Ages of Man : V

(attempt at sustained dialogue, and at creating impressions for the reader without explicitly stating them. Nothing startling, just some basic character exposition.)

It was some minutes after they had left the house before conversation started in earnest. Edward's 'driving head' appeared to require such concentration as rendered him incapable of speech, at least until they reached the motorway, where he steadfastly drove in the middle lane irrespective of his or anyone else's velocity.
"That's better. Always good to get out on the open road and stretch the old wheels!" said Edward in enthusiastic tones.
"Quite." said George, at once relieved to break the silence and shy of the impending conversation.
"Second lane to the right, and straight on 'til morning!"
"I hope it won't take that long."
"Won't be much more than an hour."
"That's not so bad."
"So, tell me. Glad to be rid of school?"
"It hasn't really sunk in yet that I've left for good. I'm well accustomed to moving between there and home, so it just feels like another summer holiday. Funny to think I won't be going back."
"Did you like it there?"
George paused. "Yes, I suppose I did. A lot of the other boys hated it and couldn't wait to leave, but I never felt like that."
"Home from home, eh?"
"Quite."
"I remember the day I left school. We bounced the headmaster's car between two trees so that he couldn't drive it home. Goodness knows how he got it out again."
"I never thought of you as a troublemaker."
"I didn't actually bounce the car myself, but I helped them by watching out for teachers. Not that they could have done anything to stop them."
"There was a big water-fight around the school grounds."
"Get very wet?"
"Not really, we went and played croquet instead."
"Croquet? How civilised! Does anybody still play that these days?"
"They certainly do. At least, we did. For all its apparent gentility, it is a vicious game, and excellent fun. There was a group of us played every Sunday. We thought we wouldn't get another chance to play at all, let alone with each other, so it seemed a good idea to get one last game in."
Edward considered this for a moment. "I bet you'll miss your friends."
"We'll keep in touch, by post, or possibly by electronic mail. We've already arranged to meet up again after the first university term."
"What are you going to study?"
"Aeronautical Engineering at Bristol."
"Oxbridge not appeal to you? I'd have thought the cloistered passageways were right up your alley!". Edward beamed, pleased with himself.
"Shall we say they appealed to me, but the feeling wasn't mutual. Still, Bristol is closer to home, and it has a very good reputation. Most of my friends are going to Cambridge, though."
"Must be a bit of a disappointment! All your friends off to Cambridge and you to Bristol, talk about kicking you when you're down."
"Hadn't thought about it that way, really." He hadn't, but he did now. Conversation halted while George gazed blankly out of the passenger window and realised that he was the only member of his beloved Croquet Club who wasn't going to Cambridge. He wasn't ambitious by nature, and felt no envy for his more successful friends, but instead he felt left out of all the fun. Being a Cambridge undergraduate fitted his self-image so perfectly that he couldn't imagine fitting in anywhere else. He didn't like where this new train of thought was going, having boarded it so suddenly thanks to his grandfather's tactless questioning, and after a while he restarted conversation purely to stop having to think about it.
"How is work going?"
"Still chuntering away, pretty quiet for me at the moment."
"Not much business these days?". George wondered if 'chuntering' was a real word.
"Hardly, we've the highest utilisation on record, we've a huge backlog of orders. I've been back at work nine months now, they gave me lots of compassionate leave after Marjorie passed on, were very good about it."
"It must be good to be working again."
"I've been with the company for a quarter of a century now. I've got the gold pen and everything. Nothing surprises me any more. No point getting another job at 63, not that I could, so I'll just hang in there for another couple of years and top up my pension fund. Still, keeps me out the house!"
"Remind me exactly what it is you do?"
"I'm a chemical engineer. I work down at the plant, making chemicals for industry. Compressed nitrogen and oxygen, mostly."
"Do you work a lot with the machinery?"
"All the time. Well, I spend more time in the office than the crawl-spaces these days, the younger lads do that.
George gazed again out of the passenger window, and spent the next half-an-hour in silence, watching cars under-taking them.

Ages of Man : III

(this is Edward & George's first scene together).

George was sitting by the window, waiting for the arrival of his grandfather. He wasn't expecting him for another quarter of an hour, but George had nevertheless been staring out of the window for twenty minutes already. His parents were the proud owners of a perfectly functioning doorbell, and he had no reason to believe that his grandfather had any serious lack of skill in its operation, but he still felt the urgent desire to watch his ancestor inaccurately park his estate car and, it was hoped, walk up the garden path to seek admission. He didn't know why he felt such urges, but his mother always kept vigil for at least an hour in advance of any ETA, and it wouldn't do to insult the family solidarity.

Having successfully deposited his enormous car, Edward was beginning to contemplate the tricky doorbell conundrum when the door opened of its own accord, revealing behind it a pasty teenage boy with a runaway fringe who was vainly, and indeed vainly, trying to disguise his obvious nervousness.

"Hello, Grandpa" said he, proffering a hand.

"Hello there, lad!" said Edward, taking it. "You're looking ever so much taller than when I last saw you".

"You're looking ever so much shorter since I last saw you!" replied George, with just enough edge in his voice to discourage any further discussion of the subject; in his experience no-one over the age of twenty had the faintest recollection of the hideous embarrassment inherent in being the object of such a conversation, and he went out of his way to remind them as politely as he could manage. He also didn't like to point out that they'd seen each other some nine months previously at his grandmother's funeral, and any subsequent increase in height was attributable exclusively to the growth of his hair. "Do come in. Good journey over?"

"Bit of traffic on the ring-road, but I'd expected it and left in good time."

"Can I offer you a drink? I have some tea in the pot." George was an excellent host, but very seldom had anyone to practise on.

"No thanks, I'd like to get straight on, got my driving head on now!"

George gave the mildly sycophantic guffaw he had been taught to use in such situations. "Right well I'd better tidy up the kitchen before I leave." It was spotless apart from a steaming teapot, two matching mugs and a plate of biscuits in protractor-perfect formation.

"Your parents about?"

"They're at Pilates."

"Oh well, I'll see them next week I suppose. Is this your luggage?" exclaimed Edward, gesturing at three old-fashioned leather suitcases in the hallway. "Are these your father's tatty old cases? Yes, they have his initials. I thought these got thrown out years ago. No matter, I'll pop them in the car. Are you quite sure you need to take this much stuff?"

George was proud of his ancient family luggage, and had expected his grandfather to be rather more pleased to see it. Having tidied the kitchen, he picked up his viola case, locked the front door behind him, and went out to the car. He then pretended to have forgotten something, and went back into the house to check that he hadn't left the gas on, even though he hadn't used it all morning. Thus satisfied, he locked the front door again and took his seat in the car, worrying that he hadn't locked the front door but being too proud to turn back a second time. He wondered for a moment why he'd agreed to come on the trip - he wasn't used to being with groups of people he didn't know, and he certainly wasn't used to being with his grandfather without his parents being there.

Ah well, he thought, it will be an adventure.

Ages of Man: II

Dear Grandfather,

Thank-you very much again for your kind invitation to join your orchestra for the coming tour. As I said on the telephone, it is very gracious of you and the orchestra to consent to have me play with you. It will be very educational playing with so many experienced players, and I hope to learn a lot by it. It will be jolly nice to spend some time with you as it's been a few years now since the days when you taught me to skim stones on the beach! Perhaps we could find a nice shingly beach somewhere and try again?
Time at school is passing swiftly, though I'm looking forward to coming home for the summer. I was in a play last week; we did A Midsummer Night's Dream along with the local girls' school. I was only one of the Rude Mechanicals, but I got cheers when I tripped up Bottom and hit him over the head with my shovel. He thinks it was all an accident, but I had such a small part that I thought I ought to do something interesting. Daniel Chorley-Phillips told me it was the only funny thing he'd ever seen me do, and he's never nice to anybody. I rather think I have acquired a Reputation. I even got double-helpings of custard all week!
I hope you have heard from Father; he was meant to come to see the play, but he had to cancel. I don't think he's coping very well with all that has happened; he's a tough fellow and I'm sure he'll be alright, but I'm a little worried about him. He seems a little distant on the telephone, which isn't like him.
Anyway, I must sign off, I've got plenty to do this evening.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

George.

Ages of Man : Background

Of the ideas I'm currently toying with, one of the more promising is a story (I think a novel rather than a stage performance of some kind) about a middle-aged man nearing retirement - Edward - and his teenaged grandson - George. Edward is a fairly recent widower after forty years of marriage to his first sweetheart, and both he and his grandson are stumbling for the first time into the arena of romance, and form an unexpected bond through their shared experiences. The setting for the action is the tour of an amateur orchestra of which they are both members, which affords ample opportunity to poke gentle observational fun at the English middle class, and at amateur musicians. The working title derives from a Titian painting Three Ages of Man, which depicts the same person as a baby, a man in his prime, and an old man contemplating death (link). In this instance, it is not the same person, but three (the father playing a supporting role) who share a strong family resemblance but have their own distinct characteristics. (Anyone who has met the men in my paternal family will not doubt where I draw this from...)

Edward is sixty-four, and is approaching retirement from a moderately successful career as a civil engineer. He believes himself to be smartly dressed at all times, but his clothes are too threadbare these days for this to be true. His wife died a year ago, and he now feels ready to find someone else; he wants someone bright and energetic, in contrast to his brooding wife. He is terrified of dying alone. He is generally cheerful and friendly, and superficially well-liked, but people tend not to want to get to know him well. He bumbles. He plays bassoon, and has been an enthusiastic member of the orchestra since its foundation in 1980; he is no better a player now than then. He makes jokes about the committee being boring and pointless, but is its keenest and most diligent member.

George is seventeen, and in his final year at an all-boys school and looking forward to university. He is a little awkward and inexperienced socially, but is surprisingly perceptive, and in many ways sees the world far more clearly than does his grandfather. He has a tendency towards cynicism, and is considered by his peers to be an "old man" already. He has few friends, but those he has he adores and shares everything with. Most of his clothes were bought by his mother, who keeps him firmly under her wing. He was brought into the orchestra to make up the numbers for the tour, and plays viola rather better than he lets himself believe.

I find the possibilities afforded by letting these two loose on womankind to be fascinating, and I think they will give plenty of opportunity both for comedy and poignancy. I love looking at situations from people's different points of view, and I think these two will give plenty of scope for that. Dickens was a master at painting vivid portraits of ordinary people, invariably reminding the reader of someone they had met themselves; I admire this greatly and try hard for all my characters (and there is opportunity for them to meet plenty of minor characters) to be "real" in this way. Terry Pratchett, when asked if there are any real people in his books, responds "I hope so", which for me sums this up wonderfully.

I hope to make a first attempt at a scene from this in the near future.