Wishes really can come true

Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it! You may feel wishes only reside in fairy tales but they are still part of who we are today. Except nowadays they tend to start ‘I am’, or ‘You are,’ instead of I wish. But make no mistake, the results are still as unpredictable as the fairy tales of old.

The making and granting of wishes abound within traditional tales, but their presence is usually a warning against the pitfalls of such desires. Whether driven by greed or the purest of motives, wishes are more often a curse than a gift. Thanks to the wisdom of stories many of us have learned to regard the offer of wishes with suspicion!

Yet despite a strong cultural recognition of the dangers around wish fulfilment in stories, we continue to make wishes all the time in our day to day lives! Of course we don’t consciously recognise them as wishes, but that is in essence what they are. Whilst we don’t phrase them in terms of “I wish,” we do nonetheless put our poorly considered intent or desires out into the universe and then seem surprised when they come true.

The things we say to ourselves about ourselves, about our place in the world, cultivate and shape our internal story. This internal story is the filter that helps us make sense of ourselves and the world around us. You may not even be conscious that you have an internal story, but I assure you you do. Your internal story contains your own values, your morals, the blueprint that gives structure to what makes you, you. The more we reiterate that story to ourselves or to others, the stronger it becomes. And so when we declare “I’m this,” or, “I could never do that,” we become able to convince ourselves of almost anything, even if it wasn’t true to begin with.

We frequently make statements about ourselves, driven by modesty, shyness or just a willingness to fit in (among other reasons), but in doing so we enter the territory of the self-fulfilling prophesy; the most powerful form of wish. Like all wishes, giving voice to statements about ourselves and our views can be positive or negative. The more frequently you give voice to ‘I’ statements the more likely they will become integrated into your internal story, changing the way you view things and potentially driving positive change in your life. However, if not consciously directed you may inadvertently adopt a more negative internal story that could drive negative perceptions about yourself or those around you.

Internal stories are incredibly powerful yet for the most part they remain hidden, almost imperceptible. But from time to time their influence on us can be very noticeable!…

As commented by Angie McQuillin : have you ever been with family or a group of friends when something significant happened, then a day or two later you hear one of the people you were with describing what happened to somebody else. As you listen to their account you discover their version of events seems very different to what you experienced? At first you’re puzzled, then you think they’re embellishing or exaggerating. But slowly you begin to realise that they actually believe what they are saying; they aren’t lying, they are simply recounting their version of the truth. This disparity in perspective happens all the time, we just don’t often have the opportunity to realise it’s there. The only reason these differences exist is because of the filter we view the world through, a filter created from our own respective internal stories.

Of course, when someone’s internal story begins to affect the way they behave and react to those around them, it begins to influence the internal stories of others too. Our relationships with others will either challenge or reinforce our world view, and what happens next is entirely within our power to control. Our response to a challenge may be, ‘I don’t agree!’ or maybe, ‘I never thought of it like that,’ or ‘You have no idea what you’re saying!’ etc. Each of these statements carries power and the ability to change your own internal story, but potentially to also affect or alter the story of the person you are talking to. In this way friendships can be won or lost, but more than that, in the right circumstances it can become possible for someone else’s ‘world view’ to be transferred to someone else. If powerful enough, that world view can be propagated and passed from person to person. When ideas and world views spread in this fashion, great things can be achieved such as the abolition of slavery or putting a man on the moon. But when used to cultivate internal stories from the darker aspect of the human psyche, we get conflict, fear, and imbalance. Cult’s are born in this way along with many of the darker chapters in human history. Dare I say it, such narrow and twisted world views were propagated by the media and power hungry politicians to give breath to Brexit, a jabbering beast of division and derision in the UK that threatens to bring a once great nation to it’s knees.

So beware my friends, be aware of the internal stories you tell yourself as well as the stories you adopt from others! The statements you make to yourself and to others can quickly become the truth with which you see the world, the mould into which you grow; the unfulfilled wish that hangs in the air waiting to be granted!

As the late, great Terry Pratchett said, ‘People think stories are shaped by people. In fact it’s the other way around.’

Stories that Heal

So today is the final day of Mental Health Awareness Week.  I guess if I was going to have a meltdown, then this would have been a pretty ironic week to have it – But I do love irony!

Mid-way through the week and for no particular reason I found myself in a flat spin, a rising anxiety, the sense of panic that heralded the onset of an emotional maelstrom. Many years ago when I first experienced this inner confusion it was painfully disorientating. My inability to recognise these feelings for what they were made the world an exceptionally scary place. The kind of place where popping a pill seemed the best way to function so that I could wear a mask and say ‘I’m fine, nothing to see here!’

Now however, I’m not ashamed to share these experiences. Staying quiet helps nobody and over the last 20 years or so I’ve come to recognise that nearly all of us will experience being emotionally overwhelmed at some point. For some the experience may come only once and be brief, for others it may be sustained. I’ve learned that when those moments come, the way we respond to them has a huge impact on what happens next.

Experience has taught me that the more you fight against it, the more power it takes from you. And so this week when I realised the anxiety was not abating, when I found my thoughts and perceptions turning dark, I accepted it. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t a pleasant feeling, but for me at least accepting it is central to recovering my balance. When I say accept it, I mean accepting it in the same way you accept having a common cold – you consciously note the early symptoms and whilst you know the worst is yet to come, you reassure yourself it will eventually pass. The parallel between mental health and physical health holds true – to push the analogy further, if you pretend you don’t have a cold or the flu and try to soldier through it, more often than not you will exacerbate the symptoms and find recovery takes much longer. I’ve discovered that if I pretend I’m not in a depressive state then it can create far more stress which ultimately makes things worse. Pretending can create a dam behind which the emotions pile up until the pressure is so great the dam breaches and everything comes crashing through.

So how do I deal with it? Well first of all let’s be honest, sitting here reflecting on this subject with a clear head and heart is easy, but when I’m in the middle of it, confusion and doubt is all around. Most of all it can be hard to trust my perception of things and as a result it can become hard to make meaningful decisions – so I don’t! With acceptance comes the recognition that if decision making is questionable, then as far as possible I should avoid acting on any meaningful decisions. In the same way that I have to accept fatigue is the symptom of a cold, I accept that mental fatigue is a symptom of a depressive state. I find this to be one of the most powerful things I can do because it instantly takes the pressure off. Yes I know, easier said than done sometimes, but this is where mindfulness comes in (but that’s a different blog).

The next step for me after I’ve recognised I need to take the foot off the pedal is to tell other people that’s what I’m doing and why. Come on, you knew this was going to end up with storytelling eventually! Telling your own story is so powerful when it comes to mental health. We each have an intrinsic need to be heard, especially when our emotions are in turmoil. By communicating how we are feeling, we are at first required to find the words to express ourselves and this can be empowering on its own. But then in sharing those feelings with someone else, we help recognise those feelings and in recognising them we can start to let them go. If this is starting to sound more like counselling then it’s hardly surprising – what is a counsellor if not a compassionate audience member willing to hear the story you need to tell.

The power of sharing personal stories is gaining mainstream recognition and is being celebrated. Next month in Swansea we have the second Storytelling for Health Conference which builds upon the success of the first one held in 2017. The first conference was a huge eye opener to the expansive role of storytelling, not only in a therapeutic context but also as a tool to improve all facets of person centred healthcare development.

Projects are emerging with a focus on giving opportunity for people to discover their voice, not only from a health perspective, but around a broad range of community and social issues. This kind of work helps people discover that speaking up brings a sense of empowerment, but also a strong sense of well-being because it reveals our connection to each other.

Stories sit at the heart of what it is to be a community, and a strong cohesive community is central to our individual health and well-being. So be proud of who you are, both your strengths and your weaknesses because they are what makes you, YOU – tell your story and tell it loud! x

The Eternal Frenemy: Art verses Science

The Arts and The Sciences have never been comfortable bed fellows – but does it really need to be that way?

My journey to becoming a storyteller has not been conventional (if there is a such a thing). By this I mean my early career was rooted in ‘The Sciences’ not ‘The Arts’. In truth, there are times when this can become quite isolating; for example I have received dismissive comments such as ‘you won’t understand, you’re not from an arts background!’. Yes seriously, that has happened to me!

From an early age I was fascinated by the natural world. I felt attached to it and had a never ending thirst to both understand and admire it. At this age my artistic expression and scientific exploration were synonymous with each other; exploring ponds, lifting rocks and scribbling out my view of the marvels I discovered whilst looking through books to know more about what I was drawing.

But as my teenage years approached, the ‘system’ forced me to begin making a choice. This was the ‘O’ level system of education when we were expected to commit and select the subjects we would pursue into adulthood. This period was referred to as ‘Options’ but for me it felt anything but. For me it was a painful process – my choices picked apart and criticised. I was told it was the ‘wrong mix’ and decisions were forced and Science won.

Don’t misunderstand, I loved science and still do, but the system did not allow room for my creative and artistic side to coexist within the educational environment. University helped me better understand the rivalry between the two… actually no, not understand, but made me aware that the rivalry was deeply ingrained.

By this point Biology was my chosen career path, but I never left the Arts behind – where science became my career the Arts filled my free time.I have never accepted the forced divide between Science and Art. I have witnessed artistic and scientific communities be equally dismissive of each other, but from direct experience I know the two complement each other in a very powerful way. Whilst science is analytical and seeks to understand the ‘How’, the arts inspires flexible thinking, an ability to perceive and conceive different ideas, to broaden thinking and enable ‘What if’. Combined the arts help push scientific understanding and science helps push artistic vision into reality.

So what has all this got to do with storytelling? Storytelling offers a bridge between the world of Arts and world of Sciences. Having straddled both sides for so long, I’m increasingly encouraged to see the tide is turning, both artists and scientists are waking up to the intrinsic dependence upon each other.

Where once the approach was ‘Never the twain shall meet’ there is now a growing swell of appreciation for their unavoidable synergy. Like the optical illusion below, the combination of science and art can enable more profound results that connect to an audience in a different way.

For example, the George Ewart Evans Centre are helping lead the way with inspiring events that bring storytelling together with scientific disciplines. In this regard I’d encourage you to watch the keynote presentation from George Marshall at the GEECS Environment and Storytelling symposium which shows the strength and challenges of story in relation to the opportunities for action on climate change.

My most recent performance weaves the evolution of the dog with the life events of the dog who became known as Swansea Jack. Together they emphasise the hugely significant nature of our relationship with the dog which neither story would accomplish on its own.

The links between art and science through story is an area that excites me greatly. You may therefore understand what it means to now find myself faced with potential involvement in an interdisciplinary project on aquatic ecology! Huge thanks for the referral (you know who you are!).

The Sciences and The Arts, whilst different, are both central to our existence; they have a long history of distrust, but both push the other to do more and be more. They will never be friends, the form of thinking is fundamentally different. However perhaps they may go so far as to become the best of frenemies.

Thanks for reading.

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

Is it time to get angry?

In an age where our future is at risk, perhaps anger can make a difference.

I’m not easy to anger. To be honest it’s an emotion that scares me; a powerful Genie that I try not to let out of its bottle in case I can’t control it. The flip side of avoiding and suppressing anger is a high degree of patience – let’s face it there’s little choice in the matter if anger is a no go zone. I used to be quite proud of my ability to keep a cool head – ‘Patience is a virtue’ so they say. But now I’m not so sure!

Perhaps you’ve heard me tell the story I call ‘The snake among the roses’; a true recollection of an experience I had at the age of about 2 years old when I was approached by a snake. The experience of communion with another living entity fundamentally shaped the person I have become and the natural world continues to be central to my own being. However in spite of my feelings about the natural world, I have never taken a confrontational position when faced with people who abuse it. To be clear I have questioned, I have commented and I have informed, but never confronted; again because of the desire to avoid anger.

Two weeks ago I was in York and witnessed an Extinction Rebellion protest, a sit-in at HSBC and then Barclays regarding their investment practices. In that moment a wall came crashing down inside me, the Genie was out of its bottle and I got angry. I cannot tell you why witnessing this protest affected me in the way that it did, but this was not the red-faced brutal and vicious type of anger I’d always hidden from. No, this was something new, a different face of anger that is measured, calculating, revealing of cold hard truths and demanding of action!

I am angry at myself for having stayed silent.
I am angry that I had begun to believe there was nothing I could do.
I am angry that the media attention is on climate change and plastics when the issues go much deeper.
I am angry that the warning voices have been around for decades but nobody wanted to listen.
I am angry about the excuses.

I’m very aware that a pitfall of anger is unproductive ranting so let me return to the point. The time for quiet and polite acceptance of the global rape of our planet is over. Strong words I know but I don’t apologise for using them. I am facing up to the reality of where we are and if that means getting angry, then so be it! I’m not throwing stones either because I myself am standing in the metaphorical glass house. I am however admitting my own failings on this matter as much as trying to encourage others to do the same. In spite of my own environmental awareness there is a great deal more I could and should be doing and this extends to my role as a storyteller.

For too long we’ve been spoon fed stories that reinforce the importance of economic prosperity over environmental stability, whilst ignoring the fact that without a stable environment the economy is irrelevant! To my great surprise, anger is now providing the fuel for a renewed vision within my storytelling practice. I am setting myself a task to vastly expand my story repertoire – to tell tales at every opportunity that encourage a shift in the narrative around environmental issues. I see a population deceived into inaction with stories that reinforce a perception that the scale of the problem is so vast that individual action won’t make a difference. This is where storytelling can help. This is where stories can unite, empower, educate and encourage.

Do you recognise your own role in the unfolding crisis and can you decide how to make a meaningful change? If you can do nothing else, then I encourage you to read or listen to this story by Jean Giono entitled – The man who planted trees.

You can access a version to read here:

Or if you’d rather sit back and listen to the story, there’s also a good YouTube video of the story

Finally, please feel free to let me know of any stories you think would be fitting in a new storytelling repertoire on this subject.

Thanks for reading.

Why Storytelling?

Why Storytelling? – the mistake I made in not recognising the value of storytelling:

When I first set up my business, storytelling was just intended to be the glue to join the two main activities of environmental education and creativity. In hindsight, I had a very poor appreciation for the wider role and appeal of stories back then, but that was about to change. Within the first year of business 90% of bookings were for storytelling. By year two, I’d scrapped the original business plan and was focussed entirely upon storytelling services.

 

So why did I so badly underestimate how successful the storytelling service would be? There are probably many answers to this, but most of all I simply didn’t recognise the universal hunger for stories within our society.

Before we go on, let’s disentangle some of the baggage that comes with the word storytelling. When I refer to ‘storytelling’, I mean spoken word storytelling. The kind of storytelling that existed long before movies, before television, even before the written word. The kind of experience that is created in a shared space between a person telling a story and a person hearing and accepting that story. For some this kind of storytelling happens around a fire with a group of friends, for others it’s across a table in a busy café, for others it’s standing up in front of a group of strangers who by the time the tale is told, feel more like a group of friends. This is the kind of storytelling I mean!

There are many other kinds of ‘storytelling’ out there, but spoken word storytelling is fundamentally different. It’s the kind of storytelling that brings people together, that forges a connection between disparate people who suddenly discover shared understanding. The kind of storytelling that leads to an audience lingering long after an event because at some unconscious level they want to bathe in the powerful sense of connection for as long as possible. Compare this to the end of a theatre production or movie where people scrabble for the doors as soon as the house lights come back on.

When I set up my business I was focussed on delivering a good story. It seems obvious now of course but back then I hadn’t really paid attention to the profound effects a well told story can have on an audience. The role of stories and storytelling are central to what makes us human and it was this I hadn’t recognised when incorporating storytelling into my business.

Within western cultures, traditional storytelling has been buried by the avalanche of film, television and now even on demand media and social media. We bury our heads in this ‘white noise’ trying to ignore the hunger in our hearts for connection, for calm, for reflection. If you’ve never been exposed to a spoken word storytelling experience you may struggle to understand what I mean. It can be hard to believe that a single person telling a story can compare with the excitement and drama of the latest Hollywood blockbuster or your regular dose soap opera or reality TV … and yes you’re right – because the two aren’t comparable. Whilst both may involve revealing a story, their method of communicating it is fundamentally different.

My challenge to you if you are reading this and have never experienced a spoken word storytelling event – go to one! I can’t tell you what it will be like because even when I tell the same stories, it is different every time. All I can say is that it will most likely reveal something to you that you never knew was missing; not necessarily in the story that you hear spoken, but in the sense of connection to something you’d forgotten. To this day, I still love the look on someone’s face the first time they discover spoken word storytelling. The wide eyes, the almost breathless appreciation that comes from deep within.
Try it – then you’ll know!

www.storyteller-carl-gough.co.uk

The snake among the roses (True Story)

OK, so I freely admit, the blog rather went on the back burner of late, but every now and again I find a need to retreat from the electronic world we live in. Its a time to stand back, reassess and find direction.

For some time now I’ve wanted to experiment with true stories but couldn’t find an angle that fitted. Taking a step to share a true story is tough because you are sharing something very personal to a wide audience, with no idea if what you’re sharing is of any interest to anyone except yourself. I can’t get away from the feeling that putting a true story out there kinda says ‘hey look at me! Isn’t this interesting!’….. and that doesn’t sit very well with me either.

Anyway, for better or for worse here it is. I decided to share my first attempt here and see what the feedback is. Please let me know what you think as the next step will be to perform this, but only if the subject matter achieves what I hope it will.

The snake among the roses

… The animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. 

They are not brethren, they are not underlings: they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”

Sadly those words are not my own, they come from ‘The Outermost Post’ by Henry Beston and when I stumbled upon them as a young teenager, they perfectly communicated my own view of the natural world, far more eloquently than I could ever hope to achieve.

My view of nature has always been one of respect, admiration, almost envy at times. There was a time in my life I felt a much closer connection to animals than I did to the human world. People confused me……they still do to a large extent, but in the presence of animals,…well nature in general really, I felt a profound connection, a place of accept and be accepted, a sense of being different and yet the same …. that concept of them being  ‘Other Nations,’ as Henry Beston put it.

Let me ask you, what is your earliest memory? I don’t know about you but when I’m asked that question I have a rolodex of visual recollections that scroll through my head, some mere snapshots, others more meaningful, but none of them with a clear date stamp that enables me to say, ‘this one! This is my earliest memory!’ I can narrow it down to about half a dozen, such as looking out from a pram on a rainy day, or pulling myself up on the cot sides so I could scream blue murder, but none of them have any other sensory information such as sounds or how I felt at that time or which comes before the other.

However, if you were to ask me my earliest memory of an animal…..I mean really consciously being aware of another life that wasn’t human…… well that one is much easier for me to answer:

I guess I was about 3 years old. It was summer, one of those summers we used to get when the sun’s warmth made winter easier to forget. I was at my Grandmother’s house, she and my mother were sat on deckchairs in the sun talking and I was sat on the browning grass in the cooler shade beside a large rectangular rose bed – Oh how she loved her Roses. I was sat what felt like a reasonable distance from my mother, investigating my world in every tiny detail, the stones half buried in soil, clods of soil, the shape and colour of grass, the smell of fresh creosote on the garden fence. As I looked around my gaze was drawn to the rose bed, particularly the change in texture and colour where the grass met the broken soil of the flower bed.

My Grandmother was a demon with a half moon lawn edger, not a single blade of grass from the lawn had been allowed to creep onto the rose garden. Where she had cut down and lifted away the tatty lawn edges it had created a slight trench, a shallow gulley marking the border between the lawn and the banked soil of the rose bed. I remember being fascinated by that crisp line dividing soil and grass. My gaze was drawn out along that line, my eyes searching the edge of the rose bed for a point of origin…or maybe destination, I can’t be certain. As my eyes reached closer to the fence, something else came into view that excited and delighted me.

It moved from the shadows in silent, sinuous, style. Slowly but steadily it slid across the soil, using the slight gulley between turf and soil to guide its way toward me. Even though this snake seemed huge next to my infant size, I was not afraid, I held no sense of fear. There was not a single movement or action in that long, beautiful, undulating, olive green body that suggested aggression, hate, malice or spite. In that snap shot of a moment I recognised another nation, another life alien to my own and yet with a shared personal history, ‘caught in the net of life and time.’

Closer still it came, its golden eyes recognising my presence. Almost within reach it paused and ever so slightly raised its head from the sun baked soil, its forked tongue tasting the air to learn more about me. In that single moment the world fell away, a bubble of communion surrounded us to the exclusion of everything else. It is hard to explain what happened in that moment, how a 3 year old boy could experience a spiritual connection, a genuine sense of unadulterated love, admiration and respect for an animal that evokes such revulsion in so many people. And yet something unspoken but deeply felt passed between us. Transcending the need for imperfect words; I felt part of something bigger, felt that snake look into my heart as I looked into its own, recognising each others individuality, no fear, no doubt, no baggage ….. just perfect acceptance. Serpent and Child in shared recognition of the other.

Finally, it lowered its head and continued as before, moving onward down the rose bed in silent splendour, assured my presence was no threat. As the shining pearlescent scales slid past I reached out with my stubby uncoordinated fingers and touched its silky smooth body. It did not flinch, speed up, or stop….it simply persisted on its slow but deliberate journey, the muscular warmth undulating beneath my fingers.

With a scream, the bubble that surrounded us was burst. My mother, suddenly registering the scene unfolding before her was flooded (I imagine) with maternal anguish. The sense of calm and peace I shared with that snake was shattered, my mother sprinted across the garden, snatching me up in her arms in a whirling blur of panic and fear. My grandmother came rushing past with a blue bucket and spade in hand, and with righteous fury demonstrated Man’s place upon the food chain. With adrenalin pumping she beat the snake into a defensive ball, aggressively lifted it upon the spade before abusively throwing it into the bucket, which she then picked up before dashing into her house.

I was confused. Had I been bad? Where had they taken my friend? …. and why?

My mother carried me back to her chair where this time I was placed within an arms reach on the grass. Eventually my grandmother joined us, but there was no sign of the blue bucket. I don’t remember anything being said to me, they just seemed to return to their conversation as though nothing had happened. I sat on the grass now, alone…. looking around the garden for the blue bucket. I wanted to go back to the rose bed in search of the snake, my young mind unable to comprehend exactly what had just happened. But every time I made a move toward the rose bed I was pulled back as if that part of the garden was now out of bounds.

I think my Grandmother went back into the house at some point, maybe to get a drink I’m not sure. All I know is that my Mother and I were alone in the garden when I finally asked, ‘Where?’
‘Where’s what darling?’ she replied.
‘The Snake?’
‘Grandma flushed it down the toilet!’

I was angry. Really, genuinely, angry and in that moment, that 3 year old boy that I was, hated my grandmother for having done what she had done. For what seemed like days after that I hoped, wished and prayed that snake would find its way back through the pipes to wait until my Grandmother was sat upon the toilet bowl and bite her on the bum to take its revenge…… But it didn’t.

Of course she was only doing what she thought was right, but those thoughts were rooted in fear. She didn’t see the peaceful mutual respect between her grandson and a snake. She only saw what life and ancestral experience had taught her to see – A threat.

But as for me, that chance encounter set a precedent. It showed me at a very young age that some people are blind to the inherent beauty of Nature, in all its many forms. That the things we perceive to threaten us, individually and as a species, are not evil, not intent upon Man’s destruction, they are simply doing what nature intended them to do….and therefore, if you ask me….that makes them far more justified in their actions than the things we do in a feeble attempt to separate ourselves from Nature. And so I say again:

The Animal , shall not be measured by man.
In a world older than ours,
they move finished and complete,
gifted with … senses we have lost or never attained,
living by voices we shall never hear.

They are not brethren, they are not underlings:
they are other nations,
caught with ourselves in the net of life and time,
fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”

Preserving tradition or deliberate evolution of tales?

Little did I know when I posted the above title in the Folktales group of ‘LinkedIn’ that it would invoke such lengthy discourse. It seems I hit a nerve, or maybe struck a chord, I still can’t be entirely sure and now I’ve been asked to try and encapsulate the views expressed into a succinct article on a subject that clearly has no real answer. No great challenge there then!

Well as is often the way, let me begin at the beginning. As a new storyteller with limited links to other tellers, I found myself wrestling with my conscience over a collection of ancient tales that have great personal significance to me. My dilemma was how to handle them. Should I be faithful to the original tales in honour of their source and associated cultural heritage, or should I work them into a more digestible form for a modern audience.

The Mabinogion is valued by many, but particularly by the Welsh for obvious reasons. However, it has always concerned me that an increasing number of Welsh natives under the age of thirty, do not even know the name Mabinogion, let alone the stories it contains. So my purpose in telling these stories is to stimulate greater awareness and encourage wider recognition of these tales. For me at least, these stories should live within the collective consciousness of everyday people, but I believe to achieve such a thing in the language, style and with the same cultural context of ancient myths and legend can introduce a barrier. Therein lay my predicament – should ancient tales be delivered as truthfully and honestly to the original text as possible or should they be allowed to grow and develop to better appeal and engage a modern audience, particularly those who may not have experienced a storytelling session before?

Having discovered the LinkedIn group mentioned above, I decided to pose the question online and see if there were any particular schools of thinking on the subject. The response was extensive, diverse and international containing 97 comments at the time of writing.

Some people were firmly in the camp of preserving tradition and stated that audiences are not given enough credit for their ability to understand such tales. Others represented a more practical viewpoint, advocating that as long as the original text is referred to, it is more important that an audience is engaged and entertained. However there were also those who felt the question was irrelevant and encouraged me to just do it my own way, most colourfully stated through a film quote from ‘The 40 year old virgin’ which accused me of ‘putting the pussy on a pedestal’!

What intrigued me most was the vast range of different approaches being used when delivering traditional ancestral tales. One Canadian contributor explained how 23 tellers had performed a 3 day telling of Homer’s Iliad and that in June 2012 they would be delivering a 12 hour telling of the Odyssey. The immersive approach was said to reveal the true purpose of structure and layering of the complete work.  In contrast another contributor wrote that they had successfully distilled the first four branches of the Mabinogion into a 1 hour session.

Someone pointed out that there are many instances of stories that evolve variants, as illustrated with Grimm’s tales. But this was countered with a view that while this may be acceptable for Folktales, it was not for Legend, Myth and Hero.

Agreement and disagreement were found in equal measure, such as the use of additional explanations where advocates proposed it enhanced understanding, whereas others contested that it was detrimental to the flow of the story.

So what did I learn by way of an answer to my initial query? Well, not surprisingly that isn’t very easy to answer. The subsequent deliberations I went through as a result of the online discussion, ultimately led me back to the point I started (except now my choices of delivery method had expanded even further!). But for all their lack of total unity or agreement, the range of comments provided me with the confidence to follow my heart. I know this seems slightly incongruous, but the total lack of a clear answer actually gave me the answer I needed, a reassurance, a recognition, that so long as my reasons for choosing these tales was honest, my delivery would likewise be sincere.

My purpose was and always has been clear with the Mabinogion and so long as we are honest with ourselves as tellers and recognise and stay true to our purpose in choosing to tell a particular tale, does it really matter if we update, re-imagine or take the traditional approach? I do not doubt that at some point in time someone is bound to take offence at my delivery, but even then my purpose remains true, for even in dispute, the telling will stimulate further debate on these stories, their meaning and I suppose their ownership as well.

In the online forum, I tried to wrap up the discussion with a point that has yet to be challenged and it seems fitting this article should finish with that statement:

‘If we accept that the development of an oral tradition was not just to entertain, but also to ensure knowledge was passed from generation to generation, then that underlines the importance of ancestral tellers undergoing strict and long apprenticeships to learn the stories word for word. This ensured that knowledge was not badly diluted or lost in its communication (i.e. before the written word oral history was vitally important for survival, among other things).

However […]we can now refer to ‘original’ text sources which surely frees us up to be more creative in our tellings, stimulating interest in an audience so that when the time is right for each person so inclined, they can return to the source material.

Therefore […] I propose that a deliberate evolution of tales is acceptable in cases where a reliable original text exists to ensure the preservation of the historical tradition.

To see the full discussion go to LinkedIn Group

Storytelling and Heritage

Carl Gough created a first person tour playing Adelina Patti’s Head Gardener ( Constantine Hibbert) at Craig y nos Country Park in Brecon Beacons National Park

Anyone who is involved with heritage will undoubtedly already know the power of ‘story’ when it comes to interpretation. However finding the right story and choosing the way you want to communicate that story can make a huge difference to visitor experience.

Something very special happens when a story is told as a first person narrative i.e. the storyteller/guide enters into the persona of a person from the period concerned. This method allows the visitor to feel a sense of connection to the period being presented and as a result they gain a much richer experience. Their visit rapidly steps away from historical facts and figures and becomes one of relationship; achieving a more visceral experience and taking away a much more profound sense of heritage as opposed to just history.

As a storyteller I relish opportunities that allow me to develop an immersive expereince for any audience. The sense of play and interaction in this context creates great humour and seems to quickly dissolve many of the barriers that some people have when it comes to visiting historical monuments or museums. I have had people on my tours admit that they didn’t want to come, but were dragged by their other half or their children, only to be astonished at just how much they enjoyed themselves. This enjoyment comes from stepping beyond a perception that history is about old things and realising that (when delivered in the right way,) history can be a living and breathing experieince that brings richness to everyone’s lives.

The picture above was a commission to develop a tour at Craig y nos Country Park. The tour provided a real sense of upstairs, downstairs life at Craig y nos during its ownership by world famous opera star Adelina Patti. The tour was given from the perspective of Constantine Hibbert who was Head Gardener for Mme Patti and became a close friend. Based on the book ‘Flowers for M’Lady’ written by his grandson Tony Hibbert, the tour brought the park to life. Many of those who came on the tour already knew the park well, but all agreed that the tour had provided them with an insight into the park that now gave them a much richer experience and better appreciation of the estates importance in the history of the Swansea Valley.

So if you’re looking to develop a memorable activity for visitors to a heritage site or place of historical interest, you might like to consider using the skills of a professional storyteller. Please contact me if you’d like further information