What John Said: The Other Side of the Desk

I’m certain that of the many Yew Tree histories submitted as part of these anniversary celebrations, mine is a little unusual. I didn’t start young, nor am I from an especially theatrical background (I am, somehow, my own fault), nor did I feel particularly called to the stage. Rather, I was 17 and in need of something constructive to do. Turned out to be quite good fun, so I stuck around for a good 18 months before swanning off to uni. Yet probably the distinguishing feature of my Yew Tree experience is that a few years and one global pandemic later, being at a similarly loose end, I popped back in.

I’ve been volunteering with Sarah and the youth theatre now for about twice as long as I ever attended in the first place. This has been in any number of capacities: running warm-up games, assistant directing, occasionally fetching coffee, now by contributing to this zine. And it makes sense to me to predicate my contribution on the unusual perspective I might have, having been on both sides of the desk. So a few headlines: drama games are significantly harder to run than they may first appear; the harder a teenager tries to be cool, the less cool they appear to be; the casual disregard for authority I had at 17 may not have been as charming as I believed it to be at the time. These are worthwhile observations, and reflective of my perspective. But, there’s a way of putting the fact that I came back in different terms. You can instead say I was twice at a loose end and twice found some degree of resolution in YTYT despite participating in two very different modes. That feels worth examining.

The first-time round is, I think, trivial to understand. Theatre is fun; making art of any type or quality is rewarding; meeting new people and making new friends is capital-G Good. I suspect that you, do not need me to tell you that. You will have your own memories of miracle catches in That’s Out, of your (or a loved one’s) own personal star turn in Christmas shows, of friends you made and still have. I know I do. I also know that I acquired a life-long passion for theatre, and an understanding of how to direct my energies into something constructive. The particular shenanigans which take place in a YTYT rehearsal room have been instructive to the person I have gone on to become. And even yet, having observed much of it of late, it seems to be enjoying a renewed significance.

I did not have a smartphone until the age of 14, a fact which in terms of dodging bullets (and aging me) feels like being on the last chopper out of Saigon. The rehearsal room which was for me and for many a place to express yourself and enjoy the process now has a distinct cast of sanctuary. It’s possible that current attendees don’t recognise that fact. In many ways, what has been done to them has an air of the boiled frog. Let me say that it was not always the case that you were perpetually on display, and always reachable. It was once possible to disappear from the world without being forcibly severed by the threat of phones being put in puddles. I am certain that if you were being recorded, your contributions in games of Park Bench would be more self-censored, less free, less silly. It was once possible to be that free all the time - to be, as a kid, an idiot, without the fear of documentary proof of said idiocy surfacing in the future. For perennial idiots like myself, this has been a godsend, and to help facilitate escape from the Instagram panopticon is enormously fulfilling.

The Yew Tree attendees I get to work with are a special group of young people. They are habitually kind and polite, and when they are not they are perhaps funnier than they realise. They are talented, and it is a particular honour to be present as they discover and nurture that. As all outside bodies end up remarking, they are unusually disciplined and respectful. This last point in particular redounds enormously to Sarah’s credit as well as theirs, and I hope the various companies are aware and grateful of how difficult it is to achieve. It means a lot to me to be able to be there and play some small part in achieving all of that. These groups make real achievements in the face of the world being perhaps more unkind to youth than it has ever been. This feels like boots-on-the-groundwork against the dull, grey forces which impinge on youth, encroach on the freedom we ought all to enjoy, and frustrate the development of passion and talent. Needless to say, I have little trouble understanding why teachers and youth workers endure the privations they do.

To arrive at some conclusion, it seems that the value of something like YTYT to me has been the opportunity to routinely make a positive contribution. Whether as a young person or a considerably less young person, the world we inhabit doesn’t often furnish us with opportunities to do so; it is much more likely to make us believe that we can’t. Being able to come together with like-minded people and make art (or help in the making of) has, to me, been a rare if consistent refutation of that feeling. A way to rebel. Attending when I was younger, I felt lucky that there were communities and opportunities which would help people like me on our way to different things. On the other side of the desk, I feel much luckier to have come to appreciate it as an end in and of itself. So I wish YTYT a happy 30th birthday - and without imperilling Sarah’s eventual retirement - many happy years to come.