A story of love, loss and taxidermy on a Broadland estuary. Told by a mix of professional actors and a community choir.
Creating Crowther's world through the fusion of words and lyrics has been a fascinating journey. Here are some teasers, giving you a foretaste of the crafting that has been underway during the writing process.
We can take it for granted that the environment in which men and women like Crowther lived and subsisted was physically stressful and at times traumatic, even in the summer months. Yet, as we explore in the unfolding drama of Breydon Crowther, there is a poetic honesty in the language used by the characters to convey this world, it's landscape and emotions. No more is this true than in The Curve Of Her Neck, sung by Crowther himself, who despite being blinded in a shooting accident, is so locked to the landspace that he can identify any bird simply by touch
The curve of her neck
The silken sheen of her feathers
Protecting in all weathers
The tiny heart beneath
The outstretched hand of her wing
That rode the breath of the cold wind
And touched the sharp salt spray
Out at sea Sailing free
Not knowing as you fly
Below the world was waiting
The place where you would die