WHAT'S IN A PLAY

Celia and I recently went to the National Theatre to see Dear Octopus, a play by the novelist and playwright Dodie Smith, which was written in 1938 and opened in London at the Queens’ Theatre, on the 14^th September 1938.  In her book, Dear Dodie: The Life of Dodie Smith (1996) Valerie Grove comments:

“The real first night, at the Queens Theatre on 14 September 1938, began gloomily. The crisis in Czechoslovakia was on everyone's mind. During the first half, the house was subdued, faces grave and laughs few. It seemed to have become dull. Then, in the first interval, a dramatic deus ex machina, Charles Morgan, arrived from The Times with news, which spread like wildfire through the theatre, that Neville Chamberlain was flying to meet Hitler at Berchtesgaden. It was as if the whole audience breathed a sigh of relief. And from then on the play went superbly, and built to a magnificent reception."

The play opened at a time the world was in turmoil and so it is now.  There is a passage in the play which has particularly stayed with me. It is a dialogue between Charles and his sister-in-law Belle, who at one time had feelings for Charles. It comes in Act II, half way through scene three:

 

BELLE.

You've never written your book Charles, or gone into Parliament.

All the things you planned as a boy

CHARLES.

I've never done any of them.

BELLE.

You would have done if you'd married me.

CHARLES

I wonder. You women are much too fond of fancying you can make geniuses of men.

And anyway, there are far too many books written and far, far too many people in Parliament.

BELLE.

Don't pretend Charles. You had great gifts.

CHARLES.

Not really, Belle. You see, when I came to have a little leisure to explore the minds of other men, I found that everything I wanted to say had been said by someone else. I was always expecting to get some epoch-making new idea, but I never did. I think I might have had a shot, at politics—but there were so many far more important things to do.

BELLE.

What things?

(The dance music stops. Talk and clapping can be heard.)

CHARLES.

Surely you have realized that any house that contains Dora also contains a number of Little Jobs? You would be surprised, for instance, what a very large number of shelves I have put up and an almost equally large number 1 have taken down. (He walks down c.) Then there have been children to play with, dogs to take walks, gardens to plan, neighbours to visit.

BELLE.

And you call these things important?

CHARLES.

I do indeed. I call the sum-total of any man's happiness important.

BELLE.

Have you been happy, Charles

CHARLES

So happy that I am sometimes tempted to erect a statue to myself. I should like people to be reminded that happiness isn't quite obsolete. (He goes back to BELLE.) Have you been happy, Belle?

BELLE.

That's rather a cruel question.

The exchange is very much of its time. Indeed it is very similar to the sort of emotion and thinking taken up by Noel Coward in This Happy Breed written in 1939, again written during a world at war. The idea that the family is paramount. It is a toast to the family, “To the family—that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to."

What strikes me most however, is the phrase “You’ve never written your book or gone into Parliament. All those things you planned as a boy”.  How many of us have stumbled over this thought? Most of the people I know must have had the notion, although I can think of a number of friends who have at least done the writing, and one or two who have dipped into the pond of public office. Having done neither, I greatly admire those who have.

During a particular discussion at a friend’s house, over dinner. I was asked by the host “If you had been Prime Minister of Israel on the 7^th October, what would you have done?”.  My first inner thought was, if I was prime minister anywhere at this particular time, what would I do? It is an easy question to ask. Indeed, how often have we heard journalists ask opposition politicians during an interview “What would you do?”. There is never an easy answer. I like to think, that if I had been Prime Minister of Israel, then October 7^th would never have happened and there would be peace in the middle east.  

Nonetheless, we have what we have. Would my response have been different from Mr Netanyahu? Again, I like to think so, but the emotions of the moment and the feelings of rage and despair being felt by so many around one, would make the decision exceedingly difficult. There is a scene in Lawrence of Arabia (co-written by Robert Bolt) which depicts the Arab Army who come through a village that had been devastated by the Turkish Army. They pause looking out at the Turkish troops in the distance:

 

Is it not an easy scene to watch any more than the current flow of newsclips from Ukraine or Gaza. “Not this” is all one can say. Think of the future is all one can ask. There is a road to Damascus.. In the meantime there is the horror. There will come an end and there will come some kind of resolution. Whether it will be sufficient to end the heartache and resentment among the participants to the carnage, one can only hope. Agreements are tough to maintain. The Good Friday Agreement of the 10^th April 1998 still manage to hold, although on occasions it may seem fragile. Curiously it is a hovering peace that one hopes will settle solidly on the ground.  So long as talking continues that should happen. ` I do not know what prejudices have been handed on to the youth of Northern Ireland during the last 26 years, but the fact that the current first minister, Michelle O’Neil is from the Sinn Féin political party, is some progress towards normalisation. 

The other matter brought up by the dialogue in Dear Octopus is the excuse proffered for not writing the book or seeking public office “I found that everything I wanted to say had been said by someone else.” Too often have I found, in reading journals and other publications and listening to broadcasts and discussions, that much of what I feel deserves attention or consideration, has been ably and clearly expressed by another with a wider platform and access to a wider audience. In some instances by a public servant, journalist, writer or commentator. Quite often amongst my friends and acquaintances, which is probably why they remain friends and acquaintances. I tend to avoid confrontation and continued association with people who have opposing and strongly held views. That would be my loss. Sometimes confrontation can be instructive and even helpful to clarify or improve one’s own thoughts.

Once, in conversation with some people, I heard one person remark to another, after that person had expressed an opinion on a certain matter “A lot of people think that” to which came the response “Oh really? I must change my view at once”. I don’t think I am quite a contrarian as that, but perhaps I should change my mind about a lot of things. A damascene moment is perhaps just around the corner, but in the meantime should I take no prisoners?