Sancho

An Act of Remembrance

Paterson Joseph

• Editore: Oberon Books
• Anno: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781849436625
• Edizione: 1
• Argomento: Media & Performing Arts
• Categoria: Performing Arts

Born on a slave ship in 1729, later becoming the fellow actor and friend of David Garrick and the first black person of African origin to vote in Britain, the life of Charles Ignatius Sancho was full of surprising, moving and funny twists.As Thomas Gainsborough paints his famous portrait, we are given an insight into the forgotten but true story of an African man who dared to act, write, sing, dance and voice his political opinion with wit and charm. One of the UK's finest actors, Paterson Joseph (Peep Show, Emperor Jones, Survivors) brings Sancho to life in this world premiere at the Burton Taylor Studio.

As far as seating goes, the production needs there to be at least one front row of audience members either on stage or easily accessible to the actor. In cases where the performer is not the author the text may be modified at the actor’s discretion. The set is the bare minimum required to set each location. The actor will use whatever props are to hand; using the crates for chairs, tables, etc. Sails and cloths will double as sheets, cloaks, theatre curtains, etc.

Prologue

Music: …

The stage is dimly lit when the audience enter. Upstage left is a wooden structure; slats that rise from a platform into a wall with a slightly curved bottom, resembling a ship’s hull. The wooden structure sits on a lush carpet that takes up most of the downstage right and central areas. Directly in front of the wooden structure, centre stage, is an upended crate. On the crate a tiny crystal glass, filled with port. Three other crates are positioned down and upstage right. The two downstage configured as a makeshift easel, eventually. A painting is leaning against the upstage right crate, its back to us.

On to our set, from the auditorium, stage left, comes our AUTHOR, plainly dressed. He approaches the audience who have just settled down. The house lights are still halfway up.

Music fades.

AUTHOR: (The tone is playful, light and keen. Never ponderous.)
Hello, everybody. My name is Paterson. The Author … and actor. (Beat.) So, everything you see and hear tonight is my fault … As you can probably tell, I’m not a (name of town/city) – I’m a Londoner, and like the Londoner you’re going to meet shortly, my ancestors came from somewhere else. In my case Saint Lucia in the Caribbean. And like my hero, I struggle against who people think I am when they see the colour of my skin, and who I really am.
But politics wasn’t the reason I first wrote this play. You can relax … It was vanity. And frustration. (Confessional.) I wrote this play … because I wanted to be in a costume drama.

He begins to pull up his trousers to reveal long socks. Now he looks like he’s wearing breeches and stockings.

Well, loads of my contemporaries were in them. The white contemporaries that I trained with, and did my first jobs with. They got to act in costume dramas all the time.

(Sir Peter from The School for Scandal:) ‘When an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? ’Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men – and I have been the most miserable dog ever since!’ See, I would have been alright at that. Artistically. But physically – I was cut out of the picture … literally. ‘But darling, Paterson, in England before the twentieth century there weren’t any black people.’ Or so the story goes …

Pause. Backs off slowly during the following until he is standing on the wooden platform.

But what about the black soldier on top of Hadrian’s Wall, back in Roman Britain days? One of 40,000 troops stationed there. Their Roman Governor, Septimius Severus – from Libya – an African man, who kept his African accent to the end. (The AUTHOR moves to sit on the crate downstage right.) And the complaint of Elizabeth the First, Shakespeare’s Queen, ‘Her Majesty, understanding that there are of late divers Blackmoores brought into the Realm, of which kind of people there are all ready here too many. Her Majesty’s pleasure therefore is, that those kind of people should be sent forth of the land, and Transported out of the Realm.’
So, she chartered a boat to take them all to sunny Spain – intending to have them sold as slaves … but not one Black turned up. A wonderful example of African time turned weapon of self-defence … And a whole host of other tales that made me realise I don’t know as much about Black British History – no, British History, as I thought I did …

During the following the AUTHOR creates an easel out of the two boxes downstage right. Then goes to the crate upstage right and picks up The Portrait – the image facing him.

… And then, there was this dazzling portrait. A portrait whose subject was so self-aware; so self-possessed; so dignified. A subject painted by Thomas Gainsborough, one of the greatest portraitists England had ever known, and this in the eighteenth century.

He carries the painting downstage to rest on the makeshift easel during the following. Once he’s placed it on its ‘easel’, he casually stands in front of The Portrait obscuring it from view.

And there was something about this subject; something about his ordinary, domestic life; his daily struggles; something, too, about his engagement with – and challenge to – the world he found himself in that I was drawn towards. An Exception. An Exception who might encourage all who, by birth, struggle with their circumstances. A forerunner, perhaps, of all Strugglers …

Now music, SANCHO’s music, begins to play softly.

Oh, by the way, he was meant to have had some sort of speech impediment. Yea, I know … I spent a while trying to figure out what that could be, something that wouldn’t get too much in the way. So, I chose to make his speech impediment mild – a little lisp – (With a smile.) I’m not doing it yet, by the way, this is me speaking amazingly correctly … Oh, his name? I’ll let him tell you that?

The AUTHOR goes to sit on the crate, centre, revealing:

THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH’S PORTRAIT OF CHARLES IGNATIUS SANCHO. BATH, 1768.

… and our play begins …

House lights down.

Act One

THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH’S STUDIO.
SPRING, 1768.

The actor sits, a touch formally, but relaxed nevertheless. SANCHO, for that is who we are with now, settles. A sense of weight gradually comes over him; a portly bulk around his middle. A stiffness, too, in his limbs, the first inklings of the debilitating gout that will take over his final days … His look is pleasant, affable, charming and light. He’s not shy, but this is no preening peacock. He seems to have an air of delicate, respectful self-mockery. Where indicated, he will – occasionally – reach for the tiny, crystal glass and sip – No wonder he has that angelic, contented smile on his face and those slightly liquid, shining eyes!

Once the lights are fully down in the auditorium, they rise warmly on SANCHO.

SANCHO seems to sense this and … preens, but only ever-so-slightly, you understand? Nothing tastelessly egotistical; just a little offering of who he is: generous and warm and aware of his particular effect on the audience.

SANCHO: (A slight lisp.) Rather a curious arrangement this – watching a masterpiece in progress; both for sitter and observer. One is gradually, but forcibly, struck by the notion – astonishing though it is – that one is quite literally … watching paint dry.

Smiles. For Gainsborough’s benefit.

Of course, one is easily carried beyond the mundanity of that description when the painter in question is that prolific, brilliant, and rightly celebrated genius of the horse-hair rapier, Mr Thomas Gainsborough Esquire.

He raises his glass in a silent, heartfelt toast to the unseen painter. Sips. Cheeky look to us, ‘Got away with that!’ Replaces glass. Repositions himself.

And one is yet further removed from any sense of tedious ennui, when one learns that the sitter is an African, Gentleman of Letters, musician, composer, author … Methodist … and thrice-blessed (French) Valet to the gentle, George, 1^st Duke of Montagu of the 2^nd Creation, and 4^th Earl of Cardigan, yes – that coal-black, jolly African, Charles. Ignatius. Sancho.

He bows his head, subtly, in a gesture of acceptance of polite applause, perhaps?

I should, of course, have liked to add, ‘and Actor!’ – but modesty – and dammit, honesty – forbids this otherwise flattering accolade … (To the spectators.) Still, we are all actors, we sitters, are we not? For this is no more my true self than our gracious sovereign, King George, is that icon draped in gold and rubies, with a diamond-encrusted crown atop his noble pate – For consider, how uncomfortable would be the nightly repose of his dearest Queen Charlotte, were that his permanent (French) habit – jewelled crowns would make the least supple of bedfellows …

A challenge now. Watching us, assessing us. Imitating audience members talking behind their hands.

‘But who is this,’ you wonder? ‘Who speaks so boldly to us? Who holds the name of England’s sovereign in his mouth as of a right? Who is this … this … Negro … this … black? Is this a joke?’ Ah … Now, perhaps some among you have not had the privilege in your lives to consort with educated Negroes. It goes hard, but thereby we are enlightened, ladies and gentlemen. A taste of something … other? For this, you must enter into another world … a world of hardship and joy, of terror and pleasure; in short, the world of … Sancho. And when we are done, who between you and I will have learnt the most? Qui sait, sauf Dieu?

Beat.

Dear people – have you ever seen a jelly run …? Neither had the city of Bath till just now! A good half mile I waddled from the coach house to the studio; you...