Bexley Declares War on Woolwich

In March this year, I read in the Evening Standard that Bexley residents were kicking up a fuss about being included in a new Woolwich constituency (see here: https://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/we-are-not-with-the-woolwich-genteel-bexley-fights-boundary-shakeup-a3482321.html).

'We have history' they say.

'We have class' they say.

Well, I've got news for you Bexley - so do we!

Our so-called 'undesirable' Woolwich is full of hidden gems - and you're missing out. But let me wave the white flag for a moment, I'm not seeking battle. I just came to say that there's perhaps lots more to discover than the fact that Woolwich was the first UK home for McDonald's.

Royal Arsenal FC 1888 

Woolwich has a history more rich than is widely known. The once booming dockyard brought with it trade from across the world, new foods, new materials - most of which can be found in market stalls and supermarkets in the centre today. (Note: The fruit stalls sell the best blueberries I've ever tasted). The eclectic mix of cultures, religions and language are celebrated here and the town has even had a bid accepted for a new creative district, repurposing it's historic facade into performance spaces, studios and arts spaces that look to celebrate our diversity.

Woolwich Arsenal, speaks for itself. It saw the beginnings of Arsenal Football Club - which began as a munition workers' team in 1886 in Woolwich (then part of Kent) - and reconnected with its routes with the arrival of one of their best strikers of all time, Woolwich-born, Ian Wright who scored 184 goals in his time. But it also tells a deeper story about our city - one of trade unions, workers, class, poverty, wealth, piety, industrialism, beautification and so much more.

Silvertown and Woolwich, Black Saturday

Its factories and military might became major targets in the world wars because of their success. During WW1 the Arsenal employed close to 80,000 people, storing ordnance and manufacturing ammunitions. Such was the demand, in 1915 the government built the 1300 home Well Hall Estate in Eltham to accommodate the workforce. Black Saturday, 7th Sept 1940, is officially recognised as the first day of the Blitz - and its bombings left the warehouses and armouries of Woolwich ablaze. Vast areas of Poplar, Woolwich, Limehouse, Millwall, Stepney, Rotherthithe and Surrey Docks became a raging inferno. Thousands of Auxiliary Fire-fighters joined the London Brigade to battle the flames. It's hard to know what our munitions might have looked like through the world wars, without the workforce of Woolwich Arsenal.

Speaking of fires, Woolwich Fire Station can still be seen at 24, Sunbury, Woolwich. Built in 1887 by the architect Robert Pearsall it was one of London's oldest operational fire stations until it closed in 2014.

Woolwich Piers, 1838 'Records of Woolwich District Vol I, W T Vincent'

The early origins of the Arsenal lie with the creation of a dockyard in Woolwich by Henry VIII. The yard, located to the East of the present ferry terminal was originally built for the construction of 'The Great Harry' - a great ship of the King's fleet (now also the name of a popular pub in Woolwich town centre). Land further east of the dockyard, known as 'The Warren' was also used for testing guns and a gun wharf was constructed in 1546. Over the years it included an ammunition lab, gun foundry, carriage works, ordnance stores and was home from 1720 to a military academy, and in the 1770s a military repository, later removed to Woolwich common. Most of the old buildings can still be seen today, many having been converted into apartments and museums and it's hard to walk far in Woolwich without running into a gate pillar or two to the old arsenal, the old steam factory chimneys or some aptly named streets such as Gallions Reach, once the name of the tidal channel passing through Woolwich.

A visit to the Woolwich Firepower Museum and the Docklands Museum in Canary Wharf, pieces together a history Bexley should wish to be part of.
SOURCES:
http://blitzwalkers.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/black-saturday-and-first-day-of-blitz.html
http://www.royal-arsenal-history.com/royal-arsenal-timeline.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Arsenal

There's more of course. The Woolwich foot tunnel, opened in 1912, connects us to the North Woolwich dwellings of East London, home to the suffragettes and workers' unions. Royal Victoria Gardens is a nice bit of quiet. Opened by London County Council in 1890, the former marshland had been acquired by George Bidder's North Woolwich Land Company in the 1840s. In 1851 the proprietor of the Pavilion Hotel opened tea gardens and crowds of visitors were attracted to its entertainments. The site was thankfully saved from development, though was badly damaged in the Blitz. The riverside terraces survive today and festivals, markets and performances have returned to the location.
SOURCE: http://www.londongardensonline.org.uk/gardens-online-record.php?ID=NEW027

Back South, fathers and sons spend weekends fishing in the disused dry docks and there are cannons dotted along the Thames Path to remind us of the area's heritage. In addition, St Peter's Roman Catholic Church on Woolwich new Road is one of only three A.W. Pugin churches in London. Built in 1842, it's a rare work by the architect who helped pioneer the Gothic Revival movements and went on to design the interior of the Palace of Westminster that houses our central government.

The houses at 18 and 19 Green's End, Woolwich are rare 1780s examples, peaking out from behind the Elephant and Castle pub at the Beresford Square Market. The Old Woolwich baths, on Bathway, opened in 1894 with 2 large pools and 52 private baths. They closed in 1982 when Waterfront Leisure Centre was built (now owned by 'Better') and the building is now part of Greenwich University and home to the Bathway Theatre (http://www.bathwaytheatre.co.uk/).

The nearby Tramshed Theatre also has origins elsewhere. It began as a generating station in 1916, powering trams in the area until they ceased to run 1953. It then became a music and comedy venue hosting Kool and the Gang, Billy Bragg, Harry Enfield and John Otway. It remains open to this day as a performance space for Greenwich and Lewisham's Young People's Theatre. The Beatles and Buddy Holly played at the former Granada cinema coined 'The most romantic theatre ever built' and is known now as 'The New Wine Church'.

Charlton Park, Charlton House and Maryon Wilson Park are nearby boasting their own histories and community activities. The Maryon-Wilson family were in residence at Charlton House between 1767 and 1923 and in 1889 Sir Spencer Maryon-Wilson opened Maryon Park, referred to as the 'lung of Charlton', on the site of ancient woodland known as 'Hanging Wood' and land that had been used for sand quarrying from the early 18th century. A large hill fort was excavated here in 1915 where pottery dating from the 1st to 5th century was found. All that's left is the ridge at the top of the hill otherwise destroyed by quarrying. In the 1920s, 'Hanging Wood' was formally presented to the public (London County Council) to form Maryon Wilson Park. The family donated a herd of deer - the descendants of which can still be seen there today. The family also gave Charlton House to Greenwich Borough Council. The park looked particularly spectacular in the snow this year.
SOURCES:
http://www.charltonparks.co.uk/the-parks/charlton-house-estate/
http://www.londongardensonline.org/gardens-online-record.asp?ID=GRN033
http://www.visitgreenwich.org.uk/things-to-do/meet-maryon-wilson-animals/

Severndroog Castle, 1801

The Royal Artillery Barracks, in use for over 200yrs, are here too, opposite St. George's Chapel which was badly bombed during the war and the ruins are left as a reminder. The Greenwich Docklands International Festival held a stunning performance of 5 Soldiers here in the Summer. Woolwich is still home to the King's Troop saluting battery and horses, the 2nd Battalion of the Princess of Wales' Royal Regiment and the 1st Battalion of the Royal Anglian Regiment and the site is due to close in 2028, which will be a sad moment of farewell to the area's ongoing military ties.

Woolwich Common, technically still a designated military training area, is a great route for a run or dog walk (and a stones throw from A&E should you injure yourself). And a short walk up Shooters Hill on the Woolwich boundary brings you to Severndroog Castle, begun in 1784 by Lady James of Eltham, the widow of Commodore Sir William James who died the previous year. Sir William had in 1755 attacked and destroyed the island fortress of Suvarnadurg on the Western coast of India helping to consolidate the British position in India.

Woolwich is within walking distance of Blackheath for Bonfire Night and gives access to the tidal Thames for evening walks - I even spotted seals frolicking in the wake of the ferry in September.

Let us not forget the Thames Barrier, operational since 1984, preventing the flood plain of Greater London from flooding over 180 times since its first operation, and protecting central London and predicted to do so until at least 2070. It may not be historic nor everyone's architectural favourite, but it was an engineering feat that should be celebrated and there are gardens to meet it at either bank. I quite enjoy watching outrageously sized cruise ships navigate their way through the barrier with only a small tug either end too.

SS Princess Alice

Our watery history isn't, I must admit, entirely celebratory. On 3 September 1878, the pleasure boat 'Princess Alice' was struck and smashed in two by the 890 ton Bywell Castle - killing 650 people - and apparently remaining Britain's worst public transport disaster in peacetime or war. The paddle steamer sank in under 4 minutes and despite attempts at rescue from the Bywell Castle, many drowned in water and raw sewage, the sleuce gates having been opened just an hour before.  120 of the victims were buried in rows at Woolwich cemetery behind a memorial cross in the Irish style, paid for by sixpenny subscription from 23,000 donors. The cross can still be seen today and a memorial to the Prince Alice and its deceased can be found in nearby Rockliffe Gardens. Also found nearby is William Barefoot Gardens, named after Frances Street born SE London politician who was three times the Mayor of Woolwich and who died of a heart attack in Woolwich Town Hall Council Chamber in Nov 1941. Barefoot had been instrumental in the creation of the Well Hall Pleasaunce, Eltham as a public park and gardens (another of my favourite places) and a plaque erected in Sept 1942 can be found there today reading: 'He loved nature and his efforts to beautify Woolwich are reflected in the creation of this Pleasaunce'.

Tom Cribb

The present St Mary Magdalene Church, was built in 1732 and tells a story of Woolwich as an early Christian settlement upon which site the first church is believed to be pre-10th/11th century - so we have our own claim to Norman history. Its churchyard is now a public park with the tomb of 19th century world champion bare-knuckle boxer, Tom Cribb still visible.

The clock house (once the home and office of the Admiral-Superintendent of the dockyard in the 1780s) on Defiance Walk, a street name fit to define the spirit of its historical residents, is one of the grander remaining buildings and not far from an unassuming subway tunnel explaining the deeper history of the place.

Along the Thames path see if you can spot the mosaics, marked 'Riverside Walk Project 1984-1986' by the National Elfrida Rathbone Society. Around it are listed the months of the year. Steps to the left, have sculpted fish in the stonework. Elfrida was an educationist and believed that all children were capable of learning. She was the cousin of Eleanor Rathbone an MP and long-term campaigner for women's rights. Her work informed the formation of the Rathbone Society in 1969 now incorporated into the Rathbone charity.  The Riverside Walk at Woolwich was decorated with mosaics as part of an arts workshop based at the clock house.

Woolwich Ferry circa. 1925

Woolwich Ferry has quite a history too - dating back to the early 1300s when Woolwich was a fishing village and the town had the right to run a ferry. In 1811 an Act of Parliament was passed to establish a ferry across the Thames from Woolwich. It was run by The Woolwich Ferry Company whose shareholders included the Lady of the manor, Dame Jan Wilson and her son Sr John Maryon Wilson. It seems the Maryon-Wilson's were extremely forward thinking and we have quite a lot to thank them for. It continued to operate until 1844 when the company was dissolved.

Street Parades on opening of Woolwich Ferry

In the late 1880s, the people of Woolwich pointed out to the Metropolitan Board of Works that through their rates, they had helped pay for toll bridges in West London that the board had recently purchased and opened to free public use. They insisted that they too should be able to cross the Thames free of charge. In 1884, the board agreed to provide a free ferry and on 23 March 1889 it was opened. Woolwich was decorated with flags and bunting, the streets were lined with volunteers from the local artillery. There was a huge procession preceded by mounted police and followed by local traders and associations with their bands. Lord Rosebery and other members of the newly formed London County Council and other dignitaries travelled in open carriages to declare to the thousands of people gathered, 'The free ferry is open to the public'. That weekend alone, the Great Eastern Railway Company carried 25,000 people to its North Woolwich terminus, most intent on riding the ferry.

John Burns, 1895

In 1963 paddle steamers were replaced by the current serving motor ships. The vessels are named after; James Newman, Mayor of Woolwich between 1923-25; Ernest Bevin, a trade union leader and labour politician whose ashes are buried at Westminster Abbey; and John Burns, a shareholder in the original Woolwich Ferry Company and a trade unionist and politician who played a major part in the infamous London Dock Strike of 1889 and in 1929 coined the phrase, 'The Thames is liquid history' - and how right he is.

Oh and if you're worried about house prices going down Bexley - don't worry, frustratingly for first time buyers like me, they're going up. The pricey arrival of the Elizabeth Line will soon mean that the people like me who already live here, and really appreciate the place, won't be able to afford it anymore.

But I'll leave this post not by lamenting or picking a fight, but by thanking the men and women who came before us, for the pockets of beauty I've come to enjoy and the fascinating history they've left behind.

Woolwich Dockyard (Nicholas Pocock, 1790 National Maritime Museum). the surviving clock house (then newly-built) is seen centre-right, and the Parish Church far left. Left to right along the shoreline: three shipbuilding slips (two survive, much rebuilt, at mast Quay), two dry docks (still survive, much rebuilt) and a further slip (since filled in). Behind the latter stands the large Sail and Mould Loft of 1740, with the Great Storehouse to its rights and the Officer's Terrace (houses with gardens) to the right of that.

FURTHER SOURCES:
https://www.ucl.ac.uk/bartlett/architecture/sites/bartlett/files/48.2_woolwich_dockyard_area.pdf
http://www.portcities.org.uk/london/server/show/conMediaFile.1145/Firemen-tackling-a-blaze-at-the-Surrey-Docks.html
http://content.tfl.gov.uk/jubilee-greenway-route-section-six.pdf
http://www.royalgreenwich.gov.uk/info/200064/local_history_and_heritage/265/woolwich_ferry_history
https://thamesfacingeast.wordpress.com/2013/12/
http://www.stpeterswoolwich.church/
http://www.greenwich.co.uk/magazine/10496-woolwich-granada-theatre-powis-street/
http://www.glypt.co.uk/tramshed/tramshedhistory/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01rjc35
https://londonist.com/london/history/london-s-forgotten-disasters-the-woolwich-pleasure-boat-disaster

Goats

I was excited by the prospect of a Syrian playwright presenting their work at the Royal Court, renowned for its experiment.  It was a chance to obliterate our idea of Syrians as victims and celebrate them as artists and as writers. It was an opportunity - but one that sadly failed to break even with expectations. Two star reviews have been generous.

Albeit a preview, approximately half of the audience left at the interval, which goes some way towards explaining the general verdict. Those who remained weren't exactly overawed with reward.

Royal Court Theatre

Every scene was too long, particularly in Act One, with far too many words saying essentially the same things. With less lines perhaps Abu Firas could have remembered his lines in his scene with Imm Ghassan. The scene following Abu Firas' suicide, could have given us a moment in which to ground ourselves in the enormity of the tragic truth behind the endless words thrust in our direction. Instead we're met with a huge unnecessary speech from Abu Al-Tayyib pushing the girl to stay quiet. A few stern lines would have sufficed, we understand what's at stake by this point. It might have helped him remember his lines too.

Ensemble characters had unnecessary speaking roles that really broke up the pace in the main scenes. Comments like 'that happened to my dad too' just needed to be said in the background and allow the scene to continue.

The Stage

There needed to be clearer differentiation between characters played by multi-rolling cast members. I did not recognise that Imm Al-Tayyib's was a different character than the presenter either. I could not always understand when the four boys were boys, or fathers who had lost their sons, or village men. Between the four boys there was no rapport, despite attempts from Ali Barouti. There were just saying their lines, not acting them, but maybe this comes from playing so many characters and having so many pointless lines. The scene outside Aby Al-Tayyib's home adds nothing to the piece at all. The constant back and forth between a scene of conflict that we want to see play out between a wife and husband kept being interrupted by four boys with nothing to say to one another. A waste of time.

Royal Court Theatre

There are two scenes I would like to have seen more of.

- Adnan and Abu Firas sitting side by side, lit by the light of a mobile phone, watching footage that reflects a hard truth at the core of the piece. It was a moment of let up for the father who had spent the first half saying the same thing over and over like a broken record and chance to see that there is a very real threat underneath the bleating from character and goat.

- The other is the conflict between Abu and Imm Al-Tayyib, knowing that in pushing the agenda and propaganda - their own son was put to death, using their own very words. It could have been a  powerful scene, another opportunity missed due to the interruption of four young boys. It gave us the conflict we so badly carved. I wanted to see more of Imm Al-Tayyib's struggle.

And finally...the goats. Oh God, the goats.

Royal Court Theatre

In the final scene I lost so much of what was said. The hooves of the goats were so loud that I failed to understand if the mockery was intentional or not. Either way, the wooden boards needed covering with some kind of sound dulling material - I could even hear them in the wings. On the most part I understand that the mockery was intentional, with the many words representing the voices of the world that often leave the truth silenced, the goats representing the irrational sentiments of those in power to tell the rest of us what we're fighting for, an inescapable web of lies and words and comedy that snubs honest speaking men and snuffs out good will.

The Stage

But there is a time for mockery. And when goats treading on a dead man received the most laughs of the evening, went beyond black comedy, we all applauded the cast in keeping straight faces. But the problem was that many of us began to watch the goats and ignore what was being said because the scenes were too long. They are a distraction. I liked that the use of real goats amplifies the horrifying gimmick of replacing dead sons with animals as well as acting as gimmick to pull in an audience but it was so much of a mess that the attempt to lift meaning from the rubble was smothered before we left the auditorium.

There are elements that carried weight but there is far too much on the words and characters that distract. Most importantly, it was at least an hour too long. It was messy and boring to hear the same thing over and over. It might just be the worst production I've ever seen. The lesson? When opportunity knocks, don't put on a play that manages to be 3hrs long and yet still say nothing - if you expect your audience to stay to the end - and don't invite the goats!

Links: http://www.theartsdesk.com/theatre/goats-royal-court-review-unfocused-and-muddled
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2017/dec/01/goats-review-royal-court-london-liwaa-yazji-syria-civil-war
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2017/dec/03/goats-review-royal-court-theatre-syria-lebanon
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/theatre/what-to-see/charming-cast-except-humans-goats-royal-court-review/

2017 - A Year of Self-Discovery

Perhaps it's a cliché - but 2017 for me, has been a year of self discovery. A year that began with unemployment, crippling anxiety and constant self criticism. A year that is ending with unemployment too, but there's one big difference, and that is that I'm ok.

Late in 2016 I had my first experience of anxiety following a traumatic evening in a pitch black restaurant. Subsequently, I couldn't go out for a meal, I couldn't go to the theatre, I struggled going to the cinema - unless I had an aisle seat and knew I could run out. I couldn't be close with relatives or sit on the bus with the windows all fogged up so I couldn't see outside. I couldn't sit in a busy room unless it was by the door. A lot of Christmas was spent in bed, over analysing why I felt so anxious with the people I love and crying my eyes out because all I wanted was to be ok, to scoop up my nephew and cuddle him and not worry about the nearest exit (or the nearest loo). It left me feeling disconnected and numb to the world and it was a real struggle, sometimes impossible to muster the energy to fight back. (A big thank you to my mum who did absolutely everything over Christmas to understand, who hugged me and let me cry as well as propping me up and pushing me on. Forever there to listen to my woes).

Once back in London, January was hard, but it was the first time Kamal and I had properly spent time together since I'd got back from working in Cardiff in November. Slowly, I felt able to take small steps towards returning to normal. Kamal was patient and supportive and he'd constantly remind me that it was ok to step outside if I needed to, to pop to the loo to take some deep breaths or just take my time. I reminded myself that talking it through with him helped both of us to understand that it wasn't an issue between us, it was that anxiety had a grip of every part of me - but slowly the grip loosened. We started going out for meals and to the cinema, not all without a hitch and a few tears, but I was fighting back and that's all we said we wanted. Kamal was happy to spend more time going for walks and being outdoors, because I felt at my most comfortable in the open. I am eternally grateful for having someone who is willing to listen, to understand, to back off when I need to fight things on my own but to always be there when I need a helping hand. 

I told myself that the first step to fighting anxiety was to begin to accept the parts of me that I didn't always like - like my scars. I took some photos that didn't shy away from showing off my scars, they are a part of me and I refused to let my fear of what people thought of me to get in the way of accepting myself. Eleven months later and it's not a total transformation, work being the hardest place to show this version of me - but I hope to conquer that one too.

At the end of January I was finally offered some interviews after three months of unemployment. I met with a producer at the BBC and a few weeks later was back in the world of work - fighting my anxiety quietly in the background. Work has always helped me - focussing my mind on other things, learning about the world and helping to make my problems feel smaller. At work day to day I felt relatively anxiety-free but I was incredibly nervous about the live broadcast at the end of it. I knew that for two hours we would be live on air and I would be unable to step outside, use the loo or take my time. In March came the big day, and I felt myself getting anxious. But despite the craziness of a live broadcast and two newbies to events commentary sitting in the firing line, it all went well (with the assistance of a couple of Imodium). I was proud of myself at having not had a complete meltdown but at the same time, incredibly frustrated that it had taken an Imodium to put my brain at ease. I told myself that next time, I'd fight it without.

I stopped giving anxiety a name because by putting every hiccup or feeling of unease down to anxiety was giving it power over me. We all get nervous, we all have moments where we think we can't do it - that's not anxiety, that's human. I took each day as it came and did my best. For a few months I had barely drunk any alcohol because I feared what the slight loosening of control would prompt of my anxiety and from about March this year I decided that I could throw caffeine out of my diet too. Alcohol has made a comeback without side effect but caffeine has gone for good and I don't miss it one bit.

Since March I've worked across 6 more programmes this year, including plane journeys and immense pressure - and every one without anxiety. Following the successful flights, I'm back to the old me, lusting over foreign excursions and beauty spots across the globe. I've pushed myself in other ways too. Speaking to people on the phone has always been a big deal for me. Being a researcher I have to swallow that anxiety every day because I want to get the job done and do it well. And as soon as they pick up the phone I love talking to them. But sometimes by the end of the day, when you've been battling away the 'don't pick up the phone' demons - you are absolutely exhausted. But I'd done it.

In August after recovering from an ankle injury involving a curb and a few loud cracks, I decided that football was something I needed in my life again too. Late last year it had really helped to run off the demons with a few 5kms. My belief in my ability suffered a hit at the end of last year on leaving Cardiff City but some games with Orpington Ladies (possibly the most fun and supportive team I've ever played for) and a chance to play at Charlton ground The Valley told me that if I was ever going to do it, then it should be now. So I re-signed with Maidenhead Ladies with a view to play in the Women's Premier League and every Wednesday I've been travelling to Maidenhead for training and every Saturday night too to play on Sundays. Frustratingly my first game resulted in injury, meaning a month of rest, rehab and training which was entirely frustrating and meant a lot of commitment to getting match fit again. But I did, and considering that I committed myself alongside a TV job, which many of you know becomes your entire life - I'm pretty proud that despite anxiety, despite the workload, I came through on a promise to myself to get back in the game. I've got a long way to go to get back to my best, but I'm glad to be in place to do it.

I didn't come out of anxiety completely unscathed. My ability to multitask through a large to-do list left me feeling overwhelmed a lot quicker than usual. By November though, on perhaps the most overwhelming job of them all, remembrance Sunday, I felt back in control and I'm getting better at breaking up my tasks into manageable chunks. I've even got a few edits done at home which have been on a list on my wardrobe for about 3 years!

Two injuries, a few relapses in anxiety-fighting, a cockroach infestation in the flat - all could have thrown me over the edge. In November I was so ill I went through 5 boxes of tissues in a week and even forced myself to drink Lemsip, which to those who know me, is a big no no! And now, in December I'm unemployed. But none of these things won, I did. There were moments when anxiety won, and when the world felt so distant from me that my duvet was about the only obstacle I could conquer - but at the end of the year the resounding victory most definitely goes to me.

I've learned a lot about myself this year. I read a book about my ENFP personality which threw me into a whirlwind of over-thinking every aspect of the way I lived my life, the way I made decisions, the way I interact with others - I had to call it out and forget about it. I learned that analysing everything I do and why I do it is exhausting and sometimes makes a problem bigger than it needs to be, so I've stopped analysing. I've stopped overthinking what other people say to me. I've stopped seeking reassurance from others and tried instead to reassure myself, to be my own best friend, encouraging myself onwards and reminding me to constantly push the limits of what I think I can achieve.

I've pushed myself and tested myself. I've done things that I thought might be too much too soon. I can go to the theatre again, and to big meals in busy restaurants, and venture into the unknown. I may still have to take a few deep breaths to get myself there but ultimately I know as soon as I get there, I'll be absolutely fine. I recognise how much the outdoors benefits me, how much being active benefits me and how lowering my own expectations of myself has been the best thing I've ever done. I've committed myself to football, to work, to various other projects and I've started to feel like myself again - but a version of myself that cares less about what the world thinks of me, and less about piling on the pressure and the constant need to be productive (hence the lack of blogposts this year). I'm ok that right now there's no money coming in, I am deliberately careful with my money for moments like these. I'm ok that a lot of my days off this month I've been in bed til 11 because you know what - I deserve it.

I've been reminded that spending time with friends, family and with the wonderful Kamal is what matters to me and accepting that I am not forever invincible nor always exceptional, may have been a huge shock this time last year, but for now I'm ok with being just ok. My anxiety might still be there somewhere, but it's just going to have to deal with my superior existence - sorry bud.

Remembrance Sunday: The Cenotaph

There comes a point in every researcher job when you feel like Everest would be an easier summit to reach, against the mountainous pile of decrepit post-it notes to your left.

That moment has come and gone and come again.

The BBC broadcast of Remembrance Sunday at the Cenotaph is such a mammoth logistical task for all parties that it can only take time to work your way through - only there is no time.

With 3 days to go, I was still piercing together the notes from over 262 contingents taking part, listing wreath layers, confirming live interviews and working my way through far too many chocolate biscuits. Of course, a lot can happen in three days. For 2 weeks I'd been in the office 12hrs a day. Because this is one you want to get right.

Not only are you working with broadcasting legend David Dimbleby, you are entrusted with the knowledge that for some of those on parade, it will be the last time. Many WW2 veterans are too elderly to walk the 2km route or stand for 2hrs, and many have sadly crossed the bar in recent years. A whole generation who fought for our freedom, will soon be lost and it is you who are given the knowledge of who is taking part in the event this year and who may not be here to see in the next.

Ernie Searling

The oldest veteran on parade is WW2 Royal Marine Ernest Searling at 99yrs. Broadcasts like this are our last chance to walk with these men, and women, as they salute those who did not grow old with them. It is an honour to read, hear and learn about the experiences of so many.

Ernie said during the programme: 'I feel very humble seeing so many hundreds of men and women on parade today. So very, very humble. And I'm thinking of those who are not with us on this parade today and some of the fine, fine people I served with and we've lost them. But all I hope is that the future generations can see this parade, see some solidarity in it and see that the betterment of mankind, in England, especially Great Britain should be at its highest level'. It is hard not to realise then, how lucky we are to have heard from men like Ernie and to have witnessed the solidarity embodied by this event each year.

Speaking to Heather Wood, who lost her husband Charlie in Afghanistan it made me realise how important the good times are, how serving women and men like Charlie give their lives so that others might live a better life. 'Don't be bitter, be better' she says. And I have taken on those words in my work. I am not bitter about the long hours I've chosen to work because I know that to the 8700 people on parade and to those watching at home, it means something.

And that is the overwhelming feeling when working on events like these. That you don't want to miss a moment, whether it is a serving bugle major's last hours in the job, or a man who will march carrying the photo of a fallen comrade. Whether it is an injured serviceman who has defied the odds or a firefighter who won a gallantry award for placing his life in danger for the service of another. Or if it is the daughter marching in memory of her father who at 18 was on the field of battle in Italy and last month sadly left us, or a Falklands veteran who lost his friends on the islands and who plays his pipes in their memory.

A WAAF wireless operator receiving a message in morse code.

I have spoken to a lady who wrote the orders for d-day, a serving woman who suffered PTSD following service in Northern Ireland and Afghanistan and has since competed in the Invictus Games. I've spoken to ladies of the special operations executive, and women who worked in anti aircraft batteries defending Britain at home and another who traveled from America by ship in total darkness so as not to become a target for the enemy and spent the weeks leading up to her 17th birthday sitting on the steps outside the WRNS office until she was old enough to join.

'When I am laid in Earth...remember me, remember me'.

There are men marching who survived Far East prisoner of war camps - remembering so many of their colleagues that did not. There is a captain from C Company, The Rifles who remembers the men he lost in Afghanistan and a Navy veteran who remembers the men who died aboard HMS Coventry.

For many, Remembrance Day is every day. And I feel the weight that falls on my shoulders to give each story their moment. We want to capture it all and of course, every year, we fail. Because every person on parade at the Cenotaph, in the hollow square, in the service, in the march past, has their own story. And every one of them are fascinating.

It has been a pleasure to immerse myself in their world for a short time. They are each an inspiration.

Reggie Yates: Hidden Australia

A new series from Reggie and the team is something I always look forward to and they certainly lived up to my expectations. It seemed a challenging series for Reggie, coming face to face with addicts of all kinds. The series asks him to delve deep into people's stories and understand why they turn to substances and other means of escape from everyday life. Reggie is honest, he asks the questions, he listens to the answers and he challenges where he thinks he should. It's been great to see another two-part series hit the screen because I just can't get enough.

Episode 1 - Black in the Outback
Reggie is sad to find that the first people he meets in Wilcannia - a town with an 800 strong population where 80% are indigenous - are alcoholics. The programme follows him as he tries to unearth the origins of this stereotype and ask if there is more to this town than meets the eye. What he discovers is that this problem is not a recent one and stems from a vivid segregation from 'white' society. It is a town where business has gone away, employment has followed it and alcohol is about the only form of entertainment. Young people feel as though there isn't much hope for a future and many want to leave the town as soon as is possible. But it's not just the negatives that get the spotlight. We do meet some great characters, the owner of the only supermarket in town, the local radio station, a young teenager who made music as a young child that traveled the globe
A middle aged man dedicated to keeping the indigenous culture alive

Social deprivation is one thing, but so is the spirit of the younger people who live there. There is hope but there is also no denying the damage that yeas and years of institutional racism that has plagued Wilcannia.

Episode 2 - Addicted to Ice
Like Reggie, I find it hard it to completely understand drug addiction. I do understand however, the desire to remove ourselves consciously. I have suffered from depression and I suppose in a way, from addiction too. It took the form of self-harm and perhaps it took me a while to see it as a coping mechanism, a way of escape. Three years on, depression is no longer a problem for me but a new battle takes it's place, this time, it's anxiety. There are days I wish I could turn my brain off, make the anxiety go away. Days I shake or feel overwhelmed at the simplest things. That need for escape is strong and it's easy for me to understand how some are drawn to drugs as a way out of our heads.

The range of people we meet really bring the issue home. Brett, once a successful tri-athlete representing his country, but for whom nothing was ever good enough. He turned to Ice and everything changed. We meet mother-of-two Sharni who wants to get clean for her two twin boys and who has had by her side a real rock of an aunt along the way. We meet residents of Gatwick House who freely use on camera and seem far from wanting to get out of their dangerous relationships with Ice.

It's an episode that really hit home. It reminded me to stay vigilant about the desire to escape my anxiety and to do so in a healthy and positive way. More than that though, it left me wishing that my own relative's story could have ended like Sharni's in the programme. I only wish that he could have run out of rehab into the arms of his family having come so far in just 9 days. The outcome of his story was sadly different and I struggled to make it to the end without a few tears.

A great piece of television with some honest Reggie-style film-making. The kind of programme I aspire to make and one to watch to anyone who wants to understand addiction.

Us/Them

Our first play of the year came a little later than usual but on Tuesday 7th Feb we travelled to the Dorfman at the National Theatre to see 60mins of 'Us/Them'.

My Theatre Mates

A family friendly show about a terror attack - doesn't quite add up when you think about it does it? But the more you do, the more you realise that Carly Wijs' direction might just be genius. All too often when we retell moments of our past, we embellish and adapt - particularly when we are children - my nearly-3-yr-old niece would of course deny this entirely.
But when children witness traumatic events, how much of it sinks in? How much do they let it? Kids are more resilient than we think, but they're also like sponges, they take in the world at a rate that dizzies us as adults. So what if, in a place they all feel safe, like at school, they endure something terrible?

National Theatre

Us/Them is directed in a way that addresses this. As we begin with chalk drawings of the school's layout, a competition of information between our two leads and some essential facts to present the provenance of our piece, we are slowly lulled into a comedic security, brimming with innocence.

However, as the piece unfolds we are pulled ever closer to the truth, the REAL terror attack on these young children on a day that held them captive for 52hrs, killing 184 children and 148 adults. But we never really get there, the truth. The truth remains suspended in the well constructed strings that span the stage amidst a maze of conclusions and childhood storytelling.

The Stage

Our leads are enthusiastic and convincing in their confidence, as well as in their coyness. As they traverse the stage energetically, we are drawn to them even if we never really know much about who they are. Chalk drawings and imaginative commentary provide the basis of the all-too-familiar 'Us and Them' argument, with seemingly no understanding of why 'they' are 'them'  and'we' are 'us' - or of why they are being held hostage in their own school.

As a family show, Us/Them definitely helps broach the subject of death in the family if you don't have a pet that's likely to kick-the-bucket anytime soon. But it's also a fun show that incorporates dance with energy that never really allows for sombreness or pain in a concentrated quantity. It's full of imagination, both in script and staging but it's story holds a truth that makes it as devastating as it is entertaining - that is if you take a moment to Google the Beslan Massacre.

Exeunt Magazine

Read more about the production and the real event here: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/review-usthem-dorfman-national-theatre-london-the-story-of-beslan-makes-for-a-remarkable-harrowing-a7539296.html

href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beslan_school_siege">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beslan_school_siege

Denial

I deliberately went to see 'Denial' without reading up about the film, or the facts about David Irving or Deborah Lipstadt.

Moment Magazine

What greeted me was a whole host of emotions in a film about the 1996 libel suit in which David Irving accuses Penguin books and Deborah Lipstadt - who, in her book 'Denying the Holocaust' wrote that 'David is a liar, racist and extremist' - of slander and a conspiracy to debunk his reputation.

I'm a young ambassador for HET, a charity dedicated to educating young people and empowering teachers with knowledge of the holocaust and highlighting the roles of the ordinary people that lived to see it and experience it. We speak regularly on the subject alongside survivors and try to be visible both in our communities and online.

I have often, during my time as an ambassador been named on social media as 'part of the conspiracy'. In 2014 for example, myself and two young colleagues ran a 10km to raise money for the charity and were met with direct Twitter comments including this one (pictured). I, like Deborah, struggle to separate my emotions when comments like this are made. In fact, twitter is an engine that has given voice to many more deniers than before were heard. During the launch of a London exhibition early last year, I was asked via Twitter if holocaust survivors would be present - quite an innocent question it seems, until I did some digging and found that the user was in fact a holocaust denier who has previously directly targeted survivors.

Over Facebook I also received a direct message, as a result of a post I'd written about the rise of the far right in Greece with parties such as the Golden Dawn with a view to championing multi-cultural society. It might not be holocaust denial in this instance, but a direct attack on the very foundations of a society that values the lessons we have learned from it. I think this response speaks for itself...

I've received direct messages like this since my work began at 18 and it is sad that we must be so vigilant.

The film 'Denial' did highlight the question of what to say to these deniers. Do we stay silent and let the facts speak for themselves? Or do we give in to our emotions and respond? Can we be educated enough to do both? There are many of my peers I believe could be one day - but none of us can ever be armed with enough, can we?

There were more parallels than this though. Young lawyer Laura Tyler stays up late into the night incessantly working on the case, much to the annoyance and intense misunderstanding of her partner who managed to sum up what many peers have thought of me and my work as an ambassador and probably of Lipstadt too.

The Telegraph

They have asked me, 'isn't it time to let the past be the past', say 'you're obsessed', ask me 'why do you even care, you're not Jewish' and tell us there is 'more to life than the holocaust'. But in the same room the question has been uttered 'What is the holocaust?'. For me, it is impossible NOT to involve myself in the continuance of holocaust awareness and education. Because once you have looked truth in the eye, walked the rubble and ruins of Jewish cemeteries and visited Auschwitz, you cannot live with a version of yourself that is silent. I cannot be uncaring, I cannot forget, and I cannot deny that it ever happened.

Denial wasn't just about the libel suit, but the absolute passion for truth, that the holocaust HAPPENED. It was about speaking against all prejudices and facing denial in all it's forms, from bedroom-denouncings to outright racism.

odeon.co.uk

I've been to Auschwitz and 'Denial' managed to capture the exact essence of the place that remains through some respectful film-making - although I am sure that many early mornings were needed to find the place so empty. From the shoes and suitcases of Auschwitz 1 to the endless rows of barracks and razed crematoria at Birkenau. Upon my visit I did not cry but since then, I have come to consider many holocaust survivors I work with, as friends or extended family even. To see that place again, was as though I was seeing it through fresh eyes, and I cried. (This helped me to gain some idea of why some second and third generation survivors cannot bring themselves to know their family stories in detail). The stillness of the shots, the mist, the coldness of the image, the quiet - it was exactly the eerie place I remember. Somewhere you can almost feel the past vividly. 

The film reflects and values this experience. It also asks us to be vigilant in our analyses and critique those who claim to be experts in the field but he film above all, champions that the truth is ultimate. The outcome of the case was as it should be, and Deborah and her legal team can indeed say that the voices of the victims were heard as justice was done.

EveningStandard

The fact that posters for the film were defaced with anti-Semitic comments and drawings here in London, tell us exactly why it's important to show it at present. The fight against denial did not end when Lipstadt and her team won the case. It continues today and is rife in social media. What comes next is up to us but it's important I think that we take from the film, that truth is ultimate. Do not deny truth. Be someone that fights for it. 

time.com

Oil

The Arts Desk

Oil begins in 1889, with no escape from the bitter cold but by the sparse candlelight dimly lighting the table. But then an American man appears, promising the light and heat that comes with burning oil. The family at the farm have no interest in this new thing, but May is pregnant and her eyes look to the horizon and one night she needs to take a walk, and she keeps on walking.

Fast-forward a few years and we arrive in Tehran, Persia, 1908. A desperate mother seeks work serving diplomats and military men whilst her daughter, fluent in Farsi, mourns the loss of her teddy bear. May is not silent in her emancipation, as she speaks freely in her opinions alongside fellow waiter who accuses the men of scheming against the young king, getting him drunk and offering him less than the fruits of his land's resources.

Time Out

Time Out

Back to Britain 1970 Hampstead and May is an exec of an oil company, regularly under addressed as foreign companies talk instead to her male colleague. 15yr old daughter, Amy is less than impressed and as she explores her sexuality and pushes the boundaries of her and her mother's relationship, we can't help but feel an unspoken love and understanding between the two strong independent women, with high hopes for the future. Amy converses with our foreign visitor in Farsi, much to her mother's distraction, and the lack of empathy and mutual understanding between nations when this encounter is denied, is gaping and obvious. ('Libya is in Africa, not the middle east')

The Telegraph

Persia - Our young females are getting more vocal as a daughter comes to Persia to build a life among new friends. She speaks their language and denies all links to her own culture. Her protest against her mother, who works for an oil company. This tone quickly turns on it's head as her new friend tells her to be grateful for her mother and for what she has - for she has been left with nothing from the years of war that have gripped Persia (now Iran). Is she so unaware as to deny her own part in the system? Is she so ungrateful to those who lost their lives in her country so she should have heat and light in her home? It's a plaguing thought for an audience.

The Arts Desk

Back in Britain, Cornwall, 2051, a cold, oil-less Britain. When a Chinese saleswoman appears selling nitro-fusion.

It's a scarily probable future, where energy resource is so sparse that it costs a fortune to use and so we are thrown back to layering our clothing and shivering even in our own homes. When along comes another resource; cheaper, ever-lasting, independently controlled. It seems that we will not be content with emptying our own planet of its resources, but we will travel to the moon to exploit that too. Where will it end, when will humanity orbit away from exploiting everything it touches?

Oil was an intimate exploration of the mother/daughter relationship through time, packing a powerful anti-exploitation punch thrown in the direction of oil companies and entitled and ungrateful Brits. It was a fly the flag moment for strong female characters, grasped beautifully by the talented Anne Marie Duffy and Yolanda Kettle. it also warns of the consequences of misunderstanding being 'strong' with being 'unfeeling' or 'greedy'.

oneworld.org

Some brilliant writing (Ella Hickson), some great live music/sound, minimalist lighting, projections and minimalist staging from Vicky Mortimer that worked so well to give us the versatile set that a story spanning so many generations and locations needs. And two months later, I still can't stop thinking about it.