#13 A hip trip down memory lane: Introducing my guardian angel Anne Clarke

In this episode I break with form and introduce you to a very special person, my guardian angel, Anne Clarke. I met Anne through the ephemera she left behind in a house she lived and died in, which I then squatted some years later, discovering a time capsule to her existence, when I found all her belongings had been left behind in the space. Even the spices were still out in the kitchen from her last supper there. 

In 2016 I created a play about Anne’s life, called HIP, which I took to the Edinburgh Fringe and toured all over the UK and Europe. This episode is a taster of the play and a homage to someone who’s played such a big role in my life, but who I’ve never actually met. If you’d like to watch a full performance of HIP you can see a recording of it at the fringe here: https://youtu.be/pqlEd1oW4Q4

I mention in the podcast that I’m running a residential immersion weekend in Sark for Samhain and you can find out more information about this through social media. You can get in touch with me on Instagram @kriyaarts or the Nonsense in the Chaos Page on Facebook. 

The music and artwork is by @moxmoxmoxiemox

Nonsense in the Chaos is available on all podcast platforms or you can listen here… https://nonsenseinthechaos.buzzsprout.com

Please like, follow, and review. Also, please consider supporting the podcast by becoming a patron on my Patreon page... patreon.com/JolieRose. And share far and wide please! The more people who hear about the podcast the better.

Huge love to you all and I hope you enjoy listening to this week's episode!

The music and artwork is by @moxmoxmoxiemox

Nonsense in the Chaos is available on all podcast platforms or you can listen here… https://nonsenseinthechaos.buzzsprout.com You can get in touch with me on Instagram @kriyaarts or the Nonsense in the Chaos Page on Facebook

Please like, follow, and review. Also, please consider supporting the podcast by becoming a patron on my Patreon page... patreon.com/JolieRose. And share far and wide please! The more people who hear about the podcast the better.

Transcript

0:04

The mountains and the caves. Wicked witches. Crusting the unknown. Uh huh. Welcome to the nonsense in the chaos. I am your host, JD rose. Today's podcast is a little bit different because it's an extract from a play. That I wrote in 2016. About someone who I've come to think of as being my guardian angel. It's a woman who I learned about a real woman, who I discovered and learned about by cracking open a squat that her life and possessions were all still in like a time capsule. And. I went on a bit of a private investigator, kind of. Journey getting to know who this person was and about her life. And it led to all sorts of things happening to me and my life. And she still has a huge influence on me today. And. I feel like she's always with me and is a real protective force and presence in my life. So I'm really excited to share this story with you. And I'm reading from the script of the play. I can't do the full play because there is a bit where I get the audience to choose bags. And so the bit that's missing uh, the middle part where I I put out some bags and the bags said, lover, artists, mother. Head to nest traveler worker. And the audience picked which bag we went and looked in and you could normally do two or three for each performance. And we were able to go and explore more about this person's life. However, I don't have those bags now they're in the UK, in my mom's loft. And so we're not able to look through Uh, for this performance, but also that bit interactive anyway. And. That's not going to work in a podcast format. So it doesn't really matter. um, yeah, this was a show that I took to Edinburgh in 2016 and then I taught it all around. The UK and Europe performing in squats and in places where there was a housing crisis, like Harlow, for example, and we used a derelict building and the council arranged for it to be. Opened up and the hollow Playhouse build and texted the event. So it was an official event, but it was all done as a squat, in an empty disused bit of the shopping mall, which half of the shopping precinct was stair elect. So it was all to highlight empty spaces, empty buildings, and how. Making squatting illegal had actually been, not necessarily the smartest move in the world. I understand. The reasoning, but the kind of people who squat in the way that you think of as negative squatters, which are the sort of, I dunno, Scag, dens and crack heads and all that kind of thing. They're going to squat, whether it's illegal or not, because they do not care. So all that happened by making squatting completely at Eagle was you got rid of the socially conscious. Community squatters. And I always sort of thought of them as like ants, like ants clear up mess and rubbish and debris. And by having people squatting, it just highlights empty buildings. Otherwise they just sit like rotting and actually becoming derelicts. When you've got people squatting in them, they at least stopping them, getting done, falling down. And it just makes people. Get there. Self sorted out quicker and get them out and moved on. And the place sold if that's what they want to do, rather than just sitting there doing nothing until they fall apart. So I think we lost a really vital resource by getting rid of squatting. And it's how I got off the ground as an artist. But, yeah, I'm very excited to share this story with you and I will see you on the other side. This story is about to city. Uh, house and a person. The city is Brighton. The year now is 2024 and I no longer live in Brighton. Although I love the city daily. And I think on it a mess, it often. When this story was first told it was 2016. So here we are in 2016, standing in front of the clock tower in the center of Brighton. The train station is up the hill behind us and the beaches down the hill below to the left. And directly in front of us is a row of shops. Here's what sustains his press Monterey and in the middle here's Leon. 30 years ago, Leon was pizza land. Now look up. There is a two story red brick building on top of the shop with four sets of windows. Through the lower floor windows, you can see the edges of curtains, Yucca plants. Posters on the walls in ornaments, on the shelves. Above the window on the top left. This is clearly a teenage girl's bedroom covered in heartthrob posters from the stars of the day and in the top right window. You see a woman? She's thin. Blond. She smoking a cigarette and has a powerful stare. She's leaning with her chin and a hand. Watching the world go by. You catch your eye. And you're equally surprised that the sight of each other. No one ever looks up. And no one ever suspects that they're being watched. She holds your gaze for longer than normal. She's not scared of you after all she's at home. And you're the foyer. After a while though, she bores of here. Unlike a catch. He rises and scopes back into the room. Leaving a void in your view. But don't worry. We'll meet her again inside. Now it's 2002. Here is water stains. Here's PetSmart Jane in the middle is Ann Summers. Today is the day I move into my first ever squat, which is directly above and summers. And I have to say, I'm very excited about the prospect of living just meters above so many vibrators. I'm also excited to not have to pay any rent. Have you ever squatted before or been in a squat? My friends who I'm moving in with have all agreed. These years are the happiest they've ever known. Now. In 2024, I have just spent 20 years living as an artist. And that would not have been possible if I hadn't spent the first couple of years after leaving university squatting and getting me off the ground in my career. So back in 2010, I've got the last of my stuff with me. I've got the keys to the front door, obviously not the original keys. In case you're interested to crack a squat. You, first of all, smashed a window to get in and then replace the glass and change the locks. This means there's no sign of breaking and entering and we're all legal squatters. The landlord would need to take us to court to get us evicted. You'll see when we go upstairs, there's a section six notice on the door stating that we're legal and we're legally squatting. in 2024, the section six doesn't exist anymore. Tories made it illegal to squat, all residential properties. But incidentally, you can still legally squat commercial buildings just in case you're interested. If you follow me, I'll show you how to get him. Here we are to the left of Churchill square by the Western pub. And in front of you is a secret little road that nobody ever notices. It's just the data end full of bins. But if you look up. You will notice that the road name, hence our pastoral heritage long forgotten. It's called farmyard road. I wonder if this used to be a farm. I mean, it still is a bit of a meat market. Churchill scrap it in a different way. lead you down this long forgotten road. We'll pick our way around the bins and greedy seagulls. Then we'll see in the left right hand corner is a metal gate. Once I slide open the latch on the gate, we will climb the stairs up onto the roof of an summers. We have to keep silent as we go up the stairs and no one notices us. able to squat here until someone reports us to the authorities and then we'll have however long it takes for a court summons to get us through and out. So the boys will literally kill me if I alert on some of the staff to us being mad. So you have to be quiet. On the reef, you'll be faced with a perfect two story red brick house. Like the ones used to draw as a kid. Do you know, four windows during the middle of a chimney? I'll let you into the house and then we can speak again. But until then, silence, peace. Uh, be careful on those couple of steps. They're they're really creaky. Okay, come on in. Shut the door behind you. Okay. I get comfortable. Sorry. It's a bit chilly in here. So that skylight clearly hasn't been cleaned in forever, which is why it looks like we're in a pond under here. I love the way the balcony runs around the upper level like that. So it looks like a cowboy saloon in here. You can see all the reams coming off that room, there is the freezing cold bar 3m. That's the far nose. Cream. The one there is Josh's room and this one in the middle is my new regime. Overlooking the city center. It has a weird energy in there. Like all the flow of London is coming down from the station and into the sea. You can sit for hours looking out of the window and no one ever looks up. But at night. You sleep soundly. We will find that we do. Like precious children. Behind us that ream is the leaky downstairs toilet with this Ray system and hanging chain over there to the kitchen. These spices here, these were out on the side when we broke in someone's last supper here. And if you come with me into the living room, look at this. There's all kinds of stuff. That's being left behind. Look at the blaze. All this stuff was here when we broke him. This poster for the zap club. I love it. The image looks like one of those characters from clue day with the long necks, but this one's of Margaret Thatcher. We've heard it's out. And a great big diamond necklace. The night is called something of what you fancy lbs or get. Get em, pound a pint. Then with the Daisy. There are all these things on the shelves as well. Like this tiny leather box is filled with elephants, the size of pinheads engraved out of ivory. And this huge leather bound punch animals from the 18 hundreds, which. I'm pretty sure it must be worth 14. There's this poster, you see the text, it reads plant a flower child. The weird thing is, is that in the last couple of days, since we cracked this squat open, A stencil of this exact lettering as appeared all over Brighton. It's as if the spirit of the flat escape, the moment we cracked it open. There's this Colbert law written by Hassan L Saba called leaves of grass. The compendium of marijuana. We think that this photo of a young woman might be the person who used to live here. And then look. There's a hip bone. So we found this bag of letters and diaries here under the stairs. And Josh, my housemate. So there's a reference to the woman who wrote out having had a hip replacement. So we're wondering whether this hippo might belong to the women in the photo. Who is this woman? Do you keep a diary? If you do, do you write it, expecting that people will find it and read it in the future after you're gone? Oh, you've been keeping a diary since I was eight years old. I've got my whole life written down. And I definitely mine as if I'm expecting someone to read it when I'm dead. As soon as I found this bag of diaries and letters, I felt extremely protective over them. Look, we even use the same kind of notebooks to writing. Yeah. Chinese silk ones with the pagoda scenes on that have the red and blue leather spines or the hippie shops sold them at one point. I wonder if our diary entry sounds similar to. Okay, this is from this woman's diary. Monday the 4th of May, 1981. Bank holiday. To Windsor where Patty and I met Brian and we all went to the Clarendon for often, which was silly, but pleasant as Brian is an intelligent and We went back to Brian and Annie's for dinner and wine, then onto the Rutland, then Annie Patty and I went onto the door set till closing. I drunk by this time, but only happy. And then to the club again. Then to parties for our first row of the evening, she said she'd had better in bed than me. So, this is my diary from. Sunday the 4th of May, 1997. We went to the ministry of sound. Robin, Brian got turned away. So we went to the cross. But it was tickets only. Brian baked though. And the balance has let us in for 10 pounds. It was house music and really small. Not like the squat parties. I couldn't find a deal around anywhere. I don't still know anyway. I tell you, I'll read you what I write in my diary about moving into the squat. And this really is the diary entry from that very day. Oh, yeah, hang on. I forgot. I found this poem in the bedroom I moved into in the squat. Um, and it looks like it was written woman who wrote these diary entries. I'm not sure, but I'll read it to you quickly. It's very apt. Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better? To paint a picture or write a letter. Bake a cake or plant a seed. Ponder the difference between want and need. Dust if you must, but there's not much time. We've Riverston and mountains to climb. Music to hear and books to read. Friends to cherish and a life to lead. Just if you must, but there's a world out there. The sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair. A flurry of snow. A shower of rain. This day will not come back again. Dust if you must, but bear this in mind. Old age will come and it's not kind. And when you go. As go, you must. You yourself. We'll turn to dust. So here's my diary entry for today. Monday the 15th of April, 2000 and T. I've moved out the house. The boys had found this lovely squat and I convinced them to let me move in. I painted my room at the weekend and then stayed there last night. The new house is amazing. And I know the boys will be fucking hilarious to live with. It's such a good move. And I love changed so much. The house had belonged for women before he had died. And it's still full of all her stuff. She was a hippie and the house doesn't look like it's been touched in 10 years. Her diaries are there and I'm going to read them. I know I write this diary as if someone is going to find it when I'm dead. And I believe death is only the lack of physic. It's only the lack of physical existence. Anyway, you're still part of the song line. As long as your note can be had. This woman still exists because her story hasn't finished. The house, her diaries and her stories. Of all becoming tangled up with ours. And she now lives on through us. Growing changing and shaping. She's already no longer now what she was when she was still alive in flesh and blood. So she's existing and growing still. That's why I leave my mark whenever possible. I intend to exist forever. Have you heard of Aborigine Songlines and how they work? But if you don't name the Aborigines, believe that the first time a baby kicks in the mother's womb. It means that the song line has jumped up through her legs and has kick-started the baby into life. The mother remembers where she was standing and goes and tells the elders and they'll know which songline has. Jump-started the baby. When the child is old enough to learn this song. The eldest, teach it to them. And then they use this as a map, whenever they go and walk about. So they're not born of their family or if their village or tribe, but of this online. We have a similar idea in the west. When we talk about people being on the same wavelength. As soon as I started reading these letters and diaries. And saw the inside of this flat. I felt as if this woman was part of my songline. This bag of letters and diaries. This little time capsule. Belong to a woman called Ann Clark. People think I look a bit like her. I bought a wig. So that I could look like the women in the photo. This is going to crack the boys up. Actually. Seen as the boys on, Hey. I was wondering whether you might be up for helping me with something. They'd laugh at me if I suggested doing this for them, but I think it would be really good to let us know that we're coming. Hair to her flat in good faith. So I think we should get in touch with her. Get yourself comfortable. We're going to do a little sales. It's a close your eyes. Imagining you're breathing in. The color green. Take a long slow. Deep breath. Breathe in deeply. And whoa. As you breathe out. I want you to let go all the business of the day, let it leave your body and relax. I'm imagining you're coloring. imagining you're breathing in the color blue. Take another long, slow, deep breath. Oh, God. And as you slowly breathe out. That go all the concerns that you have, all the busy monkey mind. This is a safe space and we have come here with good hearts and loving intentions. I'm imagining you're breathing in the color yellow. Take one last long, deep breath. And hope. I want you to breathe out fairly. Very slowly. And as you do, so let all your thoughts go. And be a relaxed, open space where anything can happen. And Clark. Annie. Mother. Wife lover and more. Be guided by the light of the world and joined with us here and now. We are gathered here today. Above and summers to hear your note and Clark. This is your space now, Annie. And we welcome you in. Open your eyes. Elizabeth Ann Ward was born on the 29th of May, 1939. She grew up in Oxbridge and lived at 15 green acres avenue. If any of you wants to look that up on your phone, you can find it on street view. Her father was an architect and worked in the military, designing airports. He was based in Korea and salon for much of her childhood. And he would write to her. Wednesday the 18th of September, 1953, my darling galiardi girl. My humble apologies for not having answered your letter and the last one now. But I waited until I got your nylons for you. Includes who with. It seems queer to be sending you. Nylons. Yet, I suppose you were growing up. So they are your entitlement. I often think of you as Regal Annie. Who first went to econom high school in we, we, Jim slip, not so many years ago. Now we are almost a young woman. Bless you, my dearest. Regarding your ideas on being an actress? Are you really serious about it? I'll help you all I can afford to do, but a lot depends on you. One can obtain a scholarship to the Royal academy of dramatic art referred to as a larder in London, where you are taught the principles and basics of acting, speaking, et cetera, et cetera. But like all else in the arts and aptitude for this particular branch is a great asset. It's a full-time job, I believe in hard work. And I doubt whether you will have much time to work in a big store. It's a hard life and route to travel. Tell that awful faggot Susan that's my youngest daughter, you know, I'm writing her and we'll send her a policeman as soon as possible letter. Her probably bored you to tears already, darling, but that is a daddy's prerogative. Say with the fondest loves and kisses things to you. My Darious Galyon girl ever be sweet and happy. You are affectionate duddy, Jeffrey Harward. I began to piece the story of Anne's life together and I've come up with a timeline. But I just want to say before I go any further that I did track down track down Anne's daughter, Nikki, to see if she would be happy for me to create this show. And she said she was happy for me too. Incidentally, I realized that it was Nikki, who's the woman in the photo, and the daughter is who I look a little bit like. I then also asked Nikki how she felt Anne would feel about me doing the show, and in Nikki's words she said, My mum would have found this fucking hilarious. but I want you to know that you will have permission to read my When I die, you'll have permission to read my diaries and are free to make a show out of them if you wish. woman. Look up. She's there watching over us. No one normally Elizabeth Anne Ward was born on Monday the 29th of May 1939 and she lived first of all in 30 Ickenham Road, Ruslit, Middlesex. She was born to Geoffrey and Marjorie Ward. In 1953, aged 12, Anne moved to Greenacres Avenue in Uxbridge. In 1956, aged 17, Anne gets together with Roy Clark, aged 23. In 1959, aged 18, Anne has moved to 17 Linfield Gardens, Hampstead. In 1960, age 20, Anne marries Roy Clark, age 26. 1961, age 21, her daughter Nikki is born, which is the same age that my mum had me. And then age 24, in 1964, she has the son Timmy, and that's about the same age gap between me and my younger brother. 1965, age 25, Anne and Roy move to Brighton. I moved to Brighton when I was 22. In 1966, age 26, Roy leaves Anne. Anne and the children move to 6 Foundry Street in Brighton. In 1967, age 27, Anne is working at the Unicorn Bookshop, which is where this book on marijuana has been printed. In 1968, age 29, Anne meets Eddie, age 16. It is outrageous. When I was 27 I did get together with a 17 year old and I am now 45 and I'm currently married to a 23 year old so I can't judge. 1969, age 30, the family moved to a commune on 4 Clifton Terrace in Brighton. 1971, age 31, they move here to the farmyard next to the clock tower in Brighton. In 1975, Anne starts to work at Infinity Foods, which is a vegan Whole Foods shop that still exists in Brighton today. In 1978, the year I was born, age 38, Anne lists all of the that she has slept with and at the point of me making this show we'd actually slept with the same number of people. 1979, age 39, Anne goes and watches Cabaret at the cinema three times. Cabaret is my favourite film that I've literally based my whole personality on Sally Bowles. 1980, age 41, Anne and Eddie split up. She begins a long term relationship with a woman called Paddy. I'm also bisexual. 1985, age 46, Anne leaves Infinity Foods and sets up Avalon Books with Ken Johnson, which is esoteric bookshop. And It's called Avalon Books, named after a book called Mists of Avalon, which came out the year before. And this is one of my favourite books from when I was growing up. so then there's a big gap. And then in 1996, aged 57, we have this red phone bill addressed to Anne. And then in 1998, aged 59, we have the last letter that, or any correspondence, the last ephemera that I can find. Referring to Anne being alive. 7th of January, 1988. Dear Mrs. Clark. Gift offer. Thank you for your application for the above promotion. Unfortunately, as the terms and conditions, state, the booklet is non-transferable and therefore can only be used by the person. It was originally mailed to. Please find enclosed a form, which when completed will allow us to add your details to our mailing list file. Once we are in receipt of this form. You may receive our current promotion. If it's not posted in time, your details will be held for future promotions. Please retain this letter as a credit note for the 50 packet fronts we received. May we take this opportunity to say thank you for the interest you have shown in our promotion. You will sincerely Sue Palmer, consumer services department brand received super king lights. And here's the 50 packet fronts and smoke to try it and earn said, promotion. If you enjoy this podcast, then please consider supporting me as a patron on patreon. com forward slash Jolie Rose for just the price of a couple of quid or the cost of a pint a month. You're able to support me to Make this my full time job and to be able to carry on producing these podcasts, which do take up a lot of time and I absolutely love doing them. So if you can help support me to keep going and to keep making this work, then I would very much appreciate it. And also I have another offering coming up that I'd love you to come and be involved in if there is going to be a Samhain immersion first to the 3rd of November. So we will be celebrating the, Rich, yummy, delicious moment of the year where the veil is thinnest. And we will be nature walking. We will be making runes and activating them. I'll be teaching divination and we will be doing sensory herbalism. we'll be skinny dipping, which isn't compulsory, but it's a lot of fun. And just immersing ourselves in the magic of Sark at this time of year, because it is rich and delicious. And I would love to share this time with you. So we will light the fire, get cozy and have a delicious immersion with each other. So if you'd like to find out more information, Then you can go to my social media, which is kriyaarts, K R I Y A A R T S. And that's on Instagram or on Facebook. And you'll find out more information Now back to the show. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I started to trace Anne's footsteps around the streets of Brighton, and as I did so I began to catch the faint melody of Annie on the wind. She keeps popping up in my world unexpectedly. I found out that she worked at Waxfactor Books and Record Shop, which still exists in Brighton today. when i asked in there about her the owner said yeah i know annie in the present tense and in such a knowing way it spoke volumes about the kind of person she'd been. But to me, Annie had become a medley of conflicting extremes. I struggled to marry them all together in my mind. She'd obviously been a very hip person in the 60s and 70s, but it was like her life and this flat had become frozen in time. As I went through the ephemera and letters and different bits and bobs that described her, here's some different ways that she was described. Amazing dancer. Engaged on her terms. Village darling. Wasn't warm physically. Grammar school educated. Trouble. Charismatic. Aloof. Greatly loved and desired. Difficult to know. Fiercely intelligent. Avid reader. Addictive personality. Very musically engaged. Often found shouting across bars. Gentle. Heavy drinker. I went to Infinity Foods and asked in there who was the longest running member of staff and they pointed me to Carol. I said to Carol, do you remember a lady called Anne Clark? And she burst into tears. She'd loved Annie dearly. But the last time she'd seen her she'd been propped up on the lamp post outside the shop too drunk to walk up the street. Is this where the last 16 years of her life went? I tracked down her daughter Nikki and as well as giving her back a birth certificate, she also very kindly filled me in on the gaps. She told me she'd lost touch with her mother in the later parts of her life. she said Annie should never have been a mother in the first place. And that she'd been pleasantly surprised to see a lot of people at Anne's funeral. They'd been friends she knew from the pubs she frequented every day. And Brighton is full of washed up BBC writers, failed artists and broken poets. Then the landlady of the Hartenham pub messaged me on Facebook and let me know there's a framed poem to Anne on the wall of the pub. It's still there, you can go in and look at it if you're ever in Brighton. The pub is diagonally opposite Infinity Foods. This poem is by Lee Harwood. and who now has a tree planted to him in New York on Wall Street. So I guess he must have met Anne when they were both working at the Unicorn Bookshop and then he wrote this poem about bumping into her later on. I'll read out a part of this to you now and considering this was written towards the latter part of her life she was certainly still doing something right. All this. On one night, running through the rain along the narrow streets, I stumble into a pub and see you there, an old friend. The evening keeps on rolling onto and into the drinking club, lying in bed with you, us sleeping like precious children in a room overlooking the city centre. Such accidents, or the gods again. And at dawn, walking back through the deserted streets, the relief of having shared such tenderness to be chosen. The silky colours of morning sky, pale greens and blues, and the street cleaners quietly talking as they start their work. But yes, I love my elegant footwear, neat haircut, a good tweed jacket and tight jeans, aging poet turned artistic country gent, a black knit tie and light blue shirt, Robin Blazer, ya honey. My heart leaps into your hands. Those years the happiest they'd known. How many of us left? It's all out there falling around us and us too. Didn't they say somewhere? The sexual act is the nearest we can get to feeling completely secure, to being totally alive, timeless. I'd be happy to be remembered like that. In 2016, when I made this show, I was at the point on Anne's timeline where her life began to slip. And in 2016, I was living in Brighton, partying hard. I had lots of friends and I loved my life, but it did make me stop and think. What is my future? I found out that Anne died here in this flat, alone. And no one found her body for a few days. The only reason why anyone realised she was dead was because the landlady of the winter pub noticed she hadn't been in for a while. Thanks to discovering Anne and putting this show together, the lessons of her story worked their way into me. I think it would be unforgivable to discover this story and then learn nothing from it. So it stopped me from drinking heavily, and this felt like the right decision. I eventually left Brighton in 2020, and I moved to a tiny little island called Sark in the Channel Islands. It boozy island, but I don't drink all the time. Um, my drinking is, much reduced and there are less of the other temptations that you get in Brighton over here. And I met the love of my life and I am very happily married to a beautiful human being and we live in paradise in this beautiful little jewel glistening in the sea. I still have a picture of Anne though up looking down on me right now. I was a little girl, a little pencil drawing. She's always here with me. Guiding me. This woman Annie was a rich kaleidoscope of glittering and not so glittering facets. A real character, who was born with many talents and natural blessings, who people couldn't help but fall in love with. But life kind of got in the way. Perhaps it was all her own fault and she fritted her blessings away on selfish, decadent pursuits. Living in Brighton, it's easy to slip into habitual hedonistic habits. once that you realize one day you can't give up. Or perhaps Anne just made a few too many bad decisions along the way. I've asked her friends when I've met them, what was Anne running away from? And on the whole they felt she made bad choices with her relationships, maybe staying in them longer than she should have done so as not to disrupt the family, though it sounds like on the whole she really screwed things up for the kids anyway. Perhaps she should have never been a wife or a mother. maybe these roles were never meant for a woman like Anne, and the time that she was born into played a part in her demise. If I'd been born in 1939 rather than 1978, maybe I would have felt squashed too and looked for ways to escape. Who knows? One thing I do know is that she's the only person in history to have ever lived the life she lived, warts and all. And I bet half the twenty somethings in the country at the time would have given their right arm to have been experiencing all the things that she went out and did. She was fearless and she said yes to life. As the great Oscar Wilde once put it, be yourself, everybody else is taken. And Anne was certainly doing this. And I respect her for that. It's all I've ever tried to do. I found this poem in the collection of Anne's letters written to her by a friend. Listen, you. Listen, you. You're a symphony. A complex orchestration abstracting to simplicity. A furious crescendo of tenderness. Something tugs at the heart, says, I'm a symphony. Listen, you. Now I want to close the circle this evening. We've cracked open Annie's world and the world she left behind, abandoned for me to find. Which is the beauty of squatting. Often squats are made in forgotten houses, which haven't been professionally cleaned, between tenants. The stories get left behind. You know, in the current huge housing crisis we face in the UK, Which was the reason why I was paying stupidly high rent on a tiny little flat in Brighton. There are 20, 000 empty properties in the southeast of England alone, and only 10, 000 homeless people. They could all have a townhouse and a country residence. Oh, do you know I found out from Nikki that Anne and Eddie used to crack squats around Brighton? She stayed in Farmyard because they got incredibly good rent and there were lots of letters with her fighting to keep her rent low. She was One of the lucky ones that was on the old, old tenement agreements where the tenant, the tenant actually had the upper hand that got changed obviously along the way. so she stuck with her original contract and, and basically didn't budge. But I think because she sort of felt privileged or lucky to be in that position, her and Eddie used to help crack squats around the city. Also cause she was a bit of a rebel like me. Anyway, to seal this squat back up again. And so Anne can be at rest. I don't want her escaping and running amuck around the streets of Brighton again. It seems to me that the most fitting way of closing our time together is with a toast. I think though a toast of tea or water, whatever you have to hand, but not necessarily alcohol, although I'm not here to judge. And also I think she would approve. if you have anything, perhaps you will hold it aloft with me while I make a little toast. Anne Clark. We close this circle tonight with a toast to your memory. First of all, I want to thank you for for sharing yourself with us. Through your creative outpourings, your artwork, your diaries and letters, you shared yourself with the universe and I was able to pick up on the sound of your song. Secondly, thank you for the lessons. Through your behaviour you paved the way for all the bright young women who live in Brighton today. You were a trailblazer and we're now able to learn from your achievements and from your failings. And thirdly, thank you for being you. No one else could have been Anne Clark as well as you could. Anne Clark, this toast is to you. Here's to creativity, freedom and being your note. To Annie. Thank you so much for listening to this story this evening. She really is my guardian angel, my hero, and I have, a jar on my windowsill from, that she made the sign for from Infinity Foods for the herbs. She was one of the herb women who used to be in the basement, apparently because she wouldn't stop smoking spliffs, uh, even when it became inappropriate for people to be doing that around the shop. And, uh, so they put her down in the basement, and she would bag up the herbs, and she did all the signs on the jars, and Carol, who works at Infinity Feeds, gifted me one of the jars with her label handwritten on it, and I have drawing of her as a little girl, up above me, and to my left, in a glass casket on the wall, I have her hip bone, which isn't her hip bone, it's an animal bone, but I still think of it as aM. So thank you for listening to my story, this story, and story. So things have moved on quite a bit since this play was written in 2016 and one of the things that's really crazy is I talked about songlines. The first time I kicked in my mother's womb was when we were living in a house That I didn't know that we lived in, in Coggershaw. And the first time I found out that my mum had lived in Coggershaw with me when she was pregnant, because by the time I was born we lived in Colchester and then we, I spent most of my life in Braintree, I didn't know that we'd ever lived in Coggershaw, and I'd only lived there inside my mum, so I, I didn't know about it, was when I wrote a, So I've only written two plays, this one called Hip, which was about the life of Anne Clark, and a second one called Sisterhood, which I'm possibly will read out as well at some point. I turned it into a novel, and it's about three women in the 16th century who are locked in a church and in the morning they're going to face their trial for witchcraft, and it's called Sisterhood, and it's about them supporting each other through the night. And it's actually kind of funny. It's gallows humor. What's crazy is when I toured the show, I took it to all the places where Matthew Hopkins, the witch finder general tortured and executed witches. And I did it as a healing tour. So we'd perform the play and then we'd read the names of the people who'd been tortured and executed as witches in the place where we were. And I went to places where it had happened. And then we did a healing ceremony and the whole of the Witch Hunt by Matthew Hopkins, who was 27 when he died. He had no legal right to be doing what he was doing. He was basically a serial killer who was getting paid huge amounts of money, pretty much to just take out whoever the council wanted to get rid of. So like, he'd just turn up and go, Who's your witches? And they go, uh, them. And he'd go, well, I will torture them until they admit that they are. very nice. Thank you very much. Here's a thousand pounds in the Tudor times, which was a huge amount of money. Like he made so much money. He died of tuberculosis, age 27 though. So mother nature got her, uh, her roar in and the whole thing started. He killed 70 percent of the witches killed in England. So he, he made a big dent in the whole killing witches. thing. And it began because he pulled his neighbor out of the Red Lion pub in Manningtree, which we performed in. He pulled her out by the hair and, accused her of being a witch. And because of that, it led to a trial that made him famous. And that's how he then got away with going around and doing the, the witch craze that he then did. And her name was Anne Clark. And that sent me a massive shiver down my spine when I found that out. Her name was Anne Clark and my mum, when we were booking the tour, she drove around with me to all the places where Matthew Hopkins had tortured and executed witches. And as we were going over the ducking bridge in Coggeshall, which is where it was like the nearest place to Braintree where I'm from, between, in fact, directly between Braintree and Colchester, so where I was born and where I, my family are from and where we've lived forever. And when we were going to the Ducking Bridge, there's an old barn, medieval barn that's next to it, and that's where we performed the play. And as we were going over the bridge, he went, Oh, we used to live there and pointed to a cottage. On the bridge and I went, no we didn't. She said, oh no, it's when I was pregnant with you. So the song line that kickstarted me was the song line of the ducking bridge in Ole. So. Yeah, and I've nearly drowned six times in this life. That's, uh, that's a thing. So yeah, very strange. just to finish this thing now, and because I feel very much in the zone, it's the equinox and the veils are thinning between now and Samhain. The veils are thinning. We're now in Mabun and this is one of my favorite times of the year. It's very magical. I have the pencil drawing of Anne looking down at me. I have the hip bone that's not a hip bone to the left of me. And I have my bag of runes, and I've just shared her story with you. So I'm going to pull a rune from Anne to me. And, yeah, maybe Anne Clark is more of a recurring thing than just the squat Anne. There's also the Anne Clark from Matthew Hopkins story. So it might be that our lives keep connecting in different lifetimes. It feels like it. It feels like there's some connection between us. So I'm going to pull a rune now from her to me. Interesting. So the rune that I've pulled is Pirath, which is sort of like a C, but it also, it's like a bowl or a cup. it's known as Lot's Cup and it's a bit like if anyone knows the gambling game Maya that you play with dice. or Lyre, some people call it. It's where you have the dice in the pot and you shake it. Bit like, Schrodinger's Cat, like you don't know what What's in the pot until you open it and look. but you could say that it's Maya, which is two and one without looking, and you don't know until someone opens it. So what this rune represents is potential, the potential for anything to happen. And for me, this rune also has its own story because I did IVF for, for several years, as I mentioned in my first podcast, and well for seven years we did it. And this rune came to mean, well, pregnancy. I didn't end up getting pregnant and having a baby, although I was pregnant for moments of time during the IVF, cycles. It was the, the Schrodinger's, Schrodinger's pregnancy. I didn't, you know, it's the potential, the, the possibility that this could be something, that this could become something. And so it's quite a mystical, it feels like a mystery, this rune. It's the potential for, for anything really, that it's, and that's how I feel, I guess, about Anne and all. story together is that there's the potential for so much creativity. So off the back of writing the play, I did a walking tour where I took people around Brighton and I showed them where, because I found out, and I talked about this palimpsest. I talked about this in a previous podcast where I, asked people to draw a palimpsest for their week of, and a palimpsest is where paper used to be really expensive. It was actually made from, uh, calf skin, valium, valium, valium. so when the writing faded and it no longer relevant. People would write over the top using the same paper, but you could see the markings underneath. And I learned the palimpsest of Brighton. I got to know where the hippies and the punks and the beatniks used to hang out, and I could see a different Brighton underneath the one that I currently lived in. And I met so many people as well. It was great. I did. I became like a private investigator and I just met all these really cool people who'd, who'd done absolutely brilliant things. And it's interesting because something I realized was that counterculture is like histories written by the winners, isn't it? And so, The left wing, activists, people amongst us, of which I am one, are having to reinvent the wheel all the time because we don't have our history books filled with stories of how you overthrow tyrants and take down systems and organize, community happenings, events, takeovers, you know, demonstrations, et cetera, because they don't want you to know how to do these things. And so. What I was learning was all these people doing all these things in the 70s and the 60s, and I was like, Oh my God, we're trying to work out how to do this now, and you guys were doing it by doing X, Y, and Z, and it would be really useful if we just knew that. But that isn't stored and kept and put in our school books, and not what we're taught about. And so I, I led a tour, a walking tour around Brighton, where I showed people where all the hippies and the beatniks And off the back of that, I kept having people say, Oh, my God, I've got a collection of people's things. I've got a collection of pipes or, you know, my uncle's diaries and people didn't know what to do with them. And when I tried to take Anne's box to the Brighton Museum, they said, Oh, no, unless it's donated by the person. And even then, there wasn't anywhere for it to go because she wasn't a person of importance. And there wasn't an archive for ordinary people. And that actually really shocked me. I didn't, I mean, I guess obviously museums are just about. rich and famous people, but it hadn't really occurred to me before. And so I was like, I'm going to create the museum of ordinary people, which I did. And, there was a woman who came on one of my walking tours who, had been doing similar work to me and that her mother had passed away and she'd been an artist and she'd been a squatter and stuff as well. And it was actually quite similar to Ann Clark. And her daughter had been going through all her belongings and it realized. There were a load of objects there that were her mother's next exhibition. And because she understood her mum's practice, she was able to mount it. So she had put that together and it was called My Late Mother's Future Work. And, her name's Lucy Malone. And she and I together created the Museum of Ordinary People. She didn't, she knew more about The kind of museum practice and archiving and things than I did. and she came and supported me with the idea and we created a pop up museum in Brighton. And, worked with a bunch of people who had collections and objects and we helped them create their. exhibition piece. So they, told the story with their object any way that they wanted to. We just taught them how they could do it. So they could use moving images or they could use photos or performance or creative writing. And yeah, we supported them to choose how they did it, but they did it their, their own way. And so each bit, each section, And each person's story was all done completely differently. And we won loads of awards and the British Museum Association asked us to come and do talks and we did loads of things but it didn't survive the pandemic unfortunately. It was one of the things that fell by the wayside. And I moved to Sark and was doing the pilgrimages and my attention went elsewhere. But this dice, this potentiality is because it just feels like there's still so much there with Anne and And yeah, I don't know, I don't, our relationship hasn't finished and she's, her story is still unfolding. Me doing this podcast is one thing. I know that I need to write a book as well about her and us. which I've started a few times and yeah, I kind of have an idea for what and how I want to do that. But yeah, she's a special lady in my life and I'm up for rolling the dice and seeing what happens and continuing to do so. She's an inspiration. Thank you, Anne. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. And so for your Chaos Crusade this week, I invite you to look up. When you're walking around town, when you're walking around places where you just are so easily staring down the whole time, looking down, looking at the ground level and, just the shop front level, look up because you never know, someone might be watching you. So thank you, thank you for joining me and, I hope you're all wrapped up somewhere cosy and lovely and yummy in this lovely Mabun Equinox energy. It's such a delicious time of year, I love it. I'm getting very close to lighting my fire, I haven't done it yet but I feel like I might even do it tonight actually. Yeah, I might, light the fire and hang out with Anne Clark this evening. See what comes up. So, thank you, and I'll see you being on.