The day I became a writer, maybe

My A-level English teacher died recently.

We weren’t close. I don’t think I’d spoken to him once since leaving school 25 years ago, but he was one of those teachers who I can say had a definite and direct impact on the course of my life. So when I heard that he’d gone, I felt strangely bereft. Bereft of the opportunity to say thank you I suppose.

As well as teaching me how to appreciate Shakespeare’s metaphors and Andrew Marvell’s metaphysics, he also gave me confidence in my ability to write. It was Mr B who awarded me the Lower Sixth English prize for a ‘Pinteresque play script’ I wrote. Which was probably the moment I believed I might have a bit of talent in that department.

So the other day I dug out the script. Luckily it was printed in the school magazine that year, otherwise it would have disappeared along with my dad’s old IBM word processor, the vessel for all my ‘early works’. I suspect the literary world didn’t lose much the day that machine died.

Now don’t laugh, but I cried when I read my script. Was that down to the quality of the writing? Or just me feeling the emotion of spending time with my younger self?

It brought back memories of how I had struggled with that piece of homework, not knowing what on earth to write about. But then I had experienced a proper bolt-of-lightning moment of inspiration – the first time that had ever happened to me.

One evening my big sister and I had been having a conversation at our bedroom windows, while the rain was coming down in that kind of hard, determined way that it does at the end of summer. I don’t recall what we were talking about (neither of us was praying or grieving at the death of a child) but later that night I woke up knowing what I wanted to say, and how I was going to set it. So I got up there and then, sneaked into dad’s study and let the whole thing pour out. I remember knowing that the words felt good; they felt right.

The words aren’t all good of course, and it’s been hard resisting the urge to nip and tuck as I typed them up. But resist I did, so here they are, unabridged and punctuated exactly as the 16-year-old me wrote them.

As the late, great Mr B would say as he sent us off with our set texts at the end of every English lesson: enjoy!


One Act

Two bedroom windows looking out over a garden and a park.  The rooms are on an angle so that a conversation can be held between two people – one at each window. It is late evening and it is raining softly.

Enter Jane at left window. She throws up the sash, puts her head out and takes in a deep breath. She looks around her and stretches out her hands to catch the rain. Looking up to the sky, she tentatively clasps her hands.


A light is turned on in the room on the right.

Jane      (Whispering) Anna!
She clicks her fingers and almost immediately the sash in the other room is thrown up and Anna leans out.

Jane       Isn’t it a beautiful night?
Anna     It’s wet and freezing.
Jane       It isn’t.
Anna     Yes it is.
Jane       Well it may be wet, but it isn’t freezing.
Jane       It smells lovely – all damp and refreshing.
Anna     It does smell nice, I’ll give you that.
Jane       Why is the sky orange?
Anna     Street lamps.
Jane       What?
Anna     From the town.
Jane       But it isn’t usually orange. Mostly it’s blue.
Anna     Well the clouds are low and the light’s shining on them isn’t it?
Jane       Oh – of course. Did you work that out for yourself?
Anna     Yes.
Jane       I’d never have worked that out.

Jane       I love the rain, don’t you? It smells so nice.
Anna     Yes, so you said.
Jane       It helps me to think.
Anna     About what?
Jane       This and that.
Anna     Like what?
Jane       Anything. Whatever comes into my head.
Anna     What were you thinking about when you called me then?
Jane       I can’t tell you.
Anna     Why not?
Jane       You wouldn’t understand.
Anna     I would.
Jane       You wouldn’t.
Anna     Try me.

Jane       You’ll laugh.
Anna     I won’t.
Jane       You might.
Anna     Go on. Tell me.
Jane       No.

Jane       I was… it’s personal.
Anna     Forget it then. It doesn’t bother me.
Jane       I was saying a prayer, that’s all.
Anna     A prayer? Since when were you religious?
Jane       I’m not. I was trying it out.
Anna     What for?
Jane       I felt like it.
Anna     Did you get a reply?
Jane       No.
Anna     I knew you wouldn’t. It’s all a load of rubbish. You don’t want to waste time being religious do you?

Anna     Do you?
Jane       No.
Anna     What did you pray for then?
Jane       I didn’t. I was asking.
Anna     What for?
Jane       Not for anything.
Anna     Not for anything?
Jane       No. I was asking Him to do something.
Anna     And you thought He’d do it? That’s a laugh. As if he’s got time for you. Look out there. The whole world stretches out in front of you, full of people and animals and creatures, and up there is the whole massive universe with millions of stars, and then there’s you – tiny little Jane – kneeling at your bedroom window, and you reckon that God or whatever is going to hear you and do whatever you tell him to do?
Jane       I didn’t tell Him, I asked Him.
Anna     Same thing.
Jane       It isn’t the same thing.
Anna     What did you ask him to do then?
Jane       To look after Jessica.

Anna     Why are you crying?
Jane       I’m not crying.
Anna     You are. Why?
Jane       I’m tired.
Anna     Why? You hardly did anything today. And you slept most of the afternoon.
Jane       It was a tiring day.
Anna     You didn’t do much.
Jane       The funeral made me tired.
Anna     It wasn’t very long. You were back in a couple of hours.
Jane       I was tired.
Anna     That’s what you keep saying.
Jane       Well I was and I am now.
Anna     Go to bed then.
Jane       No.
Anna     Why not?
Jane       I’m not sleepy.
Anna     I don’t understand you.
Jane       Don’t bother trying. I’m too mixed up.
Anna     Are you alright?
Jane       Yes, I’m fine.

Anna     Did you enjoy the funeral?

Jane       Enjoy it? Of course I didn’t enjoy it. It was a funeral. And a girl’s funeral too, not some old person. She should have had a long life ahead of her. And that was the last time I’ll ever see her. And I couldn’t see her anyway because she was inside her coffin. And I watched them throw her in the ground where hopefully she’ll be forgotten about because she’s dead and she doesn’t matter any more. I can’t believe you asked that.

Anna     Sorry. You knew what I meant.
Jane       I didn’t know what you meant.
Anna     Sorry.
Jane       It’s alright.
Anna     Will you miss her?

Anna     Sorry.
Jane       Yes I will. Let me show you something.
Jane disappears into her room


She returns with a glass bowl

Jane       Jessica’s mum gave me this. I always loved it. She said she thought Jessica would have liked me to have it.
Anna     That’s nice. It’s a nice bowl.
Jane       It’s got flowers carved in the side and Jessica’s name engraved here.
Anna     That’ll be nice to remember her by.
Jane       (Softly) Yes.

Anna     Dad’s back tomorrow.
Jane       Yes.
Anna     I think mum’s looking forward to seeing him. It’s been a long time.
Jane       Yes.
Anna     He’ll have a tan.

Anna     He might bring us presents.
Jane       Perhaps.
Anna     It would be nice if he did. To show us he thought of us.
Jane       Yes.
Anna     Of course that’s not the most important thing. It’ll just be nice to see him again.
Jane       It’s been a long time.
Anna     Too long, mum says.
Jane       Yes.
Anna     It’ll be nice to see him again.

Anna     I missed him.
Anna     It’s getting late.
Jane       Yes, I’m going to bed.
As she stands she knocks her head on the window and drops the glass bowl. It smashes on the stone terrace below


Jane kneels down again, staring at the bowl. Anna looks at Jane and then the bowl, unsure of what to do

Jane       (Without moving) Goodnight.
Anna     Yes. See you tomorrow.
Anna closes her window and draws the curtains


The rain falls harder. Eventually Anna’s light goes out. Jane stretches out her hands again to collect the rain, then she washes her face with it. She remains where she is, but raises her head to look at the sky. She allows the rain to fall freely onto her face.


She ducks under her window and closes it. A few seconds later her light is turned off.

Olivia Jones (L6)

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