Ways With Words

French Gluts and Glugs to Fuel the Memoirists

On Wednesday the Ways With Words Memoir Writing course starts at our house in Leygonie in the Dordogne so we are here now preparing. This involves getting the deckchairs out in the meadow and reading our tutors books: Helena Drysdale will be running the writing workshops while Ziyad Marar will run discussion groups on the whole business of who you are, why you are, how you got to this point in life and the problems of recording your memoir. I love the idea of memoir writing. We all have a life that has been precious to us and many people can benefit from the experiences. Children are often amazed that their parents and grandparents have a rich past and didn’t just arrive on the earth to look after them. Social historians rely on memoirs of the days before people were blogging and tweet was the noise birds made. WRITE IT DOWN - or it will all disappear. You may find that you are the person who learns the most.

 

Thinking, talking and writing needs fuelling and my role is to provide drinks and food at regular intervals so when we aren’t reading in deckchairs we are shopping and cooking. One of the pleasures of being in the Dordogne is that the gluts here are different to Devon’s. So instead of apples there are figs, garlic, walnuts and red peppers. The tomatoes come in many colours and shapes.

Basil grows like a weed. We left Ribérac market with our canvas bags overflowing with produce and returned to our farmhouse to find our kind French neighbours had left a big bag of tomatoes on the doorstep. Time for lots of chopping for ratatouille.

 

But first we’ll pour ourselves a glass of our local red Bergerac wine………….

To find our more about the writing, art, reading and philosophy courses run by Ways With Words in France and Italy visit our website: www.wayswithwords.co.uk

“What a Good Boy Am I”

 In parts of Italy a birth is celebrated by decorating a tree in the garden so it felt appropriate and joyful to decorate our redundant plum tree in the orchard to celebrate Theo’s birth. The Ways With Words’ office staff spent their lunch hour hanging flowers, a letter T, hagstones from Suffolk beach and toys on the tree. It was a welcome break from manning the busy Southwold festival box-office. Most prominent is a painted wooden hen hanging from a high branch that Theo’s mother Chloë made when she was about twelve. Now we have a colourful Theo tree in the orchard in August which seems even better than a Christmas tree in the living room in December. “Unto us a boy is born” indeed.

The tradition is that the tree remains decorated for a year. During that time we shall plant a new plum tree specially for Theo. I hope the plums will appear just when he is old enough for plum crumble or curds and whey so that he can put in his thumb and pull out a plum. What a good boy he is to bring such love and fun into all our lives.

THEO – the baby philosopher

The day before my first grandchild was born I read a review in The Guardian of a book called 'The Philosophical Baby: What Children’s Minds Tell Us about Truth, Love and the Meaning of Life', by an American professor of psychology, Alison Gopnik. A short time afterwards when I held the 15 hour old Theodore Isaac I thought how true it was; I was looking into the eyes of a philosopher. He stared at me with such comprehension. He seemed to be saying, “I know all about you and despite all your faults and failings I love you.” 

Alison Gopnik says that babies are “smarter, more imaginative, more caring and even more conscious that adults.” Instinctively we already knew this and it is his imagination and consciousness that makes us want to protect Theo. We want him to feel the world is a good place and that people are worthy of his trust. In return we think he will improve us. We shall become more optimistic, creative, thoughtful adults.

According to the author caring for children means you experience a little saintliness. So just call Theo’s parents, St. Chloe and St. Videl, and all his adoring family and friends are hoping for beatification too.

My New Role As Fairy Grandmother

These are strange days for us all. The new grandson is due in 2 days time – Monday 3 August and we are all very impatient. Surely he will want to see this beautiful, busy world as soon as possible? At present he is playing it cool and staying where he is. He’s less eager to meet us than we are to meet him. My lovely daughter Chloe has been again to the midwife. Apparently he has stuck his feet in her ribcage – uncomfortable but that’s where he likes it for the moment.

Maybe we should just wait patiently; there’s no rush. I know for certain that after his birth life will change irrevocably for us all; most of all for Chloe and Videl but for all their family and friends too. BBB (as we call him: Baby Boy BarKar) will become a large presence in all our lives and so far we know very little about him.

As grandmother to a first grandchild I’m poised for a new role, but what shall it be? If I were a fairy godmother what would I wish for him? Obviously I’d want him to have good, robust, physical, emotional and mental health but after that? I hope he will grow up kind and empathetic, able to understand other people’s lives, their troubles and dreams. He is starting an exciting, fascinating, life journey; I hope he loves every bit of the way: so many ideas to consider, so much music to listen to, places to see, people to know. Life is complex and I hope eventually he will cope well with the complexity and not seek simple solutions. All this with loads of laughter and fun. Oh for a magic wand.

I don’t have a wand but I’ve decided my role will be as The Book Grannie. So much can be learnt through books and I hope he enjoys books from the start. His ability to see other people’s points of view, to mull over ideas, to tolerate uncertainty, to dream, to consider the vast opportunities life offers and make considered choices and just to have fun with words and pictures can come if books are a big part of his life from the start. I’ll be there reading ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ soon and giving him Virginia Woolf later.

However now we are on holiday in Southwold and when he is born I shall go to one of the beach huts by the sea and get his Southwold kit for future visits: bucket and spade – of course, a windmill, a crab line. I can see I shall have many roles but I’m taking my Book Grannie role very seriously.

Come on BBB! I’ve got your first book and even Southwold is waiting for you.  

Fulfilling Fantasies at Festivals

Festivals are partly about wish-fulfillment. I know that a lot of people who will be coming to Dartington Hall next week are keen to see writers or broadcasters or polticians who they have always liked – or even disliked. As the festival programmer I know I have a Jim’ll Fix It role. “I’ve always wanted to see Ben Okri or Julia Neuberger or Michael Holroyd,” people say. Someone said, “I’ve read Lynn Barber’s interviews in The Guardian for years; I can’t believe she’ll be there”. Yes she will – and about 150 other writers.

Some events fulfill fantasies people have for travel, adventure, life-changing experiences. Many people have told me that they have always wanted to go through France on a canal boat. Damien and Siobhan Horner can tell you all about that. Other visitors are closet dancers or have come out as salsa or tango dancers. They will identify with Grevel Lindop who travelled round the world following his passion for salsa. 

It is difficult for most of us to imagine living like Fiona Houston for a year in the 18th century. She left all the 21st century comforts of her beautiful Scottish manse behind and moved across the garden to her bothy. She wore the clothes, ate the food, eschewed central heating and plumbing and learnt about the hardships of 18th century life. We went to visit her in the middle of her year and signed her visitors’ book with a quill. (But we did have hot showers in the house and used the usual facilities there).

Fi’s book of her year is so attractive. It has loads of photos and practical information such as making string from nettles. Maybe not for everyone but it is fascinating to hear about it. (And of course you can at the festival.)

Monty Halls went in for a similar escape from the stresses of normal life when he moved into a croft on the West Coast of Scotland with his gigantic dog Reuben. His life as a crofter was filmed for a major BBC2 series. He’ll show extracts from the series and tell us more about the whole-wind swept, midge-filled adventure.

Many Ways With Words customers would like to have their own books published. Some come to our writing courses in Europe for help and advice from published writers so we are delighted when someone succeeds. Chris Wadsworth was encouraged to send her stories to a publisher by James Long when he tutored a writing course in Italy. Now she has a 2 book deal for her stories about her experiences of artists and customers at her gallery in Cockermouth. She’s like the Gervaise Phinn of the art world. She’s coming to Dartington to talk about her book, "Hercules and The Farmer’s Wife", at the festival. “Good for Chris!” we shall be shouting! (We hope she gives our writing courses a plug.)

So festivals, like books, give you the chance to live out fantasies, lead several lives vicariously. Travel, lifestyle, adventure, relationships: you can explore many different worlds from the comfort of your seat in the Great Hall or the Barn Theatre.

The Ways With Words festival at Dartington Hall begins this Friday, 10 July and lasts for 10 days. All the above writers will be speaking together with about 150 others including Graham Swift, Michael Buerk, Salley Vickers, Prue Leith. To browse through the whole programme look on-line at waywithwords.co.uk

Une Mauvaise Surprise – But Many Bonnes Surprises Too

When you buy a house in France you find that there are often many depondances which are une surprise – usually pleasant ones. We didn’t really need a piggery, derelict cottage, a hen house and a huge barn but they felt like added value. Sadly our huge beautiful barn needed much work and money to keep it standing – not such good value. A conservationist re-tiled the roof (a jobbing builder would have been OK but our French didn’t run to jobbing builder so we spent a lot of money but now have an impressive roof done in old tiles).The same conservationist told us the back wall needed rebuilding before he could finish the roof. Barns are like cars, conservationists like mechanics; how could we argue when we know nothing? So work started on the massive back wall. Our old Devon friends, Mike and Lesley who now live in France, emailed us photos of the new wall and reported it was magnificent. Then followed more news: the new wall had fallen down. Our conservationist emailed too,‘This is bad for you and bad for me’. Particularly bad for us as he wanted lots more money.

 

Ohh La La!

When we arrived in France for our writing and art courses half the wall had gone up again. Our neighbours were full of stories of the collapse. "It was like 9/11" they told us. I was glad to learn they meant the noise and the dust from the rubble; the workmen had escaped without injury. JC, Jean-Claude the conservationist, came to discuss the mauvaise surprise. Fortunately Will Randall, our writing tutor, speaks fluent and fast French so offered to translate. He was brilliant at communicating and arguing but for the sake of entente cordiale and getting the job finished properly we agreed it had been une mauvaise surprise and we agreed to pay up.

However it is an ill wind ...and we all thought Une Mauvaise Surprise would be a good subject for a writing exercise.

The Bonnes Surprises came on the final day of the course. Under Rosemary Catling’s gentle tutoring the artists produced an impressive Private View. Our water jug, the almost-black geranium, the beams in the préau and the full moon (together with Howard Hodgkins and Francis Bacon) had inspired an amazing range of work and we felt we’d brought Tate Modern as well as 9/11 to sleepy little Leygonie. 
Will did a wine tasting amongst the paintings and got us all in pairs to articulate our criticism of local wines. I’ll remember his advice in future: “you can’t go wrong with a Côte du Rhone.”

The writers each read a favourite piece of work from the week except Boris who had written a short and witty play inspired by Wagner’s death which Steve and Will acted. This involved an improvised gondola and Steve singing arias. Very entertaining – as were all the contributions. Rona’s painting of the water jug had inspired an impressive poem from Pam which closed the event.

We packed in the film Couscous, a competitive game of boules and a leisurely last dinner together with a big log fire and candles for ambience.

It’s sad to say Au Revoir but it was just that as we know many will return to Leygonie for more Bonnes Surprises.

 

 

 

 

 

You Have Heard of The Booker – But Now Turn Your Attention to The Benson.

I check my emails quickly and infrequently in France, partly because England feels so far away – like my troubles – and I don’t want to be distracted from the sun, the wine, the cheese, the meadow and all the pleasures of this bit of the Dordogne. Also I don’t want to spend too long sitting in front of the computer because I like having a drink in the courtyard with the participants on the course. People mean conversation and as soon as we sit down to eat we start discussing all those topics people say you should avoid: religion, politics, education, art, literature. It can get heated but usually/always remains amicable. Will Randall – our writing tutor who lives in the Loire valley - said that the conversations are more typical of France than England. Our stereotypical view of France is one of a nation of artists, philosophers and intellectuals so we feel rather smug.

However back to The Benson. When I had a cursory look at my emails between discussions on the European elections and a swim in the pool I saw one which said that The Royal Society of Literature had unanimously decided to offer me a Benson Medal in respect of my outstanding contribution to literature and books. I have several friends who like playing tricks so my first reaction was to try to decide which joker had sent it. What do you do in this situation? Google of course. If someone was joking it was rather elaborate. The medal was said to have been instituted in 1916 by A.C. Benson, a writer, academic and Fellow of the Society. Better still the list of previous recipients made me glow with uncool pride: Lytton Strachey, J.R.R. Tolkein, Maureen Duffy, Anthony Burgess and many other distinguished writers including a real favourite of mine – Ronald Blyth.

At this point I accepted with puffed out chest. As the participants on the course feel so kindly towards Ways With Words and us it felt only right to tell them as you would parents who would want to know and would excuse your boasting. So I did. Well Steve banged for silence at lunch time and made an announcement. They said the right things and raised glasses of our local Bergerac wine. Will said it sounded better if we referred to it as The Benson rather than The Benson Medal. So if you see someone shopping in Safeway or Leclerc wearing a medal of 3” diameter in solid silver do come up to me and say can I admire your Benson.

The Benson Medalist tends her herbs.

The Fruits of France – Coping with Surfeits

Bowls of cherries from our next door neighbours' trees keep arriving. I never thought you could have a surfeit of cherries. But France is a place for surfeits. We have just returned from Ribérac market where I was tempted by trays of apricots, peaches, peppers, courgettes and aubergines but despite having a crowd of hungry artists and writers on our course there is a limit to what they can be tempted to consume. I keep presenting jugs of homemade lemonade and elderflower cordial and honey cake made with honey from our neighbours’ bees. If our customers don’t eat and drink more I shall have to throw food away. Can’t do that! I’ll just have to eat lots myself and endure a surfeit of flesh.

We have no problems with the surfeit of creativity though. Paintings of jugs, lilies and fields are festooning our barn. A full length mirror is propped against the wall and someone is examining herself (fully clothed I should add) for a large Francis Bacon style self portrait. Rosemary (Catling) the art tutor, showed slides of her work: many lonely figures in large landscapes and figures jumping into space – or water. She explained that her work reflects her concerns for the future of her grandchildren. As I suspected having grandchildren means I shall have yet more worries to try and control. There is probably a tipping point after which the anxieties can’t be contained. I shall find out whether I have reached that point next August when my daughter’s baby is born.

While the artists are applying colour the writers are expanding nursery rhymes into short stories written in a particular genre. So Jack and Jill may become a horror story, Humpty Dumpty a detective story. Will (Randall) our writing tutor has been looking at short stories with the group. Someone flung a book of short stories across the table and said that she hated the writer. Any guesses who the despised author may be?

We are always amazed at the excess of creativity hovering within each person. Most of it is suppressed while everyday life is lived, but give someone a peaceful meadow, sunshine, elderflower cordial (or better still Bordeaux wine), encouraging tutors and time away from the common task and there’s a positive Chelsea Flower Show of creative expression.

Surfeits are usually welcome. An abundance of fruit and vegetables is heart warming, a plethora of paintings is inspiring – and you can never have too many words – nor grandchildren, though this may lead to an unwelcome surfeit of anxiety. If so I shall have to do what Rosemary does and transform the worries into works of art. It’s time to go on a Ways With Words holiday course.

For those who want to release their suppressed creativity, or control their anxieties, there are more Ways With Words Holiday courses this year:
Memoir Writing in the Dordogne, 9-13 September
Painting, writing, book groups and philosophy in Umbria, Italy 26 September - 3 October, 3-10 October.

Waiting For Customers

Like Estragon and Vladimir, Steve and myself have been waiting. We too have talked a lot about the arrival. But for us it is of our course members and unlike Godot we know for certain they will arrive and then the play will begin. Also our waiting has been a busy, active time, more action than talk in fact. We arrived at our French house just a week ago and the last week has been been getting the set ready in preparation for our writing and art courses. This means many trips to Leclerc and trolleys filled with wine, cheese, coffee, yoghurts etc. The garden pots are filled with geraniums. The rosemary and lavender are trimmed and watered. We try out the swimming pool; we get out the Penguin deckchairs; we prune the bay and we warn our French neighbours that the English are about to arrive. Happily we watch where the shadows fall in the courtyard to note cool areas for sitting to paint and write.

The house sparkles – as much as an old farmhouse in France can sparkle. Old, stone shutters and big fireplaces are by their nature dusty but hey ho it’s French dust so that’s alright. Last night I mopped the tiles in the kitchen as we backed out to go to bed. I greatly enjoyed seeing the white tiles come whiter and the black blacker. It was a D. H. Lawrence moment; he loved sweeping floors.

How awful if our course participants did a Godot on us. We would have to drink all the wine ourselves. Meanwhile we lie on the reclining chairs under the walnut trees, start on the wine, and wait.

Smile, You're On The Ways With Words Programme

 When people pick up a Ways With Words programme I want them to see lots of smiling faces. I’d be more likely to go to a festival where everyone looked cheerful than one which seemed to be full of misery guts. It’s surprisingly difficult to find writers smiling, let alone laughing merrily. Perhaps they want to appear serious, thoughtful and concerned, or maybe life is tough for writers.

James Lovelock looks very cheerful, despite thinking we’ve left global warming too late. Maybe he is thinking I’m almost 90 – not my problem. 

Simon Majumdar looks in pain. Perhaps on his travels to sample food round the world he was offered snake’s kidneys – or something didn’t agree with him. 

Satish Kumar looks serene; one would expect that from an ex Buddhist monk. Serenity at a festival is desirable. 

Ben Crystal looks as if he is about to hug someone. Maybe he is embracing the world. No-one could object to being embraced by Ben Crystal or Shakespeare. 

Prue Leith and Julia Neuberger get joint prize for being the most cheerful. They are enjoying life – hoorah.     

But a lot of our speakers only manage a wan grin, sometimes this turns into a grimace. Gyles Brandreth and Paddy Ashdown should have huge grins that say, “Thank God I am not in the House of Commons at the moment.” Instead they look wistful.

On the same page I am drawn to the cheeky grins of the Wondermentalist women, Liv Torc and Beryl the Feral. They look very good fun.

Oh Arthur what’s wrong with you?  Comedians are supposed to see the funny side of life. Put away your grumpy old man face. I bet his show is full of ascerbic comments on what’s wrong with the world – or MPs.

Probably my favourite photo is of Lynn Barber smoking. Smoking! How politically incorrect can this festival get? This one deserves a prize in a special category because it made me laugh.

There are many serious moments at Ways With Words when big problems like greed, inequality, environmental issues are tackled but overall it is a joyful experience to come to Ways With Words – festive in fact.

To see the smiling and unsmiling faces [and Lynn Barber smoking] phone 01803 867373 for a paper programme or download the programme from the festival page on the website.