Unsuitable Jobs

I've mentioned jobs in earlier blog posts on here that I've done over the years, including my time working in stage management, most of them enjoyable, but there were times when I did some work out of necessity which wasn't so enjoyable, and, on reflection, from the perspective of some 30 years or so, were, quite frankly, totally unsuitable. I can't think how on earth I had either the temerity to apply, or why the companies or organisations offering the said employment would even consider me for employment. A bit like the Groucho Marx remark about resigning from some club or other, where he says 'I would never join a club which would have me as a member' or words to that effect, I could never see why anyone would want to employ me (in these particular roles) as I'm sure I was never actually suitable in the first place! Groucho is, by the way, one of my all-time favourite people. I could write pages and pages on here as to why, but won't at the moment. I may do in a future post.

I worked as a postman,  briefly, based at Bedford Central Sorting Office. On applying you have to fill in the usual application form, as you do. I don't think you had to give so much information as regards your identity as you would if you were applying today. Perhaps when I was applying there wasn't so much what is called 'identity fraud.' But with my background in professional stage management and puppetry, was that good experience for someone delivering mail? I can't think that it was. You had to go through a somewhat weird testing process which included some rather embarrassingly simple intelligence tests, none of which I can remember now. But, to tell the truth, honestly and simply, I didn't last long in the job. The idea of having to get up at around 4.30 a.m. in the middle of winter to go out and deliver letters to the people of Bedford in the pitch black streets on a bicycle with a very heavy bag of recently-sorted mail and attempting to read addresses on envelopes by the light of a not particularly efficient torch was not my idea of a great career move. Trudging the aforementioned streets of Bedford attempting to find a particular house number when the numbering system of a particular street was incomprehensible was not exactly inspiring. Probably to my bank manager, but certainly not to me. Why were the numbers of some streets so erratic, to say the least? It was and still is a mystery. Some property developer who was responsible for building some of the housing estates on the outer fringes of the town has a lot to answer for in regards to my sanity! But, saying all this, I think I can appreciate more fully from this experience the work and dedication of the staff of Her Majesty's Royal Mail. I have nothing but admiration for them, although I expect it's far more mechanised and the work simplified since I worked for the Royal Mail.

Another job was working for the education department of the Bedford Library Service and based at County Hall in Cauldwell Street in Bedford. I was taken on as a driver for the library van which went round local schools and the idea was that we restocked this vehicle regularly then visited schools, mostly primary, where we drew up in the playground and the children and staff could come on board and they could choose their books. We also delivered books to the schools own libraries as well as collecting books to return to the base in what used to be the County Library (now closed, but later merged into what is now the Central Library in Harpur Street. The old County Library building was or is used for storing books and the educational department was or is in the floor beneath the old library at County Hall.) Part of my job was going to include reading to the children, which I never got  chance to do because I left before having a chance to do this, sadly, as I enjoy reading aloud, I suppose being vaguely associated with acting and theatre.

The biggest problem with this job was the actual driving of the library vehicle. Thinking about it now it seems strange to think they even gave me the job. I had driven since getting my driving licence in 1969 and had only driven cars, so why on earth did they think I would be suitable to drive what was in actual fact a Heavy Goods Vehicle of about the size of a single-decker bus? Someone with either a P.S.V. (Public Service Vehicle) or H.G.V. (Heavy Goods Vehicle) would have been far more suitable. When I went for the initial interview for the job I had to drive this vehicle around the car park at the library and if my memory serves, around the one-way system in Bedford. I think I must have crashed the gears several times but it wasn't exactly a good driving test and wasn't going to show me as what you might call a proficient driver, and certainly not of a vehicle of such a size. A very cumbersome and awkward vehicle, to say the least. 

I began the job and we went out on several drives to some of the village Primary Schools, turning up in the playground or the road outside and we delivered boxes of books to the libraries within the schools. But the big problem was getting the library van back into the garage at County Hall at the end of the day. It was supposed to be reversed into this fairly tight space. If you visit this building I'm sure you'll see the garage which was where the library van lived and you'd see what a problem it was reversing into this garage. Some clever architect who designed County Hall couldn't have made it more difficult to reverse such a large vehicle into that space as well as providing a loading bay which stuck out so that you had to reverse around it making it doubly or even trebly difficult to make this manoeuvre without hitting it. Unfortunately, on one occasion, when I was reversing into this confounded garage, at the end of a day driving around the schools of Bedford, I managed to scrape the side of the library van. You'd think I done it deliberately, according to the head librarian. It was this which lead to me being sacked, which, on reflection, was somewhat unfair. Nothing was done to make the job any easier. For a start, as I pointed out, the garage was actually designed with two doors, one at each end, so, had it not been blocked up with piles of boxes and other rubbish, you could, in actual fact, drive in forward through one door and out the other end to get out. But nobody had the intelligence to see this, so you were expected to reverse in, one of the most difficult bits of driving imaginable and even more so  when driving such a large vehicle. The library staff were totally uncooperative when we went out to the schools. On several occasions when we visited a school and I had to reverse the confounded van they refused to help, just getting out of the thing and helping me reverse would have been useful.  But no, they seemed to think it beneath them to do such a thing.They would arrogantly sit in their seats and refuse to budge. No help at all. I am actually grateful to them in some respects because they have afforded me plenty of scope for my writing as I have filed all this at the back of my memory and they are the basis for material for my writing. As have quite a few of the people I have worked with over the years. Nothing is wasted and any or all of the jobs that I did over the years which weren't exactly great career moves have afforded material for my writing. So I thank them heartily. Where are they now, I wonder, and do they actually realise the stress they caused and the lack of cooperation they offered? I don't think they know. Perhaps and again perhaps not.

Walking The Dogs At Rushmere Park

It was a bright and sunny morning yesterday, although quite chilly. So we decided to wrap up warm and take the dogs for a walk at Rushmere Park near Leighton Buzzard. Saying merely 'let's take the dogs for a walk' isn't as simple as you might think. Just saying the word  'walk' and both our dogs, Poppy and Alfie, know what we have planned. Merely touching their leads, which live on a shelf in the kitchen, and all hell breaks loose. So we have to plan things carefully and not mention the word 'walk' in their presence. Alfie becomes like the Tasmanian Devil in all those Warner Brothers animation shorts. We can't take him out in the car without first putting the cage in the back first. I had to go out with this as it's been parked in the front hall for months whilst Carol side-tracks Alfie by going to get dressed in the bedroom upstairs with the door closed. Once the cage is installed in the back of the car I pick up Poppy, or at least I attempt to as she seems to be under the impression that she's done something wrong. She shoots upstairs to be with Carol but I eventually manage to pick her up and put her on the front seat of the car and leave her there. She is not as excitable as Alfie at the mention of a walk. Meanwhile . . .  Getting Alfie to settle down enough in order to get his harness on is a real nightmare as by now he's become a barking and wriggling mass of hair, tail and teeth. He keeps wanting to bite at the lead, so we have come up with the technique of avoiding eye-contact and walking away from him when he starts barking. This has the effect of calming him down so we can get his harness and lead on. We bought both dogs harnesses recently which means if they pull when on their leads they don't put so much strain on their necks.

Alfie jumps into the back off the car and into the cage without any bother, thankfully. He seems to enjoy the ride in the back of the car, perhaps realising that he's going to enjoy the walk when we eventually get to our destination, around a 15-minute drive down the A5. Poppy, meanwhile, sits on the back seat and watches the world go by outside with a real air of enjoyment. Alfie makes a rather feeble whimpering sound from the back of the car, almost as if he's singing to himself. It's rather sad and pathetic, but none the less better than having him spinning round inside the body of the car and getting knotted up in his lead and maybe causing real havoc with our driving of the car. It's certainly   a good deal safer and on long journeys he can fall asleep in the cage.

It's really busy at Rushmere. We haven't seen so many cars parked or people about, many of them walking dogs like ourselves. You have to pay £2 at the barrier as you leave. I presume a barrier prevents large vehicles entering the car park and hopefully paying the charge to park pays for the up-keep of the facilities and probably goes towards the wages of the staff such as the wardens that work there.

We manage to get the dogs out of the car, although Alfie makes so much noise that everyone will be aware of his arrival in the car park. It's a good place to walk dogs as there's plenty of paths, not too muddy as it's on the Greensand Ridge so it's mostly sandy, but there are some patches of mud which attract Poppy as for some unaccountable reason she simply has to wade in and get herself covered. We let both dogs off their leads. Poppy just meanders along besides us as we walk along, but Alfie races ahead and simply loves the fact that he can run free. He doesn't walk straight ahead but runs backwards and forwards, cocking his leg against every available tree and kicking up leaves and loose earth as a sort of sign of excitement of it all. We meet up with quite a few other people who have dogs with them. Poppy just approaches, wagging her tail and being friendly, but Alfie dashes around like an animated mop, and causing hilarity amongst those we meet along the patch. He isn't in the least bit daunted by the size of some of the dogs he encounters. He may be small but he's a brave little dog and everyone seems to love him. It's easy to see why. Poppy also has some admirers but she has the habit of jumping up when she meets someone and it can cause problems when she's plastered in the smelliest and stickiest mud which she will unfortunately leave on people's clothes.

There is a cafe which we had considered going into to have a drink of coffee, also toilets which we use, but we decide that we'll go home and have coffee there to save money. But it's good to have all these facilities and so load the dogs back into the car and drive back home  to Milton Keynes.

Early Childhood Memories

What are my earliest memories? That's a difficult one. I remember once going to stay at Mill Farm, where my maternal grandparents lived. It's unfortunately no longer there, having been demolished and replaced by a business park. I was staying there with Jonathan Kendall, one of my cousins. We can't have been very old. There was a channel that ran along the concrete path outside the back door of the house which caught the water when it rained. This particular morning my grandfather and uncle Michael who still lived there had gone out to work on the farm and were about to come in for their lunch at midday. It had been raining heavily and Jonathan and I had nothing better to do. When grandad and uncle had gone into the house to have their lunch they had to take their Wellington boots off before going inside and put them in the glassed lobby. Little me and Jonathan saw the Wellingtons sitting there and decided it would be really amusing to take each one and scoop the water up in the boots from the channel where it was running fast. We then put the water-filled boots back in the lobby, so when uncle and grand-parent came back out to return to work they put there feet into their Wellingtons. As a result they were not pleased at getting very wet feet! Amusing for a very short time as both grandmother and father gave us a good hiding which we never forgot! I can't think this incident was repeated but it sticks in my memory!

My mother had been a nurse before she married my father in the late '40's. She had worked at Bedford Hospital. She had kept in contact with the hospital  after she got married.  I was taken to quite  few events at the hospital, usually held in Rye Close, which I believe is, or was, the private ward. Thinking back I don't remember any of my other brothers going with us.  Generally they had an annual Christmas party for the children of staff, past and present. My mother kept in contact with one lady, Sister Watson. I have no recollection of her Christian name, as she was always referred to as either Sister Watson or 'Watty.' All this would explain why I know South Wing Hospital so intimately as an adult. I have done several shifts as a carer and support worker in that hospital usually on Weller Wing and elsewhere, working with both mental patients and those with varying degrees of learning disability. I imagine I get my abilities for this work from my mother. 

One particular Christmas we went to the Christmas party in Rye Close and in the front entrance there was a quite amazing decoration which included a model of the Moot Hall which is in Elstow, the village just outside Bedford which is associated with John Bunyan (author to, amongst other books, "The Pilgrim's Progress.") This model, about the size I suppose of a doll's house, had windows in it which had been cut out and then the inside had lights which shone through the windows. Well little John saw this model and immediately decided that he wanted it! I presume I kept on and on about this model Moot Hall, to such an extent that I was given it! I imagine it would have been given it because I kept going on about it and it was far easier to give in than refuse!

Watty quite often came to tea at the farm. As far as I can remember she lived in a flat in Kempston, which is a town bordering on Bedford. I think the flat over-looked Kempston Park and you went up some steps to the front door. Anyway, on one occasion when she came to tea we must have gone into the garden at Malting Farm (which was quite large and had a magnificent double-trunked sycamore tree in the centre of the lawn which has since been cut down due to the fact that it became unsafe, sadly. Due no doubt to decay or something.) In the garden, somewhere near the lawn, were a couple of plinths for urns. The urns presumably had been broken or something or moved elsewhere. I think one had survived and had plants in. Anyway, one of these plinthss was reasonably low and on this particular afternoon Watty decided she needed to have a rest and sat on one of the plinths. Young John,  had quite a way with words and descriptions had to point out that this elderly lady looked as if she was sitting on the toilet, much to the amusement (or not, I should think!) of all and sundry!  Children, as I know with having my own, have a way of coming out with things which their parents wished that they didn't. No doubt this was one such time. Another was when my mother went to a shop along the main road going into the centre of Bedford. This was to a  shop which sold all manner of sewing and knitting items called I seem to remember Elsa Currah. My mother did a lot of knitting and sewing so perhaps she had gone in the shop to buy knitting wool or a dress-pattern.  I doubt very much if it's still there. Anyway, the lady who either ran it or was an assistant in there had a rather unfortunate facial feature, quite a heavy moustache. Some older ladies do unfortunately have facial hair and do nothing to either hide it with make-up or even attempt to remove it. This young boy saw this and had to come out and say, in quite a loud voice which I'm sure she must have heard, something  like ' Look! That lady's got a moustache!'  as well as any other customers, who would have been in the shop at the time and my mother took me by the arm quite firmly and dragged me out of the shop, no doubt in a lot of embarrassment.

I've never been able to point to one particular event which got me interested in theatre. Being a farming family we didn't have any connection with theatre in any way. I remember being taken to pantomimes at various stages of my childhood. We went to pantomimes in the West End and if my memory serves to one at the County Theatre in Bedford, in Midland Road, which had been the venue of Bedford repertory theatre company up until it's demise in the late 1950's or early '60's. It later became a Mecca bingo hall and is now run by an evangelical church called the Mount Zion Church.  I think this was a pantomime of  'Alice In Wonderland' and was amazingly on ice. I think I saw another pantomime based on the 'Alice' books somewhere in London which had Frankie Howard in and he seemed to play more than one character, including the Mad Hatter. Don't ask me where the theatre was. We also went to a circus, probably Bertrum Mills or Chipperfield's which was put on somewhere like Olympia. Where the Horse of the Year show would have been staged. I remember we must have gone with my grandmother Ferriman. She had a love of hats, and made of raffia, with wide brims and quite striking. These were worn on all outings including church on Sunday. On this occasion when we'd gone to London we had to use the Underground and we were standing waiting for a train to come into the station. Whenever this happens, there is nearly always quite  draught as the train comes out of the tunnel and draws up to the platform. The wind caused my grandmother's hat to be blown off and it landed on the train tracks and was run over and completely destroyed by the wheels of the train! No doubt my grandmother was upset by the incident but I have no further recollection of the incident.

Watty took me to London one Christmas. I don't think my brothers came with us. We went to see 'Peter Pan' which was staged every year for decades at the Scala Theatre. I think this was in Covent Garden somewhere but is sadly no more. I was frightened apparently by the scene with the pirates and Captain Hook in and where some very loud cannons were fired and there was supposed to be lots of smoke and as I say loud explosions. I loved the fact that Peter Pan actually flew across the stage but had no idea at the time how this was achieved. I also remember that in the interval we had tea brought to us and served in the auditorium on a tray which was quite a  treat. I doubt that you'd be allowed to do this today, considering all the 'Health and Safety' regulations we have to contend with now.

Me, Maths and More

I have mentioned in an earlier post my problems at school with maths. It seems I had a somewhat second-rate school option in ending up at Rushmoor over Bedford School (where three of my brothers went. Andrew went to Rushmoor for some unaccountable reason, but I can't think why my parents wasted good money on paying to have me sent to that place. As I've mentioned elsewhere, I really hated it.) As a result of all this, I was sent to various tutors around Bedford who were supposed to help me with my maths. I don't think I actually benefitted in any way, shape or form. I just think it made things worse as I was made to appear different from my classmates. I don't think I actually remember anything that I was supposed to have been taught. I can remember playing in some sort of sandpit which had toy soldiers in it, and something made of strips of plastic or rubber which you could knot or weave into all manner of objects such as key fobs and book markers, but nothing that had anything to do with mathematics. One place I went, when my mother came to collect me from school and was taken there and obviously took me out of any school lessons at Rushmoor, was in a building up some stairs in St Peter's Street in Bedford, which I believe is now something to do with the Probation Service, probably their administration offices, and just along the street from what was the Granada cinema but which has since been demolished and replaced by a Lidl supermarket. Another place I was taken was in Goldington Road, about where there are accountant and solicitor's offices. The gentleman who was the tutor smoked a pipe, and to this day I can still get a hint of the smell of the tobacco he must have smoked and there was a pipe-rack on the mantlepiece over the fireplace where the tutoring was held, and it contained a lot of pipes. Funny how some things stick in your memory, but certainly nothing to do with maths.

I think in the end it would have been better if I'd just been left alone and not dragged around these tutors. I am fine with what you call 'functional maths,' that is, basic maths skills to allow me to tot up a column of figures, division, multiplication, work out change, and so on. It was the more complex operations that were a complete mystery to me. Things like electric calculators have since come along and made my life easier, as they have for a lot of people. I think my mother just wanted what she thought was best for me I suppose and was attempting to make me like my other brothers and get me into Bedford School. I have certainly survived up until this point in time without having to worry about my lack of maths skills.

I did also have a mild form of dyslexia. I was told by my mother that they found this out because I used to use my wrong eye to look through such things as telescopes and cameras. If you are right-handed, apparently you use your right eye when using such things as cameras, but I didn't. I used my left eye. My maternal grandfather was supposed to have done done this when he was cleaning his shooting rifle, which was when it was suggested that I might be dyslexic. I did have some problems with reading but not as profoundly problematical as some people I have discovered. I have since found out that the problems with maths does have a name, dyscalculia. It has been defined by the DfE as follows: 'a condition which affects the ability to acquire arithmetical skills. Dyscalculic learners may have difficulty understanding simple number concepts, lack an intuitive grasp of numbers, and have problems learning number facts and procedures. Even if they produce a correct answer or use a correct method, they may do so mechanically and without confidence.' It just annoys me now, some 50-plus years later, that I had to be treated as if I was some sort of 'naughty schoolboy' because of my maths problems, and was generally stuck at the back of the class and left alone or treated with something like contempt. But, I can at least sympathise with those people who have similar problems.

I also had something of a speech impediment to add to my woes as a child. I had something of a lisp. Fortunately I was taken to several what I suppose would be called 'speech therapists' today. I am therefore grateful that they DID have some sort of affect as I speak correctly today. I recall going to someone in Pemberley Avenue just off Kimbolton Road (and not far from Walmsley House School which is mentioned in an earlier post on here.) I think I could even find the house if I went and looked. Some of the methods used to get me to put my tongue forward in my mouth used a peppermint chocolate sweet, which I actually love and I probably ate quite a few and helped me to 'speak corruptly' as a result.

As a result of all this I am really sympathetic to anyone with any form of disability and might account for my being able to deal with people why have any form of learning disability. My mother, for example, had a friend of the family who we used to visit when we went to the Cotswolds, called Aunty Milly, but I don't think was actually a relative. You just called such friends as 'aunt' or 'uncle' out of respect I suppose. She had, poor lady, a cleft palate, which meant that when she spoke her speech was quite difficult to understand. But I had no problems, and I could converse with her clearly. My mother said I was the only person she knew who had the patience to sit and listen to her and talk to her properly. I put it down to having had problems with my own speech as a child and having to go through that therapy. One of my all-time favourite plays is 'Pygmalion' by George Bernard Shaw, which, if you don't already now, is about a man who is a speech therapist. I don't think Shaw calls him that. But I can identify with the central character of Eliza Doolittle who goes to Higgins so that he can teach her to speech 'better English.' I have never had a problem with the 'better English' part, but she goes through some of the same sort of training that I had as a child.

Boats, Dogs and Horses

Family life when I was growing up always seemed to revolve around either boats or horses, and, thinking about it, dogs also. Living on  farm as we did meant we had plenty of room to keep horses. I seem to remember the arrival of the first pony, called Meg. My brother Robert was, and still is, horse-mad. My younger brothers Sandy and Andrew were involved to some extent, but not to the same level as Robert. Gymkhanas were (and possibly still are) held in and around the county of Bedfordshire and into the neighbouring counties.

I wasn't overly keen myself, as I was never liked all the associated activities which went with horse-ownership, such as mucking out, tack-cleaning and so on. I was put off by horses when I was bitten by one. I was sitting on  fence near the stables at the rear of Malting Farm. There was a field of cattle to one side and horses in an adjacent meadow and between was a drinking trough used by both horses and cattle. A cow mooed and one of the horses decided to nip me on the fleshy part of my upper arm. And before you ask, yes, i really hurt. On another occasion one of the ponies I occasionally rode bolted with me on it and I  nearly landed up going through a five-bar gate at the end of the field. Not really something which was ever likely increase my love of equestrianism as you might well imagine! I did occasionally venture out on horsey rides around Cardington, but nothing very adventurous. I would put the horse I was riding into occasional 'top gear' as you might say and go for invigorating gallops across fields of stubble during the harvest period, but that was about all. During that time of the year you could go for miles across country when the corn was newly cut. Robert was the one of my brothers who did show jumping but I can honestly say that I was never brave enough.

My parents got into horse breeding and used to show mares and foals at agricultural shows such as the  Bedfordshire Agricultural Show and later the East of England Show which was the merging of several county shows which included Bedfordshire and held near Peterborough. The Bedfordshire show was on fields where now Tesco and the beach pool (The Oasis) were built in the 1990's.

We had a sort of riverside 'hide-away' near the River Ouse near Cardington Mill, a sort of beach hut where my parents sailed a boat. Infact they had several boats, one being a motor boat. Summer weekends were spent at this hut and the usual gang of friends and relatives with descend, expecting to be both entertained and fed. My mother provided her usual fantastic teas. The hut contained all that one would hope to have for picnics, including deck chairs and tables as well as having a Calor gas ring for boiling the kettle. Several years ago  I walked along the opposite bank where this hut used to stand, round about where the canoe slalom is today, there seemed to be absolutely no sign of either the hut of the actual site of where it stood. I think there's a sort of sluce there which is in case the river floods, which it has done in recent years. We used to get in through a gate in Cardington Road, which is the road into the centre of Bedford and near where The Barns Hotel is today, (about two miles from Tesco's) and drive across a grass meadow to get to the hut and there was a somewhat precarious wooden bridge across a stream in order to reach the riverside site.

My great aunt Liz used to visit us at weekends.  A maiden aunt, I might mention, who had a certain sort of aura about her. She always seemed to get her own way. Much in the mold of the character Lady Bracknall in the play "The Importance of Being Ernest." She possessed the larges nose of anyone I can think of, and I'm only too relieved to think that I did not inherit this nose . It was very large. My father used to go and pick her up from her home in Philpots Avenue in Bedford and she would come for tea and then be taken home in the evening. In the summer she would come to the riverside hut and join in with tea, but she was as deaf as a post and probably as blind as a bat, so I don't think she could possibly have joined in with much of the conversations. I remember she wore a hearing aid, not one of the modern sort that you get today, which, when worn, are barely detectable,  but one which was extremely visable with a seperate microphone arrangement which was connected to the ear-piece with a piece of wire. I recall having to shout quite loud to get her to hear, even with this hearing-aid, which seemed to make the awful howling sound which seem to go with all hearing aids.
My brother James had a black Labrador dog called Flon. He used her for retrieving when he went shooting. I'm not sure how reliable she was as regarding retrieving. Anyway, this dog used to go with us to the river, and was very water-orientated, as are most retrievers, Labrador or otherwise. She would head straight for the water whenever we got to the hut. Keeping her out of the river was something of a problem. One afternoon, when Aunt Liz was in attendance, I think she probably spent most of the time asleep in a deckchair (well, she would have been in her late 80's  at the time so she was pretty ancient. I think she was 95 or thereabouts when she died in 1965.) Anyway, the dog, Flon, had been for a swim and came out onto the bank, and did what all dogs do  when they've been in water, she shook herself vigorously and unfortunately near the sleeping Great Aunt Liz. She became quite annoyed, as you can imagine and so it was decided from then on to keep the dog away from her. On another occasion the dog went for a ride in the motor boat along the river with my father in command and the dog sitting in the seat next to him. It was a bright and sunny day and the fish were leaping and things were drowsy. My mother was about to pour the tea. The sandwiches were made. The Victoria sponge taking pride of place in the centre of the table and no doubt another load of friends or relatives were about to arrive or perhaps they had just arrived. My mother waited for my father to return in the boat and looked along the river and into the sun, so couldn't see clearly. She said that Aunt Liz was in the boat which she could just see coming round a bend in the river. But she wasn't IN the boat at the time. She thought the DOG was my great aunt, who certainly sat in a somewhat imperious fashion when in the boat and thinking about it now, the dog did look rather like her,  although from a distance, I must stress!

School Memories

How is it that any memories of school are never of actual lessons? In fact, I don't really remember anything at all about things we were supposed to be taught.

Walmsley House school was I think the first school I went to, and it was in Kimbolton Road in Bedford. School dinners weren't cooked on the premises and used to arrive in a gray van that used to turn up in the playground and the meals came in large tin containers.  I presume the meals were cooked elsewhere in the town and then delivered in this van , but to this day I have no idea where this was. I think most people's memories of their school dinners were of over-cooked cabbage, lumpy gravy and custard and possibly liver that was as tough as shoe-leather and inedible meat that was full of gristle and fat and which you had to chew fifty times before you could sallow it. The school always had a permanent smell of that awful boiled cabbage. Enough to put anyone off  that particular vegetable for life. Perhaps Brussels sprouts have the same effect on perhaps 95% of the population. I had no choice in whether I liked them or not, as my father, being a farmer and a Bedfordshire farmer at that, grew Brussels sprouts and we had to eat them. Not the tiny little  excuses for Brussells they sell today in most of the supermarkets throughout the country, but  a much bigger variety. And actually, as a result of having to eat them, I can say I actually like them, a great deal down to the fact that my mother didn't boil them to death. They should not be soggy and tasteless but cooked to the point that they are still crunchy.

Something else I recall about school lunches that that school was that there never seemed to be enough space for everyone to sit in the dining hall. Some people had to sit out on the landing of the staircase which lead up from the front door of the school. We can't have been supervised by the teachers very well, or perhaps it was that the teachers were useless at keeping control of their charges, but I remember some delightful child throwing food over the bannister along the landing and onto the floor below. I'm not sure whether any landed on anybody passing below, but it's something that sticks in my mind.

Every year the school used to put on an out-door show on a raised piece of grass in the playground. It was something like an outdoor stage. A dancing display was part of this entertainment and parents came to watch. I think this dancing was similar to country dancing with two rows of children facing each other and you moved forward in time to the music and slapped your opposite number on their opposite hand, for example, right to left, left to right. The music was played on a record player and operated by a teacher at the side of the stage. Unfortunately, during one performance, this teacher, who wore high-heel shoes, trod on the electric cable which ran from a power socket to the record player. There was a cloud of smoke and no doubt a bright blue flash and the record ground to a halt, no doubt making quite a spectacle in itself, and the whole proceedings came to very ignominious conclusion no doubt amidst roars of laughter.
I have never been a great lover of sport. I didn't mind gymnastics, athletics or field sports, although I wasn't that good at any of them, but cricket and football left me feeling totally uninterested and still do. Cricket to me has to be one of the most pointless sports invented.
Walmsley House didn't have it's own sports ground so we had to walk to Bedford Park to play football. My one and only goal I ever scored was a real disappointment. I kicked the confounded ball in the wrong goal. Nobody had the sense to teach me the rules and to say that you kicked the ball into the opposite goal depending which way you were playing. For a seven or eight-year old it must have been a real let-down.
From Walmsley House I progressed to Rushmoor School, still, I believe in Shakespeare Road in Bedford. I have always had - and still do to this day- real problems with maths. I think it may have been because I was mildly dyslexic. Numbers and maths were my real stumbling block at school. My two elder brothers managed to get into Bedford School but I failed the entrance exam when I was around 10-11 so I went to Rushmoor instead. I have to admit I didn't enjoy it. As for sports, we had to go to a games field up a hill in Brickhill Drive (where now Bedford Modern School stands when it was moved there from the town centre in the 1970's.) We had to trudge up and down this muddy hill, come rain and shine, and then play this benighted game of football usually when it was pouring with rain or it was freezing cold. Well, I imagine it would be extra cold with a bighting wind whistling around our bear knees in the middle of winter. I suffered greatly from the cold and the added extra of mud and rain didn't exactly help matters.
In the summer it was cricket. Just as bad for me. I had trouble with my left or right hands. I think I should have been left-handed but I was made to use my right to write with. I think this, and the mild dyslexia didn't help either. As a result I found using a cricket bat really difficult and as a consequence my ability to hit a ball with it, and one flying at several miles per hour was not exactly going to make me into a first class cricketer. So, as a result, I was never chosen when teams were being picked. I usually ended up fielding, if you could call it that, and I managed by some stroke of effort to end up in the long grass and as far away from the action as possible. But it was a good way to spend a hot summer's afternoon I suppose.
I remember clearly an incident while I was at Rushmoor. Unlike today, punishment could be metered out if you did something wrong, usually with a cane, administered my the Headmaster. This particular incident revolved around a cupboard in a classroom, which was used to store art supplies, such as paint, paper and so on. The teacher had found a screw or a nail lodged in the keyhole of the cupboard so that he could not open the cupboard. I think he had a vague idea who was the culprit was  but he needed to find out who had done the deed using a form of justice which involved the entire class. We had to stay behind, probably during break or it might have been after school, and he asked us one at a time whether we had stuck the screw in the cupboard's keyhole. Nobody would confess. If things weren't resolved he would use a ruler and make us hold out our hands and hit us with the ruler on the palm of the hand. It really hurt, as you can imagine, but if you flinched in the slightest he did he again. As a result you didn't flinch or attempted to not flinch. It really stung your hand and the pain remained for quite a long time after. I don't know whether the culprit was found but it meant that the entire class had to take the blame for one stupid person's crime. I don't exactly believe in capital punishment, but in this case it did make you think again before you did anything wrong at school. Today there is absolutely no sort of 'ultimate sanction' such as this and as a result children seem to get away with all sorts of bad behaviour. One teacher used to walk up and down the room when we were supposed to be silent and would hit you on the top of the head with a bunch of keys which hurt. I think he was a bit of a sado-masochist to do this, gaining pleasure from inflicting pain on his charges, but at least it kept you focussed and you never spoke if you had been told to keep quiet.

We put on a couple of plays when I was at Rushmoor School. I'm not sure whether this was where I got my interest in theatre from. Probably not. Being an all-boy school, there was a problem as regards  casting for the female roles. As a result I got cast as a female in these plays. Don't ask me why, but in one, an up-dated version of "Oliver Twist" I got to play the matron character. My mother managed to solve the wig-situation by making one out of wool. It had to be worn the right way round, but for one performance this wig was put on the incorrect way. For one of my entrances unfortunately I came on through a door which was far too low for my height and the 'wig' (for want of a better word) brushed the door and rode up and I got a laugh which I shouldn't have. As a result of putting on this play we were taken one Saturday to see the musical 'Oliver!' This was the original West End production starring Ron Moody as Fagin, at the New Theatre, renamed the Noel Coward Theatre. It had a profound influence on me and I have really loved the show ever since. We went up to London by train. I'm not certain if it was this visit to London or not where we had to travel on the Underground, but I do remember a member of the party getting on an Underground train which he wasn't supposed to get on and the rest of the party had to follow, I suppose so that we were at least together and so none of us got lost. I have an idea it would have been the Circle Line, so we would have just gone round and come back to where we had got on! When I think of the effort it takes today to take school children out, doing risk assessments and making sure the outing is fully of an 'educational' nature, I can't believe how we managed to go to London. Later on we had another theatre trip, that one being to see another musical, perhaps not as long-lasting as 'Oliver!' but also based on a Dickens novel and starring Harry Secombe, 'Pickwick." It was running at the Saville Theatre in Shaftsbury Avenue, but the theatre closed years ago and the site is now a cinema. 

Memories of Doctor Who

I've written a lot on here about my time working in stage management with various theatres around England, but I'm now going to attempt to stretch my memory back a good deal further in time to when I was at school. 2013 has seen the 50th anniversary of 'Doctor Who.' I have been a long-time fan of this show and remain so to this day. I'm not entirely sure whether I actually saw the very first episode on 23rd November 1963, when I imagine I would, at age 13, been the age the show was aimed at.  I think I may not have seen it due to the fact that President Kennedy was assassinated that weekend. I probably started watching with the first Daleks story which followed around five weeks into the run of the show. There was something very intriguing about time travel and the fact that every couple of weeks the Tardis would arrive in a completely different time and place and there was the expectation of discovering a new world, or  different time period. The Daleks, being the first villains to appear in only the second story, had a huge effect because my school friends who would be going around the playground saying 'exterminate! exterminate!' in a sort of monosyllabic voice as a result of seeing these pepper-pot type characters on television. With the revival of the series in 2005 it was quite intriguing to see how the present generation of children would take to the Daleks and it was amazing to see that, a good 50-years after my generation was introduced to them, that they could still produce such a chilling effect on a generation bought up on C.G.I.-generated creatures. I have to say, having viewed the very first episode 'An Unearthly Child' which was shown on BBC Four over the week of the 50th anniversary showed how well it stood up, compared with not only the revived 'Doctor Who' but a lot of current television, considering it was made on a shoe-string budget, with very basic equipment and in black-and-white. I don't honestly remember any 'wobbly sets' but being totally involved in the stories and characters. Probably we didn't in those days. Maybe it was because we only had two television channels in 1963. We didn't bother too much about the 'basics' of television, because it was, let's face it, basic in the extreme. No location filming, sets that were all constructed in a studio in Shepherd's Bush which, although not wobbly, weren't exactly convincing. Lumps of what would have been polystyrene being made to look like rock and a really unconvincing stone-age landscape which looked as if it was made of old bedsheets! Never mind, it was all good fun and we loved it!

Wild and Windy Weather

We went early to get petrol from the Shell station in Grafton Street before Carol went to work this morning. I had problems with using the card in the self-service pump. They are a good idea in principal, meaning that you don't have to go into the shop and possibly queue up to pay at the till, but the thing seemed reluctant to 'read' the card and then, once that was rectified, on putting in the loyalty card, that wouldn't respond as it should. There was no indication as to which way up this card was supposed to go into the slot, which didn't exactly help, but after some effort it decided to work and I was able to put £10-worth of petrol in the car. As we drove round to the filling station we were struck by the sunrise. It was really very beautiful with most of the sky a bright red. I would have liked to have taken a photograph but by the time I had got home to collect the camera it would have been too late as the red of the sky was fading fast. 

It was really quite chilly when we got in the car and the wind was rising considerably. We have been warned on the television news that there will be  yet another powerful storm either today or tomorrow and something about high tides along the east coast, a sort of surge, but I'm not clear exactly. It must be serious as apparently the Thames barrier is to be closed. As I write this there is quite a strong wind blowing and howling around the house, whipping up clouds of fallen leaves.
With the crimson-coloured sky I was put in mind of the saying 'red sky at night, shepherd's delight/Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning.' I just hope the forecast for storms and sea-surges doesn't mean a lot of damage and chaos. If so, the well-known saying will be completely correct and not just another so-called old-wives tale. And could someone tell me who this 'old wives' were and why they kept coming up with their sayings, correct or otherwise?
Watching the BBC lunchtime news it looks as if the storm has hit already. When the Environment Agency is involved and places are being evacuated, things must be getting really bad. They are saying it could be one of the worst storms for 60 years.

Working In Theatre- Part 11

In the Spring of 1973 I answered an advertisement for a stage management job in  "The Stage" newspaper, the entertainment industry journal  where most acting, stage management  and other theatre-related jobs were advertised. It was to work at Century Theatre in Keswick, Cumbria. It now seems quite incredible, in hindsight, from the distance in time of some 40 years, that I was not asked to go for an interview. Today you have to give all sorts of forms of identity before you can apply for even the most menial of jobs, such as several utility bills, bank statements, C.R.B. checks and so on.  I couldn't believe that a few weeks after I applied that I got a letter back in response to mine, informing me that I had got the job of D.S.M. with the company and that I would start that Easter.  It does seem incredible that I could have been any one on earth when I eventually turned up for work, what with so many stories now  coming to light such as child abuse  etc etc (just think of the Jimmy Saville Scandal).  I imagine they must have followed up with references for other places I'd worked, or at least I would hoped they did. So I packed up some of my things and put it into my little Triumph car and drove off up the M1 and M6 towards the Lake District. I recall that the driver's side door of the car caused a big problem as it wouldn't close properly so I had to tie a bit of string to the inside door handle and then the other to the steering wheel column. Before I had tied it up in this fashion, the door had swung open when I'd gone round a roundabout. Thinking about it, it seems really quite precarious and dangerous, but there seemed absolutely no other way of dealing with the problem. I could have easily fallen out of the car, but it actually didn't seem to bother me. It did cause problems when I came to stop at a service area on the M6 as I had to undo the bit of string to get out of the car and then re-tie it back on when I got back in to resume the journey! On the way I spent a night with friends in Liverpool and then continued on towards Keswick.

I had a vague idea what to expect with Century. It had a reputation for being quite innovative, in that it was a mobile theatre and had been set up after the Second World War with the intention of taking professional theatre to towns and cities across the North of England which at the time didn't have their own, permanent theatres. It was quite an amazing construction, being made up of a series of large pantechnicons or I suppose H.G.Vs or in modern terms container trucks, which could be transported in convoy and then assembled to form the theatre with the stage being formed out of one such trailer and the auditorium from another, which had all the seats in it and another which housed the front-of-house with a bar and box-office as well as the lighting control box. There were a couple of other trailers which served as dressing rooms and another for wardrobe as well as a furniture van which contained all the scenery, props and other equipment. When it had originally been set up in the late 1940's all the actors, stage management  and auxiliary staff had toured and lived in caravans, and everyone mucked in and helped construct the theatre as well as set up and strike the theatre whenever it moved around from town to town and everyone lived in these caravans. During the summer of 1973 several of the actors in the company did live in caravans on the Keswick site, which was a car park, but also several company members, including myself,  lived in flats and houses around Keswick. I do not have very good experiences of caravans, mostly due to the fact that I'm over 6 foot tall and having to  live in accommodation which is cramped and usually has headroom of less than six feet high doesn't suit me, so I found a room nearby in  a house in the centre of the town.

The season consisted of four plays, which were "The Patrick Pearce Motel" by Hugh Leonard, "How The Other Half Loves" by Alan Ayckbourn, "The Man With A Load of Mischief" by Ashley Dukes  and "Romeo and Jeannette" by Jean Anouilh. Each play ran in repertoire for the season, from April to October and each would run for two days at a time and  then we would change over to another play in the repertoire, the idea being that most people who visited the area came for a week so in any week they would be able to see at least two plays in the season. The first play to be rehearsed was the Hugh Leonard and once that was running, the next was rehearsed during the day whilst the evening show was running, then that was opened and then the next was rehearsed and then brought into the repertoire until all the plays were running and then cycled round every two days. Extremely hard works as you can imagine. We had to set up and strike after each play's two-day run which meant working late into the night and as the show would finish at gone 10 p.m. we might not complete the strike and then set-up for the next show until well into the early hours of the following day. We had to re-light the new play once the set was in as well as put in all the necessary props and furniture.

As I've already mentioned, there was a furniture van on the site which was parked near the get-in doors of the theatre where all the scenery was stored. Bear in mind that this was chocker-block full of flats for up to four shows, although at any one time there would be three stored in this van. It was no easy task to drag out each flat and lift it into the theatre through the doors, and then, once the sets had been dismantled, to then lift them into the furniture van. It was quite a task to stack the flats carefully so as to not damage them but to make sure they were stacked in such a way as to take up as little space as possible. Also, after several months of this, setting and striking, the scenery began to show signs of real wear and tear.

If you know the Lake District well you will be aware of the weather in that part of England. It can change very rapidly. In one day you can have fog and mist and the next minute the fog will clear and it will be bright and sunny and the next minute it will be pouring with rain. I mention this because the theatre was, as I've said already, constructed of several large container or H.G.V. lorries and they were made of metal. When it was sunny it could get quite hot inside the theatre, as the metal of their construction retained heat. When it rained when a show was on the sound could be quite loud and the actors had to raise their voices to be heard. Another problem was that where two of the lorries met, just over the centre of the stage (I think, looking back, the roof of the stage was made of a side section of a lorry which was hinged up and it joined another similar section from the other up-stage section to make the rest of the roof.) Where they met it used to be not particularly water-proof and as a result there could be drips falling on the stage whenever it rained (which was quite frequently.)  The actors learnt quite early on in the season where any drips would fall and managed to find ways of avoiding these drips, which was quite amusing, watching them from the wings, trying to judge where the next drip was going to fall, and stepping carefully out of the way! As a way of solving this dripping it was decided to fix a sort of gutter along the  ceiling. But, unfortunately, it meant that as a result, the sets were some four or five inches too high. I must tell you that the entire height of the ceiling from the stage floor can have been no more than about nine or ten feet, in fact the height of a standard Leyland lorry (which was what the whole theatre was constructed from.) As a result of having this gutter fitted all the flats for all four plays had to be cut down so that they would fit under the gutter! So you can imagine the amount of work and effort this caused!

I seem to remember that there was a complaint from somebody who lived near the theatre. It seemed that we made far too much noise during the get-in/get-out nights. I think it may have had something to do with the floor of the stage. As with most stages, or at least those I had worked on, the floor was covered by what is called a stage cloth. It is in simple terms a large piece of canvas that fits the floor of the stage exactly and is stretched and held taut with staples tacks or nails. It can then be painted to suit the set design obviously depending on what play is being staged. After time this cloth becomes very wrinkled due to the number of feet walking on it and scenery being moved around over it. So, in order to remove any wrinkles and irregularities it had to be re-tacked. We used to 'tread' it so as to get rid of these wrinkles. This was always done as soon as the stage was completely empty. As a result of this 'treading' with everyone involved, it produced quite a lot of noise. I think it was this that caused the complaints from the neighbouring houses. As a result we had to keep any noise to an absolute minimum and we had to finish any work in the theatre at midnight or even earlier.

This stage cloth comes into the next bit I'm about to relate. During the scene changes for one of the plays, "The Patrick Pearce Motel" stage management would stand in the wings ready to go on stage immediately this particular scene ended and did the scene change, which if I recall was quite complicated. There was quite a draught which blew across the stage under  the afore-mentioned get-in doors. This caused the stage cloth to ride up somewhat. One of the stage crew had to remove stage weights off a lighting stand ready to move it away for whatever reason, perhaps to allow flats to be moved on or off. As a result the stage cloth under the lighting stand on this particular day was toppled over and the light and stand fell on my head. I was not seriously injured but I could have been. This was long before the claims culture of today when everyone and anyone seems to demand compensation for work-related injuries, but I just carried on as if nothing had happened. But, thinking about it now it was just another accident and one of the things you come to take in your stride in that particular sort of working environment.
Something else which is worth mentioning is connected to another of the plays in the repetoire, "Romeo and Jeannette" by Jean Anouilh. This is set in France and the director, John Ridley, came up with an idea for it that took stage management by surprise, not to say, shock. During the action of the play a chicken is killed and appears carried by one of the characters, having been killed off-stage, head chopped off complete with the rest of it's feathers, tail and so on. Easy enough to make a stuffed prop, which is what we did, but he wanted a real chicken to be on stage when the curtain went up, but not only on stage but sitting on the table in the middle of the stage. We all thought he was having a joke, no way on earth was a real, live cockerel going to stay sitting or at least, perching, on the table and remain there when the curtain went up as the play opened.  There was a real danger that the stupid bird would take fright and either fly into the audience or at least fly into the wings and perch on a lighting bar or something. But he was proved completely right. The real chicken we managed to acquire from goodness knows where, behaved perfectly during every single performance of the play and sat still on the table as the curtain went up on each  and every performance.  Remarkable. He lived in a cage somewhere on the theatre site, and was named Leon (I'm not sure whether it was the name in the play's script.) We had to make the 'dead' prop version of Leon and managed to retrieve some of his spare feathers (no doubt plucked from his wings and tail!) and we made the body rather in the manner of a stuffed toy, complete with wings, but minus a head, and used the feathers to complete the prop! It did look very convincing, but I'm not entirely sure what the real Leon thought of it! I don't know what happened to him once the season finished and all the company dispersed to various parts of the country. No doubt someone gave him a good home. He should have joined Equity and made appearances in things like 'Emmerdale' and make commercials for eggs or something. I never did know.

More of the Persistent Cough

As mentioned in an earlier post, we have both had to endure a really persistent cough. So much so that Carol had to stay off work for well over a week. Mine started the week of Half-Term, which was unfortunate as it meant we couldn't go out and about as we would have done under different circumstances. On the Thursday I went to the doctor and was put on antibiotics and a week or so later, having returned to work, Carol was more or less forced to make a doctor's appointment and was similarly put on the same antibiotics as I was prescribed and given a sick note which signed her off for a further week. Even now we still have the wretched cough which won't shift and some nights we wake and I often start a quite unpleasant coughing fit which is generally started because I'm lying down. We are currently taking cough linctus to attempt to alleviate the cough but I also find that my ears are blocked up also which doesn't make things any earlier. I seems that this ailment is going the rounds as Carol has told me that quite a few people at the Academy have been off sick with it. It's not like a cold, which you now will be relieved by taking some medication, keeping warm, and is usually associated with a raised temperature and runny nose. This cough just continues unabated, any amount of nose-blowing won't shift it and there is no raised temperature and i generally feel fine. We just hope it doesn't continue for much longer.

Foggy and Dull

Today started really foggy and dull. I think you best describe it as a 'dead day.' Typical November day. I seem to remember a very appropriate poem when I was at school called 'November.'

It's by Thomas Hood and here it is:

No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! -
November! 

Quite brillant and descriptive of the sort of day today was.

It must have had a profound effect on me if I remember it from school, so I'm grateful to the English teacher who must have introduced me to this poem. Also whichever teacher first introduced me to William Shakespeare at some stage of my literary education as I have been a real lover of his work ever since. Hamlet in particular is a play which intrigues me and still has a very strange power which is with me to this very day. Not much I don't know about it as a piece of theatre or literature.

Sunny but cold

Today is one of those typical autumn days. It's bright and sunny, but underneath it's quite chilly. There is a nasty wind which makes it a good deal colder. The trees are rapidly loosing their leaves, but at the same time the leaves are turning the most amazing range of colours. One of the wonders of Milton Keynes. Whoever laid out this city in the late 1960's-1970's had the foresight to plant many trees. As you drive around this place it's often difficult to imagine that there are so many houses as most are hidden by trees growing along the grid roads.

Alice Neel painting inspires me to write!

Last Saturday I went on a creative writing course at Milton Keynes Art Centre in Great Linford and lead by Deborah Fielding. As part of the course I wrote the following which was inspired by the above painting, which is called "Nancy and the Rubber Plant" by Alice Neel.

The rubber plant had been a present. It took up almost half the room, which made things worse. To say it was unwanted would be stating the obvious. But how do you dispose of an unwanted present, particularly one which seemed to dominate the sitting room so obviously?

It had come from Steven's mother, but Nancy hadn't got on too well with her, which didn't help matters. She thought Steven was being controlled by the woman, and he was pretty well terrified of her. Shat she said had to be adhered to totally. So when she had arrived ove afternoon with the wretched rubber plant, Nancy's face had turned ashen. She'd hated the thing from the start. She had stuck it in the corner of the room and shoved the armchair in front of it, as if hiding it would somehow make it disappear. But Steven had looked after it, as if it were a child, watered it, cleaned it, suing a special rubber-plant leaf-cleaning fluid he'd managed to discover in a garden centre and generally fussed over the horrid plant. As a  result it had just grown and grown. Nancy had hoped that it would just die, but it didn't. It seemed to her that it had a life of it's own, that if she sat in the chair in front of it, it would somehow attempt to strangle her, or poison her, perhaps wrapping a branch round her neck until she was gasping for breath, or it stuck a poisoned thorn into her arm, which was absurd, as the plant had no such thorns. All this was in her imagination. But Steven just shrugged all this nonsense off, telling Nancy she was becoming paranoid.

Steven's mother had never really liked Nancy. She's told him that he could have done much better than to marry beneath him, which was why she'd imagined such awful things of his mother and her wretched present. Perhaps next time she'd bring them a venus fly trap, so that would DEFINITELY seal the deal!

She'd been watching far too many late-night horror movies, particularly those directed by Roger Corman,  and especially the sort which had carnivorous plants in them, the one which came from outer space, or the one where humans get turned into cactuses or something and end up having ridiculous green faces with prickles sticking out all over the place, or that one where pods keep appearing in peoples gardens, rather like huge pea-pods and people get taken over by yet another alien race from the planet Zog.

Perhaps she could chop bits off the rubber plant, so Steven wouldn't notice, so eventually the horrid plant shriveled up and died. But, unfortunately, Steven spent too much time fussing over the awful plant, so he'd see immediately if a leaf or a branch was removed. Just to keep his MOTHER quiet, because when she came to visit, which was quite often and on the least pretext, she'd look at the plant to see how it was doing. So Nancy was stuck with it and it seemed  that there was no way on Earth could she think of to get rid of the evil thing.

Working In Theatre- Part 10

I'm skipping forward slightly. I have mentioned in an earlier post a production of a play called 'Hadrian VII' which I was involved in whilst working as a D.S.M. at Ipswich Theatre. I also worked on several other productions, several of which I was responsible for The Book. As I've already mentioned in earlier posts, the job of working on The Book is important to the  smooth-running of any production as you are more or less totally responsible for such things as cueing lighting, sound, spot effects (door slams, glass crashes and other live off-stage sound effects.) as well as making sure the actors are given 'calls' via tannoy for their next entrance (as they are usually in either their own dressing-room when not on-stage or the actors' waiting or 'common room' (called 'Green Room' for some unaccountable reason, although if I did a Google I expect I could find some explanation as to why 'Green Room' in particular.) At Ipswich there were three lights that you had to use on the prompt desk in order to warn either the sound or lighting operator that a cue was coming up. Generally you have a red and green light, with red as a warning and some 30 seconds to a minute later you give the green when the cue comes, usually taken from a line in the script or a movement that an actor makes on stage. At Ipswich there was a third light, I think it was blue. You gave the red light and the operator would flash the blue to show that he/she was ready. On this particular show I was working on I gave the lighting guy a red light and was expecting a blue light to show he was standing by. After around 20 seconds I hadn't got anything back via the blue light and was panicking slightly. There were seconds to go before the lighting cue was due and still nothing. I got up off my prompt-corner stool and shot up the metal ladder which lead to the lighting box (actually on a sort of deck over the prompt corner.) to discover that the lighting guy was sound asleep! I had to make the fade up, or down, myself, using the ancient lighting board, while the guy was snoring soundly! I then had to return to my prompt corner, but it was a hare's breath in my timing and climbing the metal ladder otherwise the cue wouldn't have happened! Such are, or were, the joys of working in repertory theatre!

I worked The Book on several plays at Ipswich, 'Plaza Suite' by Neal Simon, 'Time and Time Again' by Alan Ayckbourne and 'The Matchmaker' by Thornton Wilder (which is the basis for the musical Hello Dolly!')

Now in this particular play there are several points in the action when some of the characters come 'out front' and 'break the fourth wall' as they say and speak directly to the audience. Usually they are alone on stage and no other characters appear until they've made, in some cases, some quite long speeches, some of several pages. When you are responsible for The Book, you will have been in all the rehearsals from day one, and carried through all the requirements of being responsible for the actors as regards prompting them. Most of the actors would have learnt their lines thoroughly and be virtually word perfect by the second weeks of rehearsals (depending on what length of time the rehearsal period is.) I kept a strict eye on the actors getting their lines right and as a result would prompt them where necessary. 

During this particular performance (I think it may well have been a mid-week matinee, but I can't remember exactly as it's some 40 years ago) all went well enough. Now the actor who played the central male character of Vandergelder (I'm not giving his name here as I don't want to cause embarrassment, but I think it's only polite to not to do so, as you will understand.) was somewhat renowned for his drinking habits. I'm talking alcohol and not tea or coffee, obviously. I had experience of this when working on other shows he was in. On  this occasion, when The Half was called (the period in which the actors are expected to be in the theatre and getting ready for the performance. It is actually 35 minutes before 'curtain up', which gives five minutes before the show starts and 'Beginners' are in place before the curtain rises on the show.) I would go round and check that everyone was in their dressing room or in the Green Room, but this particular gentleman would usually be found in the threatre bar downing a pint or two and generally 'propping up the bar' and certainly not preparing for the play's performance as I would have hoped. At around five minutes to curtain up he was STILL in the bar and not ready, but as he didn't go on until half-way through the first act it didn't really matter. Anyway, I wasn't happy about the situation but there wasn't a lot I could do about it.

As I've mentioned, there were several fairly long speeches which a couple of the characters had which were spoken directly at the audience. It was quite important to the plot that Vandergelder and Dolly Levi don't meet immediately. She has a long speech and goes off and then Vandergelder comes on and he gives several pages of dialogue. Most performances all goes smoothly until this particular afternoon the actor playing Vandergelder had had more than enough alcohol to sink a ship. He starts his long speech, and seems to be slurring his lines somewhat, and fluffs slightly, to such an extent that I have to give him a prompt. Something which anyone on the book dreads, as it's never always certain if they can hear you, or whether the audience is aware that you've given a prompt. I was taught that you only give a couple of words and the actor, if he/she is capable, soon gets back to the script and carries on. This actor didn't seem to take the prompt, so  I was forced to give it again, but still he didn't pick up and carry on with the line. He just seemed to go round and round, repeating great chunks of his long speech. It was very stressful and difficult for me. The actress playing Dolly was waiting off-stage for her entrance, and it's important as I mention that they don't meet at this point in the play, so she can't go on and 'assist' with the actors lines (ie, improvising or something to get the actor back 'on-script.') Anyway,  she was stamping her feet  and coughing to try and get him to continue his speech, but by now he had gone round and round with the same bit of script.  I think by now it wasn't just that one actress who was trying to get his attention, but several other member of the cast as well as stage management. I don't remember exactly how the situation was  eventually resolved, but I think he may just have got to the end of this confounded speech and gone off -stage so that Dolly could enter and the play continue. But it was quite a difficult situation. I'm not sure what the audience would have made of it, but if it had been a matinee there may have been very few people in the audience and they may not have noticed.

Irritating Cold and Cough

For the past week or more I have been developing a really annoying cold. Carol came home from the Academy with a cold so I suppose I caught it off her, but I expect she got it from some child at the school. I remember when I was at school, as soon as the autumn term started up, having been on holiday for around six weeks, and we'd gone back to school, I almost always came down with some bug or other, so it's to be expected, particularly when you're working closely with a group of people such as school children. The same happened with the time I worked in care, there is always the chance that you will catch something from those you are caring for.

The cold turned into a cough. The cough got worse and worse. Having had a heart attack I am always wary of getting flu or colds and this more than ever since the week before my heart attack in 2006 I had suffered with a really bad bout of bronchitis, so you can see why I was beginning to get concerned. At one point, having had a really bad coughing fit, whenever I breathed in I got something of a pain in my chest. Carol suggested making a doctor's appointment. It is far easier to get to the  Ashfield Medical Centre in Beanhill before the surgery opens at 8.00 a.m., rather than phoning. It can take something like 30 minutes to get through, so driving there and getting in the queue that forms outside the door is easier. So on Thursday morning we drove to the surgery and got there at 7.45 and stood and waited. Around half-a-dozen brave folks already there in front of us, but at 8.00 sharp the doors were opened and we went inside. I managed to get an appointment immediately and was seen by Doctor Hilmy at 8.10. I was very impressed as I've never been able to make an appointment so rapidly, thus preventing all the unnecessary and annoying waiting that you might otherwise expect, or getting an appointment later in the day and so meaning you have to return to the surgery. My name came up on the digital display and we went into the doctor's surgery and the doctor prescribed me penicillin capsules. He then said 'have you had your flu jab?' I said I hadn't, but was expecting a letter from the surgery telling me I was due to have one. As we walked into the surgery we saw posters and a display on the very same subject, so it was quite obvious that they were about to give those of a 'certain age' (i.e. myself, over the age of 60.) and with 'certain health issues' (i.e. such as heart problems.) Any I was expecting him to say 'you can make an appointment with the nurse for your jab as you go out,' but he did it there and then, which neither of us was expecting. I was more than impressed as it meant that it was at least out of the way.

We then left the surgery and went to Asda and had breakfast. Fried bacon, egg, sausage etc etc for £2.50 seemed a very good bargain. We had some other shopping to do and then got the prescription made up by the pharmacy and went home.

Heart Disease and Fatty Foods A Myth?

The following is taken from a website called Healthy3.co.uk  and may be of interest to those people who have had a heart attack or have been prescribed the use of statins in order to lower their cholestrol levels. I take statins, having had a heart attack and as a result my cholestrol level has been maintained at a reasonable level. I’m not sure whether I would want to risk having another heart attack, as a result of having a blood clot, but the information below is very interesting

Fats- The Cholestrol Myth?

‘A cardiology specialist has written about the “myth” of saturated fat in a leading medical journal. Dr Aseem Malhotra suggests that full fat butter and cheese are not as bad for the heart as previously been suggested. This view goes against that of the majority of the medical establishment.’

‘Dr Malhotra, a cardiology specialist registrar at Croydon University Hospital in London says that four decades of medical wisdom of cutting down on saturated fat to reduce the risk of heart disease may be wrong. He argues that the saturated fats have been given a bad reputation since a major study in 1970 linked high levels of heart disease with high cholesterol and high saturated intake. Dr Malhotra even suggests that eating foods that have not been processed such as cheese, butter, eggs and yoghurt may even be good for the heart.’

‘Saturated fat should not be confused with “trans fats”, which are found in margarines, cakes, chocolates and biscuits. Trans fats are universally recognised as being bad for our health, and unlike saturated fats from dairy food, do not contain any vitamins or minerals. Dairy foods are rich in vitamin A and D, calcium and phosphorus, which can help to support cardiac function.’

‘Cutting down on saturated fat has been the mantra from the health authorities, but these fats are being replaced with refined carbohydrates or sugars which are thought be more dangerous for cardiac health.’

‘The current NHS guidelines recommend that the average man should eat no more than 30g of saturated fat a day and the average woman should eat no more than 20g of saturated fat a day. Cutting down on sugar should be more of a priority according to Dr Malhotra.’

‘Dr Malhotra said, “From the analysis of the independent evidence that I have done, saturated fat from non-processed food is not harmful and probably beneficial. Butter, cheese, yoghurt and eggs are generally healthy and not detrimental. The food industry has profited from the low-fat mantra for decades because foods that are marketed as low-fat are often loaded with sugar. We are now learning that added sugar in food is driving the obesity epidemic and the rise in diabetes and cardiovascular disease.”’

‘Dr Malhotra also questions the mass prescribing of statin medications, as he believes that doctors are not assessing the risk of heart disease correctly. Decades of warnings that high cholesterol levels cause heart disease have led to over medication of statins in health patients, he claimed.’

‘“The fact that no other cholesterol lowering drug has shown a benefit in terms of mortality supports the hypothesis that the benefits of statins are independent of their effects on cholesterol,” he wrote in the British Medical Journal.’

‘He goes on to suggest that a Mediterranean diet is more effective than taking a statin to promote a healthy heart and cholesterol levels.’

‘Dr Malhotra also pointed out an interesting fact that although the amount of fat consumed in the US has gone down in the past 30 years, obesity rates have rocketed. This is linked to the amount of carbohydrates and sugars that are in “low fat” versions of processed foods.’

Article written by Rahul Shah and published on October 23^rd 2013

Irish Surgeon Gagged over research into Cholesterol-lowering medicines

  The following item is here reproduced from the Irish Independent newspaper website, dated 5th October 2013:

'Sherif Sultan, a senior medic at University College Hospital, Galway, reviewed a range of studies of statins and found a lack of evidence to show they should be given as a means of prevention to healthy people with  high cholesterol but no heart disease.'

'Mr Sultan and his surgeon colleague Niamh Hynes said lifestyle changes to reduce cholesterol were better because this allowed people to avoid the risk of statins' side effects.'

'However, in a statement last night, Dr Pat Nash, a cardiologist and the group clinical director in University College Hospital said the recently published views of his colleagues were "not representative" of those in Galway or neighbouring hospitals.'

 ' "As group clinical director of the West/North West Hospitals Group, and a working cardiologist, I wish to reassure patients that statins are safe," said Dr Nash.'

 ' "These are very important, well-validated drugs for the treatment of elevated cholesterol. We have extensive evidence to show their benefit and to show that they improve outcomes for patients with heart disease and stroke and that they have a role in preventing heart disease and stroke.
"As always, if patients have any concerns, they should not discontinue their medication without discussing with their GP or consultant."'

'Asked to comment, Mr Sultan said: "I have received an official warning from the HSE and have been instructed not to liaise directly with the press in my capacity as a HSE consultant." '

 'However, he said he could continue to comment as a consultant vascular surgeon at the Galway Clinic, where he has a private practice.'

'The HSE declined to comment on the reasons for ordering Mr Sultan not to speak as a public consultant.'
 
'He said he stood by his analysis of the role of statins in otherwise healthy patients with high cholesterol. He pointed to another recently published review on exercise versus drug therapy in the management of pre-diabetes and cardiovascular disease.'

 ' "That 'British Medical Journal' analysis showed the superiority of exercise over drug therapy extends even to secondary prevention (where patients have developed disease).'

' "The most convincing evidence is in stroke prevention." '

 'He pointed out that his own review had found there were benefits in prescribing some dosages of statins for certain patients who were already diagnosed with heart disease or had a history of a previous heart attack or stroke.'

CONCERNS

 'He had advised any patient who was taking statins and had concerns to talk to their doctor about them and heed their advice. '

 'Around 250,000 prescriptions for statins are written monthly and they account for 8pc of the HSE's €1.7bn drugs spend. This amounts to one euro in every €12 spent on all drugs.'

'The Irish Medicines Board has received 59 reports of suspected adverse reactions to statins since the start of 2012. Side effects include a potential increased risk of diabetes, eye cataracts and male impotence.'

 'Women who are past the menopause and who are on statins were found to have a higher chance of developing diabetes and this was associated with taking the drug.'

 'The Irish Heart Foundation said the mainstay of preventing heart disease involved lifestyle changes, including not smoking, being active, having a healthy weight and getting regular checks for blood pressure and cholesterol.'

- Eilish O'Regan Health Correspondent

Irish Independent

   

Working In Theatre- Part 9

As an A.S.M. (Assistant Stage Manager) you are expected to undertake a variety of different duties as part of your job. These can range from working on The Book, which involves being in rehearsal from the first read-through, being in the rehearsal room and making notes of all the moves the actors make during the blocking during the early stages of the rehearsal of the play, right through  until the show goes onto the stage, giving cues from the prompt copy, for sound, lighting, spot effects (ie door slams, glass crashes, flying, etc  etc.) You might be expected to run the props for a play, being in rehearsal and 'plotting' props (properties) for the whole show, making sure that they are set in the correct place on set and off and that the actors get their 'personal' props (smaller items that they carry on themselves, from umbrellas, glasses, books, handbags etc. as well as things like letters, money and so on inside wallets, pockets etc.) This plotting is essential because most, if not all, props are vital to the play in some way or another. For example, if the play is a thriller or 'who-dunnit', where there is a murder, some of the props might be clues for a policeman to discover such as a revolver or knife and if it is set in the wrong place it might ruin the story of the play in question. During the rehearsal period sometimes these props can be moved to a different place on the set (or even off) and it is important for the person on 'props' to note exactly where these changes are made.

Sometimes you can expect to do some really odd things which might otherwise not be seen by the audience but which will have quite an important part to play in the over-all production. One such thing I recall was on a production of a play called "Busman's Honeymoon" at Liverpool Playhouse. It is an adaptation of one of Dorothy L. Sayers 'Lord Peter Wimsey' novels. During the course of the action  Lord Peter (Played by an actor called Neil Cunningham) uncovers a vital clue which leads to the discovery of  how the murder was done and which is the central to the  whole play. One of the characters is murdered by the fact that he/she is knocked unconscious (I'm not certain now if they weren't supposed to be killed, which I imagine they would be as the whole play revolves around a murder.) by a swinging flower-urn which is suspended from the ceiling of the set. For some unfathomable reason Lord Peter decides that the clue to this is hidden up the chimney of the cottage in which the play is set. He decides for some reason best known to himself that he will fire a rifle up the chimney to dislodge the item which is supposed to be hidden up there. (Are you with me? I hope so, as this is quite complicated to explain.) To achieve the desired effect of soot and the object (which was a chain or something, if memory serves we correctly.) it was necessary for myself to be standing off-stage on a ladder above the mocked-up stage fire-place. Actually rather precarious, not just because I had to balance on the ladder, but to also be responsible for a real weapon. (What would health and safety have to say about THAT I wonder ?) At the correct point in the play I was given a cue and had to fire off the hand-gun to simulate the rifle being fired by the actor playing Lord Peter Wimsey and at the same time tip the chain and mocked-up soot down the chimney (actually sawdust which had been dyed black.) Thinking about it now it must have looked really odd to anyone watching, someone standing on a ladder with a pistol, firing it off as  a prop rifle appears through the stage fireplace and then throwing down pretend soot. The things one does for one's art!

Working In Theatre-Part 8

From working at Greenwich Theatre I next went to work at Liverpool Playhouse. Something of a culture-shock, I suppose because it was a greater  distance from home and Greenwich was within the London area. Looking back from the vantage point of some 40 years I think I should have stayed in Greenwich, but when you are offered a job elsewhere it seemed a good move, but to be honest the move to Liverpool wasn't the best decision I've made.

I arrived in Liverpool at the weekend preceeding the opening of a production of 'Hamlet.' I have to admit to be something of a 'Hamlet' obsessive, built up over the years, but in 1971 at the age of a mere 20 years, it was something of an enigma (as I expect it would be to most people.) The previous show's set  was being 'struck' or dismantled and the new show (Hamlet) was being bought in and there would be a technical rehearsal over the following week and then several dress rehearsals and then the play would have opened on the Tuesday. 

The set was fairly straightforward, with most of it being a large coffin-shaped raked floor which came out over the orchestra pit and with most of the scenes created with 'flying' pieces, I seem to remember them being something like flags or curtains. The fly system at the time at Liverpool Playhouse was a counterweight system, as opposed to any flying being done manually, sheer brute force being involved with stage-hands pulling on ropes or 'hemps' suspended over the stage through a grid and then cleated-off on the fly floor, which is usually above the wing space in most theatres. It was one of my jobs on this production to operate the counterweight-flying for these curtain pieces during some of the scene changes, but nobody had thought to train me on the best way to operate this. During the technical rehearsal it is the stage management crew who has to be able to learn to do any scene changes that are required, along with the lighting cues, sound effects  setting of props and to make sure the actors enter on time and get used to working on the set, which up until that point they would not have seen. 

The scene changes were done in pitch black, for example, the lighting would fade on one scene and the scene change would be done in the dark and then the lights would come up on the next scene, the actors would either walk on as the lights faded up or would be discovered on stage. I was supposed to bring in one of these pieces of curtain and it was supposed to be set exactly in place, without it moving or hitting the floor and not curled up. But, unfortunately, I pulled the rope the wrong way and when the lights came up the confounded thing was there, on the stage, for all to see, in a crumpled mess on the floor. You can imagine the embarrassment for me, I just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.
This production had John Castle playing Hamlet and Joanna David playing the part of Ophelia. She is currently to be seen on I.T.V. playing the part of the Duchess of Yeovil in the series 'Downton Abbey.'

One of the problems with the counterweight system was that the ropes that operated it had to go down into the theatre basement which often got flooded and as a result of being in water these 'hemps' or ropes tended to shrink slightly, so when you came to pull on them, because they had shrunk slightly, it was very difficult to get a purchase on them, making the operation of them  very difficult and therefore smooth flying up, or down, quite difficult. 

Another job was to go up into the grid to put weights into the cradles which made the system function, the actual 'counter-weights.' This was one of my least-favourite jobs (I doubt, with modern-day health and safety regulations it would be allowed) as I suffer from vertigo and having to climb up some 50-60 feet to the grid and looking down onto the stage was not my favourite job, as well as it being very dusty up there and very hot and very unpleasant. Also, having to handle the weights and putting them in the cradles so that the scenery was balanced correctly was not very pleasant. I think at that age I was not particularly used to saying 'please don't send me up there!' but I just got on with it. I think today if I was asked to do something similar I would refuse and not feel in the least embarrassed to tell the ther person why.