In an earlier version of this month's posting, I mentioned that the 'rumblings' for November couldn't be expanded on at that time and, unfortunately, that's still the case. So, instead, perhaps an opportunity to mention something from last month.
Where to start? 1978 I think it was, Stratford-upon-Avon, Royal Shakespeare Company, The Other Place. Peter McEnery was playing the title role in David Edgar's play: The Jail Diary of Albie Sachs. I was a second year student at Birmingham University, studying Drama & Theatre Arts and David Edgar was Playwright in Residence at the department, although, I lay no claim to having known him at all. The RSC was in a 'golden' period of work and I saw much of what they were doing; indeed, there were strong links between the University and the Company, consequently, the only real 'ambition' I've ever had as an actor, in terms of what I'd like to do professionally, is to be a member of the RSC. Haven't managed it yet!
Anyway..... before seeing it, I had no idea what the play was about or who Albie Sachs was; for all I knew, he could have been a fictional character.

It doesn't happen often, but when you see such a play, it confirms just how powerful and potentially life changing the theatre can be. As a student, my understanding of what theatre could do 'shifted' during that performance and caused me to think of things differently from that point onwards, both in theatrical and political terms.
Fast forward to spring 1980, final exams looming and I had the opportunity to do what ever I wanted for my final practical assessment. Having seen the play a couple of times, the choice for me was obvious. I selected three monologues and performed them as a one-man piece lasting for the allotted time of 15 minutes. It went well in performance and I have very vivid memories of the effect it had both on my lecturers who were 'marking' me and the largely student audience who came to it much as I had originally done.

In 1988, the South African Secret Police had tried to assassinate Albie by planting a bomb in his car - he lost part of his right arm and the sight of an eye in the explosion and when he talked about meeting the man who had planted the bomb, who had subsequently sought him out to ask for his forgiveness, most of us were moved to tears. He also spoke incredibly movingly of his time in detention and described the lasting image he has of being beaten and looking down to see a ring of shoes around him, the shoes of the men who were torturing him.
As the evening drew to a close and I thanked him again for signing my play script, he embraced me and wished me well.
Quite a night.
Changing the mood somewhat, here's some artwork which relates to the current Lost Stories releases, beginning, for me, with last month's The Elite and continuing with next month's The Children of Seth:
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