SERGIO LAIGNELET Y EL EFECTO KULESHOV

Sergio Laignelet como el Lobo Feroz

“Los tres cerditos

caminan rumbo a sus casas

vestidos con pantalon corto”

Las palabras del Maestro

En 1964 Fletcher Markle entrevistó a Alfred Hitchcock para la CBS. En esta conversación el gran maestro explica el efecto Kuleshov o cómo crear suspense combinando las imágenes adecuadas. Imaginemos un primer plano de un hombre de mediana edad. A continuación, la cámara nos muestra a una madre jugando con su hijo en el parque. Y de nuevo podemos ver al hombre, que reacciona ante lo que ve con una sonrisa llena de bondad. ¿Pero qué ocurriría si la cámara mostrara a una chica en bikini en lugar de la madre con su hijo? ¿Qué veríamos en la sonrisa del hombre? Probablemente, la mueca de un pervertido.

Los Pájaros

El artista holandés Erwin Olaf nos invita a mirar a través del ojo de dos cerraduras. A través de la primera podemos ver a un hombre de unos cuarenta años con un niño sentado en su regazo. Le está leyendo un cuento y al mismo tiempo acaricia su pelo con lentitud. La escena es turbadora, probablemente por el contraste entre la aspereza de las manos huesudas del hombre y la suavidad de la piel infantil. Pero si miramos a través de la segunda, veremos al mismo niño sentado en el regazo de una mujer de rasgos maternales. La acción es la misma, pero sus gestos desprenden calidez y afecto.

Sergio Laignelet

El poeta colombiano Sergio Laignelet nos perturba con sus “Cuentos sin Hadas”, una colección de poemas en los que distorsiona el  reconfortante mundo de los cuentos de antes de dormir. En tan solo unos versos y con una asombrosa economía verbal, Laignelet consigue despertar nuestras más oscuras pesadillas. Todo comienza con una idea, la semilla de una historia. El proceso creativo es lento y casi doloroso, con innumerables versiones que serán sometidas al ojo crítico de su compañera Fernanda, testigo de la evolución de una narración cocinada a fuego lento hasta quedar reducida a un puñado de palabras que tienen el efecto de un puñetazo en el estómago.

Sergio Laignelet

“luego

atados sobre la cama de un motel

con los pantaloncitos rodeándoles los tobillos

echan a llorar

mientras tanto

exhausto y sin aire duerme el lobo”

Finalmente, Sergio imprime el poema y lo archiva en un cuaderno que se hizo hace años con las botas de montar de su hermana.

Inquietante.

Sergio Laignelet y Lorenzo Hernandez

© Fotos: Lorenzo Hernandez 2016.

Laignelet, Sergio, Cuentos sin hadas, Las tres Orillas, 2010.

Más sobre Sergio Laignelet en:

http://sergiolaignelet.blogspot.com.es

La exposición “Hitchcock. Más allá del suspense” puede visitarse en el Espacio Fundación Telefónica de Madrid hasta el 7 de febrero de 2016.

https://espacio.fundaciontelefonica.com/evento/hitchcock-mas-alla-del-suspense/

Hitchcock explica el efecto Kuleshov a Fletcher Markle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96xx383lpiI

NICK CAVE, MONTSERRAT ROIG Y EL MONIGOTE PERDIDO

Esta es mi primera entrada en meses. Tras mi regreso a España, la inspiración parecía haberse agotado. Mi vida se había acomodado a una nueva rutina: estudiar, dar clases, ir a la montaña de vez en cuando, disfrutar de mi estancia en el apartamento donde Lorenzo, Carla y yo comenzamos nuestra nueva vida. Más que Remembering in London, este blog debería llamarse Buscando la inspiración perdida en Londres. No obstante, algo ocurrió ayer que encendió la vieja llama.

Tras pasar el día entre papeles, decidí hacer una visita al viejo cine Albéniz, una de las joyas que hace que merezca la pena vivir en Málaga; el único lugar en el que puedes realmente disfrutar del cine independiente en versión original. Me llena de alegría el ver que siempre hay cola en la taquilla, aunque he de decir que la mayoría de los presentes tienen más de cuarenta años. Seguro que muchos de ellos venían a este mismo cine a ver Sonrisas y lágrimas cada año, como yo solía hacer con mis tías cuando era una niña.

Los espectadores hacen cola a la entrada del cine Albéniz

No tienes que pensártelo mucho para elegir una película en el Albéniz. Todo es bueno. Me decidí por 20,000 Days On Earth (20.000 días en la tierra), el documental sobre Nick Cave, simplemente porque el horario me venía bien. Lo  que me encontré fue un auténtico festín: el sonido de la voz profunda de Cave recitando los pensamientos garabateados en sus cuadernos a lo largo de los años, la calidad envolvente de su música, compuesta junto a Warren Ellis, la luz melancólica y evocativa de Brighton en otoño… Pero, sobre todo, lo que puso en marcha mi cerebro fue el experimentar el placer de mirar hacia atrás, el encontrarte con tu viejo yo a mitad de la vida, descubriendo que eres básicamente la misma persona, aunque no del todo.

Cuando regresé a Málaga en mayo, mi madre, inspirada por mi experiencia con la reminiscencia, decidió bucear en sus viejas cajas de recuerdos y rescató una colección de viejas fotografías y un trozo de papel que había conservado durante treinta años: un ejercicio de autorreflexión que yo había realizado mientras estudiaba COU, a la edad de 17 años. El papel mostraba un monigote, al que yo había “decorado” con gafas de culo de vaso, una camiseta a rayas y unos zapatos de arlequín, tratando de quitarle importancia a las preguntas y respuestas unidas mediante flechas a las diferentes partes de su cuerpo. “Típico de mí”, pensé cuando lo vi.

Había preguntas del tipo “¿En qué hombro te apoyas?” o “¿Hacia dónde vas?” y antes de empezar a leer pensé que mi vieja visión de la vida me iba a parecer ridícula e incluso embarazosa. No podía estar más equivocada. Fue asombroso el comprobar cómo mi perspectiva no había cambiado un ápice: he ganado y perdido muchos amigos en el camino, pero las personas en las que me apoyo son las exactamente las mismas; todavía veo el futuro como una página en blanco y trato de disfrutar del presente; lo que más temo es  que algún día no sea capaz de reconocer a la gente que quiero. Era simplemente yo en ese trozo de papel

Cuando llegué a casa me encontré dun mensaje de Lorenzo: no te pierdas este fabuloso documental en la web de Televisión Española a la Carta. Seguí el enlace y me encontré con una joya que encajaba perfectamente con mis pensamientos.

Hace treinta años, mientra yo dibujaba monigotes, la escritora y periodista Montserrat Roig entrevistó a una serie de jóvenes para un programa titulado Búscate la vida. Algunos eran anónimos: un torero decidido a continuar en los ruedos a pesar de haber perdido un ojo a causa de una cornada; una jornalera de Marinaleda, el pueblo andaluz donde los trabajadores hicieron la revolución allá por los años 80; la alcaldesa más joven de España, una chica de tan sólo 18 años; un chico decidido a hacerse objetor de conciencia (recordemos que el servicio militar fue obligatorio hasta 1996) y que trabajaba repartiendo cartas en un banco mientras intentaba triunfar como estrella del pop. Los otros nombres me resultaban familiares: Clara Morán, la hija del ministros de asuntos exteriores allá por los ochenta, y la coreógrafa Blanca Li.

En el programa se mostraba a estos jóvenes en la actualidad, mirando las viejas grabaciones y reflexionando sobre lo que eran y lo que son. La mayoría sentían lo mismo que yo cuando se enfrentaban a su yo más joven: en el fondo no habían cambiado; sus perspectivas vitales eran más o menos las mismas. Se podía ver que algunos habían recibido sus golpes en la vida (divorcio, enfermedad, muerte, desempleo…) Nada se mencionaba abiertamente, pero se podía inferir en sus conversaciones o simplemente en sus miradas.

Se podía ver que, a pesar de la crisis, la vida en España ha mejorado increíblemente desde los ochenta: en una de las entrevistas, la chica de Marinaleda dice que la libertad significa poder comer cuando lo necesitas y poder expresar tus opiniones abiertamente. Asumía que no podía tener las cosas bonitas que anunciaban en la televisión, pero el saber que había gente con tanto y gente con tan poco le llenaba de indignación. Ahora tiene un móvil y un coche porque los necesita… o quizás porque ahora es como cualquier otra persona. Todavía vive con el chico con el que se casó el año antes de ser entrevistada por Roig.

La alcaldesa todavía vive en su pueblo. Consiguió hacer realidad su proyecto de abrir un colegio para que los niños y niñas no tuvieran que viajar 70 Km. todos los días, aunque tuvieron que cerrarlo hace dos años porque ya no quedan niños. Todavía trabaja en el ayuntamiento, ahora como concejala. Hace treinta años los hombres le decían que se fuera a su casa a limpiar y no se metiera en asuntos que no corresponden a las mujeres. ¡Cuánto ha cambiado la vida desde entonces!

La única que ha cambiado mucho es Clara Morán. Resulta claro que la vida no es lo que ella esperaba. De ningún modo se reconocía en la mujercita llena de seguridad que aparecía en la pantalla. Sin embardo, ha descubierto el valor de la ingenuidad y ahora no tiene miedo a mostrarse tal y como es.

En cuanto a Blanca Li, es la que realmente ha triunfado. También era la que tenía un objetivo más claro, la que no tenía miedo de fracasar porque fallar una vez no quiere decir que vayas a hacerlo siempre (una buena lección, teniendo en cuenta que procede de una niña de 17 años). Ahora es una célebre coreógrafa que vive la vida a la que siempre aspiró, profesional y personalmente.

El programa termina con una promesa de Montserrat Roig: entrevistar a todos estos chicos y chicas dentro de diez años para ver en qué medida habían conseguido sus objetivos. No pudo ser. Seis años más tarde, a la edad de 45 años, el cáncer se llevó su vida. Treinta años después, sus amigos han terminado este proyecto como homenaje a ella y como regalo para todos nosotros.

Yo hace treinta años, mientras estudiaba árabe en Marruecos

Yo ahora

Aquí podéis ver el documental La vida encontrada

Y en filmin podéis encontrar 20.000 días en la tierra

NICK CAVE, MONTSERRAT ROIG AND THE LOST PUPPET

This is my first entry in months. After coming back to Spain, inspiration seemed to have run out. My life seemed to have settled into a new routine: teaching, studying, going to the mountains from time to time, spending and enjoying time on my own in the apartment where Lorenzo, Carla and I started our life together.  It seemed that rather than “Remembering in London”, this blog should have been called Finding the lost inspiration in London. However, something happened yesterday that lit the old flame.

After having spent the day among papers, I decided to pay a visit to the old Albeniz cinema, one of the jewels that make it worth living in Malaga, the only place where you can enjoy truly independent cinema in the original version. It puts a smile on my face to see that there’s always a queue at the box office, although I must say that most of the aficionados are over forty. I bet many of them used to go to this very same cinema to see The Sound of Music every year, as I used to do with my aunties when I was a kid.

Spectators queuing outside the Albeniz Cinema

You don’t have to think much to choose a film at the Albeniz. Everything is good. I decided to see 20,000 Days On Earth, the documentary about Nick Cave, just because it fitted into my timetable. What I found was a feast to the senses: the sound of Nick’s deep voice as he recited the thoughts he had jotted down in his notebooks throughout the years, the involving nature of his music, composed together with Warren Ellis, the gloomy and evocative light of Brighton in the autumn… But most of all, what really put my brain into motion was to experience the enjoyable pleasure of looking back at your old self halfway through your life, discovering that you are pretty much the same, but not quite.

When I returned to Malaga in May, my mum, inspired by my reminiscence experience, decided to dive into the old boxes of memories we have at home and fished a collection of old photographs and a piece of paper she had kept for thirty years: a self-reflection exercise I had done during my last year of high school, when I was 17. It contained the drawing of a puppet, which I had duly decorated in a self-deprecating manner with thick glasses, a striped t-shirt and funny shoes, as a way of resting importance to the questions and answers that were linked by arrows  to the different parts of its body – so typical of me, I thought, when I saw it.

There were questions of the type “On which shoulders do you lean on?” or “How do you face the future?” and before starting to read I thought I would laugh at how ridiculous my outlook on life would seem to me today, thirty years later. I couldn’t be more wrong. It was truly amazing to see that my view hadn’t changed an iota: I have lost and gained lots of friends on the way, but the people I lean on are exactly the same; I still see the future as a blank page and I try to enjoy the present; what I fear the most is not being able to recognize the people I love one day. It was me, just me, on that piece of paper.

When I arrived home, I found a text from Lorenzo: watch this wonderful documentary on the Spanish Television website. I followed the link he sent me and I found that the content of this other jewel was absolutely relevant.

Thirty years ago, in the same year I was drawing the puppet, the writer Montserrat Roig interviewed a series of young people for a documentary called Búscate la vida (an expression that means something like “Try to make a living”). Some of them were anonymous: a young matador who was keen on continuing his career on the bullring despite having lost an eye; a farmer from Marinaleda, a small village in Andalucia where the workers’ revolution was made in the 1980s; the youngest mayor in Spain, a girl of just 18; or a boy who decided to become a conscience objector (doing the military service was compulsive until 1996) and who worked delivering letters in a bank and tried to make a career as a pop singer. The other two names were familiar: Clara Moran, the daughter of the Socialist Foreign Secretary in the 1980s, and the choreographer Blanca Li.

In the programme you could see these young people nowadays, looking at the old recordings and reflecting on what they were and what they are. Most of them shared my feelings when they confronted their younger selves: deep down they had not changed; their outlook on life was more or less the same. You could see that some of them had received their blows in life (divorce, illness, death, unemployment…) Nothing was openly said about this, but you could infer it from their conversation or just from their look.

You could see that despite the economic crisis, life in Spain has incredibly improved since the 1980s: in one of the interviews, the girl from Marinaleda said that freedom was to be able to eat whenever you need to and to be able to express your thoughts openly. She assumed that she could not have the nice things she could see on TV but claimed that knowing that there were people with so little and people with so much made her angry. Nowadays she has a mobile phone and a car because she needs them… or perhaps because she has become like anyone else. She still lives with the boy she married one year before she was interviewed by Roig.

The mayor still lives in her little village. She managed to open a school so that the children did not have to leave their homes to study 70 km away, although they had to close it a couple of years ago because there are almost no children left. She still works at the Town Hall, now as a councillor. Thirty years ago the men in the village used to tell her to go home and do the housework instead of meddling with businesses that did not correspond to women. How has life changed since then!

The only one who has change a great deal is Clara Morán; life is obviously not what she expected. She would not recognize herself in the self-assured little woman on the screen. But she has discovered the value of naïvety and now she is not afraid of showing herself as she really is.

As for Blanca Li, she’s the most successful one. She was also the most focused, the one who was not afraid of failing because failing once does not mean that you will fail forever (what a lesson to be received from an 17 year old). Now she’s a renowned choreographer, living the life she always wanted, professionally and personally.

At the end of the programme we can see how Montserrat Roig promised that she would interview all these boys and girls ten years on in order to see if they had achieved their goals in life. This was not possible. Six years later, at the age of 45, cancer took her life. Thirty years on, her friends have finished her project as homage to her and as a gift to all of us.

Me 30 years ago, while studying Arabic in Morocco

Me now

THE MUDDY BEAUTY OF THE THAMES

One of the really good things about the Reminiscence Group is that you have the opportunity to discover new things about London through the eyes of its dwellers. For example, last Monday Ted brought me a newspaper cutting of an article by Will Self. The famous writer talked about his lifelong obsession with the Thames, which had led him to walk on the foreshore of the river until he found himself immersed thigh-deep in the muddy water. What Ted suggested was not so extreme: there is a Thames path you can take along the river, from Monument to the Isle of Dogs on the northern shore and from Greenwich to London Bridge in the south.

Living so near Greenwich, we had already experienced the lively activity on the river. In fact, not so many weeks ago, Pam and I discovered a very ancient boat, one hundred years older than the Cutty Sark, anchored in front of the Royal Naval College. It was going to stay there for three days before being towed all the way to Australia. Also, when you walk along the river at night, you can see the lights of the boats that cross it and, on a sunny day, you can choose to travel to Central London by boat instead of taking the underground.

So taking a long walk along the river seemed like a good opportunity to see London from a new perspective, and this is what Lorenzo and I decided to do last Sunday, following Ted’s advice.

We opted to walk along the south bank from Greenwich to London Bridge. I must say that the experience was quite disappointing. We started following the riverbank, but soon were diverted inland and we stopped seeing the water. There were signals that read “Thames Path”, but they just took us along streets full of ugly buildings, and whenever we got to the river, the sights were pretty depressing. So, we decided to return to Greenwich and cross the underwater tunnel that leads to the Isle of Dogs.

This 70-metre foot tunnel was built in 1902 and is now being repaired, although you can still use it. It’s quite an experience, especially if you are a little bit claustrophobic, because you can’t avoid thinking that you are under the river. I used to cross this tunnel a lot when I lived in London twenty years ago, and it hasn’t changed so much. The only difference is that now we can use the original lifts, which were being repaired in 1992, so I had to go up and down the long spiral staircase every time I wanted to visit Greenwich market.

Once you get to the Isle of Dogs, you can see in front of you the Canary Wharf building, one of the landmarks of the Docklands area. If you turn towards the river in Island Gardens, the views are impressive: you can see the Royal Naval College and, to the left, the old power station with its four majestic chimneys. 

We decided to walk eastwards and reach the Thames Barriers. Here the path follows the river almost constantly and you can see old and newly renovated buildings with a view to the river. It’s a really pleasant walk where you can meet people with their dogs or riding their bikes. 

From time to time you can reach a concrete slipway full of pebbles and moss that leads to the muddy shore. Every time a boat goes past, the waves lap the concrete and you must be careful not to get your feet wet. 

As you walk, you can see new landmarks on the opposite bank, like the huge dome of the O2 Arena.

Eventually, the path took us back to the road and, to our surprise, we saw the Canary Wharf in front of us again.

We had not realized that the Thames meanders around the isle, so we had almost returned to the starting point. Then we realized that the Barriers might not be as near as we thought. Fortunately, there are nice pubs along the way where you can stop for a pint and have a rest.

We decided to go on and eventually we reached the futuristic-looking barriers.

The first time we learned about their existence was ten years ago, when London was bidding for the Olympics and we saw an advert in the underground that showed some swimmers posing as if they were about to jump from the barriers into the river. Since that moment, they stayed at the back of our minds.

These amazing works of engineering were built in the 1970s with the purpose of controlling the floods of the river. Jason, the caretaker of the university building in Woolwich, told Lorenzo that he used to swim from one barrier to the other when he was a kid, which is something he wouldn’t recommend now. Looking at the barriers you have the feeling of having been teleported in time and space; they would fit perfectly into the sets of Mad Max or Planet of the Apes.

Once you pass this part of the river, you can take the ferry that takes you to Woolwich, in the south bank. From there you can take the bus back to Greenwich.

The day was cold and grey but the light was perfect to enhance the beauty of the Thames.

Photos: Lorenzo Hernandez                                                         www.photolorenzohernandez.com

REMINISCENCE TRAINING: A CELEBRATION OF MEMORIES

Every Monday I participate in a reminiscence group in North London. It’s part of my apprenticeship, which began with a two-day course as soon as I arrived at the end of September. Pam was kind enough to offer me a place in this scheme, and she also invited Lorenzo to participate.

The students who took part in this course came from the most diverse backgrounds but had a common interest in reminiscence. Some had ample experience in social work; for example, Kate Moffatt, Julia Statman and Darren Gormley work visiting people with dementia who live alone. Kate told me it’s difficult to imagine how many lonely people live in this city, some of them for not having children, others for having their relatives too far away. Others use art as a way or reaching to people: Reena Clare, a sweet girl from Malaysia, uses her amazing drawing skills to illustrate people’s memories and Jo McCauley, who comes from Donegal,  uses music to awaken reminiscence. There were other artists, like Australian documentary maker and storyteller Dvora Liberman or Dutch painter Marenka Gabeler. Marenka has a very special relationship with the preservation of memory, as she’s making a project based on her dear grandma, who suffers from Alzheimer’s and lives in Holland.

I’d recommend you to visit Marenka’s blog in which you can find more about this beautiful work.

There were other participants I would like to mention here: Genevieve Rudd, Margaret Roberts, Joy Kirkup and specially my friend Christine Novy, a very enterprising woman who came all the way from Canada and who is about to start her own reminiscence group over there.

The second part of the apprenticeship consisted on joining the reminiscence group I have mentioned before. Only Marenka, Julia, Reena, Dvora, Jo and Kate decided to move on to this stage. I must say that I am impressed by the way they manage to make older people feel comfortable. I learn from them every day and I think they’ll become great facilitators.

In the reminiscence group we work together with a group of veterans: Pam and Caroline Baker are the energetic leaders, Sue and Kate also give a hand. Kate started to come to the reminiscence groups as a carer and, when her husband passed away, she continued as a volunteer. Sue always brings delicious homemade cakes for tea. They are joined by Jill and Ciare from Camden carers, the social workers who are the links with the families. And let’s not forget the man of the house, Alex, Pam’s husband, who is a great listener and has the ability of making people feel at ease (he’s also a great photographer).

On the first day, we met the rest of the participants. These are fascinating people with amazing lives to tell. For instance, Hermione, one of the stars in the group, followed the air force operations in Malta during World War II (when I suggested that she had been a spy, she started to giggle). Tom used to work in a brewery, where he met Fay, a remarkable woman with a cockney accent who is also an amateur singer and actress at the age of 77. Lyn used to ride around London in her Vespa when she was 17 and taught a little girl with no arms how to manage herself using her feet. Ludwig was in the commandoes and was (still is) a man who knows how to charm a lady. Lucy left her home at the age of 14 to work as a maid in Dublin. Trudy was evacuated to a farm in Cornwall during the Second World War. This memory cannot leave her. She’s amazed as how vivid it is compared to the sometimes blurry memories of what she did recently. June is an expert dancer.  Shirley is one of the persons who amaze me the most. In the first session, she looked a bit lost, but thanks to reminiscence and the expertise of my fellow apprentice Kate, she’s making incredible progress and now is one of the keenest participants in the group.

What do we do in these sessions? Basically, we help people to remember and share their memories. Each meeting has a topic: childhood, school, my first job, going out, weddings and relationships, etc. Pam suggests different exercises that facilitate the recovery of these memories.  We never ask them questions; we are just there to listen to what comes to their minds. Being able to remember and seeing how the rest of the participants celebrate what they say gives them confidence, and their relatives confirm that they are more open at home and look forward to the sessions. Also, these meetings give members of the same family or friends the opportunity to do something pleasant and rewarding together.

At the beginning I was also a bit lost. I was afraid of not understanding the people, of not knowing how to relate to them. But they made me feel welcome and at ease from the very first moment. Now I look forward to see them every Monday.

Photos: Lorenzo Hernandez                                            www.photolorenzohernandez.com

ONE NIGHT AT THE THEATRE ARCHIVE

One of my favourite places to work is the Reminiscence Theatre Archive in the Old Baths, Woolwich. As soon as I arrive, Jason, the caretaker, hands me the keys with a big smile on his face. I have to sign in on a register book and then I go up the stairs to my little office. I switch on my computer and I start travelling down memory lane.

Pam Schweitzer donated the Reminiscence Theatre Archive to the Drama Department of the University of Greenwich. This archive contains her work of thirty years. Each box contains all the material related to a single play: photos, flyers, touring schedules, scripts, recordings of the interviews that inspired the play, etc. You can discover all about this archive at www.reminiscencetheatrearchive.org.uk

Last Tuesday I had a visit from Finland! It was Elvira, the lady who had preceded me as an assistant at the ERN. She told me about how much she loved the place, she asked me not to forget to water her dear plant and she told me a bit about the boxes she had been working on until she left. The last one contained all the material related to Can we afford the doctor? This play is based on the testimonies of people who lived in the 1920s and 1930s and who were interviewed in 1985. In those times before the creation of the National Health Service, the first question that many people asked themselves when someone got ill was exactly this one. In a time when the health cuts make the front pages of our newspapers, both in the UK and Spain, this play becomes especially relevant.

Can we afford the doctor? was first performed in 1985. There is a very interesting Channel Four documentary about the making of this play, directed by Pam Schweitzer and performed by the original Age Exchange Company. You can watch it at http://www.reminiscencetheatrearchive.org.uk/page_id__146_path__0p3p.aspx

Today, the Reminiscence Theatre Archive Company  (RTA Co), whose members are drama students at the University of Greenwich, is preparing a new version of this play, directed by Ross Crossby, a very enthusiastice graduate from this university, and Pam herself. Lorenzo and me were lucky to attend one of the rehearsals.

After some warm-up exercises, which everybody joined, including us, Pam asked us to remember a time when we were children and had to go to the doctor. Then, in groups, we had to act up these short sketches. For example, a girl called Jo remembered how she had to be given stitches at the age of ten and her mother nearly fainted at the sight of her blood.

Then the members of the company showed another sketch they had prepared the previous week based on one of the memories gathered in Can we afford the doctor? A girl remembered feeling very ill and being taken to hospital to be put first in an isolation room and then in a ward full of adults who told her to shut up whenever she cried at night. The worst was that she had her hair shaved by the nurses. 

The performance was very well choreographed and we could really feel the atmosphere in the hospital ward. The actors and actresses played different roles each, and moved from one to another skilfully. Still, Pam and Ross made them change some things, which improved the final effect.

Then, Pam divided the company into two groups and gave them the same extract of the original play. It was very interesting to see how different people interpreted the same text.

And finally, we had to practice some of the songs from the play. It was good fun, as some of the names of the remedies were real tongue twisters.

And this was our night at the theatre. It reminded me of the Jumble Sale Theatre Company sessions. It was really good fun. 
Photos: Lorenzo Hernandez www.photolorenzohernandez.com

TWO WONDERFUL DAYS IN LONDON

Today I would like to have a break from work and tell you about my first free days in London. It all started like a normal working day. I was supposed to work in my computer and wait for Pam to call me, as we had things to discuss about the conference Remembering Yesterday Caring Today, which is going to take place in London in June 2014. I expected to spend the day discussing papers and figures, but Pam suggested that we go to the University of Greenwich, and see the venue where the conference will take place.
It was a wonderful autumn day; the sun was shining and the mild temperature kept our spirits up. We took a walk across Greenwich Park, past the Royal Observatory and the meridian towards the university. Greenwich Park is one of the biggest green spaces in London. It's on a hill and from its top you can see the Royal Naval College and London's new skyline, so different from the one I remembered from twenty years ago, when I studied at the Polytechnic of Central London. Now, apart from the Canary Wharf you can see the new skyscrapers such as Norman Forster's Gherkin, or Renzo Piano's Shard.
As we walked, we discussed how to solve a problem related to the Reminiscence Archive. One of the plays we are cataloguing at the moment, Can we afford the doctor?,  has missing material: the transcripts of thirty interviews with older people about what it was like to be ill in the 1920s and 1930s, before the creation of the National Health Service after the Second World War, have disappeared. Each recording, made in the 1980s, is about one hour long, so you can imagine the amount of work it might entail to transcribe all of them. We needed volunteers, and we wondered where we could find them.
When we arrived at the university I was impressed by the beauty of the buildings, all by Christopher Wren. We entered King Williams Court, one of the buildings, as Pam wanted to show me one of the lecture halls where the conference will take place. We got to the third floor to find out that there was a class in progress in that room. I looked through one of the little windows on the door and saw the professor at the bottom, in front of a powerpoint presentation that read: What is volunteering? Pam opened the door a little bit, and of course, the students next to the door moved their heads towards us. In that moment the professor asked: Has anybody worked as a volunteer? Only five or six arms were raised. We could find some volunteers here _ I whispered to Pam. It's worth giving it a try _she said. In that moment, Pam entered the hall saying out loud: Excuse me for interrupting this class, but I happened to hear that you are talking about volunteering and I am here to offer you the possibility of working as volunteers for the Reminiscence Theatre Archive. She gave such a great performance that we managed to get twenty volunteers!! This is what makes Pam Schweitzer so great.
Later on, Pam took me to the amazing dining hall and chapel of the Royal Naval College and we were so lucky that there was a free harpsichord concert by an amazingly talented Japanese performer. Nothing could improve this day: we had sunshine, art, music, we had found the volunteers... And we almost saw the Duke of Edinburgh renaming an ancient ship that had been brought from Scotland and was going to travel all the way to Australia to be repaired. This time Pam didn't manage to convince the security guards to let us in, but she almost did.
That evening we attended the opening of an exhibition of our friend Phil's paintings.
It was a very lively event, full of family, friends and people interested in his art. In the picture you can see me talking to baby Layla and her dad.
The next day, Lorenzo and me decided to become tourists and took a bus to central London, mixing ourselves with the hundreds of Spanish and Italian tourists who visit the area camera in hand.

We saw the horse guard (with two boys marching behind the soldier, as you can see in the picture), a demonstration in Trafalgar Square against the cast system (notice how the protesters are contained by a white ribbon that is moved by the police as they walk on), and a noisy walk in Covent Garden.

We ended up in Green Park, where we sat on a bench eating our sandwiches and witnessed how an English couple had a monumental row. I thought they were two actors rehearsing but no, it was real. Finally they stormed in opposite directions. Viva el amor.

Sue, our landlady, has lent us a book called Quiet London, a guide to hidden places where you can find tranquility. I think we'll try one of these next weekend.

Photos: Lorenzo Hernandez                                              www.photolorenzohernandez.com