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John's hypertextual youth Why? Who? How? Really? Leave this self-indulgent tangle!
Wisewood School put on a yearly dramatic spectacular. My mother told me that in her day they did Shakespearian plays. She hated them (and still does). In the 70s, those days were long gone. The only "Shakespeare" I ever saw at school was a film of a modernized Julius Caesar (not just modern dress - the words were changed too). I have the impression that our teachers probably felt the same way as my mum: when I slammed a film of King Lear in a school debate (without, of course, having seen it) no-one seemed to doubt that it would have been interminably boring. I finally threw off my own prejudice in my twenties and read the plays before I saw any of them. Then I became an obsessed Shakespeare fanatic, over-compensating for my previous disdain.

But, back in the seventies, Wisewood was putting on rather paler plays. Once or twice these were musicals, and then I would play piano. But usually I was a stage-struck audience-member, who was too sensitive to face the probability of rejection in audition. Though I later wrote and played in the sixth form revue, that was certainly not an official production. (The script was a Goon Show pastiche, showing that my style of humour - like my taste in music - lagged popular culture by a significant interval.)

The 1973 play was a Madame Butterfly adaptation, and my friend, Philip, was the "Lighting Engineer". I still have a vivid memory of the magic moment when the white backdrop was lit deep blue and crimson, the footnights and spots were killed, and the star actress moved in silhouette against the impossibly beautiful sunset. At that moment, M, Butterfly, who previously had been just one of the class, suddenly became very desirable.