The Gallipoli Association

In which I take a trip to the RAF Club in Piccadilly to debut Voices of Gallipoli.

I had started to create a separate Substack for this project - but now I think that’s a dumb idea - for reasons that will become clear in a couple of days…

So I’m emailing this one out today to catch you up with the new vibe. It’s from Nov last year.

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It’s Remembrance Day. I started writing this at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The official end of World War I - though I’m open to entertaining the whispers that it never really ended; that it impregnated our socio-political soil like a virulent strain of mushroom that keeps popping its caps in time and space. Check out this morning’s goings-on in the former Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires for reference.

I found the Gallipoli Association online, filled out a contact form, and within a few hours my offer of a 10-minute presentation (one voice, Harvey Johns) had been accepted. I reviewed the RAF club dress code with approval. Jacket and tie, please, gentlemen. Sartorial elegance gives me the chance to integrate good manners and self-indulgence. I love to get dressed up. It gave me the chance to dust off my tailored Crane Brothers’ three-piece suit - which still fits, a decade after its first appearance on my rack.

I travelled down to London for the weekend and stayed with family. I commuted quickly and easily to Piccadilly on the tube - with my performance kit in a briefcase at my feet. The polar opposite of my early theater days, when sets and touring parties for the smallest shows needed vans and trucks. All I had to carry was the iPad teleprompter I’ve been raving about, and my iPad, and a mic stand I’d bought a few days earlier to create a slender profile for the tech (much slenderer than plopping it on a camera tripod). I turned up, checked in, and gawped at the grandeur of the space. Hallways lined with beautiful paintings of RAF planes in action; from canvas-winged biplanes, to a depiction of last year’s evacuation of Kabul. I hereby commit to commissioning a painting of something meaningfully historic to me. As soon as I’ve figured out what.

It took me four minutes to set up, then I nattered to the kind and industrious people who make up this thriving association of hundreds of members around the world. They’re busy year-round - taking tours, researching, publishing, presenting and (most importantly) facilitating and encouraging consumption of the output of all their busy-ness. I was on straight after lunch: the hospital pass of conference speaking - when everyone’s full to bursting with sandwiches, cakes, and the morning’s presentations. It was exactly the challenge I was looking for. If I can engage people in this state, I can engage them any time, anywhere. In the event, the effect of the presentation was everything I hoped and more. They sat to attention; they soaked it in; they cared. Afterwards, they came up and talked to me about it. We’ve been in communication ever since.

I know I’m onto a project worth pursuing when the usual barriers crumble in the face of the premise. So far, traditional performance barriers have fallen away thanks to the applicability of simple, low-cost technology. No need for rehearsals; no need for costume or set; just walk up, plug in, and play. It’s won’t work for every show, but it’s perfect for this one. I can’t claim credit for writing the words - but I will claim credit for wrighting them (remember that beautiful word?) - by translating them from the page, into the mouths of myself and others, so people can hear them together, rather than read them alone. The profound clarity and emotional truth embedded in the voices of these Gallipoli veterans resonates through space, time and people. It was the first time I’d been on stage for 3 years and it was magical. All I had to do was open my mouth and let another man’s words come out.

Here’s Harvey Johns.