“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.

I cannot join my friends when they go into the woods.

I’m unable to walk at the pace they like to walk. Also, just imagine if we met ‘a big bad wolf’, I would be easy pickings as I am unable to run! Recently it was with a carefree heart and a nimble ‘Gaynor step’ that I went to see Into The Woods, the musical, by Stephen Sondheim. In this case, it didn’t matter how fast I walked and there was no need to run. Into The Woods was there, waiting for me. 

Stephen Sondheim, the creator of Into The Woods is a magician. What enchantment he opened up before us. I knew about the musical and the characters involved. B, who joined me, had no idea what sort of musical lay in store for us that evening. As she paged through the programme before the show, she was amazed to see the characters of: Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and Jack and the Beanstalk.

“Oh,” B said, “you didn’t tell me we were coming to a pantomime.”

“It isn’t. Watch and see.”

She watched. And she saw.

This was certainly no pantomime.

A baker and his wife have been cursed by a witch and as a result are unable to have a child. They can only remove the curse if they bring her four ingredients: “the cow as white as milk, the cape as red as blood, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold” in three days’ time. And so the characters of Cinderella, Rapunzel, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Little Red Riding Hood interact in a wood. And thus began our magical evening.

How I envied those performers singing in a Sondheim production. Many years ago, I was told by Gay Lambert in another Sondheim creation, Sweeney Todd, that: “It’s a gift for an actor to sing a Sondheim song because he understands how to create for the actor. It’s all there in the lyrics and music.”

Both B and I are deaf and so there were lyrics that we missed. But that didn’t matter. The characterisation, the set, the moves all enhanced the story telling perfectly.

Into The Woods was directed by Steven Stead. Steven and I worked together in Cinderella in 1987. He had just completed his first year at drama school. I had no idea that this eager young lad with quick, darting eyes that missed nothing, would develop into this wonderful actor and one of the top directors in South Africa. It was his clarity of vision that made this musical production what it was.

“Once upon a time…” Michael Richard’s deep, rich voice as the Narrator began the tale. I was drawn back through the mist of time to his playing of Arthur in Camelot,1989. I smiled to myself as images of a younger Michael possessed the audience with the same astonishing presence as he was doing nearly thirty years later. I am not going to go into the wonderful story that was performed for us that evening. There are reviews and countless articles on Into The Woods. For me it was an evening of wonder, light, sublime music that I could hear once more and performances that were unique and breathtaking. 

Kate Normington’s portrayal of the Witch was stunning. Obviously she saw Meryl Streep’s portrayal in the film of Into The Woods. Yet in no way did she attempt to mimic that. She found her own voice that was both horrifying, tender and heart breaking. Greg King’s set was a wonder. It began with nine upright fairy tale books that duly open into various scenes within the deep, dark wood. We allowed ourselves to be picked up and carried into the ‘Woods’ where we were soon deliciously entangled in the plot.

I was surprised at the end of the first half to be told that we had a twenty minute break before the second half began.

“I thought it had finished. Surely all the characters now live happily ever after?” B commented.

“Yes, I also thought so. But with Sondheim, we should have expected this. With him, nothing is ever as it seems.”

The second half showed us what happened after the “happily ever after”. It is unexpected and…yes, at times, horrifying. Deceit, greed, lies, placing oneself first, all of these traits could only lead to chaos. Suddenly the ‘fairy tale’ took on an alarming turn. Death became very real. You realised that choices have consequences. Sondheim showed the complexity of human relationships. People are connected and they have to work together to overcome evil. At the curtain call, I rose to my feet applauding. I applauded the actors onstage and also that wonderfully wise creator – Stephen Sondheim.

We were standing in the foyer, sipping drinks when I heard the rich tones that had begun the musical. Only this time, I heard Michael Richard’s voice saying: “Gaynor…”

I was enveloped in a Michael-hug. I love being hugged by Michael. He gathers me to him in this real bear like manner! I pulled away and looked up into his gentle yet discerning eyes: “You were great, Michael!”

And then I felt arms enfold me from behind. 

“You made it!” Kate Normington said. Turning I gave her an enormous smile. 

“I couldn’t miss it. You were marvellous!” I said giving her the warmest hug. The three of us stood there smiling together.

“This feels as if…it’s meant to be. The last time we were together like this was in Camelot,” I said.

“Do you know that this is the first time Kate and I have worked together since that production?” Michael pointed out.

Maybe the curse of Camelot had not only been felt by me with my fall, but by others as well.

B felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see this man with shyly smiling eyes.

“I knew Gaynor at drama school. I am nervous to introduce myself to her because she might not remember me and that might embarrass her.”

“You must say hello! Gaynor’s memory is a strange thing. If she doesn’t remember you, she will be delighted to meet you all over again.”

This man came towards me. “Gaynor, hi! I did Drama with you at Durban University. I’m sure you won’t remember me but I just had to come and say hi.”

I stared at him and my mind swirled, struggling to reach back 38 years. It was his eyes that caused me to smile. 

“Yes…yes…I do remember you! Your name, it begins with a…B or a D?”

“Brinton” he said, delight spread across his face. 

I had this dim memory of Brinton and I dancing together. Was this merely in a dance class or had he too been a member of The Barefoot Dance Company? I asked my old university dance teacher, Margi Larlham, who is now a painter in America and she gave me his full name instantly: Brinton Spies! 

Of course, Brinton Spies. I rediscovered an old friend.

“And me? Do you have any idea who I am?” This dark tousled haired man with a wicked grin asked.

“I’m sorry, I presume you’re an actor because your face is familiar but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name?”

“Yes, I am an actor, Roy Hunter. How could you have forgotten my name when we lived together for a month?”

“We did what?” I squeaked. Was I now meeting a previous lover? And I hadn’t even remembered his name! 

He laughed. “We were both acting at The Playhouse in Durban. We were in different shows but we shared accommodation. That is why my face is familiar. You have forgotten but we actually know one another.”

Thinking about it, it could have been Noël Cowards Private Lives that I performed in Durban. How utterly amazing to discover that a vaguely familiar face is actually an old friend!

I was standing chatting to Michael and Kate when this young woman came up to me.

“Hi, Gaynor, Dad hasn’t introduced us yet but I’m his daughter, Sarah. I played…”

“Florinda!” I said in delight. “I saw your name in the programme but I didn’t realise that you were Michael’s daughter. This is incredible! I last saw you when you were a teeny tot. You and Ashleigh were hilarious.”

“Did I hear my name being bandied about?” Ashleigh Harvey put her arms around me and gave me the warmest hug.

And then suddenly the rest of the cast were there.

What completely blew my mind, was that they all knew me. I was hugged by people I didn’t know.

“It’s so good to meet you at last!”

“We heard you were in. Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, it’s so great to have you here…”

These were all actors that had appeared once I had ‘left the stage.’ 

Yet they all ‘knew’ me.

As we drove home, my heart was full.

I believe that in life everyone ventures Into The Woods. We meet up with friends and enemies along the way and have adventures of every kind. There are so many nooks and crannies, open spaces, leafy glades you tumble through till you reach a cool, relaxing stream. Then you clamber up again, over boulders and bushes into the next adventure.

Bernadette Peters who played the Witch from 1987-1989 says: “It was wonderful to hear Sondheim talk about the song: “No One Is Alone.” 

He said: “People think the song is about being alone, but it’s not. It’s about how we all affect one another…in everything we do it affects someone, and we have to think about that.”

Just remember

Just remember

Someone is on your side (Our side)

Our side

Someone else is not

While we’re seeing our side (Our side)

Our side

Maybe we forgot, they are not alone

No one is alone

Someone is on your side

No one is alone

The post Fairy Tale Friends! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Why is it that no matter how old we are, we still refer to our teachers by their surname?!
Thirty-five years after leaving my school, Brescia House, I met up with my old sports teacher, Ms Hillcoat. She told me her Christian name was Heather, Heather Hillcoat. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to call her by her first name? Ms Hillcoat. That surname seem to be engraved on my heart! Let me tell you of this encounter and how “Ms Hillcoat” was reunited with an old friend of hers.
I was having lunch with Jan. She is a laid back sort of person who is natural and easy to talk to. I laughingly said to her: “I haven’t thought of this person for ages but you remind me so much of my old PE teacher. Her name was Ms Hillcoat. Heather Hillcoat.”
Jan’s mouth literally dropped open. “Heather Hillcoat!” she croaked. “Gaynor, Heather and I both trained to become PE teachers together. She was a very close friend of mine.”
Now it was my turn to be totally gobsmacked. They had lost touch with each other when they graduated. I told my friend, B, about this amazing coincidence while we were having lunch in Knysna.
“Mum said that she had seen Ms Hillcoat several years ago, serving in an antique shop not far from where we are now,” I said spearing an asparagus.
“Here? In Knysna?” asked B, her asparagus un-speared and looking forlorn. “Let’s have a look on Google and see if we can find her.”
B is a wunderkind on the computer and within seconds she said to me: “Is this her?”

I looked at a photo of a Knysna bowls team and there, grinning back at me, was a well remembered face from my past. Within seconds B had her phone number and I heard a familiar voice answer the phone.
“Ms Hillcoat…um…this is Gaynor Young. I’m not sure if you remember me but….”
“Gaynor, of course I remember you! How totally wonderful to speak to you.”
“I’m in Knysna at East Heads Cafe and I wondered…”
“That is just around the corner from me…….”
We drove the five minutes to her house. I got out of the car and walked hesitantly towards the door. I was quite nervous about seeing Ms Hillcoat again. I remembered her on the hockey field with us, silver whistle in her mouth, running as the ball swung from one side of the field to the other. She was dressed in her blue sports skirt which showed off her sporty, tanned legs. Her voice was encouraging, reprimanding, coaxing. Thirty-five years later, I rang the doorbell and there she was!
I stepped back from an enormous hug and looked into that well-remembered face. More creases showed on both of us but she still had that wonderful large white smile and those blue eyes that could be incredibly piercing. I introduced B and we went through to where coffee was brewing.
“And, Gaynor, please won’t you sign this for me?” Ms Hillcoat held out a well read copy of my book.
“You bought it!” I exclaimed, “Oh, Ms Hillcoat, I am so pleased.”
“Gaynor, it’s Heather, remember? And yes, I have lent this book to countless people. It’s just great!”
Before we left that day we made arrangements to meet at East Heads Cafe with Jan. What a wonderful breakfast we had that day. It was a meeting of old friends and new. Jan and Heather had been friends almost fifty years ago. A lot changes in one’s life during that time. I last saw ‘Ms Hillcoat’ when I was seventeen years old. Thirty-five years ago, I was a different person. That lunch was a re-discovering of our past, of our present, of each other.
As Jan said later: “I felt grateful to meet a soul of my past and to realise once again that not many degrees remove us from people who’ve influenced our lives.”
“She bought back long forgotten but happy memories,” Heather recounts.
It was a period of discovery for me too. I was experiencing the birth of a new friendship.
I re-encountered my old school teacher, Ms Hillcoat. I met up with ‘Heather’. She was no longer a teacher. Here was a potential friend! Teachers are an invaluable part of life and I am so grateful for them. But friends are something else entirely.

“The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand
Nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship
It is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one
When you discover that someone else believes in you
And is willing to trust you with a friendship.”
Ralph Waldorf Emerson

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

Gym

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

“We’ll be Friends Forever, won’t we, Pooh?’ asked Piglet.

It’s a cloudy, grey day in George. I am sitting snugly inside. The light next to me brings out the hues of the beautiful Persian carpet that stretches out in front of me. Rich maroons, crimsons, ash blues, smoky creams and golds. It is a work of art in it’s design. But this carpet is more to me than a wonderful piece of creation.
This is my friendship carpet.
I think back, three years ago, to when I received it as my fiftieth birthday present.
I had looked at the old carpet that lay on my lounge floor. This fabric used to be made up of brightly coloured stripes. It had given my lounge a festive, merry air. Now the colours were faded. It reminded me of a boiled sweet that has been sucked and sucked and the vibrancy of its colour had been radically diminished, practically eradicated. Also the one seam was coming undone. I needed a new carpet. I needed a new carpet badly.
I had a big birthday coming up. I turned fifty in July. Mum, on seeing the state of that “dastardly rug attempting to cover your floor” had suggested that on my fiftieth birthday, members of the family could contribute something and with the money I could go out and buy myself a decent rug. Oh, what a fabulous idea, I thought, and left it at that.
In June I was treated to an overseas trip to England by someone I had never even met, Donny. He was a friend of my best friend ‘B’. Apparently he had a surplus of Voyager miles and so yours truly was given them. Am I lucky or am I just lucky??? I stayed with ‘B’ and her husband, John and had the most wonderful holiday. While there I had three fiftieth birthday parties! I received two cheques of £120 for Amazon. Do you have any idea how many DVDs one can get for £240? All with subtitles!
I got back from England and spent some time in Cape Town with my sister, Liz and family for a few days. Liz and Mum were chatting. I flopped down next to them. “What are you talking about?”
“We were just saying how spoilt you’ve been overseas and were wondering what we could get you for your birthday?”
“But…but you already know what you’re getting me for my birthday,” I said a little unsteadily, “You’re getting me my carpet,” I almost pleaded. “Remember, you said that everyone in the family would contribute.”
“People wanted to get you their own presents. So I’m afraid a carpet is out.”
I was stupefied. No carpet! No-damn-carpet! Stupidly I felt near to tears. I would have to take the gruck carpet that I owned, and have it’s seam sewn up. Damn it, I had wanted a new carpet so badly. Damn, damn, damn!
I spent the night before my birthday at my Mum’s house. Liz had come up from Cape Town and I knew that her children would enjoy the whole birthday morning. On the 30th, my 50th birthday, I lay in bed smiling to myself. I might be 50 but I hadn’t changed one iota since I was little. I still lay in bed, eagerly awaiting the door opening to allow my family in, singing happy birthday, their arms filled with presents, complete with a laden tea tray! I wasn’t disappointed. My nieces, Megan and Emma’s excitement was needlessly contagious. And I was so wonderfully spoiled. Oh, I love birthdays! I think one should have a 50th birthday every year!
I picked up a card with ‘B’s writing on it. “Silly Dweet, she gave me a card in England.” I opened the card. Inside the message took my breath away – “Gaynor, all of the following friends have contributed to your “50th Birthday Carpet. They all wish to say a very Happy 50th Birthday!!!” There was a cheque for a considerable amount. An absurdly considerable amount! So this explained Mum and Liz’s reaction over the carpet. I caught Mum’s eye and she blew me a kiss.
I looked at the card and all of those names. So many wonderful names! Unbeknown to me, ‘B’ had hacked my Facebook account and made a note of all my friends. She had emailed them about my 50th. And this was the result! I sat there reading that awe inspiring card with tears pouring down my face. So many people from all over the world had contributed. You can have no idea what looking at that list of contributors meant to me. My heart simply overflowed.
Friends are such a necessary part of life. I have friends all over the world and I have a Soulmate in ‘B’! I rejoice in technology. I use my cell phone, Skype, e-mail, SMS or BBM. It is so easy  in this day an age to make and maintain contact. (Very rarely do I get a letter from anyone. If I do, it is treasured!)
So forget about buying a mere rug. My Persian carpet smiles serenely at me from my lounge floor. It looks too stunning for words! It is made up of blues, greens, reds and golds all interwoven with incredible precision. It just takes your breath away.
My beautiful Friendship Carpet!

The post Persian Love Affair! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.