There has been a very special place in my heart for our very dear Shakespeare. Above are photos I took in Stratford-upon-Avon.
My first encounter with this great soul was at boarding school. Here we go... This is gonna be a long one as we are digging into my past and some history now.
It was the summer term at the end of my first year at boarding school. Our class had to perform 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' on the outdoor stage amongst the greenery of the countryside in Southern England. I believe Mrs Parker, our headmistress who was also our drama teacher, liked me. She was about average height or did her 'ramrod straight' posture gave her extra length? She walked with clenched fists held tight to her sides, moving like an army major. Her footsteps on the old stones, which lay in the main hall and corridors of the Abbey, could be heard from afar. She had a vintage hairstyle of short curls with a powdered white face from a classic play. She wore a pleated below-the-knee checked skirt with a white shirt, buttoned to the top and covered by a cardigan -immaculately hung. She always talked with an air of great authority.
Mrs Parker would address me with a slightly bent neck, looking down at me with a wry sideways grin (as I would usually stand to her left side):
"Haldita, my dear... "My English was hardly good enough to understand what anyone was saying to me for the first few months and boy... did my classmates take advantage of it! But as I've said before, I learnt how to deal with such challenges. Mrs Parker had decided that my acting was worth giving a try as a backup and I was given the role of... Well, it was kind of a major role - sort of; I had to practice the lines for the Duke of Athens, Theseus. Which sounded like 'Greek to me'!
Another one of Shakespeare's great quotes I was to learn later on. I prayed and prayed for the lead role actor not to get sick as I was terrified of having to act on stage with words that were mostly alien to me. My prayers were answered and I only had to watch the play being performed.
Can't continue before telling you my funny boarding school story:
In the second year of boarding, my grasp of the English language was stronger and gave me a little more confidence to interact with my classmates. In a science lesson Mr Smith, our teacher who was tall and slim, with wavy ginger hair and an eye for the girls' hemlines, was talking about the 'Heavenly Bodies' in science. I was in my usual daydream state of being when those words rang in my ears. It was as if I'd just woken up. So, up went my right hand, with a surprisingly confident attitude.
Mr Smith who seemed delighted, came towards me and said: "Well now... Haldita has a question. Yes, my dear?"
By now, eleven pairs of eyes had turned towards me in astonishment - awaiting my question.
So I asked away: "Mr Smith... "I had no idea what words were going to pop out next.
"Is my body heavenly?"
Before my sentence ended, the whole class had burst into laughter and Mr Smith's an absolutely amusing expression of 'je ne sais quoi' made me laugh too. The story went around the whole school. Haldita spoke! Hallelujah.
I must admit, Shakespeare didn't exactly grab me at such a young age. He sounded rather complicated and it is only now that I truly appreciate his words of wisdom; his understanding of the human mind and behaviour; his tragedies as well his comedies.
The next person who patiently, tried (so hard) to focus my attention on this great man's passion for words, which is unique to its time, was Reza. We were both teenagers and had bonded immediately after we met in an economics class taken by one of my favourite teachers of all time: Mrs Stewart. This was a tutorial college I attended in London after boarding school. Oh! And I did have a go at politics A level. Now... That's another story!
I can say Reza was, and IS, my soulmate.
Mrs Stewart's class was exceptional. The five or six of us would often go back to her comfortable, Chelsea home where she would serve soft drinks and biscuits during lessons. We met her two delightful children; Rory about 6 and Fiona only 2 years old and would play with them after class. Mrs Stewart's lessons opened our minds to the human psyche.
One topic I can still remember to this day was... "Do you think that babies are born with certain characteristics or do they develop over time through parenting and life's experiences?" Being a teenager at the time, I was more inclined to believe that character was developed within us as a result of our life choices and the effect of others around us. And... I was determined to be right on that! Ayayaya... Youth!
Looking back at the subject many times during my growth, I can safely say now that genes have a great deal to do with the way we think and behave. We are born as the unique biological expression of our ancestral influences and patterns. These can be enhanced or weakened, throughout our lives, by the know-how to moderate our acquired behaviour patterns which we pick up along the way. Am I making any sense here? Are you still with me or did I lose you to the Woolwich? (!) If you have not lived in the UK, you are not expected to understand this last joke. Sorry, couldn't resist.
Now... Back to one of my dear soulmates; Reza Abdo.
He used to take me to dingy Soho cafes, near Leicester Square (London's theatreland); which in those days, were nowhere near as trendy as they are today. In those days, we were served a soft drink and a soggy cheese sandwich on white bread. It was even worse than boarding school food (as if that were possible!) with an all-pervasive stale smell. After a reading session in the corner of a dark cafe for a couple of hours, Reza would take me to Shakespeare plays, mostly. And, as a present, he handed me a philosophy book to read whilst he read and wrote his own rich poetry. I was always mesmerised by his knowledge of so many lines, learnt by heart, from Shakespeare's plays. He was a genius and I admired every word that came out of his lush lips. He recited his poems with all the necessary expressions and gestures, then had to express the meaning of each verse as they were too rich in vocabulary and meaning for me to understand. We must have seen countless Shakespeare plays of various productions at different theatres.
I felt as though Reza's father was hopeful that his son's interest in me was more than just friendship. I loved him dearly, like a brother, and we had a connection that was next to none. That is all that mattered to us.
The last time I saw Reza was in Los Angeles. He had moved there to finish his theatre studies.
During my second year at university in London, in my early twenties, I left college one week early before the Easter holidays to travel and visit my childhood friend Grace who was studying in La Jolla, CA.
That was one of the best times of my life. Grace went to college during the daytime and we'd go out at night, which was how I got to meet some of her close friends. We would go to sit on beaches to catch the beginning of the spring sun. While all the locals were dressed in boots, trousers and jumpers (or sweaters as Americans call them)... I would be lying on a towel, in a bikini, covered in Lancaster dark tanning oil! Grace's friends thought I had been to Hawaii to get so dark! Guess, I'm lucky that way.
During that very memorable stay, Reza kept calling me from LA and insisted that I go and visit him for three days.
It had to be done! I boarded a small plane that quivered with every hint of turbulence throughout what felt like a flight that will never end. I was going to see Reza for the first time in three years and he had reassured me I should wait at the airport for him to pick me up. The flight had shaken me somewhat and it was now dark outside. I disembarked and waited eagerly for his friendly face. Instead, I got the big bulky cab drivers approaching me with offers of a ride to town. I was beginning to feel anxious, when I saw a figure in the distance, dressed in tight, black jeans and a very trendy, high-collared, black leather jacket. It was approaching me... and then began running my way.
"Haldita... Haldita... !" It was my darling friend, Reza, looking more beautiful than ever. Those big, dark brown eyes were shining, highlighted with light mascara and possibly even some eyeliner. He embraced me so hard that I could barely breathe and yet, wished that moment would never end.
"Here's my boyfriend, Don," Reza said as he introduced the sweetest face standing behind him, ready to greet me with as much eagerness.
"Haldita," Went on Reza, "there's one thing you need to know: I share my flat with Tom and he and I also have to share the same bed. Now, either you can share the bed with him and I can sleep on the sofa... Or you can take the sofa," were my dear friend's first remarks. I was so delighted to see him and meet his lovely boyfriend that sleeping on the sofa was of no concern.
Please bear in mind that all those years ago being gay must have been challenging. You'd hardly ever hear the word except for when it was used to mean happy! But the thought didn't bother me in the least. In fact, Don was one of the most adorable people I have ever met. He would come to us every night, after working in a supermarket, with a large brown paper bag full of the most exotic fruit for me! We would sit together roar with laughter, getting stoned whilst I shared funny stories.
I shall cherish those moments till the day I die.
On the last day of my stay with Reza, he was waiting anxiously for some producer to pick him up by car. We watched the car arrive from behind the net curtains and he told me to wish him good luck on some theatre production he was working on. He gave me a big hug and left. I watched him get in the car with tears in my eyes not knowing that this would be the last time we met.
Grace and her friend Gloria arrived by car to pick me up shortly afterwards. We then drove off to check into an LA hotel for another evening of fun and laughter.
Over the years I heard that Reza Abdo had worked on several productions with the New York and LA Theater Ensemble and had taken his play to be performed in a Paris theatre. The news of his death, some years later, came via a friend who had seen the article on the back page of the Herald Tribune. He died of Aids at the age of 32. Indeed a very bright man. His work often confronted such issues as race, class and Aids. He comes to me every time I am dancing and dances with me and smiles at me. Still sending me his love. "You shall always be in my heart, dear Reza, until my time comes to join you. God Bless You."
Coming back to now... It is quite clear as to why I had to drive... so fast (I may add)... to Stratford-upon-Avon on Tuesday in such a hurry: My friend was calling...
Wednesday morning Jamie, my new buddy joined me for a visit to the museums of Shakespeare who lived and now rests in Stratford. We went to his home where we were informed more than 25,000,000 visitors have been, so far.
I learnt that William Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon at a time when plague had struck the town, in 1564. His father, John, was a glove maker. When Anne Hathaway became pregnant by William, he married her at the age of 18. They had a daughter Susanna, followed by twins: Hamnet and Judith. Hamnet died at the age of 11.
Yesterday, on an unusually sunny, autumn day, we strolled through the partially cobbled stone streets to get to Dr John Hall's residence. He had married Susana Shakespeare, his first daughter. Jamie and I stopped for lunch at a well-known pub called the 'Dirty Duck'. We then continued to The Holy Trinity Church, beside the river Avon, to visit this great writer's resting place inside.
As it was getting late, and I had to drive back to London, we said our farewells. And I brought back a new friendly soul with me, my new mate... William Shakespeare.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
The last thing I want to share with you here is the words written on a leaflet I brought from the Holy Trinity Church. They read:
'Loving God, we pray for everyone
who comes into this church today;
That all who seek you here may find you,
And all who find you may serve you day by day.'
Amen
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