A History of Paper

Me and my partner Susie always came to the Traverse on the first day of the Festival.

So it feels strange to be back. Only alone this time, and sitting on the red sofa by the lift, the Help Me I can’t manage the stairs sofa, feeling a bit apprehensive because I’m going to see Olly Emanuel’s “History of Paper”, and I’m still grieving for him because he died of brain cancer earlier this year, and I’m still grieving for Susie who died of the same thing 20 years ago…

…And maybe a sensible person would stay away.

But I’m not very good at being sensible, and I love Olly’s work and want to see more of it.

They’re friendly and kind, the front of house staff at the Traverse, and we’re a jolly little gang in the lift going down to the basement and along the deep corridor behind Traverse 1.

It makes me happy to see photos of my “Losing Venice” down there in the corridor, though I wish they were somewhere more prominent, and I wish they were being looked after better…

…And it means when I’m sitting in one of the front row seats they’ve reserved for us my mind is full of memories of paper.

Because I wrote that play on a typewriter, it was before computers, and the drafts are in the boxes I gave the National Library of Scotland.

The boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of my papers and Susie’s papers that are in the NLS somewhere, and that I’m in the middle of a conversation with someone from the library about some kind of event connected with them in the autumn.

And weirdly Ollie’s play begins with a big box of papers just like them.

And I’m thinking of the love letters we wrote each other, me and Susie, because letters mattered so much back then.

And Ollie’s writing about that past, so playfully, so tenderly, and his spirit is just so unmistakeably his and everywhere,

And so clever, too, the way he takes the story down unexpected avenues, and opens up these wonderful links in your mind

His writing so intelligent and full of deep feeling and deep love, too

So it opens you up and makes you vulnerable, and then almost reluctantly but so ruthlessly too hits you with life’s deepest tragedy

And then…

And then firmly and gently and tenderly and wittily and lovingly reminds you of the deep and ever present and in spite of everything possibility of deep happiness.

And I’m crying all the way back down the corridor,, and there’s a cheery man cleaning the windows in the lift

And that’s what the tears are doing, cleaning the windows of my soul,

And someone says, “There’s drinks”

And thank you, but no, I can’t handle drinks, and go and lock myself in the lavatory to cry some more.

There’s a man begging at the bus stop and I reach in my pocket to give him money.

But he looks at me and says, “You keep it darlin’ you need it more than me”

And there I am in the bus shelter crying all over again.

And then I’m on the number 16 and I’m on my way home, and I’m thinking

Thank you Olly.

Thank you Olly for reminding me about how theatre’s about opening up the doors to deep feeling

And opening up our understanding to shine more light on the world.

And because I can’t make theatre work for me at the moment, I’d forgotten.

Thank you for reminding me.

And I’m so glad you’ve got another hit, Olly, because everyone’ll want to see this.

Congratulations dear dear Olly.

I’ll love you forever…

“A History Of Paper” is on at the Traverse till Aug 25th. Check the website for dates and times:

A History of Paper

My non theatrical encounter with me, an audience, and a cathedral is at St. Mary’s Cathedral, 23 Palmerston Place on Tuesdays and Thursdays

Aug 6th,8th,13th,15th,20th and 22nd at 2.15.

Details here:

Searching for the Sacred