“How does my personal past shape my present, and how does my present change the way I perceive my past?” These are the central questions Sarah Polley asked in her 2022 essay collection, ‘Run Towards the Danger.’ There were many parallels between my life and Sarah’s, as well as many differences. We both prematurely moved out of our parents’ house, we both worked excessive hours as children, and we both lived with parents who were disabled and suffering illness. Her mother being a casting director, had an understanding of the industry my Mother didn’t have, her Mother died while my Father still lives, and she faced not only demanding but dangerous working conditions during her time as a child performer. I worked in music, while she worked in theatre and tv. I came from a rural working class family, she came from a Toronto middle class family.
Sarah’s essay collection has lead me to think critically about my own past as a child performer, and also the ethics of child performing period. My childhood performing history lead to a teenage performing history. I was sexualized by male audience members before I even started menstruating. I had earned enough money to pay my theatre school tuition before I could drive or before I even knew what I wanted to study. I was processing sexism and power dynamics in the workplace before I had read authors like Bell Hooks or Angela Davis, who would shape my adult thinking on such matters.
Sarah begs the question: in what other line of work do we accept children as workers? She argues that many children want to be astronauts and doctors, but we don’t allow them to do so.
In my family all children went to work. My Father worked on the farm, so did my brother. My Mother worked in her Mother’s dress shop. Her Mother worked in the dress shop as a child too. Her Mother worked in a garment factory as a young girl. Her mother was a midwife, and began studying with her mentor when she was a child. She witnessed the criminalization and decriminalization of midwifery in the Republic of Ireland, which mirrored the criminalization of midwifery we faced in Canada during the same time period. What is the difference between my ancestors and me?
My mother lulled me to sleep, singing the iconic legend of Molly Malone as I was cradled in her arms, or tucked into bed with her hand on my forehead. “She was a fish monger, and sure was no wonder, for so were her Father and Mother before.”
I wanted to adopt these lyrics which so perfectly sum up the Irish affinity for all things intergenerational, shared family traditions, but also devoting one’s legacy to commerce and earning only enough to get by. These lyrics contain the 1800’s original folk poem, and my own lyrics which paint a modern scene of the working performer’s grind. This song is a questioning of capitalism/colonialism, and it’s a spell to break us all free of it.
In Dublin fair city
Where the girls are so pretty
That’s first where I laid my eyes
On Miss Molly Malone
She rode her wheelbarrows
Through streets wide and narrow
Crying cockles and muscles
Alive alive
I’m alive I’m alive oh
And I’ll put on a show
Come on you’re a show girl
Put on a show
It don’t matter if you’re tired
Zip your dress up chin up and go
Until you know
You can put on a show
She was a fishmonger
And sure was no wonder
For so was her father
And Mother before
They rode their wheelbarrows
Through streets wide and narrow
Crying cockles and muscles
Alive alive
I’m alive I’m alive oh
And I’ll put on a show
Come on you’re a show girl
Put on a show
It don’t matter if you’re tired
Zip your dress up chin up and go
Until you know
You can put on a show
Instrumental solo
She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end of
Miss Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels her barrows
Through streets wide and narrow
It’s crying cockles and muscles
Alive, alive
I’m alive, alive, oh
And I’ll put on a show
That’s right I’m a showgirl
And I’ll put on a show
It don’t matter if when I’m tired
All I do is cry out to Molly Malone
She carries me home
To the leaves and the trees
And the wide open road
I’m alive
And we’ll put on a show
That’s right I’m a showgirl
And we’ll put on a show
It don’t matter if when I’m tired
Zip my dress up chin up and go
Alive alive oh
And we’ll put on a show
