‘I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fooled myself that my dreams would come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it
Wouldn’t you?………’

In 1981 with these exquisitely sung words, Kim Kallie as Peron’s mistress in Evita entered my life. I was twenty, still at drama school, and I sat in the audience utterly transfixed by this beautiful, heart wrenching performance. Bob Martin, the theatre photographer at the time wrote:
“Although it was a cameo role, her performance of one number, “Another suitcase, another show” proved a show-stopper. Of course Rice’s beautifully written lyrics and the song’s pathetic, heartbreaking qualities evoking the audience’s sympathy helped, but I believe it was largely because of the wonderful way Kim sang it.”

I learned that Kim Kallie’s mother was Judy Page. For those of you that have no idea of who Judy Page and Kim Kallie are, let me fill you in.
Judy Page is an outstanding singer and musical theatre performer. She has starred in many musical compilations : Brel, Piaf, Jerome Kern, Rodgers & Hammerstein, Judy Garland and Jerry’s Girls for which she won the Dalro Award for Best Performance in a musical. She is also known for the leads she has played in musicals such as: Chicago, The King and I, Hello Dolly and Mame. In 2012 she was presented with the Naledi Life Time Achievement Award. Being given my own Naledi Award, The Lesedi Spirit of Courage, I can appreciate the pride Judy felt on receiving this phenomenal award.

Kim is a singer supreme and has been awarded numerous platinum records. During the apartheid era, together with Attie Van Wyk and Phill Hollace they created the pseudonym of Margino for Kim. They toured around the country with Kim singing songs that they had collaborated on together. Kim has performed prolifically on stage in numerous successful productions. 

When Kim was growing up, Judy realised with joy that there was another singer in the family. She and Kim recorded Montreal when Kim was 8 (Press here to listen!). It became a number one hit on the Springbok Hit Parade for ten weeks.
“That must have given you such a big thrill, Kim,” I remarked, “Did you excitedly talk about it at school?”
“There were positives and negatives to the whole story which followed a pattern throughout my life – good and bad. I was proud but shy about my recording. I both loved the fact that it was different to all my schoolmates but I also wanted to be one of them, one of the crowd. They were playing sport and I was going to rehearsals and recording studios. I realised that my ‘relative fame’ had an impact on my schoolgirl relationships. It took me years to come to grips with or even understand that. My mum was famous, winning awards and I had a small public profile too. Its tough to be different as a kid.
Would I change it in hindsight?
Never! We have had a wonderful journey together, mum and I.”

Forty years after seeing Evita, I phoned my friend, Kim.
“I am coming to Cape Town for four days. Please may I come and spend my first night with you?”
Kim laughed. “Sure!”

“My little Gaynor!”Judy said softly as she embraced me. It felt like an eternity since we had last seen one another. I got a warm hug from Moshe, Judy’s husband. How wonderful it was to cast my eyes round the dinner table at all the familiar faces that I had missed seeing for so long. Iain Banner, Kim’s husband was a longtime friend of mine. We first knew each other when I was 18. He still had those luscious smiling eyes that had made my heart race all those years ago. My memory is not a reliable instrument since my fall. Iain took great delight in reminding me of the time we had ‘smooched’ wonderfully in a yellow VW. I had totally forgotten about that kiss.
“Did I ‘smooch’ well?” naturally I asked.
Iain grinned. “Like a dream, Gaynor, like an 18 year old dream!”
I laughed. “You daren’t say anything else!”

I was sitting there with two great divas, Judy and Kim. They have allowed their voices to take flight, to whirr around rooms, alighting within people souls. Theatre can change people. So too can music. I have listened to Kim sing and have been so moved that the tears flowed down my cheeks. In the same way, I have laughed with Judy at one of her hilarious characterisations in a song from Jerry’s Girls. I envy both Judy and Kim, their ability to transport people to whatever they sing about. They always left me breathless with awe and my heart remained singing for a long time afterwards.
Before my fall, I had a reasonable voice. I remember sitting with my guitar, harmonising with Mums and getting so much pleasure. My big, lovable father used to weep every time I played: Both Sides Now.
Music is an amazingly potent and effective force.

Judy mentioned performing at Sun City years ago.
“I’ve never been there. I would love to go,” I commented.
“Yes, you have,” said Judy.
“No, I’ve never been to Sun City,” I said definitely.
“Gaynor, after your fall, you were at Headway. I was performing at Sun City at the time. I arranged for you and the whole of Headway to come and see me perform.”
“Oh…” I breathed as forgotten images fought together in my mind to become clearer. Suddenly the memory was there, sparkling brightly.
“Remember?” Judy’s deep husky voice prompted.
“Yes..yes…and you said in front of all those people…”
“I told them how you and I had been doing a production together. And each morning I would go and get into my car and there was a sprig of jasmine on the windscreen from you. Which was your way of saying: ‘Hi there, Judy! I’ll be waiting for you in rehearsal with a cup of coffee!’
I was so pleased to have this wonderful memory back.
I looked at Judy all these years later and the old affection and love came tumbling like blossoms from a tree, alighting us both with pink happiness.
“I love you, Judy”
She smiled. “As I love you, my Gaynor.”

She told me that before my fall, I went and saw her perform in The Cellar in Durban. After the show I said to her: “Judy, what a magnificent performance. I watched you closely and I know. I know how you do it!”
When Judy recounted this remark thirty five years later, I eagerly said: “And how did I say you’d done it, Judes?”
“You never told me. You simply gave me a knowing look, winked and walked out the dressing room with your arm above your head and your finger pointing skywards  shouting: “I know your secret!”
“Damn, how I wish I could be that “knowing” theatre person of 35 year ago,” I exclaimed.
“So do I,” Judy laughed. “I would love to know what you knew then.”

Kim mentioned a time when their family was living in England.
“Yes, I…I..I think I remember you lived in England for a couple of years,” I said hesitantly.
“You should do,” Kim laughed. “You came and spent three days with us in Checkendon.”
Once again I felt my mind juggling around.
“Yes,” I finally exclaimed joyfully, “yes, I did.”
“We had heard of your show My Plunge to Fame in South Africa” Kim continued “and we persuaded you to perform it in our garden. It was packed with people.”
“That’s right,” I exclaimed. “They donated money in a hat. They were so generous! I used the money from that evening to fund the rest of my stay in England. Kim, I had forgotten all about that incredible time I spent with you Banners. Oh, I am so glad I have that memory back again!”

Judy and Kim love performing together. They have a mutual understanding of each other and this translates into a glimmering ease onstage. In rehearsal, they value each other’s input and are able draw out the best and discard the unnecessary. When watching Kim perform, Judy marvels at this woman who used to lie in her womb and rejoices in her musicality.
Kim says: “Mum was an absolute trailblazer, trend setter and a total beauty in her day. And then she had that voice!” She laughed. “She still has that voice!”

Ten years ago, Kim opened a school: The Kim Kallie Performance Academy. What unbelievable joy this Academy brings her. Students range from eight years old to eighty! They flourish under the extraordinary guidance of Kim and her team. As Kim says: “The aim is to enrich and help students discover their potential….They need self esteem, courage and a good work ethic to survive in this industry.”
I have watched some of these students on video and Kim must surely rejoice at what they are achieving. They are able to join the music and theatrical fraternities, form their own bands and book their own gigs.
This is how it should be! Passing on to others what you have learned in your life and then watching these little fledglings test out their wings, leap and…FLY!!!

I lay in bed that night elated by my re-discovered memories and my wonderful friends. I believe that people come into your life for a reason. Judy, Kim, Iain and Moshe were all there for me to conjure up memories and to remind me of what makes up friendship. The song, For Good from the musical Wicked recorded by Kim and Judy during Covid lockdown expresses exactly that:

I’ve heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those
Who help us most to grow if we let them
And we help them in return…….

(Press here to listen!)

The post People Come Into Our Lives For A Reason…. appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Excerpt from my journal:
9th December 1989

It is 5.00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I should be grabbing what sleep I can because I’m going to need all my energy today but I am beside myself! This afternoon and evening, as understudy, I am taking over from Kate Normington who is ill, and playing the lead role of Guinevere in Camelot at the State Theatre in Pretoria. Yes, yes, I know that I haven’t been given a dress or a technical rehearsal but I will be incredible, I know it. Please, dear Lord, could You watch over me today? Let me throw my nerves to one side and sing and act like a dream!
I am getting up to make myself some coffee now.  At 6.00 am I must phone my baby sister, Megs, and wish her a Happy 18th Birthday! Glory, how can my little Megs already be 18? And then this day truly begins! I cannot let myself down. I will not let myself down! I know all the songs and dances. I must remember to enjoy myself!
Tomorrow morning, I will write all about today’s performances. WHOOPEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

                                     .
                                       .
                                         .
                                           .
                                             .
Excerpt from my journal:
9th December 2021

It has been 32 years since that life changing appearance onstage.
Thirty-two years since that young understudy stood in the wings awaiting her entrance. Her heart must have been beating madly. The music reached a certain point and she ran onto the stage.
“Saint Genevieve, Saint Genevieve, it’s Guinevere, remember me?….’ she sang.
How I wish I could remember that performance. Unfortunately my whole Camelot experience is wiped from my memory. But I believe that on 9th December 1989, I was FAN-bloody-TASTIC!!!

I am amazed at how many people remember hearing about my fall. I fell 18 metres down an unguarded lift shaft. Apart from broken limbs, ribs, a punctured lung, broke bones in my face, I suffered terrific brain damage. This resulted in me being deaf, having 40% eyesight and being spastic down my right hand side.

I am astonished at how quickly life can alter. I was a fairly good actress. I hoped that with time, I could mature into a superb one. I planned to get married, have children and continue acting. Indeed, the future beckoned. With one incorrect step, all of that changed.

But today I am not wanting to dwell on everything that went wrong all those years ago. There is too much that is going right at present. Too much to be grateful for!

My heart softens in appreciation when I think of my parents and family. I knew the one thing I need never doubt was their love and support. I put them all through so much and there was never a complaint. After my fall, I used to have these red faced tantrums because I wished to go back to Johannesburg and act. Can you believe it? I was obviously refusing to look at what I had become. 

And yet, four years after my fall, I made it back onstage in my one woman show My Plunge to Fame. This was all due to Maralin Vanrenen. She had directed me as an actress and knew what I was capable of achieving. She now directed me in my show My Plunge to Fame. In it, I was not acting. Those days were over. I was performing as Gaynor Young telling my story. My fall affected me in so many ways. I was now unable to memorise lines but I knew what I needed to say. And say it I did but in a different way each performance. It must have been heart stopping for M. I am so grateful for her belief in me. Her trust and love!

Since my fall, even after receiving my Cochlear Implants, watching television is still difficult for me. It is incredibly awkward to lip read, and accents are a real challenge. And so I have subtitles on everything I watch. On DSTV there are only about seven channels that have subbies. As a result I find myself enjoying Netflix. Recently I had to phone my audiologist, Jenny Perold with an issue with my CI’s. My problem sorted out, Jen said to me: “How is your TV Streamer going?”
This is a small black speaker which I’d placed next to my television.
“It doesn’t work for me, Jen. I have put it next to my TV and it makes no difference whatsoever.”
In exasperation, Jenny explained that there was more to it than that. So my friend, B and I dragged out my Cochlear Implant haversack from under my bed. We read through the TV Streamer manual. There certainly was much more to it than I had anticipated. We had to pair both Cochlear Implants to the Streamer. I loved doing this because of the bright blue sparkle that appeared on the Cochlear Implant’s control panel. B then took my phone which has the Nucleus Cochlear Implant Smart App on it. She fiddled around some more and then said to me: “Okay, switch the television on now.”
I did and sat down in shock. I could hear every word that was spoken. Every single word! The sound rolled deliciously around in my head.
“I can hear it!” I said to myself watching a re-play of Survivors.
“Switch it off, B”, I said to this beaming, magical elf. (She is very small!)
She touched my cell phone again and instantly the sound in my head was gone. The picture still remained on the television but the sound was off.
“So there’s no way that I can come and watch TV with you. You take all the sound into your head with you,” B joked.
A couple of months ago, my neighbour upstairs sent me an SMS asking me if I would mind turning my television down. I was mortified and since then have been incredibly careful with my volume. Now there is no need. I can have the television blaring LOUDLY in my head. I am the only one that can hear it.  And I can hear it like never before! 

Recently my friends and I were walking in the forest. I stopped to catch my breath. Leah and I sat on the trunk of one of my favourite trees, a Belhambra. Around us the stunning trees gazed regally down. I looked far up at their leafy boughs and beyond to the bits of blue sky poking inquisitively through. Then I closed my eyes and listened. I listened to the silence of the silence….which was cacophonous in it’s sounds. Leah seemed to be listening too. Having been embedded in silence for eighteen years and then re-granted my hearing through my Cochlear Implants, listening is now a vital part of living for me. I heard so many different birds all trying to outcall each other. The sound of the wind rustling the differing leaves together. Our surroundings were murmuring and softly playing a gentle hymn all their own. I have not been going to church because of Covid. But church is wherever you find God. I was so aware of His presence that morning in the forest. My heart smiled. Thank You, thank You for giving me this!

Today, my sister, Megs turns 50! That’s a long way from the 18 she turned 32 years ago.  May your fifties bring you so much jubilance, excitement, contentment and happiness, my special ‘young one’!!!

Recently my friend, Andre Hattingh, made a list of all the performers and creators who have died over the past two years. Presently it numbers 139. So many of them were dear, cherished friends. It has made me aware that I must grab each moment of this wonderful life I live and shout: Yes! Yes, I love the experience of living!
And I intend to do it with vigour, tenderness, awareness, joy and most of all, love!

Art Garfunkel says it so perfectly in his song: Grateful 

I’ve got a roof over my head
I‘ve got a warm place to sleep
Some nights I lie awake counting gifts
Instead of counting sheep
I’ve got a heart that can hold love
I’ve got a mind that can think
There may be times when I lose the light
And let my spirits sink
But I can’t stay depressed
When I remember how I’m blessed
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful

In a city of strangers
I got a family of friends
No matter what rocks and brambles fill the way
I know that they will stay until the end
I feel a hand holding my hand
It’s not a hand you can see
But on the road to the promised land
This hand will shepherd me
Through delight and despair
Holding tight and always there
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful

It’s not that I don’t want a lot
Or hope for more, or dream of more
But giving thanks for what I’ve got
Makes me happier than keeping score
In a world that can bring pain
I will still take each chance
For I believe that whatever the terrain
Our feet can learn to dance
Whatever stone life may sling
We can moan or we can sing
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful.

The post Grateful!!! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I had noticed grey mould in three places in my kitchen. Also on the outer wall of the kitchen which faces the lounge, there were cracks decorating it in long squiggly lines.
Cracks and mould in your kitchen is liable to cause a mini-heart attack amidst floods of tears! I instantly called our complex supervisor before these conditions worsened causing even more disruption and devastation in my kitchen! 

Dewald is our supervisor and over the years he has become a wonderful friend.
Studying my kitchen cracks and mould, he said: “You’ve been here since these flats were built which is…” he cast about for the figure.
“Fifteen years,” I supplied.
“Right,” he affirmed, “do you remember the geyser above your bedroom which burst, resulting in you having to have your whole ceiling replaced.”
“Glory, yes, I had forgotten about that.”
“Maybe some of the water also leaked through to your kitchen, this would explain the mouldy marks. But these long cracks in the wall,” he exhaled. “Gaynor, I think your kitchen needs redecorating.”
My heart sank.
Getting a crew of painters in during these Covid times was not an appealing thought. No, I would just have to live with mouldy and cracked kitchen walls. My thoughts were interrupted by:
“I’ll do it,” said Dewald.
Two days later, the kitchen stripped of everything, my fridge and microwave sitting in my lounge looking embarrassed and ungainly but working nonetheless, Dewald began work.

My sister suggested that I paint one wall a different colour to the rest of the kitchen. I loved that idea. Originally, the whole flat was painted a mellow buttermilk. I liked the colour very much but now the kitchen deserved a change. I decided to paint it this soft cream. Apart from the main wall. This was going to be a startling bright daffodil gold.

Dewald spent four days completing my kitchen. It wasn’t simply a case of painting the new colours onto the walls. There was scraping, sanding and filling more cracks than I cared to see. Then the right colour paint had to be chosen. Dewald had a gentle cream colour which I liked. I went off to Paintsmiths where I finally found a terrific daffodil yellow gold.
Perfect! 

I watched with bated breath as Dewald began to apply the yellow.
“Oh glory, have I chosen the wrong colour? Is it too brash and…and a yucky yellow?”
Dewald was becoming impatient with me peering over his shoulder. When my friend, B arrived five minutes later, he said with relief: “Please take her out for the next few hours. I feel like a small animal being watched by an eagle. One wrong move and I’m done for!”

It was a cold, grey day outside when I returned to a kitchen full of sunshine. The golden yellow seemed alight with an energy all of its own. My wall seemed to say: “It doesn’t matter what it is like outside. Here where I reign, is a sunburst of light. This is a place for smiles and laughter!”

My golden wall is now decorated with art that means so much to me: My cousin Antonia’s painting that she did when she was seven. She is now a gorgeous married woman of twenty-three. My niece, Megan’s painting done five years ago. I have an abstract Lisl Barrie landscape and a ‘Green Door’, a painting of Perdita by my friend Dessie Evans and the first painting that B ever did. All of these contain memories of happiness buried deep within them.

It is small wonder that my golden wall causes a smile to blossom with my first cup of coffee!

Sitting on my microwave beside my wall are three duck candles. They have been there for years.
“Now you match perfectly!”
These golden waxen ducks were a gift from Dawn Lindberg. To me, my ducks are priceless. They conjure up the image of Dawn’s big smile. Mums recently told me that when I was a schoolgirl, she used to drop me off at Dawn’s for guitar lessons. I want to say to Dawn: “You see, this is one of the reasons I don’t remember being introduced to you as an actor. You had already won your place in my heart years previously.”
This explains the feeling of Dawn always being there.

Four years after my fall, I went back onstage in my one woman show My Plunge to Fame. I had discovered that I was no longer able to learn words. You can imagine my fear standing in the wings awaiting my stage entrance not knowing what I was going to say. An hour later I took my curtain call to a standing ovation. My family were in the front row. I looked at them and smiled. And then I gazed out at the rest of the audience. Isn’t it strange how I can remember one person out of a theatre filled with masses of friends. Standing in the back row at the left of the theatre, with a glorifying smile was Dawn. Her facial expression was wide and beaming with affirmation.

The Naledi Awards, were created by Dawn in 2004 and she and her husband, Des established them as the most respected theatre awards in South Africa. In 2016 I received an email from Dawn explaining that they were introducing a new category, The Lesedi Spirit of Courage Award. They wished to present the first one to me. Mums and I were given air flights to Johannesburg to attend the ceremony.
What an utterly shiny, bright golden moment that was!

Dawn Lindberg fell victim to that killer, Covid. She died on the 6th December 2020.
I look at my golden Dawn ducks with gratitude for everything she meant to me as a youthful guitarist and later as my special friend.
I miss her.
Deeply.

Turning from my golden kitchen wall, my eyes are caught by yet more gold. My beautiful mongoose painting by Peter Pharoah is caught by a ray of sunshine and seems to glow.
Many years ago, I had the good fortune to make a film in the Mala Mala game reserve. It was there that the pert, cheeky mongoose introduced himself to me. In my mongoose painting  differing golds abound creating the image of a curious, peering mongoose. It’s wonderful how a photograph or painting can transport you to another place. Those differing golds intertwine and carry me to a Land Rover bumping it’s way through the veld, watched by the eyes of zebra, lion, elephant and those of the inquisitive mongoose.

I look out at my small garden. It is a sunny but chilly day. A leaf is caught in a vortex. It performs a golden dance all it’s own, glinting and glistening as it pirouettes in the breeze. I stand watching it move – gold, dark, gold again.

Such is life. There are incredibly dark times. And then brilliant golden moments. The recent horrific looting in KwaZulu-Natal and Gauteng, followed by the gold of people working together to clean up the mess. I think of my golden wall and the joy it brings me, the golden sunlight falling through the trees, the wonderful golden smile of Mums as she greets me each day.

My life is overflowing with gold……………

********************************************************************************************************************

If anyone is interested in utilising my blog advertising space to promote their company or products please don’t hesitate to get in touch – email: gaynory1@gmail.com

The post Gold! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

My friend threw this remark over her shoulder as she went to make us coffee. We had been discussing topics for my next blog and this comment stopped those thoughts completely.
“Think on these things!” I exclaimed. “That was the title of a radio programme when I was a child.”
I remember it began each evening at 7.30 p.m. Our family would be sitting in the lounge, with Dad listening to the daily news at 7 o’clock. It would finish at 7.30 p.m. and a rather sonorous voice would crisply announce the next program: Think on these things. This would invariably be followed by Mums: “Okay, kids, time for bed!”
I smiled to myself thinking how one sentence can instantly transport you years back to the pre-television era. 

The world of radio!
The radio was constantly playing in our home. Mums used to love listening to Springbok radio.
They had daily fifteen and thirty minute ‘serials’:  Forces  favourites with Pat Kerr, Father, dear Father, Men from the Ministry, Taxi  and every child’s favourite, Squad Cars. Squaddies, as we children called it, was on every Friday evening. I laugh at myself still being able to remember the intro:
They prowl the empty streets at night, waiting in fast cars, on foot, living with crime and violence. These men are on duty 24 hours out of every 24. They face dangers at every turn, expecting nothing less. They protect the people of South Africa. These are the men of …..squad cars!
With music and a flare for drama, this showed police work in a most arresting and stunning form. Our family sat listening, often with bated breath. What sensational scenes were played out for us. Sitting there, we would allow our imaginations to be caught up as we entered the world of evil and corruption. Whilst listening, I was relieved to know that in the end, the ‘goodies’ would eventually overcome the ‘baddies’!

An acting friend of mine, Jonathan Taylor, was one of the script writers and actors on Squad Cars. He recalls the recording of Squaddies as being: “the kind of fun you have on the last day of school.”
He wrote on a portable typewriter and never corrected his typos. Part of the fun during rehearsal was to read the script exactly as written and then exclaim: “Who wrote this garbage?”

Another dear friend, Tammy Bonell Garner, recalls her radio work with sheer delight.
“We all loved doing radio. I can say of all the mediums we worked in, I loved it the most.”
She remembered doing a radio program with Brian O’Shaughnessy directing.
“I adored Brian, he was such a joy to work with. We just laughed from beginning to end. We were recording and Di Appleby was heavily pregnant and feeling incredibly uncomfortable and tired. So Brian said: “No problem. We’ll all just lie down on the studio floor and lower the mike.”
We recorded five episodes of Jet Jungle, lying in a circle on the floor.”

I am amazed to discover that so many of the friends I made during my acting career, were actually voices that I already knew and loved from my days listening to the radio.

Our family spent 1966/67 in England and relished the television. My brother and I, aged three and five were totally besotted with this amazing box that had characters almost leaping out of it. How easy it was for Mums to put us in front of the TV, while she did the ironing! To this day, I still remember The Magic Roundabout with Zebedee, Florence and Dougal, the dog. To return to a non-TV’d South Africa was horrifying. The South African Government banned television for many years on the grounds that it was morally corrupting. The fact that it could show the horrors of apartheid SA was more to the point. It finally gave in to public pressure and in 1975 television hit South Africa in all it’s glory. Dad was away on business and Mums was at the hairdressers. She discovered that her hairdresser’s partner was a TV salesman. Mums was offered a television to take home to see whether she liked it. If she didn’t, she could return it free of charge. Was Mums going to refuse such a dynamic offer? Not on your life! 

We returned from school to discover a television sitting in our lounge. It almost seemed to be grinning at us. We were utterly gobsmacked with excitement and delight! So was our entire neighbourhood for no one had yet bought a TV. We were the first to have that box of enchantment in our house. As the word spread up and down our street, so people began crowding into our home, eager to see a real television for themselves. At the time, broadcasting only began at six. At three o’clock in the afternoon, our lounge was filled with people, some standing outside, craning there neck to see…the test card!

When Dad arrived home that evening he was aghast.
“We can’t afford a television,” he said to Mums, “what were you thinking?”
At that moment, six o’clock struck and the television broadcast began. We were off!  When Dad finished watching the news, he turned to us and said: “Maybe we could rent a television!”
Radiant beams greeted these words!

And so television entered our lives.
Who can forget Dallas? With JR, Sue Ellen, Bobby, Pamela – the Ewing family! The World At War, Columbo, The Avengers…..These were just some of the programmes that entertained us during the 70’s and 80’s.
Nowadays our attention seems to have turned from television broadcasting to internet streaming services which enable us to watch what we want, when we want. My interest is caught up by the wonderful films and series on Netflix. I wonder what will happen next in the world of home entertainment?

My heart smiles at people who still read books and listen to the radio. I love the way you have to use your imagination and fantasy in order to enter into those glorious, enticing worlds. I think maybe with screen based entertainment, too much is simply presented to us. The dreaming and vision of our imagination is trampled upon. I wonder whether these qualities are being lost in our future generation? 

With a smile, I say:
“Think on these things!”

The post Think on these things! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Only this time we do not have to evade machine gun bullets. We do not have to worry about falling bombs. We do not have to keep a watchful eye for men leaping out of cane fields armed with pangas. Oh no, our enemy is far more skilled and deadly than that. This enemy can land and take control without you even being aware of it’s deathly clutches. It goes by the name of Covid 19 Virus.

I think of the Second World War, and amidst all the horror it entailed, a singer’s voice rings out, that of Vera Lynn. As a child of twelve, one of my favourite records was Vera Lynn’s Hits of The Blitz. I must have been this odd character. Whereas my friends were playing Cracklin Rosie and Is This The Way To Amarillo, I was listening to Vera Lynn: “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day...” and  “When the lights come on again, all over the world, And the boys come home again, all over the world…” and “There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover…”.
I would imagine the troops during the war listening to those melodies, aching for home and finding encouragement in the voice of Vera Lynn.

I thought to myself: I wonder how old Vera Lynn was when she died? Imagine my surprise when I discovered that she was still very much alive at the age of 103! She used her 103rd birthday on the 20th March to call on everyone to “keep smiling and keep singing!”
She continued: “We are facing a very challenging time at the moment, and I know many people are worried about the future. I’m greatly encouraged that despite these struggles, we have seen people joining together. I am reminded of World War Two, when our country faced the darkest of times and yet, despite our struggles, pulled together for the common good and as we faced the common threat as a country, and as a community of countries that joined as one right across the world.”
I loved it when she finished: “Music is so good for the soul, and during these hard times we must all help each other to find moments of joy.”
Yes, I thought, music is a definite healer. Unfortunately Vera Lynn could not sing the following song but I have the next best thing. Kate Normington singing my version of The Bluebird of Dover! 

Another Octogenarian, who also served in World War Two was Captain Thomas Moore, or Captain Tom as he is now fondly known. He must have delighted in all of Vera Lynn’s music during that horrific time. 

This is the Army, Mister Jones
No private rooms or telephones
You had your breakfast in bed before
But you won’t have it there any more….

During the current UK lockdown, he obviously thought to himself: ‘How can I help raise money for the NHS? They have been so good to me. I’m an old man with a walker and…hold on, that’s it! Me and my walker can ‘stroll’ 100 times around my house. It will take a while but there is no rush, is there? I will get people to sponsor me. I will aim to raise $1000 pounds which I can give them as a thank you.’
And so Captain Tom began walking. And the donations started to pour in.
With the aid of his walking frame, he completed 100 laps of the 25-metre (82ft) loop in his garden in Marston Moretaine, Bedfordshire, in 10-lap chunks.
“I never dreamt I would be involved in such an occasion as this,” he said at the end of his final lap, which was accompanied by a guard of honour.
So far he has raised over $29 million. He and Michael Ball then produced their version of the song You’ll Never Walk Alone which has topped the UK music charts. This man, one week short of a hundred, became the oldest person ever to accomplish such a feat! He has been honoured with a special postmark.
Royal Mail franked all letters with a message to celebrate Captain Tom Moore’s 100th birthday:  “Happy 100th Birthday Captain Thomas Moore NHS fundraising hero, 30th April 2020.”

Queen Elizabeth 2 is another person who served in the Second World War and is still alive today. She joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service and trained side by side with other British women. She became a skilful driver and mechanic. How she must have loved being out of the confines of palatial life. Yes, she was a possible subject to bombs and machine gun fire but for a brief period of time, she was normal! She and her sister, Margaret, anonymously mingled with the London crowds on VE Day. How they must have loved being part of the people during this breathtaking period of time!
There’ll always be an England, and England shall be free,
If England means as much to you as England means to me…..

Queen Elizabeth is the longest reigning British monarch. She has been ruling over the United Kingdom and 54 commonwealth countries for 68 years. Amazingly, it was never intended that she should become Queen. It was only because of her Uncle Edwards’s abdication after falling in love with a divorcee that her shy, stuttering father George, became King. There is a marvellous film  ‘The Kings’s Speech’ which depicts this King’s battle with his stutter as he learns to finally address the British nation. King George died and Lilibet, her nickname as a young girl, stepped to the fore. It was in South Africa, when she was 21 that she made this speech: “……..I declare before you all that my whole life whether it be long or short shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great imperial family to which we all belong.”

She became Queen on June 2 1953 in Westminster Abbey, at the age of 27. I remember being 27. At that time in my life, there is no way that I would have been ready to step into the shoes of a Queen. Elizabeth, however, was groomed for the position from the age of ten when her father, King George, ascended to the throne.

On April 5th 2020, she did an unusual thing: she addressed her Nation on television about Covid Virus 19.
“Though self-isolating may at times be hard, many people of all faiths, and of none, are discovering that it presents an opportunity to slow down, pause and reflect in prayer or meditation.
While we have faced challenges before, this one is different. This time we join with all nations across the globe in a common endeavour using the greatest advances of science, and our instinctive compassion to heal,” she said. “We will succeed. And that success will belong to every one of us. We should take comfort that while we may have more still to endure, better days will return.”
She concluded with a reminder of past difficulties overcome: “We will be with our friends again, we will be with our families again, we will meet again.”
We’ll Meet Again was Vera Lynn’s song which virtually became the unofficial national anthem of Britain during the Second World War.

Indeed Vera Lynn, ‘Captain Tom’ and Queen Elizabeth are three indomitable figures. They each contain their own inner strength. Isn’t it interesting that all of them is above the age of ninety four? Do these types of people ‘grow’ anymore? My brain races around and then it falls on our own leader, Cyril Ramaphosa. At the moment, he has the whole of South Africa on his shoulders. And he is 67! Only a few years older than me. When he goes to bed at night, he must lie awake thinking: ‘Have I done the right thing? When the country was in total lockdown, then my people were more protected. But I have to let them loose in various stages, otherwise the economy of the country will grind to a total standstill. Please God, let me be doing the right thing!’

Yes, these ‘indomitable’ people were present in the past, are still present today, and God willing will be a part of our future.
With a soft laugh, I quote these words by the incredibly ‘indomitable’ Mahatma Gandhi:

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.

The post The Indomitables! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“Hello!”
I looked into those mischievous, dancing eyes and instantly made a friend.
Karen and I met in a lift club when I was ten. I changed schools a few years later but I saw Karen often when I went to Durban for the Christmas holidays.

Karen was a person that was soaked in music. Her father was the founder of The Drakensberg Boys Choir. Karen’s love of music began when she sang her first songs, aged four, with the 20 pioneer boys who had joined the new choir school.

When she was 17, she was asked to train and conduct the school choir. I can just imagine the relish she felt brandishing the baton in her hand. Her passion came to the fore. She would not rest until the sound the choir produced was perfect. It was astonishing the marvellous melodies and harmonies she coaxed from the choir that year. The sound soared around the school hall. Karen smiled. She was happy.

Like myself, Karen became an actor.
I remember sharing a house with Tossie Van Tonder, the dancer. Tossie is a long, tall individual. At one time, she used to shave her head and looked uniquely wonderful. Karen got the female lead in a film, Playing With Fire, in which she was cast as a dancer. She used to come and work with Tossie in the studio. Karen was not a ‘dancer’ yet there was no way that she was going to let herself down. Once again, her passion expressed itself. She fervently rehearsed for a full month with Tossie, who was the film’s choreographer.

I was amazed to discover that I had a small role in Playing With Fire. As a result of my fall, this has been wiped from my memory. So I have no knowledge of the film’s success or failure. That is not the point I’m making. Karen’s inner passion kept on taking her to new places. These stretched her as an individual and pushed her on.

The first time we saw each other after my accident in 1989, was when she flew back from Paris to visit her family in the nineties. I was then living in Durban and Karen gave me this beautiful tea pot. It has a cat curled sleepily around it’s lid. It is too gorgeous to use, so it sits in my lounge. I often catch the cat’s eye and we smile at one another. In 1995, flush with the money I had been making with my show My Plunge to Fame, I booked an air ticket to various destinations around the world. One of them being Paris. I was keen to see Karen who had been living there for some time. She had been composing, singing and making CDs. She lived in a small flat and seemed happy. The two of us sat at a bistro, drank wine and attempted to catch up on our lives in that one meal. We laughed and spoke over each other in our excitement to get things out. When I left, two days later, Karen gave me these small salt and pepper shakers. They are two adorable cats dressed as chefs. They grin at me from my kitchen counter.

For the past few years, my friend, B and I go and spend three days of enchantment in the Cotswolds. We stay at Cassie Bassett’s (nee Holliday) second home, Hollybush Cottage. I have mentioned this idyllic place before in my blog. This, for me, is the most perfect place in the world. Three years ago, as was the norm, B and I invited a whole load of friends around for lunch. Karen, who was living in Bath, two hours away, came much to my delight. It had been years since we had seen each other and we relished being together again. Karen had moved from Paris to Bath because she had an autistic daughter. Apparently Bath offered a superb school for children with autism.
“This time next year,” I promised as we hugged goodbye.

The following year, I traveled to England at a later date, in August. When I phoned to tell Karen that this years ‘Hollybush’ was on, she said she had a problem.
“My daughter is on holiday. Would you mind very much if I bought Francesca along?”
I assured her that we looked forward to meeting her daughter. On the day of the luncheon, I received a very distressed call from Karen: “ Francesca woke me at three o’clock this morning, dressed in her school uniform. I explained to her that there was no school and got her back into bed. This morning, Gaye, she went into a complete meltdown. She was drumming her head against the wall whilst making this thin indecipherable sound. I am so sorry but we won’t be able to come today.”
We had a lovely lunch and Tammy (Bonell Garner) spent the night. B said to us: “I think that tomorrow, we should all go and visit Karen in Bath.” 

We arrived in Bath and I had barely moved my hand from the door knocker when the door was flung open by a grinning Karen: “You made it!” she cried as she engulfed us all in hugs.
“And you must be Francesca?” I said to this child who was staring at us with gorgeous big brown eyes.
Karen kneeled next to her and said: “These are my friends, Gaynor, Tammy and B,” she held her, whilst pointing us out. Francesca stared for a moment and then ducked out of her mum’s embrace and scooted to the other side of the room. She picked up a picture book and began turning the pages.  Her attention was clearly on us not the book. 
“She can’t speak so don’t expect any replies,” Karen explained.
We had a gorgeous lunch and I was once more struck by Karen’s passion. This time it wasn’t her music or acting that drew this wonderful characteristic to the fore. Karen’s passion was revealed in her relationship with her daughter. Her autistic daughter, who couldn’t speak a word, who sat watching her DVD of “The Little Mermaid” for the 140th time, drew a fervent love out of Karen. It was a different kind of passion to that she’d displayed in her acting and with her music. This was a totally all encompassing kind. It was the kind that I have never experienced. The passion of a mother for her daughter.
“See you at Hollybush next year,” I cried, waving as B drove away that evening.

That was the last thing I said to my friend of 47 years.
On the 20th May, 2019, Karen’s body was discovered at the foot of her staircase. All that passion she contained evaporated from our world. And yet the passion that she gave out so joyfully still remains in the people she touched and loved.

Karen was so young when she died. I think of my other friends – Gaby Lomberg, Gina Benjamin, Jil Hurst, Fiona Coyne, Frantz Dobrowsky and Chris Wells. All in their forties and fifties. Their lives cut short too early.

It makes me realise, especially in this time of Coronavirus crisis, you must make the most of every day. Be thankful for this gift of life. Keep in touch with your friends. See things around you with fresh eyes. Be kinder to others and to yourself.
Live each day with passion.

As Karen did.

The post My Passionate Friend! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.”
– Unknown

Actor, director, scriptwriter, screenwriter, editor but more importantly, one of my truest friends – Shirley Johnston!
Now please, all of you non-theatre people, don’t think: “Ah uh, this blog’s not my type!”
Shirley goes much further than mere theatre and film, as you will see!

Shirley and I have been friends for about thirty-two years.
“How did we meet, Shirley?”
Knowing my shocking memory after my fall, she filled me in.
“We met at the Othello audition. I didn’t get the part I wanted but you were cast as Bianca the whore. You were a beautiful up-and-coming young actress from Durban and you made a huge impact on me as a glorious and talented performer. We soon became friends. You often came round to our house in Bramley to visit and play with my young sons, who were then aged 6 and 8. I always remember arriving home from a long weekend in Durban and on our doorstep was a chicken casserole which you had cooked and left for us.”

Shirley and I were both rehearsing at The State Theatre in 1989. She was rehearsing Under the Oaks and Over the Hill with Bobby Heaney directing. I was rehearsing Camelot. The night I had my fall as understudy for Guinevere, they had already moved to the Windybrow Theatre. She heard the shocking news at their interval but ‘the show must go on’!

Two year after my fall, Shirley and her husband, Dave, gave me this wonderful thirtieth birthday party. All my friends came and it was there that I gave my first post accident speech. The speech was slurred but understandable. I concluded with the e.e.cummings poem: i thank you God for most this amazing day
There weren’t many dry eyes but that is the enchantment of his poetry. It was the most unbelievably happy day for me. 

Shirley is like that. She is a Giver. She always makes my heart smile!

My parents bought me a computer after my fall. The idea was to coax me into using my right hand which was now spastic. I tried, I really tried but eventually my left hand became my right. I used to labour for long hours writing letters to friends. I wrote often to Shirley and she promptly answered back. I moved to Headway in Johannesburg and whilst there, I stayed at St Giles, a home for the disabled. After my therapy, I used to come home and write. I wrote about things that were important to me: my loss of memory, my deafness, my spasticity. I knew that Shirley, as well as being an actor was also a writer. So I duly sent these missives to Shirl. I would always get  encouraging letters back. One day I sent her my sixth re-write of an essay on my deafness. Instead of getting a reassuring, positive letter back, I received a letter that blatantly criticised everything I had written. How dare she? I was totally furious! I went to bed and tossed and turned with resentment. The next morning, I re-read her criticism. Calmer now, I was able to see that everything she had written made sense.
I wanted to write a book. I could only do that with Shirley as my editor. Shirley agreed. 
My book writing began.

Shirley said: “You sat there doggedly typing with one finger for weeks and weeks on end. You ploughed on determinedly, displaying that amazing Gaynor Young mettle which few people in this world possess. We argued like sisters. I remember spending a weekend with you in George and your parents heard raised voices. I had to talk loudly because then you were very deaf. It was before your cochlear implants. Your mum came into the dining room.
‘Are you two fighting?’ she asked, concerned.
‘No, just discussing,’ was the answer!”
My book My Plunge to Fame was published in 2000. I could never have accomplished it without Shirley’s encouragement, criticism and her absolutely belief in me.

In 1993 Shirley wrote Plastics and was mind blown to win the National SACPACS Best Playwright Award. It was produced in Johannesburg, Pretoria, Cape Town, Stellenbosch, Grahamstown and Australia! A few years later, in 1999 she won the M-net New Directions Scriptwriting Award, for Clean Hands. Shirley was on a roll!!!

Early in the 2000’s, she came across a story that she had written for her sons when they were youngsters called Felix the Flautist. She could turn this story into a film script, she thought with mounting excitement. And so Felix, King of the Sax was born. I had no idea that with this script, Shirley went on to win the Sithengi’s 2004 Writer’s Forum Award. She was a finalist in the US Specscriptacular Competition; and was a quarter-finalist in both the Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest and the Moondance Screenwriting Competition. 

If I had been winning all those awards, I am pretty sure that I would have phoned all my friends and let them know in no uncertain terms how brilliant I was! This is one of the many things I love about Shirley. She enveloped herself in the satisfaction of the prizes and began looking for a way to get it made into a film. It took nine years before the wonderful Roberta Durrant got things swinging into motion. The script was filmed and released in 2013 as Felix! The film went on to garner seventeen international awards, including the Muse Award for Best Screenplay in 2014.

Recently Shirley has been performing with Lynita Crofford in Gertrude Stein and a Companion, directed by Chris Weare. It amused me the way it all began. Lynita Crofford had been performing successfully in two one woman shows. You either shine or you die in a one woman show. Lynita’s shows did wonderfully. But it is a lonely process. I remember longing for someone else onstage with me during my one woman shows. So Lynita was searching for a play for women. And she found the perfect script in Gertrude Stein and a Companion.

She had been directed by Chris Weare before and loved his work. He said yes instantly. Lynita needed to find another female actor to play opposite her. She didn’t even consider her close friend, Shirley. She knew that she was involved in writing projects. On Shirley’s birthday, while having coffee with her, Shirley mentioned that she wanted to take a break from writing. Lynita’s smile engulfed the room.
“I have the perfect birthday present for you, my friend. How would you like to play Gertrude Stein opposite my Alice B. Toklas?”

When I acted, thirty years ago, there were theatre companies: PACT, CAPAB, NAPAC and PACOFS. These companies provided work centres for the actor. Now they no longer exist. Actors are employed by various theatres that put on a constant variety of shows. Shirley, Lynita and Chris formed a small, independent theatre company. It is difficult for them to make a profit. They have to pay for the cost of hiring a theatre, publicity, stage management, employing technical staff and the rights of the play. I know that Shirley and Lynita teach during the day. Because of this, they could afford to put on the production. The three of them worked all day and then met and rehearsed in the evenings. The result was astounding!

They opened Gertrude Stein and a Companion at the Alexander Bar in June 2018 for two weeks. It was such a resounding success that they returned in October for a further two weeks. In 2019, they took it up to Johannesburg, the Hilton Festival and also to Dublin, Ireland. In Ireland both performers were nominated for best actress in the Dublin International Gay Theatre Festival.
Lynita won! 

“Never have I ever wanted to jump up and shout “Encore” at the end of a play, that is, until tonight!” wrote Correy Sutherland in her review of the production.
Megan Furniss in her review says: “I am seldom jealous of beautiful scripts, but this one made me wish I had written it.
Both Lynita as Alice, and Shirley, as Gertrude, are superb. I have never seen either of them do anything like this and they are absolutely charming, clear, bold and amazing. Lynita’s Alice is solid and terse and grumpy and witty. Shirley’s Gertrude is expansive and cheeky and bold and lyrical. Her warmth and sparkle radiate from her. I loved the characters and I loved the performers playing them.”

Being involved in the theatre nowadays is tough. Nothing is handed to you on a plate. Gertrude Stein and a Companion came about through three people’s intense passion and a desire to see the production come to fruition. The winners of course are us, the audience!

In June, Gertrude Stein and a Companion is being performed in Hermanus. This is a performance I will not miss!

My memory of becoming friends with Shirley is gone. I have no memory of a before and after.
Shirley has always just been a part of me. At that Othello audition, a special person entered my life.
For life.

I think of Shirley and once again, my heart smiles……..

The post My Multifaceted Friend! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Creativity is a combinatorial force: it’s our ability to tap into our ‘inner’ pool of resources – knowledge, insight, information, inspiration and all the fragments populating our minds – that we’ve accumulated over the years just by being present and alive and awake to the world and to combine them in extraordinary new ways.”
Maria Popova, Brainpickings

I hate the saying: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again!” 

I want to klap a person over the head when this is said to me. The worst thing is when you start saying it to yourself. After my fall, I had to learn to do everything from scratch. Among a host of things, I had to learn to walk, talk, handle my right side once more. I would mutter this mantra to myself before finally ‘hurling’ it out at the world in utter frustration. Thank goodness, that as the years progressed so did my skills. Nevertheless that sentence still causes me to shudder!

I met Rosie Fiore.
And, she demonstrated to me how successful a person can be by trying and trying and trying again. Innumerable times. Indeed this is the pattern of her life!

We hadn’t been ‘friends’ before my fall. We knew each other. I was delighted to hear that Rosie had seen me “give a great performance” in Othello! We would probably smile at each other at theatre get togethers and move on. I had my fall and gradually moved back into the land of the living. Rosie became my friend on Facebook. She has an astute way of phrasing things. She expresses herself in a way that often causes me to think or draws a smile onto my face. I liked this person and so four years ago, on a visit to England, I arranged to meet her.

She has a face that is transparent. It reveals what she is thinking. Rosie’s eyes laugh together with her mouth. We sat and spoke for ages which was when I learned that she was an author.
“I thought you were an actor,” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Rosie, my memory isn’t all that good.”
She explained that she had studied drama at Wits. Her first paying job after drama school was to dress up as a cherry. She wore a giant fibreglass spherical costume complete with green tights. She then had to hand out leaflets for a travel company. She was an out of work actor who needed to feed herself. Glory, what a nightmare, I thought. I remembered my out of work days spent toiling in a restaurant. That didn’t last long. I was groped by a customer so I placed his food on the floor, where he deserved to eat it. Naturally I was fired! 

Things didn’t improve much for Rosie and in desperation she approached her agent. He suggested that she write a play about out of work actresses earning their living as strippers. Rosie didn’t believe in doing things by halves. And so, with a 21 year old’s confidence, she worked as a food and beverage manager in a strip club on Bree Street, Johannesburg. This was certainly a dangerous place for a young woman to be frequenting. There she met other girls, her age, who were earning money by doing what strippers do! The experience was eye opening! What amazed Rosie was that these women were not all victims. There were those that actually chose to do it. It gave them pleasure. There was one woman who worked as an investment banker by day and stripped at night. These strippers gave Rosie her first play This is Not My Real Job which was short-listed for the Amstel Playwright of the Year Awards. At this time she also began writing for children’s TV.
Forget acting. Rosie was now a writer.

In 2000, Rosie moved to London. This was a big step. A new work environment called out to her. She began doing the thing she knew best: writing. This time she didn’t write for anyone else. She had a novel inside her that was like a caged bird waiting to be freed. She finished writing it and on a visit to South Africa,  Struik Books agreed to publish! Her first novel This Years Black was out! She was overjoyed and returned to London ready to live the life of an author.  After all she now had a published book behind her. She was sure it wouldn’t be difficult.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
“It took me four years and about thirty rejections to get a UK agent. Then another five years and a further three novels to get an English publication deal.”
Nine years before she finally managed to crack the English system and get a book published.

My admiration for Rosie is vast. To write three novels and have them rejected would have crushed me. How did she have the courage to put aside a finished book that she had slaved over for about a year and then begin another? And another?
“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again!”
When things didn’t go easy for her, she didn’t curl up into a metaphorical ball and abandon all hope. Her flame of optimism continued to burn. She tried again, struggled on and finally succeeded.

I laugh at the fact that Rosie writes about 1200 words a day. With my brain damage, I battle writing ten lines. Two different women, two different histories!
Rosie has now written  eight novels that have been published. I asked which was her favourite and she replied unhesitatingly: “After Isabella. I wrote it after a friend died of breast cancer. It was a way to explore complex relationships between women and the care of the dying. It was painful and difficult to write but I think there’s truth and compassion in it.”
I am so glad that I’ve got it on my Kindle!

Recently I read The After Wife which she wrote under the nom de plume of Cass Hunter. She was under contract to another publishing house and they owned the name ‘Rosie Fiore’. I had forgotten that this was my friend’s book and just found myself utterly enthralled.

I love Rosie’s attitude to her writing.
“I just want to be a better writer. I wish to close the gap between the book I dream in my head and the book I finally manage to write.”
Rosie is a person that is ‘awake to the world’. This aliveness is a quality that I treasure.

Recently she has branched out into something new. Or rather, went back to taste her past! Rosie has written an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and she is now directing it at the  Bridewell Theatre in Blackfriars.
It is an enormous project. It has a cast of twenty, a large production team and they are working in a beautiful London theatre. She has been used to working on her own with imaginary characters conversing in her head. Suddenly that aloneness has disappeared and she has other creative minds contributing to the process. This is an exhilarating, collaborative procedure. 

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again!”
In every walk of life, there will always be things that you have to try, try and try again. You only have to look at the Springboks recent rugby past and their phenomenal victory last weekend, and this saying causes you to smile. Indeed it wants to make me dance!!!

We were suddenly interrupted by a young boy who threw himself at Rosie.
“Found her, Dad,”  he shouted to this man walking towards us, smiling broadly.
“This is Ted,” Rosie laughed giving her child a kiss and here is my husband, Tom.”
I was about to greet them when Ted, unable to control himself, blurted out:
“Mum told me that you jumped down five storeys.”
“Well, I…um…”
“You are just so cool!” he enthused.

My heart smiled. It is a remark like this that makes me pleased that I have tried, tried and tried again…….

The post If at first……..! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I thought my friend’s suggestion was great, so set about picking out the five tunes I enjoyed the most. I soon realised what an utterly impossible task this was. It was totally unthinkable! If I looked at the various shows that I love, singers I adore, tunes that have entered my heart – how do I select my five favourites??? I can’t and I defy any music lover to do so. What I am going to do is choose five songs that mean a lot to me and I’ll explain why. Just know that tomorrow I could well select a different five. Music affects and is affected by your mood. Here are my mood choices for today…… (Press each record title to play the song!)

Dad was transferred to England for two years in 1966. Mums was cooking when the song Puppet on a String came on the radio. I have this vivid memory of Mums gooning around for us kids. She had a wooden spoon in her hand which she was using as a microphone: ‘I wonder if one day that you say that you care, if you say you love me madly, I’ll gladly be there, like a puppet on a string…’
We laughed and joined in singing this wonderful song about a puppet. Apparently, the singer, Sandie Shaw, sang it in the Eurovision Song Contest in 1967. She appeared barefoot on stage and moved with a sunny type of innocence.
Today I still know every word of that song and I remember two children and their mother laughing together in an English kitchen…..

Sound of Music  came out in 1965 and I was taken to see it when I was seven years old. I was completely hooked from the moment I saw Julie Andrews as Maria striding across that mountain meadow. She stopped, her face filled with wonder and joy, opened her mouth and The hills are alive with the sound of music came tumbling out and entered my life. Fifty-one year’s later, that is one of my favourite bits of film and that music is playing now from my iPad. I laughed when I read that when filming that particular piece, Julie Andrews braced herself for each shot. It was futile! The down draft from the helicopter in which the director, Robert Wise, was filming, would knock her over. After more than a dozen takes, she tried to hand signal the helicopter to make a wider pass. The response she got was a thumbs-up. The director was finally satisfied with the shot.

I was a weekly boarder in 197172 in Durban. Every weekend I would go to my aunt and uncle’s home where I would spend two wonderful days before being taken back to school on Sunday evening. They have four daughters who became like sisters to me. One weekend, I took ‘home’ a guitar that I had been loaned by a fellow boarder. I painstakingly played a song I had learned, The Unicorn. Anne and Margs, my cousins, were utterly fascinated and so swopping the guitar between us, I taught them to play it. The next day, we returned from a friend’s home to be told by my aunt, that my uncle had a surprise for us. We walked into the lounge to see three guitars sitting there, beckoning to us. John had so loved the fact that the three of us had learned to play The Unicorn on the guitar, that he had promptly bought us each our own. We had a recording of Des and Dawn Lindberg singing that song. Now we too could play it! I have just listened to that recording and my heart smiles at the memory of three children eagerly swopping a guitar. I played my guitar until I had my fall. Thank you, Des and Dawn, for that song, that wonderful memory and indirectly for starting me off on an incredibly happy period in my life, my guitar playing.

When I came home for the Christmas holidays, naturally my guitar accompanied me. I recall evening braais on the farm. We would finish eating and someone would say: “C’mon, Gaye, out with the guitar!”
Under our beautiful Belhambra tree, beneath a sky cluttered with stars, I would caress my guitar and sing. On those evenings, I would play my father’s favourite, Both Sides Now. He would sit, soaking up what he was hearing and the emotion would always seep out of his eyes in slow, rolling tears. Not being able to play my guitar now, somehow that song had disappeared from my life. Until just recently, I discovered Joni Mitchell singing it. And my darling Dad came rolling into the forefront of my mind. I had forgotten how much that song meant to me. What it still means to me. I sat in my lounge, rejoicing in the song with hot tears pouring down my cheeks.

I had my fall and entered a deaf, dark, shadowed world. It was a world where music didn’t dare strike a chord.
“Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear,” said Ludwig van Beethoven.
How closely I identified with him. It was a place where the echoes of a cell door blocked out the chorus of life itself. It felt as if I had to gingerly make my way along the debris of my existence. 

About eighteen months later, my parents were holding a big party on the farm. They held it outside in a massive open sided shed. Everyone was dancing and having a marvellous time. I wasn’t dancing. I wasn’t much good at it anymore. I had a glass of wine in my hand and was just enjoying watching the festivities. Suddenly Mums called out:
“Gaynor, they are playing your song, Thank you for the Music.”
I just adored that Abba song.
“Where are they up to, Mums?”
I had jumped off my bale of straw, my wine forgotten. My Mums and Dad had moved towards me and both were singing the song, mouthing the words clearly.
“….who found out that nothing can capture a heart like a melody can…”
“Well, whoever it was, I’m a fan…” my marvellously off key voice joined in. Mums slipped out of Dad’s arms and he came to me. Gently he moved me onto the dance floor. We simply swayed with me watching his mouth clearly.
“…..Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honest
What would life be without a song or a dance
What are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me….”
That song holds a special place in my heart. I will always remember my dance with Dad.
Thank you for that music!

In 2007, I had my first Cochlear Implant. With that, the world drew me into it once more.
I could hear music again! My identification with Beethoven was a thing of the past. My much loved music was back! Even better, I started listening to music that was totally new to me. Eva Cassidy is a singer who I fell in love with. Her songs are all wonderful. I look at the lyrics of I Can Only Be Me.
But how many times have you wished you were some other
Someone than who you are
Yet who’s to say that if all were uncovered
You will like what you see?
You can only be you
As I can only be me

So this Gaynor, who can only be me has now selected six songs instead of the five I originally intended. I could go on and on and on. Music for me, is something I now breathe.
How true are Friedrich Nietzsche words when he says:
“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

The post Songs of My Heart! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Gaynor-twirls are not always successful. Often instead of going in a perfect round spin, my body teeters, leaning Tower of Pisa like, and then plummets to end up in a most undignified heap. This time however, my body did a Tower of Pisa lean, wobbled to the correct angle and finished in a Gaynor-twirl of perfection! I will leave the style of that perfection to your imagination!!!
“I love being in Hampstead,” I cried.

Hampstead seems to have a buzz about it. My friend, B and I left the home where we were staying and headed straight for our breakfast haunt, Le Pain Quotient. It is a charming little coffee shop that seems to have a golden glow of warmth inviting you in. We always head straight for the same table that looks out onto the busy street. What a blissful way to begin our day. Sipping hot chocolate, devouring a warm, crispy. buttery almond croissants and planning the day ahead.

Leaving the coffee shop, my eyes lit upon an antique shop about fifty metres away.
“Oh, B, I know I can barely afford to ‘breathe’ in there, but please, I have to go in.”
We passed through these luxurious old green curtains that had bells attached. The owner, a red haired, green eyed woman, alerted by the bells, looked up at us.
“May we just look around? I can’t afford to buy anything but this shop simply enticed me?”
The owner laughed. “Look around all you like,” she said in this gorgeous Irish accent.
What glorious and splendid treasures met my eyes in that trove of a shop. A eighteenth century silver box that would have looked so perfect on my dressing table. It was going for £523. A touch out of my price range! 

We wandered around Hampstead and discovered a quaint bookshop. How I love bookshops. This was my favourite kind because it was a second hand shop. It had old books peeping shyly down at me from atop their shelves. Right at the back, on the fifth shelf there was an red book that seemed to be beckoning to me.
“Yes, come nearer, come on,” it seemed to say, “you’ll like what I contain between my covers.”
I reached for the book and it slipped between my fingers and fell open onto the floor.
“Glory, I’m sorry!” I said to the shop assistant as I gently picked it up. “Oh, it’s Yeats,” I said.
The book had fallen open on He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven.
“Gosh, this was one of the first poems I learned at drama school. After my fall, it was a poem that I managed to re-learn.”
“Say it for me,” B asked curious.
I shut my eyes briefly and from somewhere inside of me the word came tumbling out:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark clothes
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.

On our way to Belsize Park tube station, we took a short cut up a pathway that snakes past the Royal Free Hospital where construction work was under way. Hoardings had been erected with a startling difference. That was when I saw them. The paintings!A 30-metre-long outdoor gallery with impressive large scale reproductions of paintings imprinted all the way. I drew in my breath sharply and simply stared. They were laminated paintings that were of Hampstead and other areas in London. They were startling in the striking colours and their vibrancy was almost stupefying. I moved from one painting to the next, drinking in the images shining out at me. On the last hoarding was a write up about the artist, Oliver Yu Chan. It began:
The paintings displayed here are by local artist, Oliver Yu Chan, born 8th December 1986, a young man on the autistic spectrum.
This artist was autistic.

I have a friend that has a young autistic daughter who I recently met. I came away knowing that I needed to understand this disorder more. Autism is an intricate developmental disorder. It is made up of social and communication difficulties. Self-stimulatory and repetitive behaviours result and narrow, overly-focused interests. I saw all this that day at my friends house. Her daughter was unable to talk and was perhaps thrown and disturbed by my presence. This resulted in incredibly repetitive behaviour. There is a school of thought that seeks to manage and control it. There are also those that see autism as a neuro-diversity that needs to be understood. Once understood, then the person’s potential can be realised. This I believe is the method Oliver Yu Chan’s mother took. 

As a young child, Oliver had very little speech and language and couldn’t sit still. He was perpetually on the move. He had many ‘obsessions’. His mother, Caroline, was always keen to encourage artistic interests as way of diverting him. She presented her child with a picture of a hedgehog.
“Oliver, do you see this picture of a hedgehog? Try and copy it,” she coaxed.
Oliver, whose attention was always flipping from one thing to another, looked at the picture, slowed down and began to draw. He recreated it beautifully. He looked at his picture and he smiled. As he later said: “That was the beginning of my ‘Amazing  Journey in Art’.” 

Oliver ‘speaks’ to the world through his paintings. I have found more of his art on the internet: oliveryuchan@tumblr.com
It was there that I discovered one of my favourite paintings. It was done  in 2018 and is simply called: Freud Museum London in Swiss Cottage. It is merely a picture of a house with a car parked outside. Yet it speaks to me of the artist. A man who sees our world as a place of colour and vibrancy. Isn’t his sky ringing and shouting beauty into the world?

Hampstead sparkles with an energy and vigour that stimulates me. We boarded the tube and the doors shut on Hampstead.
“If I were to live in England, B,  there is no doubt in my mind that I would live in Hampstead.”
B laughed.
“Oh, you of champagne taste, you would never be able to afford it!”
“Ahhhh, but I would choose a ‘partner’ who would,” I joked back. “Or, you never know, I might win the Lottery!”

Hampstead, brilliant, glorious Hampstead!!!

The post Hampstead Happiness! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.