Episode 3 Ugly Lovely Swansea: A Poet On the Estate

To begin at the beginning...

Just six weeks ago,

world-famous performance poet Benjamin Zephaniah

came to ugly, lovely Swansea

on a mission improbable.

Do not go gentle.

His aim? To turn the people back on to their most famous son.

-Dylan Thomas.

-Dylan Thomas?

I've always thought of him as the Bob Marley of Wales.

So he's been camped out on one of Swansea's most notorious estates,

collecting an unlikely team of plasterers, scaffolders and young mums,

and encouraging them to read Dylan Thomas's poetry.

If my mates knew I had a day off, I went to the library -

"Can I have four books on Dylan Thomas, please?" and sat in my van,

reciting Dylan Thomas... Are you serious? Are you serious?

Since then, they've used their life stories to write and rehearse

their own 21st-century version of Under Milk Wood.

-Nails.

-Hair.

-Boobs.

-Tan.

SHE SINGS COUNTDOWN JINGLE

But now they are facing their final test,

getting their work off the page and onto the stage at Swansea's Dylan Thomas Theatre.

But with time running out until curtain up,

will it really be all right on the night? Or will frayed nerves...

I'm nervous as hell.

I'm nervous as...

..and tempers...

It stops today, now. Boom.

BLEEP

..get the better of Benjamin and his Poets from the Hill?

The Poets on the Hill performance of Lovely Ugly.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

APPLAUSE

When Benjamin Zephaniah pitched up on Swansea's Townhill estate

just under six weeks ago, little did he realise

the extraordinary journey he was about to undertake.

In his quest to get the community to write and perform their very own modern version of Under Milk Wood,

Benjamin held open auditions at Townhill's West End Social Club...

# Swansea, how I love you today... #

..where he came across a series of warm and wonderful characters.

-SHE RAPS:

-Darling little Billy

Things get to change when they get an active willy...

LAUGHTER

..brimful of talent and charm.

# But Amy would say... #

Be nice to your turkeys this Christmas...

And whilst the majority of them had never attempted to write

a creative word before, let alone stand on a stage, all of them

were willing to join him in his improbable dream.

-We'll give you something to do.

-There we are then, top man.

That's...very beautiful.

And so for the past six weeks, Benjamin and his team have

been on a roller coaster ride of intense evenings, weekends

and weekdays with over 50 members of the Townhill community.

# Don't worry about a thing... #

They have been writing,

refining and rehearsing their once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece.

We're on our way.

And it's legal.

-Boobs.

-Tan.

-Car.

-Finance. ALL: Giving it the big one.

He's hung out with Dolly, the poetic plasterer...

-I sense that you have it in you.

-Really?

-Really.

-Honest to God, bro.

..Paul, the dyslexic pugilist...

Don't let dyslexia hold you back.

I'm a poet.

I'm a professor of literature, and I'm very dyslexic.

..and the incomparable 81-year-old waltzing, rapping granny Josephine.

-This foot. This foot.

-You're a great teacher, you know. Amazing.

But with only two days to go, is the show ready?

And is the early enthusiasm still there?

It's Saturday morning, and the day before the performance.

Benjamin has returned to Swansea after a week away in London

to watch and give notes on the final full rehearsal.

It'll be the last chance for Benjamin,

the cast and the team to iron out any final glitches and problems.

Or it would be, if they had a full cast to rehearse with.

Very hard start to the day.

Missing so many people.

People who were obviously out late last night

and burning the candle a bit.

It's now 25 to 11,

we called everybody at 10, and we still haven't got a full cast.

In terms of stress levels, from 1 to 10,

how are you?

12.

You know, all in all, it's a bit scary.

Of course, some of them have very little children, so perhaps there's a hold-up there with little children.

They don't always follow the timetable, do they?

But the show must go on,

and by 11 o'clock, at last there's a full cast.

Although in time-honoured fashion, the final rehearsal is

a bit of a mess. There are missed cues, fluffed lines...

-Come on, let's get it done properly, look.

-Guys, your chair.

..and the odd temperamental outburst.

It stops today, now. Boom.

-BLEEP

-Charlene,

you need to build a bridge and get over it, sort yourself out.

There is a bit of nerves setting in, you know.

Couple of goose bumps going down.

It's literally around the corner, it's really happening.

Starting to dawn on people now.

Pretty serious like, we've come this far.

Let's nail it to the fence and get it done, like.

It falls to Benjamin to calm the nerves of his cast.

You've done this in just a few weeks.

From most of you having no acting experience at all.

So, if you nail this,

I know what's going to happen. When this is shown, people will say,

"Ah, no, they must have had more time."

Because you have done so well, it's going to seem like it's been faked.

All you've got to do is just kind of...

Some of you fluffed a few lines, you've just got to push on through.

Your brain's got to work really quickly to carry on.

And I am so impressed that I'm a little bit overwhelmed.

You've really done well.

You've just got to keep doing what you're doing

and just remember tomorrow is like, it's your time to really nail it.

The big day has arrived. The weather might be miserable,

but the cast are anything but.

And with just a few hours until curtain up, the Poets

on the Hill are on time, on the team coach and in very good voice.

# We're singing Oh, Poets on the Hill... #

I comes from a place where the grass

is green, it's the greenest grass you've ever seen.

I tells no lies and I tells no tales

because I'm a bad ass plasterer from South Wales.

-You are disgusting.

-Build a bridge and get over it, right.

Build a bridge and jump off!

-Behave yourself, right.

-She's flying high.

-She's definitely flying.

Everyone's in such fine fettle you'd think they were on a coach trip

to Torremolinos, not the Dylan Thomas Theatre.

I was worried about a lot of things,

but one thing I'm not worried about is the audience - we are sold out.

As everyone gets their stage slap on,

Benjamin settles a few last-minute nerves.

Listen, I want to know, how are you feeling?

Better now that I've got a bit of company.

I think you dwell on things when you're on your own, don't you, and you get a bit nervous.

Well, I do. Well, of course,

once you came in, I thought, "I'm made now."

-See, the people I hang out with...

-Class. Class.

-Really, really class people.

I love you.

So, Charlene, I've heard that you have a relative that you've given

a very special name to. Or you suggested a name.

Yeah, my sister had a baby a couple of days ago,

and he didn't have a name, and so I suggested Dylan,

and she decided to name him Dylan.

-Wow.

-So yes, he is now Dylan.

Wouldn't it be amazing if he grew up to be a great poet?

-If he was just like you, then yes.

-Just like me?

I was going to say break a leg, but I won't say that to you,

because you may actually go and break one.

-Just be cool.

-OK.

-All right.

Finally, it's the moment of truth for Benjamin

and the Poets on the Hill. After weeks of blood,

sweat and tears, are they about to break a leg...

It's full, innit? Are you nervous? I am.

..or die a death?

To be honest with you, I'm nervous as hell.

It's worse than going into a boxing ring and fighting.

I know it sounds stupid, but it's weird.

Thank you and welcome and thanks for coming out.

This is very special tonight.

Many years ago, I was hanging out in Wales with a friend of mine,

who introduced me to a poem by Dylan Thomas.

Do Not Go Gentle.

Later, I went on to listen to the play Under Milk Wood,

which I thought was a work of genius.

Moving on, much later, I ended up in a place called Townhill.

Anybody here from Townhill?

THEY CHEER

-WOMAN:

-Hell of a place!

Hell of a place, I know.

And I kind of set a challenge...

to produce a modern day version of Under Milk Wood.

That was told about modern-day people in their own words.

I want you to give a big Welsh welcome

to the Poets on the Hill production of Lovely Ugly.

CHEERING

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

To begin at the beginning.

We begin near the beginning.

-It is a thick.

-And misty night.

-In the city town.

-Townhill heads.

-Proper jacks.

All stumbling onto cold milk path.

Past damp and orphaned sofa.

-Stand the beaujacks. Beau. Jacks.

-Shmo Jacks.

From hill to muddy grey sea.

Look, a river of lipstick. Ych-y-fi!

The hen girls.

-With empties.

-The upside down scratchcards.

-Chippies!

-And bookies.

-Workers.

-And shirkers.

-The still dazed smirkers.

-The liberty takers.

-Pot holed.

-Night shifter.

-Van Man.

-Policeman.

-Stray dogs with their stories.

On unreadable roads.

You can hear the cars pumping.

The town's heart beating.

Time passes.

Listen. Time passes.

Every scene in Lovely Ugly has been inspired by a scene

from Under Milk Wood.

The Townhill prologue reflected the opening descriptions

of Dylan's fictional Llareggub.

Where's the gin?

And now Townhill's gossip girls are about to tear down the house

with their take on Under Milk Wood's chin-wagging neighbours.

In every town there are those who watch and talk.

Julia, Townhill's answer to Carol Vorderman, mush.

THEY IMITATE THEME FROM COUNTDOWN

Beauty, brains and wit,

with the laugh of a brickie's labourer.

Talking of which, Minging Merna.

Ych-a-fi.

In the shop, smelling of dead cats.

-Stinking.

-She stole my mother's jeans once, off her line.

Who does that?

Well, Merna does. I saw her wearing them!

Two sizes too small.

Like a fish stuck in a plughole.

-Like a sausage too big for the skin.

-She needs a bit of Febreeze.

A good scrub more like, her house is practically walking.

-Dirty house.

-Can you imagine combing that hair?

-I saw la-di-da Jenny talking to her the other day.

-Bloody do-gooder.

Now, don't get me started! Faker than a Chanel bag from Turkey.

Fake everything.

-Nails.

-Hair.

-Boobs.

-Tan.

-Car.

-Finance.

Giving it the big one!

And the feet squeezing out of those shoes of hers.

I know, she's got massive feet. Size eight!

She wants to cut her toenails, she'd be a size six.

Next up, the children and headmaster

of Townhill's Dylan Thomas Community School.

BELL RINGS, CHILDREN CHATTER

With a scene inspired by the Reverend Eli Jenkins' Dear Gwalia.

And what is the name of our school?

Dylan Thomas Community School.

And who is Dylan Thomas?

-Sir, an alkie, sir?

-Sir, sir, is it a pub in Llansamlet?

That wasn't the answer that I was looking for.

This is your old school.

Yeah, the children are brilliant, and the headmaster is spot on.

We know you are not angels all.

Straightforward, sharp, demanding.

It's true that life is trying tough, placing burdens down upon us.

But let me say, I would never change.

-This school...

-Our Dylan Thomas.

# Window shopping

# Late night blogging, prom dance snogging

# Here's to hoping what the future's holding and never knowing... #

In the wings, awaiting their cue, are a very nervous Paul and Dolly.

Relax, deep breath.

My guts are in bits, but.

They are, terrible.

-Says it all.

-Survivors...

Arguably the two most unlikely recruits

to Benjamin's mission improbable,

both scaffolder Paul and plasterer Dolly

were thrown out of school with no qualifications,

and until they met Benjamin they thought poetry was for ponces.

But these reformed Townhill bad boys have been a revelation,

as well as an inspiration.

Perhaps unsurprisingly,

their true-life scenes are an homage to Under Milk Wood's Nogood Boyo.

Oy oy saveloy. Here he is, mush. Dolly.

And you can always hear him before you see him.

Here's his main mucker now, mush, Beef.

When side by side, these two, they're like salt and pepper pots.

Light the blue touch paper, and stand well back.

Finished work, Beef?

-Yeah, I've finished work, Doll, you finished work?

-I've finished work.

-Knackered?

-Knackered.

-Knackered.

-You've having a laugh.

-What?

Knackered, that's not work.

Listen to him now, down the mumbles, in the front room.

With his shorts, his sandles on. Gut out.

Shocking, mate!

Yeah, Beef. This tank don't fuel itself, kid.

That's not real work, though, is it?

Beef, I'm staring at a wall all day, mate, that's my life, mate.

I turns that wall into a work of art.

You stand on a road with your stop-and-start sign, mate, your road cones...

-My what?

-Your stop-and-start sign. Playing God.

"Go on, yeah, yeah. Stop!"

-Hang on.

-"Oh, let her through, she's smart."

That was years ago, I'm on the scaffolding now.

Sorry, Beef, I forgot you was back on the spanners. Respect.

Having got through the first of their two scenes, now Paul and Dolly

just need to nail some not-so- innocent reminiscences of childhood.

Thing is, see, Doll, never been good with my hands, have I?

Don't put yourself down, good boy.

No, never much cop at making stuff.

Behave, will you? Remember when we used to go penny-for-the-guying.

Your guy was always mint, mate, best in Swansea, Beef.

-I didn't make it, mind.

-What d'you mean, Beef?

-I didn't make that guy, Doll.

-Didn't you, no?

No, mine was crap. I nicked that one from the uplands boys.

What?

Serious. I was pushing mine down the hill,

by the park, and I saw those boys with their guy.

It was proper posh.

Dressed in labels and everything.

D&G jeans, Bench T-shirt, thought to myself, "I'm having a bit of that."

Good effort, Beef, very enterprising.

It's not like I made it myself, though, is it?

You were a bit of a geek, though, weren't you?

What you saying, Beef? Don't judge me.

No, you were good with your hands.

Like that time you built the bus, remember?

Oh, yeah, happy days, mate. Beauty. Took me weeks to build that.

I was in the Evening Post and everything, won a prize for it, didn't I?

-Where is it now?

-Oh, it's long gone now, Beef.

Me and Jap tied a Black Cat banger to it one night

in my old girl's living room. Boom!

-Like something out of Top Gear it was, Lego everywhere.

-Never.

Absolutely, Beef, terrible truth. Right geek.

Scorched my Lego as well, mush.

Oh, mate, palpitations, man. My heart's beating like a lab rabbit.

Little bit disappointed with myself, hope I didn't let anyone down.

Don't run now, cos if I lose you I'll get in trouble!

Overwhelmed, really powerful stuff, like.

I've used that one and that one to darken...

Julia and her daughter Steph are performing a piece they've written

about three generations of their family growing up on Townhill.

And central to the scene is Swansea City Football Club.

Julia is a fanatical fan.

-I've heard...

-Yeah?

-I don't know how true this is, that you,

-shock horror, are missing a Swansea game today.

-I am.

I am suffering for my art, mate.

This is absolutely unheard of.

Julia is also obsessive about former Swansea player Lee Trundle,

and has written a true story about him for the show.

But what she hadn't counted on was the great man himself

accepting her invitation to come and see the play.

Trundle's in the house.

Another layer of lipstick, bigger trowel this time.

What could possibly go wrong?

We've got to go.

-Sorry.

-Sorry. Actresses!

So, you know, I went to a supermarket,

I was doing a bit of shopping,

Swansea city centre circa 2003.

I was reaching for the camomile tea bags and I spotted him.

-Lee Trundle, magic daps.

-SHE CHANTS:

-Lee, Lee, Lee, Trundle!

And?

And I...followed him for a bit, that's all.

Yeah, but for how long, Mum?

Four years.

And the toilet?

We don't have to mention the Trundle suite.

The smallest room in our house, dedicated to Lee Trundle.

Posters, photos adorned the metre-square walls.

Every time you needed some privacy, you were joined by Lee Trundle.

Full Swans kit, grinning at you.

That was the nail in the football coffin for me.

And to complete the family portrait, the youngest cast member,

five-year-old son and grandson Danylo,

has also written his own poem.

The pictures of different worlds and different people

and the lines and the shapes

and what the words mean splashed over the pages for Mummy and me.

I'll open the cover and start saying words

I'm showing them pictures of different worlds

And different people

And lines and shapes

And what the words mean splashed over the pages for Mummy and me.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Half-time and the ideal moment for a meeting of minds...

superstar poet and superstar player.

Brilliant. I really enjoyed the show.

Especially to put it together in six weeks as well

and they're non-actors.

It's not like they had the script

and they had six weeks to learn the script.

-They had to write the script.

-Yeah.

-In theatre terms, that's amazing.

How many times have you been mentioned in a play?

I think, well, I've been mentioned in a panto.

-That's not a proper play, is it?

-It's not like that.

-I really enjoyed it. Nice surprise.

-Yeah, yeah.

-I thought it was good.

And it's all true. There was actually a Trundle suite.

-Was there?

-Yeah, there was.

And I had some photographs of you up there.

I found them the other day and one of them,

I cut out a little quote by you from the Evening Post which said,

and I'll do the accent, "I don't eat burgers any more."

-Do you remember that?

-Yeah.

Yeah, so there were bits like that in there, all around the place.

Yeah, it's ruined my daughter's love of football. But there we are.

-What can we do?

-At least you had a good time.

-I had a good time. I had a good time.

Roger Baker.

Twice divorced.

On with the second half, and Under Milk Wood enters the digital age

with a contemporary take on the love-letter scene

between Mog Edwards and Myfanwy Price.

In the Townhill version,

newsagent Roger is online dating master baker Francis.

He types.

Miss Francis Broadsheet,

I am your sweet paper man.

How can I express myself?

You are my sun and Llanelli star

and I your Observer and Guardian.

Can I be your Western Mail?

LAUGHTER

Mr Roger Baker.

I will temper your chocolate

and whip your meringue

into stiff peaks.

I will knead you like you have never been kneaded before.

I will prick and plait your teisen lap.

I will bake you blind.

I will glaze you in egg wash.

I will dust you in sugar.

-Francis!

-Franny!

Before my hot-off-the-press wraps tonight's rissole and chips...

Before the buns in my range are dry and crusty.

Will you say...?

Roger!

Roger!

Yes, Fanny!

TOGETHER: And all the popty pings of the town

shall ring with the sound of our feasting.

CHEERING

Fittingly, the finale to Lovely Ugly belongs to 81-year-old

rapping granny Josephine

who everybody fell in love with, not least Benjamin.

Inspired by Under Milk Wood's most poignant passage,

Captain Cat's lament for his lost loves...

Oh, my dead dears.

..Josephine's scene movingly brings back into the light

the lost loves of her dancing days at Townhill's Tower Ballroom

some 60 years ago.

The tower was a special place

with dancing and romancing.

You walked through the doors into the ballroom,

the band would play and you would wait for somebody

-to ask you to dance.

-Were the boys all proper gentlemen?

They were proper gentleman

and they looked so smart in their best suits,

just like film stars.

We are all film stars in the Tower

and at the end of the night

when you were waiting for that last waltz

and the band would play

"Who's Taking You Home Tonight?"

your eye would always be on that one particular film star.

Remember me, Josie?

You're Dancing Williams.

We danced the quickstep in October.

John Jones, Charleston man.

I walked you home once.

Hold me, Josie. I'm Billy Busher.

I waited and waited for that last waltz.

I'm still waiting.

Oh, my dead dears.

Every time my gaze falls down.

From Pant y Celyn o'er top this town.

The spot-like Velcro catches me.

I know I'll never want to flee.

A vista etched of docks and masts.

The curve of the Mumbles' ghost train path.

The waves brush fresh.

Clean hope each day.

Up to the sweep our box house plays.

A hill, Cwmdoncyn, a poet's ardour.

Rails, the steps, a blackberry picker's larder.

Past painted walls all signed Jack Army!

And romance pronounced "Gary still loves Siany".

To the beach, the sweep up from horizon far.

-The pebble-dash streets...

-..and melting tar.

Dense who meets the sand which glitches.

Gulls like burns on cellulite fixtures.

A swelling of salt air, breathing elixir.

I stand, I melt into my own life's picture.

This hill where Paradise Park was placed.

We are side by side and face to face.

So think of us just beneath the clouds.

Living the day as God allows.

We finish these songs and make this vowel,

these poets now stop, but just for now.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Well done, everybody.

In just six weeks, people who knew little of Dylan Thomas

have been inspired to write and perform their own work.

Friendships have been made, experiences shared.

And the man who started it all is justifiably proud.

Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

I felt like I had so much invested in it, you know?

It was like my kids on stage or something.

Cheers.

I really think Dylan Thomas would have been proud.

These are the people Dylan Thomas was talking about.

What I don't want to do is just come here, make a TV programme

and disappear, I also want to leave a legacy,

so if the legacy is that people have come together,

people are getting creative, people have learnt

creative, interesting ways of expressing themselves,

well, we've done something positive.

Cheers!

These are - I don't want to sound cliched -

but every day, working-class people who are struggling to survive,

and while they are struggling to survive,

they put on such a production, you know, I'm proud of them

and I just kind of feel like they're my children almost.

And I've got to let them go now.

# The bus stops the crowd scene

# The twelve and the thirteen... #

But if Benjamin is leaving this ugly, lovely town,

his and Dylan Thomas's inspiration certainly isn't.

The poets on the hill have started regular writing workshops,

and are already planning another performance.

They began at the beginning,

but this is not the end.

# On the land that meets the sky

# On the hill that meets the sky. #

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING