Loitering in Blue Remembered Hills

by Emily Hardy

Blue Remembered Hills, New Diorama Theatre

Set in 1943, Blue Remembered Hills observes seven children playing in the Forest of Dean during the height of the Second World War. Playing turns to fighting as the imaginary world the children create becomes a horrific microcosm of wider events.

Just occasionally, for reasons indeterminable, a play or theatrical event takes a hold of you. This week, it was my turn. Perhaps it's something you recognise in a particular performance, a subtle note of direction or a single line of dialogue that does it? Or maybe we carry our own baggage into the auditorium with us? Maybe it's all just part of the intangible, undiagnosable magic of theatre, but whatever it is has had me locked in deliberation since leaving the venue. Dominating every inch of mind-space with an agonising persistence, these thoughts have ricocheted noisily between the walls of my skull late into each night, like moths in a jam jar. And it wasn't an expressly remarkable production or anything like that. I rarely laughed. I didn't cry or gasp, but in the deep reflection that followed, I found myself remembering things, finding pieces of the faded and dog-eared jigsaw puzzle of my childhood, as well as turning my mind, more broadly, to society and progression - or its distinct lack thereof.

What struck me first was, not the overt sadness of the play's Second World War context, but the transcending connection between children then, growing up away from their families and missing their fathers, and children now, also crying at night for absent parents. 21st Century children are exposed to just as much violence too, in their own homes behind closed doors, on the streets or via the internet. We can hardly be surprised when their default coping mechanism is to exert force, lashing out in order to attain some level of control, for they are only following the example set for them by adults. Additionally, I still regularly hear boys being told to 'be brave' or 'man-up' and girls being quietened for committing 'unladylike' behaviour. Dennis Potter's play, with its indiscernible magic, forced me to question how much, if anything, has changed since it was written; could it just be that we've just gone full cycle?

Dennis Potter's play, with its indiscernible magic, forced me to question how much, if anything, has changed since it was written; could it just be that we've just gone full cycle?

Blue Remembered Hills is about that singular moment during childhood when we discover that life is more than just a game; the world, more than just a playground to explore and swing from. The play's seven children are played by seven young talented adults, the effect of which is to narrow the differentiation between childhood and adulthood and to demonstrate how, even as adults, we can be so shamefully childish. Exposed prematurely to the world's crippling realities (and World War II wasn't the start of it), the children become the cruel adults they emulate.

The play, for its themes, inevitably still captures the imagination of each new generation of theatre-makers. The majority of us can relate to or identify a moment when childhood was irreversibly altered for us, but this production does not open itself up to the play's contemporary relevance. It was probably not director Graham Hubbard's intention to do so. Hubbard, for New Rep Theatre (a company created in 2010 by Mari Cameron and Cecilia Colby), has crafted a beautifully detailed telling of the story, setting the piece quite definitely within its original context. The blurred oil painting backdrop, the wooden climbing frame, the half-eaten apple, could be images from a million childhoods, but the unmissable accents and costumes are time and place specific, perhaps reducing the universality of the interpretation and, consequently, its pertinence.

The cast are unquestionably committed (they have evidently absorbed themselves in research and preparation), but they are occasionally enthusiastic to a fault. The high octane, energetic performances - faithful to the sort of explosive exuberance only children are consistently capable of - become abrasive to the ear, uncomfortable to process. Despite the fastidiously accurate characterisation, I longed for the odd moment of silence or calm, the occasional breath of comic relief, in order to reap more impact at the story's horrific climax.

Analysis aside, this play did something to me. Blue Remembered Hills accessed not only half forgotten memories from my own perfectly normal entirely dysfunctional childhood, but also the stories told to me over a decade ago by my Grandmother

Analysis aside, this play did something to me. Blue Remembered Hills accessed not only half forgotten memories from my own perfectly normal entirely dysfunctional childhood, but also the stories told to me over a decade ago by my Grandmother, who was not evacuated but instead remained in London for the duration of World War Two, responsible for taking care of her older brothers. For Nan aged seven, air raids were as common place as sandwiches. A dud Doodlebug landed on the patio whilst she hid under the kitchen table - a makeshift shelter. Having developed a unique resilience, she remains the bravest person I know. But, where was her childhood?

And children don't get a second shot at it. Once that precious age of innocence is gone, it's gone. When was yours? Where are your Blue Remembered Hills? Seeing this beautiful, resonant play allowed me to identify the precise point at which I made the transition, and despite my own fairly tepid, fortunate childhood, I've been lost in sad contemplation about it since. So much for doctor theatre.

Blue Remembered Hills plays at the New Diorama Theatre until 15th March 2014. Click here to book tickets

Emily Hardy @Emily_L_Hardy

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