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Untold Stories

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His many works for television include his first play for the medium, A Day Out in 1972, A Little Outing in 1977, Intensive Care in 1982, An Englishman Abroad in 1983, and A Question of Attribution in 1991. [6] But perhaps his most famous screen work is the 1988 Talking Heads series of monologues for television which were later performed at the Comedy Theatre in London in 1992. A second set of six Talking Heads followed a decade later. Are you my taxi?’ she would say, the question itself meaning that she was doomed to stay. It was only when she stopped expecting to leave that she would be anywhere near doing so. Lancaster Moor Hospital is not a welcoming institution. It was built at the beginning of the 19th century as the County Asylum and Workhouse, and seen from the M6 it has always looked to me like a gaunt grey penitentiary. It was a relief to find the psychiatric wing Mam was to be admitted to not part of the main complex but a villa, Ridge Lee, set in its own grounds, and as we left Mam with a nurse in the entrance hall it seemed almost cheerful. Dad was not uncheerful either, relieved that now at any rate something was going to be done and that she was ‘in professional hands’. Even Mam seemed resigned to it, and though she had never been in hospital in her life, she let us kiss her goodbye and leave without protest. Alone in the house, knowing no one in the village well enough to call on them for help, he was both nurse and jailer. Coaxing his weeping parody of a wife to eat, with every mouthful a struggle, then smuggling himself out of the house to do some hasty shopping, hoping that she would not come running down the street after him, he spent every day and every fitful night besieged by Mam’s persistent assaults on reality, foiling her attempts to switch off the television, turn off the lights or pull the curtains against her imaginary enemies, knowing that if he once let her out of his sight she would be at the front door trying to flee this house which was at the same time her prison and her refuge.

Alan Bennett · Untold Stories · LRB 30 September 1999 Alan Bennett · Untold Stories · LRB 30 September 1999

It would be interesting to know if this was some special rite of passage reserved by the Corps’s drill sergeants for ‘those poncy linguists’ who tended to look down on the common soldiery, or a more widely practised military chore. I am preparing a history of the National Service Russian Course and any light your readers can shed on this ordeal by water or any other arcane experiences of the Corps or the Course they can share with me would be appreciated. And there’s no shame in taking your time with it, because it’s that kind of read. You could even dip in and out of it if you wanted to, although I’d advise against it. The problem with doing that is that you’d never know when you finished, and there’d also be a risk that you’d find yourself re-reading something that you’d already read. And then there are the lit crits and presentations. They are mostly good, but they miss something when shorn of their contexts. So the pieces on 'The Lady In The Van' or 'The History Boys' don't mean much if you haven't seen the shows. Again, some explanation (or an editor) is required. Certainly in all her excursions into unreality Mam remained the shy, unassuming woman she had always been, none of her fantasies extravagant, her claims, however irrational they might be, always modest. She might be ill, disturbed, mad even, but she still knew her place.Access-restricted-item true Addeddate 2018-05-24 22:57:18 Boxid IA1218610 Camera Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control) Collection_set china External-identifier It was in 1925, in the kitchen at Gilpin Place, the spot pointed out: ‘There by the dresser your grandad died, plain in the sight of everybody.’ That they were not living at Gilpin Place at the time had never, of course, occurred to me. Alan Bennett contemporary Hamlet 'Denmark Hill' heading for Radio 4". Radio Times . Retrieved 21 October 2013. Except affliction was normal too and this one seemingly more common than I’d thought. Arriving at the lighted villa in its own little park, we found we were far from alone, the carpark full, the nurse busy at Reception, and hanging about the entrance hall as in all institutions (hospitals, law courts, passport offices), characters who joked with the staff, were clued up on the routine and, whether visitors or patients, seemed utterly at home. It was one of these knowing individuals, a young man familiar rather than affable, who took us along to what the nurse said was Mam’s ward.

Untold stories : Bennett, Alan, 1934- : Free Download, Borrow Untold stories : Bennett, Alan, 1934- : Free Download, Borrow

A play could begin like this, I used to think – with a man on-stage, sporadically angry with a woman off-stage, his bursts of baffled invective gradually subsiding into an obstinate silence. Resistant to the offstage entreaties, he continues to ignore her until his persistent refusal to respond gradually tempts the woman into view. No,’ I say and without doubt or hesitation. After all, I’m the educated one of the family. If there had been ‘anything like this’ I should have known about it.Leonard Bernstein / Carol Burnett / Rex Harrison / The National Theatre Company of Great Britain / The Negro Ensemble Company (1969) Bennett learned Russian at the Joint Services School for Linguists during his national service before applying for a scholarship at Oxford University. He was accepted by Exeter College, Oxford, from which he graduated with a first-class degree in history. While at Oxford he performed comedy with a number of eventually successful actors in the Oxford Revue. He remained at the university for several years, where he served as a junior lecturer of Medieval History at Magdalen College, [3] before deciding, in 1960, that he was not suited to being an academic. Once the play had opened and transferred to the West End, we were gratifyingly successful, celebrities beating a nightly path to the stage door, but Alan couldn't bear any of it, and would escape, unnoticed, to his bike and home to supper by the television. He hated the socialising, which is not unknown in the acting profession, but he didn't much care for the acting either, which is rather less common. He would sit in the dressing-room encircled with gloom. And yet as Blunt he was quite brilliant, and astonishingly consistent, provoking the same roars of laughter night after night. Sharing a stage with him was like sharing a stage with Paul Scofield: one feels a bit of a gooseberry. The public's lust for him knows no bounds. Perhaps that is what persuades him to appear so frequently before them, in one guise or another; he writes of himself as "someone who has had to stand on stage [and read Larkin]"; had to, Alan? The ageless physiognomy is endlessly photographed, the subject the unwilling but stoical victim. Sometime in the course of this terrible hour a neat middle-aged woman stopped at the foot of Mam’s bed.

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