I was at Dartington c1965/6. I was 17. I didn't know what to do with my life, except that it would probably be creative. My folks knew a wonderful lady called Winsome Bartlett who was based at D'ton, and they thought it might be the right place for me to decide what I wanted to do. Trouble was ... which art form? I had studied theatre design at A level so I applied for a place in the drama dept. Having been told by Peter Cox (the then principal) that he was sure they would accommodate me, I was then sent details of the audition process - I had never set foot on a stage to perform! Having mangled the first few lines of my audition speech, it was gently suggested that I should go and talk to Ivor Weeks about joining the art dept,and I found my self there at Dartington the following Sept. For the most seminal year of my life. It was a time of slow change. I was there as a foundation student and therefore my folks had to pay, which was a big sacrifice for them as we were not especially well off. It was either the first or second year of admitting grant-aided students on government approved courses, usually in partnership with Exeter or Bristol Unis, but many of the students were still fee-payers, from very wealthy families. Several had come to Dartington because their folks had no idea of its free-thinking reputation and thought it would be a nice 'safe' environment not far removed from the boarding schools from which their darlings had come. It was wonderful and mad and I loved it.
Sitting by Big Bertha at dawn
Chatting with Leonard in the garden
Seeing him and Dorothy walking by the tilt yard with Yahoudi Menhuin or Stravinsky
Using the rare books in their library
Going up in the attic to find the Javanese shadow puppets that Leonard was convinced were there somewhere. They had been collected by someone in the 1930s whose trip to Indonesia he had subsidised. We found them.
The jazz festival - Joe Harriott wandering up the drive playing his sax
Singing in the choir conducted by John Wellingham in the Great Hall
The concert conducted by Imogen Holst. I was asked by a tall man where should he stand. I asked what voice he was and he politely said he was a tenor - it turned out to be soloist Peter Pears!
Standing with my arms up to the pits in Indigo dye with Sue Boscence down at Shinners Bridge and having to rub lemon into my skin to take away the blue.
Life drawing in the Shippon studio.
Chatting to Marianne de Trey in her workshop whilst she worked
Taking part in the impro workshops run by the Royal Court actors who were there on a kind of working holiday. Being seduced by Roddy Maud-Roxby.
The kids from Foxholes who were wild and unkempt and crazy, but fab - we had some great parties!
Singing plainsong in Ashburton Church where there were more of us in the choir than the congregation
Buying half a pint of scrumpy at the Cott Inn and making it last all evening.
The booze and the weed and the laughter.
Enough, enough - I could go on and on! Many of the names mentioned will mean little to those there now. Suffice it to say that I still remember my year there with huge affection and love. It breaks my heart to think it is coming to an end, because the spirit of the place is rooted in the land and the buildings and the people who found themselves there, and I don't suppose Falmouth (brilliant though it is) will ever have the same effect.
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