Not Noticing Being Noticed.

I was going through some old documents and general paperwork with a view to consigning it to the recycling bins, when I came across a leaving card I was given when I left the theatre to take up a new job. It’s a big card covered in messages, and somebody had even bothered to enclose a separate insert to take the overflow.

I found the discovery quite moving because I was the most minor of cogs in the theatre machinery, and I don’t recollect being particularly noticed by anyone other than the few people with whom I came into close contact. And the best of it is that most of the names on the card are now a mystery to me. No, the best is the nature of the messages contained therein. They include:

Jeff  

Best wishes for the future. Good luck in all you do

Mandy xx

(Who was Mandy?)

 

Jeff  

Good luck! Thanks for all the chats.

Love and best wishes

Nic x

(Chats? And who was Nic?)

 

All the best Jeff. 

We will miss you.  

Janet xx 

(Why would they miss me? And I don’t remember a Janet.)

 

I don’t think we will find another one like you! Good luck? 

Rebecca. 

(I think I know who that was, but was she kidding?)

 

Best wishes. 

Our loss, Derbyshire’s gain.

Pauline B

(I remember one Pauline B, but there are two on the card.)

 

All the very best for the future.

We’ll miss your calm manner about the place.

Candida x

(How could I possibly forget somebody called Candida?)

 

To Jeff

Will miss working with you.

Thanks for everything.

Enjoy the countryside.

Love Sarah x

(I assume this was from my young manager who has received honourable mention on this blog. She’s the one in the pale blue dress below.)

 

 

Dear Jeff 

It will be strange not to see you around the place.

Good luck in whatever you do.

Sharon.

(Will it? At least I remember Sharon.)

And so it goes on. I haven’t counted them, but there are a lot more than I would have expected. Does it mean I was popular there without ever knowing it, or are they just being polite? And does it matter?

I’ve saved the best to last. This one’s from Russell, who was easily the most eccentric person there. I remember him well because I got on with him. He wrote:

Good luck to you Jeff. Even the frogs have commented on your leaving (the theatre grounds were a minor nature reserve, and there was a pond in the top corner.) Shape-shifting has been rife on the car park. See you around.

It seems that even insignificant cogs get noticed while they’re looking the other way, and maybe that’s how it should be. And the theatre was the closest I ever came to being part of a community in my adult life. It’s just a memory now, of course, and that’s also how it should be.