MISS PICKARD
Recently, I posted Memory Is on my blog.
This week, well, how is this for a memory?
Early days with Ann. We have one child, a boy.
We are expecting a second child. I decide
It is time to return to Journalism, my Dependable.
I send out applications. I get an offer. Sounds
Good. We move, to Worthing, West Sussex,
On the English Channel.
I get to report on City Council. I get to report
Court Proceedings; I get to do general reporting.
I get to stand in for the columnist while he
Is on holiday. And I get to do the Theatre beat.
I loved it all.
I cover the school of dance annual concert.
I write a review. I write a balanced review.
I praise what was good; I suggest this and
That about the no-nos, such as the kids
Peering out on the audience between the
Curtains, a practice so frowned upon in the
Theatre world. So amateur!
I can still see them. I still feel my disapproval.
That is to say, it is not professional; and if
You are not professional in your activities,
You are not doing it right. No matter your
Status or classification.
Well, the picture says it all. The school
Owner, coach, director, took issue with that.
Why, she even went to the lengths of
Writing to the editor about it. Then,
She came to the office to confront me.
Her defence was, “they’re just kids.”
Mine was: “Basic discipline.”
Okay, that was harsh. But, like the dance,
You have to start them young.
I, too, had had to learn not to peek
Through the curtains.
I was never chastised by the editors.
—H. W. Bryce.
See ya.
