Kay Mellor in the New Headingley Club

Kay Mellor in New Headingley Club.   Photo by Richard Wilcocks

Sally Bavage writes:

Tea and homemade cake - the walnut sponge was chosen by our guest - revived the forty or so frozen souls who battled in to the New Headingley Club on Saturday afternoon for a question-and-answer session with our very own heroine, scriptwriter, actress, director - and much more besides.  And Kay's smile and personality would melt the North Pole.  Chutzpah. Pizzazz.  Whatever the word, she has it.

What scripts hasn't Kay written over the past decades!   Theatre first, after her schooldays at West Park School and her degree in Drama from the sadly-missed Bretton Hall.  Each had one inspiring teacher who had recognised her natural writing talent and given her encouragement to “just get it down in writing.” Kay has a perceptive eye for detail, a keen ear for dialogue and an ability to bring people to life so vividly that we can probably all name someone in our own lives who is just like one of her characters.  As she lives very locally, it could indeed be us!  She confessed that she does use her friends, family, those she meets casually, dinner party conversations, what she reads  - all of these as inspiration for her storytelling.  

Her latest story, The Syndicate, series two, had just started on BBC1, and we were treated to some tantalising glimpses of the second episode which hint at what lies in store for the new Lottery-winning characters who work in the lower end of the embattled NHS.  Celebrations of the win are clearly foreshadowed, with some jealousy and heartache to come - but without these it wouldn't be a Kay Mellor script.  She finds people endlessly fascinating and has no desire yet to write her autobiography whilst the ordinary lives of others in extraordinary circumstances provide such rich material.

Unlike series such as Band of Gold, wich she researched with Bradford sex workers, she prepared for this by talking to Lottery winners over the telephone rather than immersing herself deeply in their lives.  She incorporates psychology as well to carry the story and does not write for a particular actor, but does her homework thoroughly then just writes fluently and keeps going.  When asked why she had used the Syndicate theme for a second series, as with other themes on which she has written several series, she made it clear that she stops when she has said what she wanted to say, explored all facets of people's characters and captured the 'Zeitgeist'.  The Syndicate gave her a vehicle to examine the life-changing consequences of rags-to-riches, and the follow-on story holds less interest for her. She is not impelled to write a moral tale, just to tell a tale and pose questions that leave viewers the opportunity to engage with their own viewpoint.

“Would she ever set her stories outside West Yorkshire?”  she was asked. She countered that she knows the area, lives here in Leeds and loves the place and the people.  The theme for this year's LitFest 2013: Lives and Loves in a nutshell.  Would she respond to the blandishments of Steven Spielberg and move to Hollywood? No again, although a small part of her would love to have that power to produce blockbuster film scripts like Richard Curtis - but family and especially the grandchildren exerted a far greater pull than anything Steven could come up with.  We laughed at her anecdotes of being in conversation with the great mogul himself.  Steven?  Steven who?  Sorry, I'm losing signal - I'll call back after my granddaughter has finished in Topshop.  She is now overseeing the two writers working on the US version of The Syndicate and does get to go to Tinseltown rather than Tinshill just occasionally.

Yes, she does receive a huge amount of mail, not just fan mail, but often from viewers who have been so touched by her stories that they send her very personal information, cries for help really.  She does answer them, briefly, and feels privileged that so many trust her with their confessions.  She also had some advice for young writers trying to 'make it.'  “Can you write your story premise in six lines?”  It is the idea that is the most important thing; good writing will only hang from a sound structural base.  

The choice of which actors will deliver the dialogue she has crafted is negotiated with the producer and casting director after she has written the part. Only once did she dislike who had been cast for a leading role and have to go away to re-write to play to the strengths of the actress.  On that early occasion it was an improvement, but it doesn't happen nowadays.  She produces real dialogue, in two columns, so that it can be intercut, interjections made, overlapped, cut off - just as in real life.  Real conversations in other words - just as we could hear in the audience as we were leaving; even from Finlay who at 19 weeks old was probably the youngest member of any of our audiences this year.

And her ambitions for the future?  Well, 'Steven' had suggested she really ought to write and direct movies, but they would have to be about 'her people', the ones she knows and whose voices she can hear.  Perhaps … watch this space?  She is still very busy running a business and ensuring that what she wants to talk about gets transferred to an audience.  When asked, now that she is growing older, if she thought she would write more parts for older people, she agreed - the babyboomers in her own life gave lots of scope for future plotting.  Scriptwriting for the theatre, the television and other media was still a delightful way to earn a living - if Shakespeare did it, then it was good enough for her!

And finally, does she play the Lottery herself?  No, she has enough richness in her life and is happy to follow the maxim of Ian Fleming when he said “It reads better than it lives.” Our audience plunged out into the freezing spring weather, replete with cake, and looking forward to the next instalments of local life, and the life of locals, that Kay can craft.  Will we be in it? - that may be another story!

Trio Literati - Straight from the Heart

Roger McGough in the Howard Assembly Room

Richard Wilcocks writes:

Roger McGough did not disappoint: the capacity audience at the magnificent Howard Assembly Room loved him to bits. As he read from As Far As I Know, adding witty commentary and extra personal narratives, the laughs and murmurs of appreciation came at frequent intervals, in spite of (because of?) the melancholy subject matter – moving poems on growing old, lost youth, love and death. At one point he reminded me of the comedian Paul Merton, not in appearance but in the wordplay, the wit and the ability to see things afresh, from interesting angles. At another point I was struck by the dark cloud I saw looming behind some of the poems, Knock Knock for example:

The man from the murder

Still on the loose

The man from the nightmare

The man from the fear…

…Did I hear someone knock

Who’s that at the door?

Or in Nice Try:

As we speak, they’re out there

Scythes at the ready, playing hide and seek.

Me under a bush, you in the shade

Someone counting to ten, sharpening a blade.

And I amongst many was deeply impressed by Not For Me a Youngman’s Death, an update on possibly his most famous poem of the Sixties, when he was more fast-living and went to all-night parties, Let Me Die a Youngman’s Death. It was suggested by Carol Ann Duffy, and he tells us about what it’s like now:

My nights are rarely unruly.

My days of all-night parties

Are over, well and truly.

No mistresses no red sports cars

No shady deals no gangland bars

No drugs no fags no rock ‘n’ roll

Time alone has taken its toll

Creating a league table of top contemporary poets is likely to be at best contentious, at worst woundingly humiliating, but that is what the poetic powers-that-be did four decades ago. They were connected with Poetry Review, the influential magazine of the Poetry Society, and included the likes of Andrew Motion, our previous poet laureate. Roger McGough, often associated by commentators with The Beatles, popular and famous as a member of The Scaffold with its Lily The Pink and Aintree Iron, a Liverpudlian with working class origins, was put into the ranks of the second division, at the bottom. That’s the problem with popularity – some people think you can’t be profound as well, and that to be clever you have to be arcane. Perhaps it was thought simply that the scousers were getting above themselves.

It rankled with him, and now it comes out in this latest collection. One  poem in it which he did not read – Scorpio – begins with what the popular John Betjeman wrote: ‘Our poems are part of ourselves. They are our children and we do not like them to be made public fools of by strangers’. McGough continues:

...

I will never reveal the names of those strangers,

Fellow poets some of them, and literary critics

Who have made public fools of my children.

They know who they are. Those still alive, that is.

Their names inscribed on the base of a paperweight.

But McGough rises above mere spleen-venting, which is not his style, as anyone who has been charmed by him as the presenter of Radio 4’s Poetry Please well knows. He is, in fact, a bit of a saint, the ‘patron saint of poetry’ in the words of today’s poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, and the wheel has turned: in addition to being a CBE, he is the new President of the Poetry Society. There are certain ironies to savour there. 

Love Lines - Teresa Brayshaw and Friends in HEART Café

Sally Bavage writes:

Escorted individually to our allotted seats in the pop-up 'restaurant' with communal refectory-style table, for one night only in the Heart café, audience members were immediately immersed in the evening's glamorous yet mysterious atmosphere created by the 'cast.'  “Glass of wine?”  “Do sit here and make yourself comfortable.”   “Help yourself to the grapes.”  Scattered hearts on the red and white tablecloths, live and mellow notes from 'Blue Moon' and 'Funny Valentine' set the mood.  Expectant.  Intrigued.

The 'cast' of nine performers sat amongst the 'guests' at the table and began to speak to each other, and us, about love. We talk of it, plead for it, cry about it, don't we? We write of it, don't we? - letters, emails, texts.  We skype, meet, date, don't we?  So love 'lines' - from sonnets and songs, from films and poems - were sent across the table in a medley of conversations that mixed medium with message.  

Lines were started at one place, continued through time and place, source and country and ended up echoing round the table in ghostly fragments of conversations.  Like the love lines and lifelines on our palms, talking of love is endless.

Mollie Bloom discoursed movingly on it.  Jack and Rose from the Titanic pledged to each other within our earshot.  Shakespeare questioned us from the distant past, answered by conversations between lovers from a more recent age.  Loving messages and refrains from across the centuries 'spoke' to each other across the years.  Was that Pliny? Henry the Eighth?  Rosa Luxembourg?  Mrs Beeton?  Admiral Nelson?  Napoleon? Empress Josephine?  Robert Burns?  Mrs Wordsworth?  Lord Byron?  Shirley Bassey?  The Artist Formerly Known As Prince?  Frank Sinatra?  Oscar Wilde?  Robert Browning?  John Lennon?  







Yes, imagine all of them in the room conversing about their desires and longings, setbacks and joys, domestic disasters and sexual frissons.  Could we spot the joins in these conversations?  No, there is a universal language that lovers use not bound by time or date - the same sweeping human emotions seem to have been expressed in words that differ little from age to age.  “Give me my memories” begs one rejected lover.  Like letters from the front in WW1, the words sent back and forth between separated lovers in post-war Russia echo the pain of those distanced from all that is human and warm.  

Like an audience at the ballet or opera, the 'guests' wanted to clap each individual piece that was both clever and affecting but we could not, and did not, break the mood and spoil the moments.  A final refrain from “Until we meet again” seemed most apt, as the 'guests' fervently asserted that we hope it will be at next year's LitFest!

An hour of truly absorbing entertainment, with masterful performances in memorisation, song and playing of parts from a committed cast and technical support team that included those returning especially from Spain, France and points of the English compass.  For love, naturally.  Commissioned for LitFest 2013, this premiere performance owes many thanks to: Steve Atkinson, Teresa Brayshaw, Hannah Butterfield, Lisa Fallon, Joely Fielding, Louise Hill, Rochnee Mehta, Emma Sargison, Noel Witts - with support from Charlotte Blackburn and Matt Sykes-Hooban. Oliver Bray took photos and Ben Mills filmed the event.

Lives and Loves - a celebration

Richard Wilcocks writes:
This annual event, made possible by the generosity of Jimbo’s Fund, was as stimulating and emotional as ever. It was compered this year by James Nash, who introduced each reader with his habitual good humour, making helpful comments and observations where necessary. James is the tutor for one of the two creative writing groups involved – the Osmondthorpe Writers – and he sat at the front next to the tutor of the other one, based at HEART, Alison Taft. The new experience of reading their own work in front of a strange audience -  an extremely supportive one it must be said - required courage from some of the readers, but there was no lack of that.

Michael Taylor sang Lonely Girl from memory, and was much appreciated. Less melancholy was Lee Rowley, whose love poem Laura could easily be set to music. Joe Geraghty’s short story was about sneezing, handkerchiefs and perfume as well as love, with amusing references to hay fever and Piriton, and Richard Sharpe’s My Girlfriend was full of charm. Siobhan Maguire Broad’s nostalgic Why I love films included her fond memories of eating sugar jellies, The Jungle Book and old cinemas filled with cigarette smoke, Carl Flynn gave us his neatly-rhymed Don’t touch me without not a glance at the script and Ted Gregory read a colleague’s collection of childhood memories from Summer 1956.

Geoffrey Vickers’s Letter Home was from a soldier to his sweetheart back at home, the one whose photo he carries in a leather case, and David Newton’s The Place I Love, with its carefully-crafted abrupt, short phrases was about flying Chinook helicopters in dangerous circumstances, Vietnam for example. Both of these could return for next year’s LitFest, the theme of which will be Conflict.

Mandey Hudson made us laugh with her Elephants, huge creatures who have to be shampooed, and Moira Garland delivered two literary tours de force  with a brief story – Balloons – and a funny-but-true tale about not getting around to actually writing the three hundred words required for the weekly creative writing session entitled Ode To The Procrastination of Writing. Heads nodded in recognition as she read. She was followed by Winkie Whiteley reading her moving The thing I love – Mum.

Caroline Wilkinson’s adventurous This Block was made up largely of short phrases – “hungry for the touch”, “deafening closeness” -  and was a kind of celebration of movement and the senses, as associated with lovers. Fabian Merinyo-Shirima, who originates from Tanzania, read Kilimanjaro, and warned me to be careful if I ever tried to climb the mountain, because there have been so many fatalities. His poem was full of information, like an article in National Geographic Magazine, together with a feeling of love for his homeland.

Ted Gregory read Michael Freeman’s Don’t Lose Your Paddle with aplomb, a sad story of loathing between two siblings, one of whom tries to drown out memories with alcohol, and Ruth Middleton, in her true-to-life Creating a Ripple, put her focus on the everyday nature of a woman’s existence. Robert Thorpe’s I love helicopters included his thoughts on the pleasures of cleaning the machines, and Unwind by Howard Benn was a beautiful concluding piece: “The sun tucks down beneath the sheets… while lovers do battle in their beds…”

Information about the creative writing classes run by the WEA can be found on www.wea.org.uk or by contacting alistaft@aol.com or james@jamesnash.co.uk

Rebel Girls/The Woodhouse Woman

Jill Liddington

Lucy Bourne, Maggie Mash, Beth Kilburn

Mary Francis writes:
Headingley Library was packed out for this lively double bill. The event was inspired by Jill Liddington's superb research into little known Yorkshire fighters for women's suffrage.

Rebel Girls, the book, published in 2006, is a tour de force - and also a riveting read! It features an astonishing number of local women - from a range of backgrounds and from the West Riding in particular - whose lives, exploits and sometimes even names had slipped into obscurity. It gives the lie to the notion that only middle and upper class women were interested in women’s rights and truly makes you understand the courage that it took at that time to step forward - out of line and into the front line, with all the vitriol and abuse that generally followed.

Jill talked about three women from Leeds who epitomised the waves of the early 20th century movement: Isabella Ford, the wealthy suffragist who introduced the issues to ordinary women in Leeds but did not want to go to extremes: Mary Gawthorpe, the diminutive working class woman from Woodhouse who was prepared to go to prison for the cause, and Leonora Cohen, who progressed from making marmalade for the Suffrage Movement to nearly dying from her hunger strike.

Questions from an enthralled audience ranged from the problems of researching 'ordinary' women (including the value of the internet, especially when subjects had moved to other countries in later life) to the impact of the Russian revolution in precipitating change.

Jill's review of the facts was followed by an imaginative dramatization of key moments in the life of Mary Gawthorpe by members of Theatre of the Dales. This wonderful drama, commissioned by Headingley LitFest and supported by the Arts Council, explored Mary's motivation through events from her childhood; changing her name from Nellie to a more forceful and admired Mary, and led us into the sheer exhilaration of being caught up in an inspiring movement that moved from protest to prison.

We went home humming suffragette songs. A brilliant evening!

Click here to go to Jill Liddington's website

Photos by Richard Wilcocks