Back Story Page 0,53
– always very nicely and by charming, well-meaning people. But I can’t escape the thought that this place isn’t for the likes of me any more. Independent schools have never served the majority of society, but, in a generation, they’ve gone from being within the financial reach of perhaps 20 per cent of the population to well under 10.
I started to enjoy Abingdon more when I was about fifteen. It had a debating society. I loved the way the motions were expressed as ‘This House’ would do such and such – withdraw from the EEC, become vegetarian, institute communism, ban immigration, make Morrissey king, abolish the monarchy, etc. It sounded so parliamentary. The boys who were good at debating seemed popular while also being a bit swotty – I was heartened that such a combination was allowed.
So, nervously, falteringly, I started to get involved. At first, I was intimidated. Then the society went through a really bad patch of pointless, childish, ill-attended debates: I was in my element. My debating technique was entirely based on raising as many laughs as I could in the hope that this would then make people vote for whichever side of the motion I was advocating. It completely worked – and it was immediately obvious to me that I didn’t really care about winning the argument. It was the laughter that made me feel good.
By the Fifth Form, I was enough of a debating regular to be chosen to represent the school in the Rotary Club Public Speaking Competition alongside Daniel Seward, one of the state primary boys who was already at Abingdon when I arrived but whom I managed to befriend across this great cultural divide, and Leo Carey, a friend from Form VI at NCS. I’m pleased to be able to say that I’m still good friends with both of them. Daniel is now a Catholic priest and Leo is an editor at the New Yorker. With hindsight, we were quite an interesting team. Without it, we were three spotty nerds.
Most of the teams in the Rotary Club Public Speaking Competition were dire: three girls from a convent school primly reading out something worthy about the environment, or three chippy lads from a local comprehensive explaining their interest in the guitar, while the Rotarians fatly glazed over. In contrast, we were very slightly amusing. Not so as to be entertaining in any other context but, like a donkey’s fart in a vacuum, we were the nearest thing the judges got to a breath of fresh air. We took part three times and we always won. This gave me something to feel good about and focus on other than academic work, now that I was no longer the cleverest. It was a setting that gave me the confidence to be the centre of attention.
Unlike the school play. I was cast in Much Ado about Nothing. Leo played Benedick, the romantic lead. I wasn’t so fortunate and was cast in the tiny role of Verges, Dogberry’s sidekick. Not even Dogberry. Still, my friend Harry was even worse off than me, playing Third Watchman. At least my character has a name, I thought.
Creatively there wasn’t much about this production to get my teeth into. I decided to play Verges as very, very old. Humorously old, was the idea. It also occurred to me that, if I was to be noticed by the audience, I would have to make something special out of the few bits I had to do. This, with great solemnity and energy, is what I did. I dread to think how over-the-top, scene-stealing and yet unwatchable I was. I imagine that I drew the eye like a pile-up.
At one point in rehearsal, Harry did an impression of my exaggeratedly doddering gait and the weird intense expression, with jaw thrust forward, that I’d decided to assemble on my face. Thankfully Harry wasn’t a very popular boy, so this moment of mockery wasn’t picked up on by the group. The fact that I remember it, however, suggests it touched a nerve and that he was making a fair point. So the evidence points to my performance being awful. No one, apart from my parents who were, as always, effusive in their praise, commented at all, either positively or negatively.
The sad truth is that you can’t triumph with a part like Verges. People tell you that you can – that a small, perfectly formed jewel of a performance will draw the eye and mean you land