Quick Trip to France

It all happened very quickly. At 5 pm, I signed up for the expedition. By 7 pm, I was waiting with a crowd (enough, but not too many - we happy few!) eager to get a glimpse of the young king, an avowed francophile who loves France so well that he will not part with a village of it.

Soon after, I boarded a boat for France. Didn't bring my passport, but then again, invading armies don't need passports. In any event it turned out OK - no border control to speak of.

Our journey was somewhat abridged (just 2.5 hours), and not everyone could make an appearance. Lord Scroop, for instance, never even showed up. That may have been for the best, all things considered. I think Harry was on to him anyway.

We new conscripts marched with our fellow soldiers, a little back from the front lines since we were not, to be perfectly honest, heavily armed. Alas, I seem to have no visible scars resulting from the conflict, giving the lie to Harry's promise that we'd be showing our scars to our grandchildren. Not that I have any grandchildren at the moment either - and now I'm confused. Did he promise us grandchildren? Oh well.

But all in all, we won the battle of Agincourt with remarkably few losses.

It was a lovely evening. From the field of battle, we could see birds swarming and crying over the nearby coast. After our victory, I noticed fireflies.

And then it was time to head home; we had just enough time back in England at the end to see Harry happily affianced.

Harry + Kate = 4evah!

Production Notes: In this production, the role of France was played by Governors Island. The role of the English Channel was played by the Upper New York Bay and/or the Buttermilk Channel (I think we came around and docked at Pier 101 on the Brooklyn side). No Frenchmen were harmed in the course of the performance.

Justin Blanchard, the actor playing Henry V, reminded me of Elijah Wood.

As always, I was racing against children for the front row. The children had an advantage this time, however, since I was wearing dress shoes. One young boy (maybe 10 years old) kept trying to get the director to remember him, or at least admit to having seen him before, from prior New York Classical Theatre performances. I felt bad for both of them. The director was clearly unable to remember one child out of 20,000+ audience members in recent history, and was equally uncomfortable varnishing the truth with a gentle lie to please the kid. And the kid so clearly wanted to be recognized, to be singled out as memorable, and so desperately wanted to be acknowledged for his appreciation of NYCT's work! The boy boasted that he knew the story and had memorized the St. Crispin's Day speech, and the director told him that he would "hear most of it" tonight. Flash forward a number of scenes later, the kid and I were next to each other (and near the director) on the front lines during The Speech. The kid was audibly reciting the speech along with Henry. It was charming and annoying at the same time -- so I turned to him with a smile and put my finger on my lips without a sound, hoping he'd get the message (OK to lip synch to show you know it word-for-word, just don't make us hear it in stereo). We made eye contact, but he continued... until Henry skipped a bunch of lines. The kid was indignant and offended. The director was near us, and tried to explain the concept of abridgment, as a directorial prerogative, but of course it's difficult to do that in a quiet and hurried whisper to a child who is necessarily a purist and an idealist in matters of the Bard. I did not say "What part of 'You will hear most of it' did you not understand?" and would like that instance of admirable self-restraint noted on the "credit" side when my vices and virtues are tallied on the last day.