“What seem to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise” Oscar Wilde
The first time I really understood that what was happening in my brain didn’t have to show on my face, or dictate my actions, was in the fifth form (that’s year 11 for those of you after GenX). Let me explain.
It was a cold winter’s day and the hall smelt like all school halls did back then. A strange combination of musty, damp with a lingering tinge of sweat thrown in for good measure, the hall having to double as the gym. The hard, wooden bench seats were stacked neatly around the walls and the dull winter light was pushing bravely through the windows high up against the ceiling. On stage, half a dozen girls pushed around stage flats, furniture and props, debating passionately about the best way to set the stage. As cast members they all had strong views on what would be best. As strong individuals they weren’t taking the Director’s direction lying down – there were opinions to be shared, debates to be had and victories to claim. All while looking slightly ridiculous in bit costumes – Margaret forever memorable as Earnest with her dodgy moustache, Sinead as Gwendoline sporting an enormous hat and my mum’s old dress, while Linda made a disturbingly convincing vicar seemingly having nailed method acting at an early age.
Picture now, if you will, the Director. Three hours into what should have been the rehearsal, having retreated to the back of the hall, watching on first in despair, then frustration and finally anger, as the debate raged, only to land with everything back where it had been originally set up. By her. An hour before the others had turned up. The cast looked smug and self-satisfied. They were waiting to be praised. What I wanted to do was scream.
I was incandescent inside. And feeling paralysed. I needed help. How to avoid upsetting my school mates and also get the job done? “Three hours wasted and they’ve just made it the way I had it to start with. If they’d just listened to me in the first place we wouldn’t have wasted all this time!” I complained. The unflappable Mrs T, one of my all-time favourite teachers, turned to me and smiled in that way she had. Immaculately turned out with just a hint of perfume, always conveying confidence and intelligence, always encouraging us to be our best selves, she said to me “Sometimes it’s not about being right. Sometimes you need to let others work it out for themselves. Now they have, they will be with you.” And because she was so quick, she added, “Remember the Importance of being Patient”. Our play was of course Oscar Wilde’s classic “The Importance of being Earnest”.
I learned a number of valuable lessons that day:
- The Importance of being Patient – you’ll go better and go further by creating the space and time for discoveries to be made together. The rehearsal that followed was energetic, the feeling of camaraderie palpable. The ensuing season fun and successful. This may have been very different if I had insisted on ‘being right’ and not bitten my tongue during the set shuffling process.
- The Importance of Thinking before Acting – When emotion gets high it’s easy to react rather than respond. Creating a circuit breaker – in this case retreating to the back of the hall for a while – enabled me to get some perspective. And realise I needed help.
- The Importance of Wise Council – I was fortunate that Mrs T was there to gently guide me without lecturing me. A friend recently told me “we are now the people we used to look up to” That’s a big responsibility. I hope I can live up to it and do Mrs T proud.
With thanks to Mrs T and the 5th From English Class Elective.
©Ann Braithwaite 2023
