Michael J Bartlett
Mike Bartlett in 1957
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Notes by Mike Bartlett
I worked for the BBC for 17 years, starting as a radio recording engineer, then became a director in Children’s’ Television, then a producer in Schools Radio and finally a radio drama producer. When I left in 1982 I was the editor in charge of all afternoon drama on Radio 4.
I sold my first play in 1972 and have been a professional writer for nearly 35 years.
Our production company is called Business Sound and our audio publishing company is called Crimson Cats Audio Books.
We started Business Sound in 1986 and although, like most small businesses we have had our ups and downs, we are still here. Crimson Cats is a new venture, just over a year old, and is gradually beginning to gather momentum.
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Memories by Mike Bartlett
Peter Everett who lived in Worcester Park certainly stayed on to the 6th form because he was the first amongst us to come to school by car. I was deeply jealous.
I remember Rick Felix. He was in the same A-level Spanish group as me. He was an artist and introduced me to Salvador Dali which led me in turn to the surrealists who became a lifetime love and provided me with the material for at least one play.
Mike Bartlett
18 Dec 2006
Rutlish Memories
Schooldays gone and long forgotten
Roused from drowsy death by Musk.
Memories from the past come creeping,
Old faces looming in the dusk.
Concrete baths where, after rugger,
Naked boys would splash and shout.
The square, unfeeling, main quadrangle
If you ran you got a clout.
Many crimes were worse than murder:
Going out without your cap.
Leaving your blazer hanging open
Only invited a prefect's slap.
Friday afternoon detention,
Writing pointless lines for hours.
Guilty without trial, condemned by
Sub-prefects with too many powers.
Thursday afternoons, three-thirty
Saw the Cadet Corps on parade;
Strutting Rumbell, cane a-swagger,
Battledress with tons of braid.
Morning prayers when, in assembly,
Insincerity held sway;
Hemingway attacked the piano,
Lemanski (lucky sod) could stay away.
Names of Rutlish school companions,
Some were friends, and some were not.
Looking, shocked, at old school photos,
A few remembered, many forgot.
Everett, Stainton, Leech and Lambert,
Ashfield, Porter, Lodge and Gay;
O'Hanlon, Turner, Hornby, Felix.
Surnames only - that was the way.
School on Saturday - very boring
Learning, while your friends ran free;
Minor public school pretensions;
What was the point? I could not see.
Latin grace went on for ever
While the lousy food went cold.
School song sung in Latin also,
Forcing us into a mould.
"Ave cara juventutis",
God alone knows what that means.
Maybe Blenkinsop did tell us,
Did we give a hill of beans?
Spending three pence in the tuck shop
On a bar of Milky Way.
Struggling with quadratic equations
To dodge the wrath of Hathaway.
Davis snarling into test tubes,
Morris quotes a Shakespeare line;
Tank forever hurling bottles,
Common sense was in decline.
Locke and Simmonds, Ward and Draycott,
Oulton, Bryson, King and Glass;
Howard and Walker, Hope and Peckham.
Teachers from my teenage past.
One moving moment I remember,
November 11th at morning prayers,
Bugler standing by the library,
"The Last Post" echoing down the stairs.
Memories are individual
Everyone will have their own.
These are mine - long since forgotten
But way back then their seeds were sown.
The cliché is that people's schooldays
Are the best time they will know;
This has not been my experience,
I was glad to see them go.
50 year reunion? No thank you.
When Trevor phoned I first said "No.
I hated school, let's just forget it."
Then something made me say I'd go.
Was it worth it? Well, I guess so.
A curious day, but quite good fun.
So, been there, done that, got the tea shirt,
Glad I went, but glad it's done.
Perhaps some friendships re-awoken?
Memories roused, laughter and tears.
Nice meal, good beer, nostalgic moment.
See you all again in fifty years.
Michael Bartlett
8th September 2007
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