This is one of a series of lesson ideas provided by Gill Chesney-Green from Derbyshire in the UK.  (Thanks a plenty Gill! - Kim Flintoff - Webmaster)

LESSON: The Funeral of Father 

AIMS: To use poetry as a stimulus for Drama

OBJECTIVES:

• To create deeper roles/characters
• To 'read' between the lines for development of work
• Creation of atmosphere and mood
• To explore use of sound/silence, movement/stillness, happiness/unhappiness, past time/present time

STRATEGIES: Mixed sex groups of 5-6

LESSON:

Read poem through with the group.

Discussion:

• What are the feelings about the father in the poem? (4)*
• How does the poem indicate the pattern of family life before his death? (4)
• How might you use this poem as a stimulus for drama? (1,4)
• What would you show of the life of the family? (1)
• How much of the life at home would have been known outside the family? Eg neighbours, friends, school, work, etc. (4)
• How might the father have behaved outside the house? (5)
• How might you use still image to make your points more strongly? (1, 5)
• How might each person remember father after his death? (1, 4, 5)
• Would Mother really want to 'forget the black eyes he gave her'? (4, 5)

• How could you use sound/silence, movement/stillness, past time/present time to make your drama more interesting? (1, 2, 5)
• How might the father have died? How 'suitable' would the father's death have been for the life he led? Eg Did he die in an accident, was he drunk, did he die a hero to the outside world? (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)
• How might you use the funeral scene? Would you begin/end your drama with it? Would you use it somewhere else? (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

RELATED ACTIVITIES: Design a stage set for the play - perhaps for a travelling show.

ASSESSMENT POSSIBILITIES: As per the examination syllabus criteria

CROSS- CURRICULAR LINKS: English - poetry

RESOURCES: Poem "Funeral of Father"

THE FUNERAL OF FATHER

Black.
They all wore black.
Even the cat wore black.
Flowers.
Wreaths of flowers.
Gardens of flowers
for him who only grew vegetables.
Mother.
Mother wept,
forgetting the black eyes he gave her.
And brother,
my brother didn't care to remember the beatings.
Only I spat on the coffin
as it dropped
and said something
my sister wouldn't tell the vicar,
who, while reading the service,
scratched his nose.
And that was the end of Father.

 
Back home we drank
the sherry from under the stairs.
Aunt Flo remembered early years
when Father was a lad.
I smiled,
infamous by now
for my lack of gravity.
I smiled and said aloud,
'He was the biggest bastard
you ever knew,'
and then,
as the clock passed one,
they had an honest moment;
nobody denounced
the prodigal son
with his two- tone shoes.
That was the memory of Father.

Denise King.