‘The Oscar Speech’ Blog

‘I am so happy to receive this award for ‘Edith, Elizabeth and I’, and although it is a one woman show, no woman is an island… I am indebted to…’

Alright, I’m jumping the gun, no glittering prizes just yet; in fact I have only just finished the second draft of the script. But with a rehearsed reading under our belts, Estate and Industry previews looming and a management team ready to book that tour, we are so much further along the line then I ever imagined and I can’t help getting a little excited. So much has happened in the last year…and at the risk of sounding a bit Gwyneth Paltrow or Kate Winslet- I couldn’t have done all this without the other people involved. So here’s a bit of a name check.

First of all Simon Magnus. He’s been on board as a creative collaborator, for nearly two years now. It’s all his fault that we’re not doing a straight biography of Edith Sitwell! And I am eternally grateful. Through our devising process I’ve been able to look at my life through both Edith’s and Elizabeth’s stories, and explore in a fun and inventive way the nature and responsibility of trying to portray someone else’s life. This has been scary and painful but also a great joy, and ultimately very rewarding as an actor/writer and human being.

Simon is a very patient and tolerant man, who has put up with a lot without enough praise or gratitude. He is also very inventive and a great devising partner. Our working practise as collaborators has developed and grown, as we’ve explored and experimented with characters, themes, and ideas through discussion, and improvisation- giving me a wealth of materiel to go away and write with. 

Over the next few months Simon will be focussing on his own work with his theatre company Root Experience who are currently producing The Game (www.rootexperience.co.uk). But he will never escape from the ever-expanding Edith Empire and will always be at the heart of the show. I salute you Simon Magnus.

The adorable and always inspiring Bernadette Russell (www.thewhiterabbit.org.uk) put us on the straight and narrow as our dramaturge, sorting out the structure of the piece, and ironing out all those bits that really didn’t make sense.

Then there are all the amazing people who are doing all those things I can’t do: The beautiful and funny Jane Postlethawaite, social media queen, who has set up and runs our Facebook and Twitter pages, and is working on the crowdfunding campaign; the dashing and demure Phil Wellington (www.ilovenewwork.co.uk); the graphic designer creating the publicity image for Edith; and our hero Tom Slater, film maker, and thoroughly good chap who made our Crowdfunding film. ( http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/edith-elizabeth-and-i/x/3462891. )

There are also the new boys on the block: the dapper and calm (needs to be, with me around) Ralf Higgins-actor/director and movement coach, who has already directed the rehearsed reading and will be directing me over the next few weeks for the preview showings. And the suave and sophisticated Peter Huntley and Martin Ball from 1505 Management (1505management.co.uk) who are organising the previews and inviting important people, and generally being charming- ready to book that tour when we have the go ahead.

And talking of charming- there is of course the charming Mr William Sitwell, who has answered my ridiculous questions, allowed me to try on Edith’s hats, fed us delicious cheesecake and who e-mailed us from Dubai to say he was happy for us to preview the show at his offices.

And very importantly there are all the fabulous friends and family, who have donated to the Crowdfunding campaign, have passed on the details, have mopped up the tears, persuaded me to ‘stay on the bus’ and not give up, and who have been endlessly encouraging and supportive.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you to all.

So this may all seem a bit gushing and sycophantic. Not the intention obviously, it’s only fair that credit is given where credit is due and like Queen Elizabeth 1st at Tilbury, its important to acknowledge and rally the troops to prepare for the challenges ahead. (It’s alright, unlike Edith (allegedly) I don’t think I’m a re-incarnation of Elizabeth 1st- but I do look quite good in an Elizabethan frock!)

Also the last few weeks of this project has consisted of a lot of work writing, organising and e-mailing, on my own in front of a computer which is isolating, and it becomes easy to forget that you’re not alone.  In her professional and personal life, Edith was also aware of isolation, and suffered from constantly feeling under attack from critics and enemies. It was true, she had a lot of friend and supporters, and on her 75th birthday she had so many presents and cards, she had to put a thank you note in ‘The Times.’ But Elizabeth Salter (Edith’s PA), in her book ‘Last Years of a Rebel’ revealed that:

‘Whenever she (Edith) was attacked- and as she said herself, hot water was her native element- she would confide in me sadly, ‘Nobody will defend me. You will see. Nobody ever does.’

There seemed to be a constant doubt in her mind that there were troops gathered to fight her corner. Once again, looking at her life has put mine into perspective, and on any lonely day of doubt, I have to remember and celebrate the fact that the troops may be far away, may be otherwise engaged (or just down the pub!) but are always encouraging, supportive and are always waving the ‘Edith, Elizabeth and I’ banner.

To the Manor Born

Whilst up North, during the Easter break, I had a ‘girl’s day out’ with my mum to Renishaw Hall in North Derbyshire. Edith lived there for much of her childhood as well as spending time at Woodend in Scarborough. The Sitwell family have lived at Renishaw for nearly 400 years, and it is currently owned by Alexandra Sitwell, daughter of the late Sir Reresby and Lady Sitwell.

Renishaw has one of those sweeping drives that now cuts through a golf course and as you wind up the hill, the Hall gradually reveals itself.

It wasn’t nearly as grim as I thought it would be. From photos and accounts I had expected something a bit more gothic and brooding, but it was palatably so, and the site is softened with the converted stable block with tearooms, a gift shop and museum.

The beginning of April, but still freezing and nothing visibly in bloom, but Mum and I (knowing that there was tea and cake just around the corner) battled on. The gardens were designed by Sir George Sitwell, (Edith’s father) and developed between 1886 and 1936. Statues, imposing hedges, fountains, woodland, a lake (you know the score), and also some alluring names for the different areas; the ‘Stone Tank garden’, the ‘Wilderness’ and the obligatory ‘Secret garden’.

It is a hard not to look at this place and just write Edith off as someone who came from a very priveleged background, and easy to imagine, as my Mum said, how much fun it would’ve been to grow up there. But she was remembering my upbringing, running around our garden barefoot in summer months with small tribes of siblings and friends, making dens and putting on plays. Edith and her brothers may have had all this space but not the freedom to enjoy it. And Edith certainly didn’t have the relationship with her parents that I have with mine. As the first born, it was a huge dissappointment that she was a girl (and interestingly she never inherited any of the Sitwell homes, presumably because of this fact).

‘My parents were strangers to me from the moment I was born’, she says in her autobiography ‘Taken Care of’. Sir George spent a lot of time overseeing his gardens from wooden platforms, inventing things (including a small gun to shoot wasps with) and writing books. Titles such as, ‘Lepers’ Squints’,’ Acorns as an Article of Medieval Diet’, ‘The History of the Fork’, and aptly (or perhaps I mean ironically) ‘The Errors of Modern Parents’. Although, it is also easy to reduce him to an eccentric stereotype, and on talking to Renishaw’s archivist - Christine Beevers, this is something she is trying to change by providing a more rounded picture of him.

Edith’s mother (Lady Ida) was a beautiful young socialite who married young, and perhaps inappropriately. She later had a reputation for drinking and gambling, and at one time was tried and imprisoned for fraud. Edith wasn’t conventionally attractive, was fiercely intelligent, played the piano, read poetry, but had interests and ambition that stretched far beyond being a decorative society lady. As a child she was asked- ‘What are you going to be when you grow up?’ And on replying ‘A genius’ she was promptly sent to bed. She desperately wanted to go to university, but was forbidden by her father, as he believed it to be ‘unwomanly’. Her education instead took place with a tutor, whilst the curvature of her spine was corrected by a metal apparatus- ‘fondly’ known as the Bastille.  

It occurred to me, whilst walking with my mother, how different Ida and Edith were from each other and how difficult their relationship must have been.

In the afternoon we went on a tour of the house; my mother held the eager party up by going AWOL to text my dad. She asked a lot of questions, stood in front of an exhibit that the guide was trying to describe, and narrowly missed tripping over an antique sofa. But (to my knowledge) she has never been imprisoned for fraud or ever had problems with drinking or gambling, and more importantly she, like Edith, is fiercely intelligent, funny, always interested and ever supportive of my crackpot schemes. I can gossip with her about clothes men and music, but I can also discuss the latest play at The Globe or have a good debate about an article in the New Scientist.

Standing next to my Mum in one of the darker hallways, with an imposing staircase, I felt lucky… and a little sad for Edith. I re-considered my attitude to the notion of being ‘Privileged’. And I began to understand why, despite being to the ‘Manor born’, she never felt at home here, and why she needed to escape to an entirely different life.

Where Did You Get That Hat?

Our second meeting with William Sitwell was more informal. Sitting in the kitchen of his office (he works in ‘Food’) drinking tea, eating peanut butter and jelly cheesecake that had just come back from a photo shoot, discussing Edith and various eccentricities of her family and upbringing. (More of this, another time…) On mentioning our plans to raise some money to develop our production through Crowd Funding, William jokingly put in his bid for a cut. When we said he’d be lucky, he rightly pointed out that we had eaten a lot of his cake.

We arrived at our third meeting with him at Weston Hall (Northamptonshire), late, but armed with an abundance of cake. Simon and I had both worked until late the night before, had a typical early Friday morning M25 drive, and would’ve been even later if I hadn’t put my foot down at the last minute.

Nevertheless cake was received gratefully, and the ever charming Mr S proceeded to show us around Weston Hall, which is described as ‘a medium sized, old english manor house’. Edith spent a lot of time here with her youngest brother Sacheverell Sitwell, his wife Georgia, and children Francis Sitwell and Reresby Sitwell. She stayed there during the Second World War, ‘knitting for the troops’ and christening herself the ‘Pullover Queen’. As manor houses go (not that I’m familiar with many) this one is lovely, light and very feminine, which was explained when we found out that since 1714 seven of the nine owners were women.

The best floor of all was the attic. (Attics, I am familiar with. Quite a connoisseur, in fact). Wooden beams, creaking stairs, Victorian doll’s houses and rocking horses. And then a whole room devoted to clothes. Simon and I laughed; it looked like our intended set for ‘Edith, Elizabeth, and I’. But the contents of the clothes rails and hat boxes here weren’t hand me downs from a drama school wardrobe, these were the real McCoy and many had belonged to Edith herself. Heavy dresses of velvet and brocade, tall hats, wide brimmed hats, hats that looked like raffia baskets. I recognised them from photos- but they were even more interesting close up. 

William had to make some calls, so he left us there, and as he went down the stairs, he called up:

‘Try things on if you like’. I stood there with my mouth open, but like lightening Simon rummaged through boxes and rails, passed me hats and gowns, and started snapping away, having his own Cecil Beaton moment.

Whilst at Weston, we also went to Edith’s grave- with a bronze plaque by Henry Moore, and on it, engraved words from one of her own poems, ‘ The Wind of Early Spring’

The past and present are as one-

Accordant and discordant, youth and age,

And death and birth. For out of one came all-

From all comes one.

Looking out over the Northamptonshire countryside, I wondered if Edith was watching over us, and what she would think of this project.

Two days later I received (my first ever) speeding fine, for our last minute dash to this appointment. Perhaps she was watching, and with her sharp and twinkly-eyed humour, decided I should pay for the hat trying on session!

Back on Track

It’s been a long time since I’ve written here, but from now on, it will be hard get rid of me. Which is how I feel about Edith Sitwell. For better or worse, she’s part of my life now.

Since my last blog in September 2012, we’ve had many adventures with Edith, much has happened and much has changed. Firstly, I’m no longer a mild mannered receptionist. I left for a short sojourn in London playing a gloomy eyed barbarian in Roman Britain for Clio’s Company, (pictured below) and had a few auditions, (including an exciting one at the National Theatre for an Alan Bennett play) but without success.

I returned to the wonderful world of temping, this time as a faceless filer, with the decision to work hard and keep my head down. But Edith was still with me, and my secret ‘other’ life, away from endless admin, continued.

We received an invitation from, William Sitwell, great nephew of Edith, and members of Peters, Fraser and Dunlop, the agents of the Estate to talk about copyright issues.

The West London office had uber receptionists, who not only offered coffee but also recommended it highly (note to self: pay attention to this in order to get a better class of temp job in the future). Simon and I were suited and booted, but nervous. This could be the end of it all. But on the contrary: there were apologies for the inconvenience caused, discussion of plans and permission given (within reasonable parameters) to work on the material and cake...really good cake. As if this wasn’t enough, the charming Mr Sitwell then said that, obviously, in terms of research, I would need to visit Weston Hall (a Sitwell home) and see Edith’s books, hats and clothes. 

When we left Simon said that he thought I was going to literally jump out of my chair and kiss everyone with excitement! I didn’t because I am a sensible adult (even if I do spend a lot of my life dressed up!), but instead I floated down the road to our next destination… We were off again…‘Edith, Elizabeth and I’ was back on track.