Ages of man : IV

(attempt at a vivid description of a minor character who will appear in only one scene, vaguely in the manner of Dickens.)

After the previous night's exertions, Edward and George surfaced too late for breakfast at the hotel, and set forth in search of a greasy spoon cafe recommended to them by the ineffectual girl at reception. They eventually located it, through a process of elimination, by walking in the opposite direction to that in which she pointed them, and then finding it across the street from the petrol station to which it was allegedly next door.

Taking seats at the only vacant table, it was immediately apparent that this was a very popular establishment. Unending legions of worried-looking waiting staff charged about the place carrying vast platters of cholesterol. Each of them paused at their table just long enough to insist on taking an order for tea. Edward expected being given a cup of tea from each of half-a-dozen waitresses, which George rather liked the sound of. They found it difficult to maintain conversation over the most penetrative voice imaginable, which belonged to a small lady in an apron barking orders at the cholesterol legions; the Napoleon of grime. At once nasal and gravelly, with a distinct Irish burr, her voice was clearly audible from behind the kitchen door. Mrs O'Neill was unquestionably the proprietor of the cafe; any attempts to imagine her boss started and ended with Zeus, and even then there would be a power struggle. She was very short and slender, but her sheer presence would stop armies in their tracks; she would stride into a war-zone to tell them to keep the noise down. They would. She patrolled around the cafe, ensuring good order and making light chit-chat with her customers. At least, she believed it was light, and she was genuinely trying to be friendly, but a barked interrogation as to George's satisfaction with his breakfast elicited no more than a whimper. He would happily have rubbed his stomach and made yummy noises before a plate of fresh turd if Mrs O'Neill were watching; happily this was not the case, because the food was genuinely excellent. She clearly ran a very tight ship; customers were left in no doubt that they would get exactly what they wanted, generally before they ordered it, but this was not a place to linger, particularly if one wanted to keep one's hearing. Some eating establishments hire cocktail pianists to add quiet background music; Mrs O'Neill could hire a military marching band.

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.