By Violet Rook
“Look out of the window and see if the recycle bin is at the top of the drive”. I was being instructed regarding the fortnightly collection. This was not usual, I did it every two weeks and this instruction was repeated in the “self same tune and words”.
Ten or more years ago the scene was slightly different, my father and I after collecting nearly half a tonne of newsprint transported it in my little first car for recycling. Newspapers, piled up in my home, in the lobby, up the stairs. All those words being recycled were thrown onto the scrap heap. For all this effort I received £2.95 which was then sent to the Friends of the Old Vic.
The theatre is where words are the reason for being, but recycling is also the name of the game. Words are recycled, via the plays. Many literary icons indicate that there are a finite number of plots and these are repeated depending on the fashion of the day, for example ‘ West Side Story’ aka ‘Romeo and Juliet’. The stories of the past are awoken with new names and places yet the gist is the same, anguish and conflict, love and terror. Every event is mirrored by a writer at some time.
As I pull the recycle bin up the path, across the grass, the words the pictures in my mind connect the memories. The words in the newspapers, thousands upon thousands, all shipped off somewhere and made into more paper for more writers to use. I opened the lid and pressed down the contents. The headline read “Recycled paper price at lowest for years”.
It seems the newsprint thus saved is being stored until a better price is available. I later stood on the stage of the Old 
Vic during a backstage tour. Looking up into the ‘Gods’ the thrill of words became obvious. ‘Speaking the speech’, at least in my mind, as greats such as Olivier and Gielgud; I could sense the achievement of writing words for the theatre.
Who knows some of the newsprint might be used for new plays or least school books. If not at least it is just a slight help to enable someone in the future to appreciate words.
