Our Country’s Good
In memory of John Price
Preface
In the summer of 1988, I went to HMP Wormwood Scrubs with the actors of Our Country’s Good, the director Max Stafford-Clark and Philip Howard, the assistant director. We went to see a performance of Howard Barker’s The Love of a Good Man, performed by long-term prisoners, that is, prisoners convicted of the most serious crimes. It was an unforgettable evening. We huddled in the forecourt as the prison gates closed behind us, and then were led through the courtyard – high walls, barbed wire – upstairs to the barking of guard dogs and finally into a small room. But, once the play began, we were at the theatre: the intensity of the performances, the extremely good acting of some of the prisoners, the understanding they seemed to have of this complex play, made it a riveting evening. Afterwards, they were as happy and eager for praise as any actors after a good performance, but we only had five minutes before we watched them being led back to their cells.
That night was pivotal for the acting and writing of Our Country’s Good: it confirmed all our feelings about the power and the value of theatre.
Some months later I received the first letter from Joe White. Other letters followed, from other prisoners. (I have printed these in full, unedited.) Joe White then asked me if he could put on Our Country’s Good at Blundeston Prison, Lowestoft, where he had been transferred. Philip Howard and I went to see it. It seemed to me the play had come full circle, performed in that prison room with an intensity and accuracy playwrights dream of, and I remember relishing the wit with which the prisoners portrayed the officers of the play.
As I write this, many Education Departments of prisons are being cut (theatre comes under the Education Department), and the idea of tough punishment as justice seems to be gaining ground in our increasingly harsh society. I hope these letters speak for themselves and, indeed, for our world.
Timberlake Wertenbaker, London, June 1991
Letters from Joe White
N55463 J. White
D Wing
H.M.P. Blundeston
Lowestoft
Suffolk NR32 5BG
April 1989
Dear Timberlake,
It seems an age since the production of ‘The Love Of A Good Man’ at the ‘Scrubs’. Within a couple of months the ‘inside’ cast was split up and moved to various far flung parts of the country.
Firstly a belated congratulations on your award for ‘Our Country’s Good’. I did manage to have a read of the script, Eve White – one of the actresses – brought a copy in for us to read. Of course I’d much rather have been able to see a performance, but, there you go. Reading through the play, there were moments of ghostly familiarity, uncanny likenesses.
Secondly, the compliments you gave to our play in the various reviews of ‘Our Country’s Good’, did not pass unnoticed. Not to mention the ‘plug’ you gave us all on actually receiving your award. It is difficult for me to explain the sense of achievement and feelings of pride it gave not only myself and the rest of the cast, but also to our families and friends. It spoke volumes. Thank you.
Mac, who played the Prince of Wales in ‘The Love Of. . .’ was moved to a prison on the Isle of Shepey, where he is making moves to start a drama group. Here at Blundeston, I was lucky enough to meet up with a fellow ‘lifer’ that I’d previously acted with in another Scrubs production, Steven Berkoffs ‘East’. Lee subsequently wrote a play ‘Timecycles’ about prison life, based around some of Steve’s material. We set to work getting it put on here. I had a bash at directing, and I’m happy to say the first (of many hopefully) Blundeston plays was performed last month to the rest of the guys in here.
It was quite an experience for all concerned. You wouldn’t believe the amount of energy and patience needed to get it all together. Maybe you would – a universal aspect of the theatre?
Basically the spirit lives on. Prison is about failure normally, and how we are reminded of it each day of every year. Drama, and self-expression in general, is a refuge and one of the only real weapons against the hopelessness of these places. I be...