalist who imposes our current education system will eventually have to wake up to the changing needs of the 21st century encompassed in the common sense values she practiced. Great ideas are part of the evolutionary process and are frustratingly slow. It can take generations to move the most obvious idea into practice. Because so many people haven’t come across her work I thought it might be useful, just as a flavour, to explain one aspect of her of teaching practice. Dorothy was first and foremost practical. Her ideas are rooted in how we learn naturally through practical work and contact within the community of others. We can only truly want to learn something if we can see that there’s some practical use for it. If we know that learning a particular something is in any way relevant to us then we will, quite naturally, want to know more about it. Much of her work with drama is about putting children into imagined situations that demanded solutions to an immediate problem and then getting them to apply what they already know and research what they ‘need to know’ to solve that problem. Helping children to “discover”, rather than simply ‘telling’ is the key. Tell a child that red and yellow make orange, they are likely to forget it, but give them red and yellow to paint with so they discover orange, they will most certainly remember it. One of her tools for teaching she called ‘The Mantle of the Expert’. The Mantle of the Expert is a dramatic-inquiry approach to teaching and learning. The concept is to create an environment that allows the learners to do all their curriculum work as if they were a community of experts. They might be investigating archaeologists excavating a roman villa, or biologists in a laboratory. They might be architects planning a housing estate or doctors running a hospital. Whatever the theme or area of learning the children take on the behavior of ‘experts’ and as such work from a specific point of view as they explore their learning. Implicit in the work is the need for the children to take on special responsibilities, language needs and social behaviours of the expert. This is not about children performing a play, they are simply being asked to agree, for a short while, to imagine themselves as a group of scientists, explorers or whoever, with specific jobs and responsibilities. Through activities and tasks, the children gradually take on the same kinds of responsibilities, problems and challenges that real archaeologists or scientists might do in the real world. To use one of our own example, a group of schools asked Claque to create a role play around the subject of refugees and asylum seekers. We put the children in the role of police investigating a reported crime perpetrated against a reputed “refugee woman”. The woman herself had fled the scene and all we had as a frame of reference were the belongings she’d left behind. In teams the children sifted through the material in order to get some picture of who the woman was, and where she came from. They found, personal and official letters, photographs, maps, a diary and personal treasured objects. An essential part of the planning of these in role sessions is that information is on hand to be discovered. The woman was later found and brought before the children for questioning. Because of the children’s background knowledge of her they were able to focus their questions purposefully. As police they had to write a report about what they thought should happen to the woman and what our responsibilities were to her if any? They had to consider issues such as whether she qualified for asylum. This brought up other areas about her general welfare and the implications financially, culturally and socially. Their talk, investigation and interviewing developed as though they were police – their vocabulary and need for knowledge increased. To give children the Mantle of the Expert there always needs to be a task or enterprise (A factory to be run, a crime to be solved, a battle to be won, an escape plan to be executed) and there always needs to be a client who needs help with the task being done (The purchasers of factory goods, the patients in the hospital, the high command on board a ship). The emphasis is on what tasks the children need to do to serve the needs of the clients and make the enterprise a success. The process significantly changes the usual dynamic of education. As teachers we step back from the usual ‘teaching’ role of being the fount of all knowledge, ‘the one who tells’. And begin to share with the class the responsibility for the quality of work. ‘We’ together, run the enterprise and, as in real-life, it’s based in action and processes; thus it generates a range of different tasks: talking, listening, writing, speaking, making, designing, planning, measuring, weighing, etc. These tasks are channeled by the adult towards the requirements of the school curriculum. It brings together different areas of the curriculum, rather than trying to teach them separately, because, in practice life is not divided into subjects in the way schools seem to insist they are. Through the Mantle of the expert and the use of dramatic inquiry we can develop the skills, and acquire the knowledge demanded by any area of the school curriculum but put it into a context. Through drama we can see purpose in what we learn and put our knowledge, skills and ability to find out into to immediate use. Helping young people develop ownership over their enterprise is also extremely motivational. Children become passionate about their quest for knowledge when they recognize it has something to do with them. Not only that - because it is ‘drama’ based and involves the whole community of the classroom working together it develops co-operation, invention, adaptability, creativity, risk and empathy, qualities looked for among employers in the modern world. One Response to Mantle of the Expert Patrena Russell says: comment-author .vcard January 16, 2012 at 12:41 am .comment-meta .commentmetadata This is an interesting peace of in formation. I did not no anything about Dr. Dorothy Heathcote until last week when l was asked to write an essay on her. I am amazed at the wonderful things she has done and how she has influence many lives. I WISH TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HER. |
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