In this time of Lockdown and the war against Covid-19, I have had the pleasure of listening to some of the finest full-length audio dramas presented by Radio New Zealand (may it never succumb to the vagaries of commercialisation). Every recording has filled me with delight, energising and stimulating thought and discussion with others in my bubble. The Secrets I Keep is one of them.  

Beginning with a fascinating premise, everyone has something they are hiding, Georgina Scull began a research project to find and interview New Zealanders willing to talk about a long-held secret. The stories of three of the people she found make up the 54-minute dramatization of The Secrets I Keep. Told in the first-person narrative, each character’s story takes its turn in unravelling the complex lives of the narrator. These are not simple secrets, rather the accumulation of lives lived in increasing detail. Lives which account for the actions and the path of the temperament and personality, the byways and alleyways of a life that at times seems almost predetermined.    

Take ‘The Gambler’ for example. Spoken by Aaron Alexander, this man appears articulate and intelligent. It is not long after his story begins that he discloses his secret. He is a gambler. He understands his predicament. At first, he copes well juggling work, a wife and gambling but despite his awareness, he is propelled into the dark world of gambling where he feels “special… a winner” but where “the biggest damage you do is to yourself”. Somewhere in the melee of trying to justify his actions he reveals that he “had always been fat” and suddenly his story makes sense.

Then there is ‘The Guilty Woman’ played impeccably by Dame Kate Harcourt. As a young girl witnessing a scene of domestic abuse in the neighbourhood of her small town, she is admonished by her mother “never to speak of this… it’s none of your business”, she was still haunted by the memory 80 years on. But at the age of ninety she could recall with vivid detail everything about that event including her mother’s agoraphobia, the single significant factor in keeping this secret for so long.

‘The Family Man’, spoken with convincing bewilderment by Grant Tilly, reveals a sad figure of an older man willing to keep the peace over a 48-year loveless marriage which produced one disaffected daughter. Trust is the compelling element in his narrative, a trust which was destroyed much earlier in his life when as a young boy he and his brother found themselves in a children’s home. Over the telling, this gentle man reveals loss, loss of family, home and trust.  His story, like the other two are life-long dilemmas. 

A simple but effective sound design completes the production. These are beautifully crafted, woven stories evocative of New Zealand life, constructed to build tension and deliver the shock factor.

Secrets are something everyone can relate to.

Listen here
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