The thirteen year old mind

I had intended – by this point – to be regaling the gentle reader with thoughtful discourse on the challenges of adapting the medieval lyrical epic to the somewhat prosaic environs of the late sixties school buildings in which we are – in the main – ensconced. I refer – of course – to my as yet embryonic production of Parzival – which is to be offered later this term as the School’s Junior Play.

Sadly the expected and eagerly anticipated directorial regimen of dramatic problem-solving is still not the main focus. I am rather yet beset by matters markedly more mundane – specifically those arising from the nature of the mind of the thirteen and fourteen year old boy, and in particular from their apparently antithetical ability to be simultaneously irritatingly clever and incomprehensibly incapable of the simplest feat of self-organisation.

There are twenty four boys in the cast. They play between them some forty named characters – in addition to the usual stage dressing of lunatics and spear-carriers. It is understood that – in the early stages of rehearsal – the boys will have many competing demands on their time, and great care was thus taken to canvas their availability before drawing up the first draft of the first call-sheet.

During the normal school week there are ten possible rehearsal slots – at lunchtime and after school each day. The average respondent seemed able to manage around six of those slots. The keenest – playing one of the smallest roles, naturally – was available for all ten, whereas the most reluctant could only offer three! One wondered quite why he had put himself forward for audition at all, given the clearly congested nature of his calendar.

Almost inevitably the task of matching the availability of any particular combination of boys to the groupings required by the script has proved to be a Herculean one. Each time a new call-sheet is required I must needs spend several hours surrounded by grids and charts attempting to unpick this particular Gordian knot. Inevitably also, no sooner have I posted the freshly-minted edition than some boy will appear at my door pleading special circumstances…

This is annoying!

It is not – however – the most annoying aspect of the process.

I have only slightly reluctantly taken on this massive organisational task and my feelings are – naturally – tempered by the fact that the previously enumerated complexities of my own script do not make life any easier. The boys – however – have only three immediate tasks:

• to know when and where they are required for rehearsal – and to be there on time
• to bring with them their script (let’s not even think about them actually learning it at this point!)
• to bring a pencil or other writing implement – to enable them to take notes

You would be astonished (or maybe you wouldn’t!) by just how much these simple tasks seem to be beyond some of the brightest boys in the country. Every time that one of them – and it is usually those playing the smaller roles – ‘forgets’ to attend rehearsal, the call-sheet must be amended afresh and further time carved out of an already stoppered schedule.

They are – of course – public school boys, and they will – therefore – naturally pull it all together at the last possible minute and triumph effortlessly yet again.

Thus was the empire forged…