Survival

Sunday, December 6

Today is a day to be survived.

My alarm sounds at 3.45 and I get up straight away to minimise the risk of falling back to sleep and missing my flight.  I pack my costumes into my two cases and trawl around the room a few times to make sure that I have got everything with me.  A long stay (and four days certainly qualifies as that) tends to see me spread my things out somewhat and the opportunities for losing something are great.  Add to that the early hour and the risk is doubled.

When I am sure that I have everything, including the maroon cravat that I almost left hanging in the wardrobe, I roll my cases to the lift and having checked out go to the parking garage, where I can’t for the life of me remember where I parked my Dodge.  With hindsight I really didn’t need to rent this car: Lee had come to the airport to meet me and I could easily have taken a cab back this morning, but there might have been a situation where Lee was delayed and I might have needed to drive myself to a venue, so I suppose it has been a slight insurance policy, albeit an expensive one.

At 4.30am I am standing in the garage peering blearily at the rows of cars, wondering which is mine.  I hit the ‘unlock’ button on my key fob and a beacon of blinking lights answers my call. I load my cases and set off for Omaha’s Eppley Field Airport.  My route takes me through a residential district that I do not recognise, and many of the houses have their Christmas lights lit, making it a very festive drive.   At one point, as I cross a railroad track, a doe ambles across the road:  she pauses, looks at me, and then continues on her way.  She is not frightened by my car – at this early hour these are her streets, not mine.

There is no traffic on the road, and I reach the airport in excellent time.  However often you travel, and how ever many times you go through the same routine, there is always something new to be learned.  Today’s lesson is not to put the laptop computer into the first bin on the x-ray machine conveyor belt, because if you do, you have nothing to put it back into at the other side.  Much better to put the bag on first and computer last, so that you can slip it straight in and walk away.  I think I may have been on the road for too long.

It is still early, and I don’t really feel like breakfast (did you ever think that you would ever read those words in my blog?), so I compromise with a cup of orange juice, another of coffee and a banana and walnut muffin.

At the gate I write a little of the blog, until the boarding process begins.  I have become very used to waiting for Zone 2 to be called, but glance at my boarding card anyway and amazed to see the word ‘Sky’ printed there.  This means that I get priority boarding before the hoi polloi.  A look at my connecting flight and there is the same story.  I assume that Bob and Pam Byers must have realised what a difficult day this was shaping up to be and had tried to ease the way in any way they could.  I am extremely grateful to them.

Not only does my Sky Priority status allow me to board early, but it has also given me an extra comfort seat, with a massive amount of legroom.  Indeed I have as much legroom as I want, because I am sat immediately behind first class, in the first row containing three seats.  The aisle seat juts out, meaning that I have nothing in front of me until the cockpit.

After a while those passengers sat further back in the plane begin to board and I perfect the smug ‘oh-you-had-to-wait’ expression that I so detest in others when I am shuffling my way to the back.

The flight is not crowded, and I have the whole bank of three seats to myself.  With the space in front of me it is easy to work on the laptop and I finish the blog quickly, before watching the first episode of House of Cards’ season 3.

The benefits continue: I could have complimentary beer and wine if I wish(although that does seem rather excessive at 6am).  The only disadvantage of sitting in seat 10C on a Boeing 717 is that the aisle through the middle of first class necessarily makes a dog leg to run through the centre of the main cabin, and my legs are right in the firing line as the beverage carts unsuccessfully negotiate this chicane.

After an hour in the air we make our descent through thick fog and touchdown in Detroit.  We seem to taxi for ages, and it is as if the pilot has decided to drive me to Philadelphia, but eventually we pull up at the gate and disembark.  We have come into gate A67 and my onward flight departs from A29; having learned my lesson when I transferred through Detroit on my way to Omaha I decide to take the tram this time, and take the escalator to the upper tier where I wait for Michigan’s equivalent of the bullet train to arrive.

Once at my gate I set the computer and camera up, so that I can upload photographs to accompany my blog post, but frustratingly the Detroit Airport wifi system is down, and I can’t do any online work.

Soon I am boarding again, and take up another comfy, roomy seat, this time by the window.  Because the airfield is shrouded in freezing fog we have to taxi out to a de-icing  station before we can take off.  What I don’t need today is delays.  We finally leave Detorit and head towards Pennsylvania.  I watch a little more TV, before looking out of the window at the amazing view below: we are flying towards Harrisburg, over the dear old Susquehanna River, and there are a range of hills poking through the morning mist: it is as if the sharp knife-edge of the ridge is actually cutting through the cloud, as if it were white silk.

Despite the delay in departure we actually land at Philly on time and when I get to baggage claim I call Pam, who is picking me up and driving me on to Hershey.  My big suitcase is among the first to arrive on the carousel and in no time I am seated in the Byers’ Volvo X90 and we are driving towards the chocolate town.

Time is tight today, as I have a sound check scheduled for 1.30, prior to a show at 3.  Unfortunately Pam and I are so busy talking that she accidentally misses a turn, and we have to go on for a further four miles, before doubling back again.  It is eight miles of driving that we can barely afford. As we go on the early start is catching up with me, and I doze in the passenger seat, losing all sense of time.

When I wake we are in the gentle, rolling terrain of Lancaster County, the scene dotted with tall silos.  The day is clear and the sun is shining. We are running a little late, but not disastrously so and all is well, until:

‘HOLY ****!’ gasps Pam, as the two cars in front of us is brake hard, each swerving in opposite directions.  Another car had decided to turn left into a small road, without signalling and the guys in front of us had to react instantly.  There is squealing of tires on tarmac.  Our route is blocked: the car waiting to turn in front of us and the other two fanning out on either side, narrowly avoiding it.  Pam brakes as hard as she can, and aims for the grass verge on the right, missing the nearest truck by inches.  Now the attention turns to our mirrors and the hope that everyone behind us has been as vigilant, and are able to stop without hitting the temporary road block.  Back at the front, the catalyst for this mayhem duly makes the turn, quite unaware.

A deep breath, and we are on our way again: unharmed. I knew that this was a day to be survived but that’s not quite what I had in mind.

We finally pull up outside the Hotel Hershey at 2.15 and I rush up to the Fountain Lobby to do a sound check, before going to my room.  The lobby is a large hacienda-style space and is set up for the tea service that will precede my show.  Many of the audience have arrived early, so get an extra bit of A Christmas Carol as I go through a few lines for the benefit of the sound engineer.

The tea is due to start at 3pm and my show will be underway at around 3.45, so I have about an hour before I need to be back on duty.  I go to my room on the third floor, and try to prepare myself.

This is not a good way of performing, and hopefully next year we can avoid such tight connections.

I lay out a towel on the floor and do some exercises to try and get the blood pumping a bit, and then have a lovely shower.  The gel provided by the hotel is scented chocolate mandarin, and I come out smelling like a Terry’s Chocolate Orange.

I get into costume, and take a few deep breaths before returning to the Fountain Lobby for the show itself.  The guests are enjoying their tea and many come and shake me by the hand when they see me.  One gentleman comes and asks if I would pose for a photograph with his mother-in-law, who is ninety four, and has flown in from Portland, Oregon to be here.

At 3.45 I am given the nod and stride into the middle of the tea tables to begin.  There is nobody to make an introduction here, so I have to get everybody’s attention with a bellowing ‘ladies and gentlemen, welcome!’

There is no stage, no focal point for the performance and I have to circulate around the room, which is dominated by a large marble fountain in the centre.  I have to make sure that each corner gets plenty of attention during the show.  To a certain extent it is not so much a theatre performance as a purely vocal one: I can’t pause for too long, because at any given time a portion of the room won’t be able to see me, and will have no idea why everything is quiet.  For these tea events I cut the script back to its bare minimum, and the programme runs a little under an hour, rather than the eighty minutes of the full stage version

It is not an easy venue, but it is a challenge and there is a great satisfaction when it works.  I am a bit tired and my limbs feel a bit heavy, but the show goes as well as can be expected.  The applause is very generous and a lot of people come to the signing table to afterwards, even though we have nothing to sell.  As is so often the way at venues that I have visited often, many of the guests have seen me multiple times, and shake my hand like old friends.

With the tea finished, the attention now turns to the dinner performance.  I return to my room and run a hot bath, in which I luxuriously soak for a while.  I lay on the bed, relaxing as much as I can.  All too soon it is time to get into my other costume and go to the Castilian Room, where dinner will be served.

The Castilian Room

The Castilian room is beautiful with ornate chandeliers and colourful décor.  My stage, complete with chair, stool, hat rack and table, is set in the centre of the room with tables laid around it.  Tonight I will be performing between each course of dinner.  I do a sound check, and then greet the guests as they arrive.  I will be sitting with some of the top folks in the Hershey organisation, as the guest of Richard Wyckoff and his wife. Also in the audience is Pam, entertaining her mother and an old family friend; and David Keltz with his wife Teresa, who are friends of long standing.

Many of the other diners are familiar faces, and one party has been to all of my dinner shows at Hershey (sixteen up to this year).  I am really feeling the effects of the day now, but know I must keep the adrenaline flowing for the next couple of hours.  The company at the table is good and conversation flows easily.  Fortunately no-one expects me to regale them with stories about Charles Dickens, so I do not feel as if I have to perform even when not on stage.

The inter-course format (a very carefully placed hyphen, there) is one that I used to do a lot, but now it is only the Hotel Hershey that stages such an event.  From a personal point of view it is a slightly frustrating way of performing, because you can’t build any emotion or tension through the story, but I have to remind myself that the guests are here to enjoy an overall experience that includes good food, fine wine and great service, and that I am only a part of the whole.

During the performance I use the room as much as I can, and pick on individuals to represent various characters: Old Scrooge, Fezziwig, Young Scrooge with his fiancé Belle and of course the object of Topper’s desire.  The event is fun, and hopefully everyone feels included.  As each chapter finishes I ring a little bell and the next delicious course is served.

We make good time and it is before ten (which is always our target), as I raise a glass in a toast to the spirit of Christmas and bring the evening to a close.  I say goodnight to my table companions, and sign a few menus and books before going to my room to change.

I haven’t been able to spend much time with David and Theresa, so we have agreed to meet in the hotel bar to catch up.  David is also an actor, who does one man shows based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe, and Theresa has a background as a theatre producer.  Each year they come to Hershey to support me, and hopefully sometime soon we can create a show together: Poe meets Dickens (hmm, may have to work on the billing!)

Our chat is wonderful and they are such good company, but I really need to get to bed, so we say our good nights at the lift and my day comes to an end, a long time after it began.

I have survived.

Links:

Hotel Hershey: http://www.thehotelhershey.com/

David Keltz: http://davidkeltz.com/

 

 

 

Farewell Omaha

Saturday, December 5

Today is due to follow the pattern set yesterday, so I do not need to be ready to meet Lee and Susie until 9.30.  I take the opportunity to visit the cavernous laundry room and set two washers running before I have my breakfast.  By the time I have finished, the washes have completed and I start the drying cycle on the way back to my room.

Once there I realise that there are a few used bowls, dishes and cups around, so I put them in the dishwasher and set it to run.  There is something rather comforting in the gentle churning of the machine (hmm, that’s not a very good adjective – if a dishwasher is churning there is going to be some serious clearing up to be done).

I make sure that I have all the necessary shirts and things for the day ahead, and then return to the third floor to retrieve my laundry.  The cycle has yet to finish, but I unload the clothes anyway:  if a few things are a little damp I can hang them to fully dry.

At 9.15 I get into the costume with the lighter, green coat (my first performance today is A Christmas Carol), and carry the reserve costume on a hanger.  My hat, scarf and cane are still in Lee’s car, so the only other things that I need are my signing pen, spare braces and a towel.

I arrive in the lobby as Lee pulls up outside, and we are soon on our way back to the mall for another hour of signing, which hopefully will be a little busier today.

The early signs are not promising, as foot traffic is sparse.  There are a few staff members hurrying to their stores, and a couple of power-walkers with intense expressions on their faces as they pound around; but of book-buying public there are none.

Kathy and Susie head off in opposite directions and try to drum up some business and to a certain degree they are successful as a few families come to the table and pick some books to be signed.

The time ticks on, and as we get closer to our departure time of 11 the mall begins to get busier.  The final ten minutes or so see a constant stream of visitors to our modest little table.  Even as we are packing up and on the very point of leaving a lady comes running through the mall: ‘DON’T GO!’  She makes her choice quickly, and I sign, before we leave.

I’m not sure that the mall signings have really worked, although those few that did buy, bought big.  However I’m sure that from an exposure point of view we could have done better elsewhere.  I have no doubt that Kathy and the team will review the situation next year and come up with another plan.

Lee drives us straight to the Field Club, where things are slightly more hectic than yesterday since the show is at 1 instead of 3.

I am performing A Christmas Carol today and assume that there will be no problem in playing my music sound effect into the ballroom: how wrong I am!  Caitlin, the function manager explains that there is no way of playing a CD, although they can plug a phone or mp3 player into the system.  That’s good, so I ask her if she can operate the system, and when she sees Kathy leave the stage to start the music.  Ah, it’s not as easy as that:  the phone will plug into her office, way up the corridor and not in sight of the stage.  OK, if Lee stands in the corner of the room, watching the stage and waves to Caitlin at the other end of the corridor when Kathy leaves the stage, then that will work, and I will start the show from the back of the room. Ah, it’s not as easy as that, for the system can only play music OR broadcast the microphone, not both.  OK: when the bells have finished tolling and I am in position, Lee can wave to Caitlin again and she can flick the switch to microphone setting. Ah, it’s not as easy as that, as the switch to change modes is on the far side of the ballroom itself and needs a PIN to access it.  Caitlin suggests that as soon as she starts the music, she runs from her office, through the kitchen, into the ballroom, where she can reach the switch in time to change the mode, so that I can be heard as I say ‘Marley was dead, to begin with!’

Great – this will never work!

Oh, finally, Caitlin has nothing to play the mp3 file on, so will need to use my phone:  I give her my security code to unlock it when the time comes.

The next commitment is to record a short interview and I sit with Robyn, a young journalist originally from South Africa, in a small dining room, which doubles as my green room.  The interview is over quickly and Robyn leaves to take her seat for the show while I sit at the head of a long, linen-covered table, and try to collect my thoughts.

 

The audience are arriving and it is a big one: over 200 are expected, so I need to be fully focussed.  I pace about a little, and chat with the various Historical Society staff.  Three young students are helping to check coats and they are all due to perform in a local production of A Christmas Carol in a week, or so.

1 o’clock comes, and there are a few latecomers taking their seats, but Kathy gets up to welcome the audience, and our mad-capped plan begins.

Lee is in position, as is Caitlin:  Kathy says the cue line ‘sit back and enjoy the show’.  Lee waves just as Kathy remembers something, and gets up again: ‘Oh, I should have mentioned…..’  Lee frantically waves at Caitlin, finger drawn across throat: cut the music which hasn’t started yet.  Kathy completes the second part of the announcement, Lee Waves again and…….

Silence.  Nothing.  I can vaguely hear the music somewhere, but certainly not being broadcast into the room.  I have no option but to begin, and my slow walk through the audience is very dull without the atmospheric strains of the cello, followed by the heavy bells.

Out of the corner of my eye I see that Caitlin has made it to the switch, and hopefully has punched in the right PIN and changed the audio mode.  I deliver the first lines and am relieved to hear that the microphone is on.  It has been a scruffy and annoying start to the show, but that is all in the past now – I must get on with it.

A great many of the audience are regular attendees, and know how the whole thing works, so are fun to perform with. The stage at The Field Club is wide, but not very deep, but I can use the floor level as well to give myself more room to move.  There is a suitably young girl in the front row to become the focus of Topper’s attentions and poor Kathy is the recipient of Old Joe’s snotty hand.

I have noticed on this year’s tour that the shows are becoming less of an adventure.  In years gone by I have had difficulties with my voice, or costumes failing, or props breaking, and have had to work hard to pull things round.  So far the 2015 performances have been mainly trouble-free and as a result, I think, better.

The response here is wonderful and the audience give me a very long and loud standing ovation.  It has become tradition that I answer a few questions after the show, and there is a flurry of hands when Kathy throws it open to the floor: favourite novel, favourite movie, how do I remember the lines, have I ever written anything; are all answered.  Then Susie pipes up from the third row: ‘When did you first start to act?’  Susie likes hearing the Cockerel story!

I finally leave the stage to another round of applause and take my seat to sign as the crowd leaves.  Lee returns my phone from Caitlin, apparently the volume was turned right down, hence the lack of audible music.

The signing session is a long one, as many people have bought multiple books (the Society’s stock is rapidly diminishing now).

Because of the early show today, I actually have a nice bit of time to relax in before the evening event.  Lee drops me off at the hotel at 3.30 and arranges to return in two hours.

I use the time in my room to start packing my case, as I have a ridiculously early start tomorrow morning.  With as much packed as I can, I relax and play some backgammon on my Kindle before dozing on the sofa.

At 5 o’clock I have a nice warm shower, followed by an icy cold blast to energize my tired body, and get into my costume for the last event of my Omaha adventure this year.  Back at The Crook House everyone seems to be in an end of term mood, there is a melancholic feeling that it is all drawing to a close, but also a celebratory feel that everything has gone so well.  I even allow myself a glass of Kir Royale.

As the guests are enjoying Mario’s delicious buffet I sit quietly on a red velvet sofa and read the opening pages of Michael Slater’s new book about the relationship between Charles Dickens and Ellen Ternan.  It is, of course, beautifully written and I must buy a copy.  As I read I am vaguely aware of a bell ringing – the smoke in the kitchen has triggered an alarm.  Suddenly the staff members are running all over the place to open doors, waft the smoke away from the sensors and kill the alarm.  Apparently the Fire Department will react automatically and if they arrive we will all be evacuated from the house, while it is ‘made safe’.  Fortunately Kathy manages to make a phone call and the fire truck, which is already visible from the window, is stood down.  Our evening can continue without further interruption.

Tonight I am performing the family piece that I premiered yesterday, and the very intimate setting of a Victorian parlour means that it is even more touching and real (when I suggested that I performed the programme it was this room that I had in mind).  As dad describes hiding under the billiard table in Mulberry Walk, Chelsea watching his mysterious aunts gather, it is as if it happened in this very room.  Tonight I don’t feel Dad watching in the same way as yesterday: I hear him! It is his voice delivering the speech and his mannerisms as he turns a page with a flourish.  My chin juts out like his did. I am so happy to have brought this story to the stage.

Henry Fielding Dickens

David Dickens: Dad

The routine is well set now and at the end of the performance the doors to the adjoining dining room are opened to reveal the flutes of champagne on the table waiting for the toast.  Susie makes a wonderfully long and well prepared toast using the theme of our week in numbers: 7 days in Gerald Dickens Week, 7 performances; 2 Dickens’ (CD and me, although I’d like to have included HFD and Dad too!), 2 High School shows and 2 book signings.  As the toast goes on the numerical connections become more and more tenuous, and the laughter louder and louder: Susie is a wonderful performer and receives her own round of applause as we raise our glasses for the final time.

Interestingly quite a few people in the audience were first-timers tonight, and they all promise to return with friends next year.

I am beginning to feel the effects of the day now, but I want a picture with Team Omaha before I leave.   I manage to gather Kathy, Susie, Lee and Chef Mario together for a photo call in the parlour.

Team Omaha. l-r: Mario, Kathy, Me, Susie, Lee

We all say our sad goodbyes, and I leave the Crook House for the last time this year.

Back at my hotel I say my final farewells to Lee and Susie, who gives me a gift for Liz – a scarf that she has knitted herself.  It is a lovely gesture, and we share a long hug in the chill of an Omaha night.

Having watched the Grey Toyota drive away I go to my room and hang my costumes in the wardrobe, before settling down in front of the TV with my plate of Mario’s finest.  I find a channel showing ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and watch to the end: ‘Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!’

I set the alarm for 3.45am (yes, really), and get into bed.  Sleep comes quickly, and I need to make the most of it for tomorrow promises to be the most difficult day on this year’s tour.

 

 

 

 

 

Thank You, Dad

Friday, December 4

My first thoughts, when I wake this morning, are about the show that I am due to perform this afternoon:  I am not satisfied with the programme I have devised and I only have a couple of hours to correct it.  The show is based around an article written by my father in 1993, in which he reminisces about Christmas Day,1932.  His childhood memories are charming, and he also takes the opportunity to introduce the reader to Henry Fielding Dickens (Charles’s son), and his wife Marie Roche.

As I have worked with the Douglas County Historical Society for five years I thought that this would be a perfect way of bridging the gap between Charles and me.  The problem arises in that the article, when read, only lasts for twenty minutes.  My plan had been to tell a few anecdotes about various other family members, but somehow the show lacks structure and formality.  It is frustrating.

I sit at the computer and trawl through a few files until I arrive at a show that Liz and I created a few years ago, featuring Henry Fielding Dickens’ memories of his father, which we set to the music of Charles Gounod.  This begins to make more sense: Henry’s reminiscences paint a very personal picture of Charles Dickens, the like of which you would never find in a history book, whilst Dad’s words paint a very personal picture of the aging Henry: it is the perfect journey from Charles to me.

I Select a few passages from Henry’s book and email them to myself, so that I can print them off at the office workstation in the hotel lobby.  Suddenly I feel a lot more confident about the day ahead.

I do my morning exercises and shower before going to breakfast.  I print the new script, so that I can study it while I eat, and make a few notes and corrections.

Today is quite a full one and Lee is due to pick me up at 9.30 to take me to a large shopping mall, for a signing session there. I dress is costume, and make sure that I have what I need for the show this afternoon, before talking the lift and waiting in the lobby.

The drive is little more than fifteen minutes and on the journey Susie tells me that at the High School yesterday one of the students had asked if she were my mother – a prospect that she rather liked!

We arrive at the huge Mall, which is not open to the public yet.  Due to my performing commitments we only have one hour here, between 10 and 11, and the prospect for a large crowd does not look promising.

A table filled with books and merchandise is set up in the middle of the mall, near to an escalator.  On one side of us there is a branch of Victoria’s Secret and on the other a temporary stand selling Microsoft computers.

As I wait for the public to appear I look longingly at the slim, superbly proportioned models on display: The Microsoft Surface Pro 4 looks particularly appealing, and would be much lighter to travel with than my laptop.  Expensive though.

The mall is indeed quiet at this hour and only a very few people stop to buy books and have them signed.  One gentleman brings a beautiful 1939 edition of The Life of Our Lord, that he bought for $4 in Spokane, Washington many years ago.  It is an edition that I have not seen before, and is in very good condition.  I explain a little about the history of the book’s publication and he walks away a happy man.

Susie tries to drum up some business by accosting the few passers-by: her technique is to set off at a diagonal to their direction of travel, as if to head ‘em off at the pass: I christen it The Susie Move.

Eleven o’clock approaches, which is time for us to leave, and the mall is just beginning to get busier.  It is a shame for the Historical Society, but at least the session hasn’t been too taxing from my point of view.

Lee leads Susie and me through a huge department store to the car park he has used.  Von Maur is wonderfully decorated and there is lovely piped piano music filling the space, except it is not piped: there is a pianist at a grand piano, next to an extravagantly decorated tree, he is not playing the routine Christmas favourites, but a lovely classical piece.  You never know when a pang of home-sickness will strike, but now is one such moment.

We all get into the car and drive away from the mall towards the Field Club, where I am due to perform this afternoon.  On the way I ask Lee if we can stop at a pharmacy, so that I can replenish my dwindling supplies of Fisherman’s Friends menthol throat lozenges, that I have taken to sucking before every show, and which seem to be working very well in protecting my throat.

None of the customers or staff in Wallgreen’s seem the slightest bit surprised to see a Victorian gent in their midst.  One lady tells me that she likes my vest, but that is the only reaction.

With my shopping excursion complete we drive onto the Field Club, where Lee drops us off at the door, before parking.  The Field Club is a golf club, of which Lee is a member and I have always performed here when in Omaha.  The building has a relaxing sense of familiarity to me, and I know many of the staff too, which makes the day so much easier.

I need to do a microphone check, and start reading Henry Dickens’ memoirs.  Although the sound engineer is happy I read on, until I reach the end of the piece.  A simple sound check has turned into quite a rehearsal and a small audience of helpers and volunteers have gathered to listen. Judging by their reaction I think that this show could just work

When I have finished, I am served a cup of tea by Mona.  This is an annual tradition, and this year she has found a very specially blended Earl Grey, which is delicious.  The Friday event at the Field Club is always a tea show.  Tables are spread out through the room and are laid with fine china teacups, saucers and plates.

Lee appears and suggests that we grab some lunch in the main dining room: I have a Chicken Orchard Salad, complete with apples and grapes.

Although the guests are starting to arrive, I still have almost two hours before I perform, so Lee suggests that we go into the ‘Cry Room’ (a small bar where frustrated golfers retire to after a bad round), to relax.  As there is still some snow on the ground, the Cry Room is devoid of golfers today.

We sit.  Lee reads a newspaper and I read my script, making a few more notes.  There is a golf tournament on the flat screen TVs and every now and then we exchange a comment about a shot, but basically we sit quietly.

In the Cry Room

As three o’clock approaches I go back to the function room where a very noisy tea service is in full swing.  Apparently some ladies are on their fifth cup, so I may need to be prepared for a fair amount of movement during the show!

At three Kathy stands up and asks how many have seen me perform before and the response is amazing, it must be about 90% of the audience which bodes well for the show.  After thanking the Society’s board, staff volunteers and sponsors, Kathy introduces me and I walk to the simple lectern that has been set for me.

The programme of two Dickens’ (mmm, can we think of a suitable title?) is a lovely mix.  Henry’s gentle words of an affectionate son pcreate a charming and homely picture of Charles Dickens for the crowd; but it is dad’s speech that is the star of the day.  I feel so emotional reading his words and I can feel him watching me – nervous but oh so proud to hear the people’s reactions.  The emotion is heightened by the fact that I am reading from his own type-written original, with notations in the margin in his own hand.

The heartfelt applause at the end is for my father: David Kenneth Charles Dickens.

After the show I sit at a table in the main foyer of the club and sign books and programmes and shake hands as the guests leave.  Among the crowd is John and Mary-Ann Clinton, with their son Mark.  The Clinton’s staged an event for me last year in Lincoln Nebraska and it is lovely to see them again.  John has brought along a lovely edition of The Life of our Lord – an American first edition, published in 1934, shortly after Henry’s death, which I sign for him.

When the signing is finished Lee drives me to the hotel where I have the briefest of rests – just enough time to change costume – before it is time to leave for the Crook House once more.

This evening I am performing Nicholas Nickleby.  The show is designed for theatres and it is quite a struggle to confine it to the tiny stage here, but I managed it last year and the response was so positive that Kathy has decided to do a repeat performance.

As ever the carol singers are gathered on the front porch as we arrive and the singing sounds beautiful floating across the clear night sky.  My first job in the house is to find Barney, who looks after all of the logistical issues surrounding my various sets and furniture.  The climax of Nickleby involves the villain of the piece, Ralph Nickleby, hanging himself.  Last year Barney managed to fix my noose (yes, I have been travelling with a noose in my bag for four weeks), to the ornamental arch over the stage.  At the appropriate moment I just need to pull at the cord for it to fall menacingly down.  The effect drew a gasp of horror last year.

Barney and the Noose

The guests arrive and we all mingle and chat, as last night. Wine is poured and consumed, Kir Royales are tried and enjoyed, Mario’s delicious buffet is devoured.  I look on, hungrily, but knowing that to indulge so close to a show will be a big mistake.

As seven o’clock approaches Kathy and Susie round everyone up and the show begins. Nickleby is one of my oldest shows, and I have great faith in it, which means I can just relax and let it flow.  It is a wonderful story, with laughs, violence and pathos in bucket-loads.  The audience greatly enjoy it and the noose gets the expected response.  It is a hot, tiring show, but my thirst is quenched by the champagne toast that Susie proposes immediately after the applause has died away.

I sign and pose and chat, and sign some more, but I am feeling the effects of a busy day now.  More pertinent is that I did not bring a replacement costume to this show, and I am keen to get changed before catching a chill.

I say goodbye to all of the staff at the house, and gratefully receive a plate of Mario’s delicious food, before getting into Lee’s car for the short hop back to the hotel.  As soon as I am in my room I get out of the costume and hang it up, before sitting down in front of the TV to eat my supper, and sipping a glass of wine.

I silently raise the glass to dad and whisper: ‘Thank You’.

 

Links:

The Field Club: http://www.fcomaha.com/

 

 

 

 

 

pes and

Face to Face with The Inimitable

Thursday, December 3

Although today is a busy one, all of the action is packed into the afternoon, so I actually have a leisurely few hours ahead of me when I wake.

I do some exercises and finally get round to folding shirts, thereby clearing the mountain of clean laundry that has taken over the sofa.

With the daily blog completed and breakfast eaten I sit at the computer and get on with a little work.  Firstly I have to respond to a journalist in the UK, who is writing a feature to promote my show in Market Drayton on December 20^th.  The questions are fairly standard, as are my answers – although I try to write as conversationally as I can, so that the ‘interview’ won’t appear too stilted.

Once I have sent the email to the reporter I move onto the next set of questions from Professor Malcolm Andrews, who is one of the world’s leading Dickensian scholars, and who is writing a feature for The Dickensian Magazine about performing Dickens.

His question relates to becoming ‘lost’ within a character as I perform, and I mention the scene in my show when Bob Cratchit mourns for Tiny Tim.  Many times real tears and emotion have overwhelmed me, making it difficult to continue the narrative.  In my answer to Malcolm I mention that  both Bob and I have to ‘pull ourselves together’ before being able to go on.  Almost immediately I get a Professorial reply pointing out that instead of pulling ourselves together what, in fact, I should be doing is pulling myself apart from Bob, which of course is true.  I always feel very nervous writing for Professor Andrews!

I spend the rest of my free time doing some research on my family line, as tomorrow I am talking about that subject at a tea show.  The main part of the programme will be an article that my father wrote in 1993, remembering his childhood Christmas memories in the company of Henry Fielding Dickens, the son of Charles Dickens.  It is a beautifully written piece but is rather too short for a performance, so I need to spend some time telling the audience about the family connections from Charles to me.

Having jotted down a few dates and selected a few quotes, I shut the computer down and get myself ready for the events ahead.

Waiting Thoughtfully for Lee

Lee picks me up at 11.15, and drives us to the west of Omaha and the Millard North High School, where I am to perform for the students there. We arrive early, so sit in the car park for a little while.  Parked outside the entrance is the obligatory police car – such a sad indictment of modern life; although with the news of yet another mass shooting all over the news papers this morning , the need for constant vigilance is obvious.

At the school we are shown to the auditorium, and met by head of performing arts Debbie Martinez, who is kind and helpful.  Her role has only recently expanded to include responsibility for the auditorium, so she is not all together certain of how the sound and light system works.  A call is put out for Matthew who, although a student, runs the technical desk as if he owned it.  Soon Matthew is flicking switches, twiddling knobs, sliding faders: all the time teaching his teacher.  It is a fascinating piece of role reversal and, to her great credit, Debbie watches intently, occasionally asking questions, and trying to take it all in.

As we work, the school Principal Brian Begley comes to greet me.  Although Brian doesn’t have the huge personality of Gene Hayes, he is passionate about his school, and excited about today’s event.  Brian used to be an English teacher, and he has arranged for lots of English and drama classes to attend the performance.

With all of the sound checks completed to Matthew’s satisfaction (although he continues to play the sound effect again and again at differing volumes), Debbie shows me to the male dressing rooms where, rather disconcertingly, some glittery white strappy dresses are hung on a rail.

The Male Dressing Room

I make myself at home, and settle down.  I have an email from my brother Ian, and I am in the process of replying to it when I hear, through the stage monitor system, the show music playing, followed by someone talking.  I have a panic attack that I have got the times wrong in my mind, and that Mr Begley is at this moment making his introductory remarks, and any moment I will hear a welcoming round of applause.

I throw my day clothes off and throw my costume on, hopping round the dressing room with one leg in the trousers, trying to grab the cravat.  The buttons on the waistcoat won’t match up and the socks are all twisted, so that the heel is on the top of my foot. The button holes on my French cuffs do not line up properly  and I am fumbling to get the cufflinks through them.

I am getting more and more panicky and hot.  CALM DOWN!  OK, you will look a bit silly when you eventually appear on the stage but you still have to do a show.  Eventually two things occur to me – 1: why would the music have been playing before Mr Begley introduced me and, 2: the voice is still talking and unless Brian is making the world’s longest introductory speech, what I am hearing is not coming from the stage.

With my costume properly in place I walk, nay, saunter to the stage, where the auditorium is still empty and all is calm. Nobody will ever know: unless they read the blog, of course.

Lee is sat in the back of the auditorium and I make a point of asking him to remind me to fetch my scarf from the stage when I finish – I don’t want to lose it for a third time and if two of us are thinking about it the chances of remembering it are vastly increased (doubled, I suppose).

I return to the dressing room and drink plenty of water, and try to compose my racing pulse. A few deep breathing exercises and a few vocal warm ups and I am soon in a much better frame of mind for the performance ahead.

In the wings of the stage the students are gathering and they sound like a good crowd.  Mr Begley is on stage conducting the arrival process until everyone is seated.

The show is due to begin at 1.30 and on the dot the Principal welcomes the audience.  Somewhat worryingly there is a lot of chat and noise even as he speaks, and I worry that this could be a difficult show. The music plays and I walk out onto the stage.

The house lights remain up here, so I have a clear view into the audience.  If there is boredom and restlessness, I am going to see it.  Deep breath and let’s go.

The students are much more responsive during the show than the corresponding audience at Omaha North yesterday – they laugh, they respond, and they listen.  As the show progresses the students become more involved.  One or two leave, and a few are slumped in their chairs – but this is a group of three hundred high school students, you wouldn’t expect anything else.

The first female characters elicit titters and Mrs Cratchit gets loud laughter, as does the flirtatious Topper.  As Bob breaks down over Tiny Tim there is absolute silence in the hall, and I think back to Professor Andrews’ remarks this morning.

The story reaches its final moments and as I leave the stage the applause is thunderous, raucous, vocal and prolonged.  What a fantastic audience they are!  Whereas yesterday’s students were respectful and quiet, today’s group have allowed themselves to get wrapped up in the story to a much greater extent.

When I return to the stage to take a bow suddenly they are all standing and cheering.  It is a response the like of which I have never had from a student audience.

We have time for questions and Mr Begley moves around the hall with a microphone.  The questions are intelligent and thoughtful; one girl (presumably a theatre student) asks me if I have any set warm-up routine prior to performing.  My mind is suddenly filled with the vision of me hopping round the dressing room, one trouser leg on, the other tripping me up, cuffs flapping, cravat not tied, socks twisted: ‘I try to remain calm and do a few breathing exercises’ I tell her.

With the Q&A finished I go back to the dressing room (having remembered to fetch my scarf from the hat stand), and change into my second costume, not because I have a signing session, but because I have another commitment straight away.  When I return to the stage I am amazed to find a long line of students desperate to have pictures taken and books signed.  What an enthusiastic group they are.

Lee is waiting patiently and when the students filter away to join their classes, we walk through the wide corridors of the school and into the parking lot.  Even outside people are shaking my hand and saying ‘awesome job!’

My next commitment is a television interview for a station broadcasting from the University of Nebraska, Omaha campus.  The show is hosted by Cathy Wyatt who greets us at the door and leads us to the technical booth where I shake hands with the programme’s team.  Almost immediately I am led to the studio where we sit in chairs and prepare to start.  The interview is due to last for thirty minutes and will be taped as live, meaning that there will be no editing.  The show is called Consider This and will air across the state in a week’s time.

Cathy runs through the format of the interview with me: it will open with a clip of George C Scott as Scrooge, before she will ask me to talk about Charles Dickens and my own career.  At one point graphics of book covers will be shown and she asks if I would discuss each book and its significance briefly.  There is also a video clip of me performing at Byers Choice a few years ago for me to comment on.

When everything is ready the studio goes quiet and the opening clip rolls.  As I watch George C Scott I remember how much I love his portrayal of Scrooge, and think that I must re-watch it soon.  The interview itself starts and Cathy asks her questions and then listens carefully to my answers (that is definitely not always the case).  The thirty minute time slot means that we can discuss the topics properly, rather than just spout short sound bites.  I talk about David Copperfield (‘autobiographical’), Great Expectations (‘my favourite’), A Tale of Two Cities (‘very modern, almost like a movie screenplay’) and Nicholas Nickleby (‘the book that first stirred my interest in the works of Charles Dickens’), before moving on to A Christmas Carol and my performance.

We watch the clip of me and Cathy asks what I think when I’m seeing it: that’s a tricky one to answer, because what I see is a gap between my waistcoat and the top of my trousers, with the white shirt untidily showing;  what I think is ‘thank heavens I wear braces now to hold the trousers in the right place’.  Not exactly Frost/Nixon material!

The thirty minutes passes far too quickly and in no time Cathy is winding things up.  It has been a lovely session and I have enjoyed it immensely.

Having once again shaken hands with everyone in the booth Lee takes me back to the hotel where I have about forty minutes to relax before we are on the go again.

I realise that in our packed afternoon schedule I have not eaten anything since breakfast, so I make the most of the bag of nuts and dried fruit that Susie had placed in my room.  I have a coffee and try to re-set a little.

Tonight I am returning to the General Cook House, where we had the banquet last night, to perform Mr Dickens is Coming!

There is a cocktail hour from 6 till 7, during which all of the guests mingle and chat.  Due to the size of the house it is only a small audience, and there is a great sense of friendliness and family. Charles Dickens used to perform private readings and magic shows for his family and friends and I’m sure that the setting would have been just like this.

One of the guests is a young artist called Jeremy Caniglia who illustrated an edition of A Christmas Carol.  He introduces himself and presents me with a wonderful pencil sketch of Charles Dickens. We chat for a while and his passion for Dickens is immediately apparent.  Hopefully we may be able to work together in future years.

The Inimitable by Jeremy Caniglia

Chef Mario has laid on a sumptuous buffet (including the avocado cream and pomegranate seeds that I enjoyed so much last night).  I try not to eat before a show these days, to protect my throat, but he promises to keep some back for me.

At 7 I begin the show on the little stage and as it is a very conversational script, it works extremely well in this intimate setting.  Uriah Heep has them squirming, and Sean Connery has them laughing.  The sheer energy of Dickens comes through and hopefully they feel as if they know a little bit more about ‘The Inimitable’.

After the show we all gather around the dining table where Kathy reads my ‘Gerald Dickens Week’ proclamation once more and Susie makes a toast to me and to Charles.  I sign a few books and chat to the audience and it is a very pleasant evening indeed.

I end up in the kitchen where Mario has set aside a tub of avocado cream, a paper cup filled with pomegranate seeds and a sealable bag filled with beef tenderloin.  I balance it all precariously and Lee takes me back to the hotel, where I put on the Millard North sports shirt that I was presented with earlier, and relax on the sofa to enjoy my second meal of the day.

It was been a very busy day, but a very enjoyable one.

I will sleep well.

 

Links:

Millard North High School: http://mps.mnhs.schoolfusion.us/

Caniglia Art:  http://www.caniglia-art.com/index.html

 

 

 

 

Well Hugged: Flat Gerald

Wednesday, December 2

I am now back in the central time zone.  When I arrived in Omaha yesterday my phone and kindle re-set themselves automatically, whilst I manually adjusted my watch.  My body clock, however, remains stubbornly in the East and it is only 3.45 when I wake up.

Today is the anniversary of Charles Dickens’ first reading performance in the United States and I am very grateful to him for paving the way for my current adventures.

My early wakefulness means that I have plenty of time to finish off the blog, before showering and going to the lobby for breakfast.  I have to be back in my room by 7.30, as I have a live radio interview with one of the Omaha stations, so I have a simple bowl of Granola and some fruit before returning in time to make the call.

The interview with Patrick and JJ is a typically highly-caffeinated morning-show affair, but there is one moment which makes me feel very good: last year I performed at the Central High School in Omaha, and Patrick’s daughter was in the audience.  When she left for school that morning she had said that the students were going to have to listen to some speaker that was visiting, and it sounded dull.  However, when she came home she was babbling how amazing it was, and how none of her friends could believe how one man could do all the characters, and that he really WAS related to Charles Dickens….and…and…and….

So, that is nice feedback to get a year on.

As soon as the interview is finished I get ready to meet Lee downstairs, as we are driving to a different High School to perform A Christmas Carol to another group of students who will hopefully be as excited as Patrick’s daughter was.

Lee pulls up in his grey Toyota, and his wife Susie gets out and gives me a lovely hug of welcome.  It is Susie who is the massive Dickens fan here, and who was the catalyst for my first visit five years ago.

The drive to the Omaha North High School takes little more than ten minutes, and we park in front of the imposing 1920s building.  In the lobby we are greeted by Melinda Bailey, who is in charge of performing arts here.  Before taking us to the auditorium she introduces us to the Principal of the school, Mr Gene Hayes.

Goodness!  What a …. Presence.  Mr Hayes must have played pro football in his youth, for he is a mountain – no, a range of mountains – of a man.  His hand envelops mine and I am soon lost in a bear hug that threatens to crush the very air from me.  ‘Welcome! Welcome!  It is great to have you here!  Let me take your coat!  I’m going to hang it in the closet!  Here, give me your hat and scarf too!’ (yes: every sentence ends with an exclamation mark.)

As we are about to leave the office a young student wiv attitood saunters up the corridor and there follows a scene which explains why Principal Hayes is so good at his job and why he has been in charge here for so long.

The student calls out: ‘Hey Bro!’ and Mr Hayes booms his reply, ‘Come here Brother!’ and they embrace.  There follows a moment of banter between them, until the student says something along the lines of: ‘how could I be in class, you suspended me dude, you suspended me!’  And now there is a subtle change in the dynamic as Mr Hayes asks ‘and why did I suspend you, do you remember that? Why did I suspend you?’  The relationship has instantly changed and the student stands contrite before his Principal, full of respect.

It is obvious that the students and the staff are completely in the orbit of this man and know exactly where the line between comradeship and duty is drawn.

Melinda walks us to the large auditorium, where a group of acting students are rehearsing a one act play.  It is fascinating to watch them at work, and I realise that I sometimes miss the joy of being in a cast and creating something as a team.

Our group increases as the director of the Doulgas County Historical Society, Kathy Aultz, arrives and there are more hugs of welcome.  I am feeling very hugged today.

We are all making rather a lot of noise, and the student director scowls at us, as the rehearsal continues.   Out of professional courtesy I sit on my own near the front and watch the rehearsal until a bell rings and the session is over.

As the students pack up, I place the furniture on stage for my set, and after deliberating for a while we decide to close the main curtains, and restrict my performance to the thrust stage over the orchestra pit.  I do a sound check with the microphone system, and the remaining theatre students in the hall give me a round of applause: I’m not sure that a sound check has ever been so enthusiastically greeted before.

As the next lesson is due to start soon, I go to my dressing room to get ready.

Waiting to Start

At 10 o’clock I return to the wings and can hear Mr Hayes addressing the large group of students, and reminding them of the expectations that he has of them – that they must show respect to their visitor. There is silence in the hall.

Mr Hayes passes the baton to Melinda who makes a more detailed introduction and the show starts.  The students are remarkably attentive throughout, they do not respond much (I would imagine they all terrified of being the first to make a sound), but neither is there any shuffling nor rustling.

It is a good, professional, workmanlike performance.  Without a responding audience it doesn’t have that magic that lifts the show, but it I am certainly pleased with the way it goes.  The applause at the end is very warm and Melinda comes up onto stage she is clearly very excited by what she has seen.

We have time for a few questions, which are mainly from the theatre class, I think, as they centre on technique: how do I prepare so many different characters, how do I line-learn:  things like that.

Eventually the audience file out of the hall, and I change, before returning to the main office where Principal Hayes gives me another huge hug.  I tell him how well behaved the students were and what a credit to the school they are.  He beams a big white toothy smile and says ‘Oh, but they have no choice!

It is about 11’45 when we leave and Lee suggests a light lunch at Panera Bread.  I order a tomato soup in a bread bowl which, as the name suggests, is a loaf of bread, with the centre scooped out and filled with soup.  The croutons scattered on the surface seem a little superfluous, with so much other starch around.

Lee takes me back to the hotel, where I can enjoy a completely free afternoon.

The hotel is based in an apartment block which has a grocery store attached, so I go and buy a few supplies.  At the till the staff member asks ‘paper or plastic?’  I assume he is enquiring as to whether I am going to pay by card or cash, but the same question at an adjoining till makes me realise that he is referring to packing of my goods – a plastic bag or paper.  I go green.

I spend the rest of the afternoon doing some admin work.  When I return to the UK I have a further five days of performing before Christmas and I have to book hotel rooms at each venue.

And then a much more important job!  Liz is flying out to join me in a week’s time and will be travelling with me to the last few venues.  Our flights back were booked at different times so, although on the same plane, we are on different booking references and I want to make sure that we are seated together.  This process isn’t quite as straightforward as I’d thought.

Firstly, although booked with Delta airlines the flight is actually going to be with Virgin, so to log on I need to discover what the Virgin flight number is, instead of the Delta one.  The booking references similarly are different for each airline.

After an hour or so of to-ing and fro-in between websites I finally manage to get us seated together in row 56.

During this process I also get a call from the front desk to say a package has arrived for me, and I am once again reunited with my scarf.

I do have an event this evening, but it promises to be a very relaxing one.  Rather than shoehorn another performance in, Kathy has decided to try something new, and has laid on an exclusive dinner at the General Crook House, which is the headquarters of the Historic Society.

Lee picks me up at 5.30 and we drive over to the beautiful old mansion, which sits in the heart of the old Fort Omaha.  There are carol singers on the front porch to welcome us, and the house is decorated for Christmas.  Susie is there and Kathy is there and I am there.  Yes, obviously I am there, but I am also there.  Let me explain:  To help promote the events Kathy has had a life-sixed cardboard cut out made of me and he is standing at the bottom of the stairs.  I am introduced to Flat Gerald (as he has become known).

With Flat, and Very Slim, Gerald

The dining table is spectacularly decorated and laid for a five course dinner.  The guests start to arrive and we are all served with a Kir Royale before chatting and exploring the house.  At 6.30 we are called to table and Kathy formally welcomes us, before pulling out an important folder and reading a Mayoral proclamation:  November 30 –Dec 6 has officially been declared Gerald Dickens Week in Omaha!

The dinner is delicious: it has been catered by Chef Mario, one of the rising culinary stars in Omaha.  We start with an amuse bouche of avocado cream and pomegranate seeds, before having a deliciously rich Gouda soup (with a hint of local ale). A simple salad of winter greens is elevated by slices of pear and scattered almonds.  The fish course is a scallop, topped with a plum shrimp all in a roasted tomato ‘sea’.

From the delicacy of the seafood to a glorious rich fillet mignon, supplied by the Omaha Steak Co.  If you can’t get a good piece of beef out here in the mid west, then where can you? And, indeed, this is a seriously good piece of beef.

The whole evening is wound up with a triple chocolate mousse cake and a glass of champagne, with which we toast anything and everything that we can think of.  It has been an amazing culinary experience, with good company and fine conversation.  What a civilised way to spend an evening.

Every guest has been given a slim volume of A Christmas Carol, and I ask everyone if they will sign mine as a memento of the evening.  In turn I put my scrawl in their books before we all say our goodbyes and drift away into the crisp cold night.  Plenty of sit-ups for me  tomorrow morning, I think.

Susie and Kathy are starting to clear up, and Flat Gerald is still guarding the hallway as Lee opens the door to take me back to the hotel.

I get ready for bed and don’t even bother with the TV, for I know that I will be asleep upon the instant.

Links:

Omaha North High School: http://north.ops.org/About/tabid/135/Default.aspx

Douglas County Historical Society:

http://www.omahahistory.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To OmaHA? Why?!

Tuesday, December 1

Today is the first real test of my new suitcase, as I am flying for the first time since I bought it.  That means packing the hat and the cane and the costumes:  It passes with flying colours and just seems to swallow everything up.  As far as I can work out it is bigger than my old one, and I think lighter, but I will need to wait until it is weighed at the airport to find out for sure.

A nice shower, but as I dry myself a glance in the mirror reminds me that I haven’t done my exercises this morning.  I lay a towel on the floor and do a quick session of sit-ups.

For breakfast this morning I am being taken out by Sandy Belknap, who used to work on the marketing for my Nashua events, but sadly couldn’t come to either of yesterday’s shows.  As this morning is the only chink of time in my Nashua stay, breakfast it is.

Sandy picks me up at 7.45 and we drive back into downtown Nashua to a small café, where we order a hearty breakfast and catch up.  Sandy is a good friend, and we spend lots of time talking about the wedding and honeymoon trip to Zanzibar.  I don’t have a huge amount of time, as I am keen to get on the road in good time, as the Boston traffic can be horrendous.  But it is very nice to be able to meet up and talk even just for a short while.

Before going back to the hotel, Sandy drives me past the Nashua City Hall where JFK began his successful Presidential campaign, which is commemorated by a bronze bust.   Also outside the City Hall are the remnants of some ice sculptures which have a Star Wars theme.  Many of the pieces have disintegrated, but there is a recognisable X-fighter and an Imperial Walker still just about on its feet.

Back at the hotel I write as much of the blog as I can and finish packing before leaving just before 10am.

The traffic isn’t as bad as I had feared and I reach Logan airport in good time.  The shuttle bus from the car rental plaza is very busy, and I fear that doesn’t bode well for the airport itself.  Once again my pessimism is misplaced, and I am through security and at the gate with a minimum of delay.

I have a chance to finish the blog as I wait for the flight, but not to upload all of the pictures, so that will have to wait until Detroit.  Annoyingly I haven’t downloaded any more House of Cards episodes, so I’m actually going to have to read something on this flight.

The book that I have on the go at the moment is called ‘1599, A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare’, which is a fascination part-biography, part-historical account of the year in which Shakespeare wrote Henry V, Julius Caesar , As You Like It and Hamlet.  It is much more than a dusty academic study and gives a real sense of the social and political situations of the day.

I read about Shakespeare for a while and then remember that I have another book in my bag that I was given at last night’s show.  It is a small paperback called ‘I Am Scrooge, A Zombie Story for Christmas’:  intriguing, indeed.

I open the page to Chapter 1:

‘Marley was dead, to begin with.  Dead for about three minutes that is: then he got up again’.

I skip forward to the first description of Scrooge:

‘People said that he was a tight-fisted hand at the gravestone, Scrooge – a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old miser.  That’s what they said.  Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, self contained, solitary as an oyster.  Hurtful stuff really.  But that is how people are; they rarely think the effect their words will have on the insides of the people whose outsides may – I say may – be a touch on the squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old miserly side.  And nobody ever spoke up for Scrooge’s good qualities: his excellent punctuality for instance.  His book-keeping skills – not enough people ever share those.  Nor did people give Scrooge credit for his sang-froid.  It rarely came up in conversation, although the truth of the matter is that nobody’s sang was froider.’

Brilliant!

The flight is a very full one, but the time passes quickly.  There is a thick layer of cloud today, so there is no view until we descend towards Detroit airport, where we make a passably good landing. We pull up at gate A23 and a quick look at the monitors tells me that my onward flight departs from A 63 – the same terminal, hoorah!

I begin to walk but the terminals in Detroit airport are massively long: I would have been much better off taking the monorail that runs above the stores and restaurants inside the building.

It is getting on towards 3 o’clock and I am feeling a bit hungry, so I stop at a Popeye Chicken outlet, where I buy some tenders and coleslaw to eat while I wait for the next flight.

I am heading to Omaha and I have noticed over the years that certain cities illicit certain responses from people.  For example when I say I am going to Williamsburg people sigh with pleasure and say ‘oh, how beautiful’; when I mention Minneapolis people will mock-shiver and say ‘brrrrr.  Hope you’ve packed your long-johns’.  When I tell people I am going to Omaha people look at me, almost horror struck, and then say – placing the rising, questioning emphasis on the final syllable OmaHA? Why?’

It is very unfair: Omaha is a wonderful city with great people in it and I am happy to stand up and fight its corner!  I suppose that part of Omaha’s problem is that it isn’t near anywhere – it is geographically in the centre of the country, so east coast and west coast alike can mock with impunity.

It is another full flight, and I read some more, as well as playing backgammon on my Kindle (feeling rather smug, because the lady in the next seat is ‘only’ playing solitaire). This time as we descend I can see that there is a light dusting of snow on the ground, so Omaha can boast that it has given me my first glimpse of the white stuff this year.

I head towards the baggage claim area and am amazed to be greeted by my old friend Lee Phillips, who always chauffeurs me around during my Omaha stays.  I am surprised because I am supposed to be picking up a rental car and driving to my hotel myself!  Lee very kindly has come to the airport and offers to lead me into town.  I pick up my car (receiving a free upgrade, to a large car), and walk to the booth in the parking garage, where I receive another free upgrade to a Buick SUV, which is chunky and very American.

There is light, wet snow falling but not enough to make the journey difficult – just enough to make the scene festive.  Lee leads me to the Element at Midtown Crossing Hotel, were we make arrangements for him to pick me up in the morning and I go to check in.

What a wonderful hotel.  It is similar in style to the health-fest that was the Even in Connecticut, but without being quite so in your face.  The room is more of a stylishly appointed apartment, with a full kitchen, including a dishwasher.  There is a huge refrigerator, a hob, a sink.

It is all very homely and made more so by a bag of nibbles and goodies carefully placed by Lee’s wife Susie. On the desk there is a little Christmas tree with a Union Jack in it: the correct way up!

What could make this hotel better, I wonder? My answer to that question lays on the third floor and the guest laundry with three –THREE washing machines and three driers!  Soon I am using all of them.

Midtown Crossing is a modern part of town, with apartments and restaurants built around a sloping green area, which is now lit and decorated for Christmas.  For the first time on this trip I put on a hat, scarf and gloves, and walk to The Black Oak Grill, which is on the other side of the common.

Snow flurries are falling and from somewhere Christmas music is playing. The restaurant has a blazing fire pit outside and a young couple are huddled together, warming their hands. Once inside, I study the menu and order a bowl of soup (and it is a flavour the strikes fear into an Englishman in America trying to order – the pronunciation just isn’t RIGHT):

I follow the soup with a delicious medium-rare sirloin steak and a glass of wine, before returning to my room.

It has been one of those odd days when I have not actually done anything, but I am still immensely tired, so I write a bit of the blog in bed, and then turn the light off, ready for my sleep.

 

Nashua

Monday, November 30

This morning I am on the move, once more.  I pack the case, setting aside a costume shirt as I will be driving directly to my first performance before checking in at the hotel.

I get dressed, and as I pull my woollen sweater over my head I can smell the wood smoke from Luke and Anna’s fire – it is a lovely, happy comforting smell.

In the restaurant I decide to have a large cooked breakfast today (2 eggs, sunnyside up, bacon, potatoes and toast). I won’t have time for any lunch before my show, and I will be having an early evening dinner, making a late lunch slightly difficult: best to get plenty of fuel on board now.  If you think that I’m trying to justify my morning gluttony, you’d be right.

Outside there is another clear blue sky, but it is much colder today: people are hurrying by in hats and gloves, with steam-train-breath preceding them.  I load the car up and get the engine running so that the heater can have some effect and set the sat nav unit for the Senior Center, Temple Street, Nashua.

I decide to give the Christmas playlist a miss this morning and instead Liz’s piano playing accompanies me as I drive away from Worcester.

As I drive through the seemingly never ending strip malls on the outskirts of the city, it seems to me that there an awful lot of dentists in Worcester. They must have very good teeth in this part of Massachusetts.

The stores and businesses begin to thin out and I am speeding on my way.  At one major intersection I am tempted to bear off to the right and head for Cape Cod, but instead I follow the prescribed route which takes me towards many cities that I have visited over the years: Marlboro, Portsmouth and Lowell being prominent among them.

I drive on.  There is a sign for Leominster, and wonder how it is pronounced here?  Is it Lee-Oh-Minster, or Lem-Ster (as it is pronounced in England).  Of course, this being New England, it could well be Lem-Stah.

The journey takes little more than an hour and I am soon turning off the freeway towards downtown Nashua.  I make a few wrong turns, but am familiar enough with the city to get back on track.  As I make my way through the residential suburbs, Liz plays Rhapsody in Blue to me and as I pull into the parking lot, the last strain’s of Gershwin’s masterpiece fade away – meaning that the journey from The Beechwood Hotel Worcester to The Senior Center in Nashua is exactly the length of Liz’s CD.

I am a little early, so I sit in the car for a while, before getting my costume from the back seat and going in.

With Judy at The Senior Center

 

I am immediately greeted by Judy, who is responsible for putting on events here, and she takes me into the room where I am to perform.  Judging by the amount of seats that are laid out they are expecting a big audience.  The room is uninspiring: it is large, with fluorescent tubes providing a harsh light.  There is no raised stage or sound system either, but I know that everything will be fine.  This is my third year of performing at the Senior Center, and the events have always been great fun.

Judy asks if there is anything more I need, and we find a nice chair, and a small table for the set.  As I am arranging the furniture, Jill Gage arrives.  Jill runs a florist and gift shop in town and it is she that brings me to Nashua each year.  We hug our hellos and she congratulates me on the wedding, before we both get on with our respective preparations.  I notice that there is a notice near the door which says: ‘Turn Off The Fans’.  That doesn’t seem like good advice for an actor – I want my fans completely on my side!

Judy has arranged an office for me to change in, so I go back there for a little quiet time as the audience starts to arrive.  I change into my costume and as the clock ticks towards 12.30 I return to the hall.  It is certainly packed and there is a great deal of noise.  Of course the majority of the audience are elderly, but they are the sort of people who like going out to events, rather than sitting alone and letting life pass them by – they are always an enthusiastic and vocal audience here.

I am performing Mr Dickens is Coming, which is light-hearted and varied.  The audience enjoy it immensely and laugh a lot.  When I get to the end they cheer and clap loudly, and give me a (admittedly rather slow) standing ovation.

There has been a great atmosphere in the room and it raises the question ‘what is a theatre?’  If the description of a theatre is an impressive building designed purely to showcase a performer, with complicated lighting rigs, sound systems and curtains then of course the Nashua Senior Center does not come close.  If, however, a theatre is a crucible for entertainment, a gathering place for the pursuit of culture and education, then in that case the Center is today the finest theatre in the land.

I spend a little time meeting the audience and signing a few pieces, before getting changed and driving on to my hotel.

Over the years I have driven this route many times and just outside the town there is a most magnificent cemetery.  I have often thought what a great setting it would be for a publicity shot:  Scrooge, with top hat and cane standing in a sea of grave stones.

Today I decide to stop and walk among the graves for a little while and it is a beautiful spot.  In contrast to modern cemeteries Edgewood is almost organic in its layout.  The graves are not uniform and are scattered here and there on the gently sloping terrain, among the trees.  There is something very calming about my walk.

Edgewood Cemetery

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The Crowne Plaza Hotel has become my home in Nashua and it is here that I will perform A Christmas Carol later this evening.  As I check in there is a gentleman waiting to talk to one of the staff members.  He looks morose and deeply unhappy, with a hang-dog expression pulling his features down towards the floor.  When the desk clerk calls him forward he asks, in a low quiet tone: ‘does this hotel have a happy hour?’  Never was a request so heartfelt.

I get to my room on the 8^th floor, where I have a couple of hours to relax.  I try to catch up on a few things.  Gary, in Wilton, is co-ordinating the hunt for my lost scarf and regularly reports back via email .  He is struggling to get an answer from Christian, the technical manager there, but will keep pushing.  Liz pops up on Facebook and we chat about this and that (including the awful weather in the UK at the moment).

At 5 o’clock I go to the large function room, where once again a huge amount of chairs promises an impressive audience.  Pete is looking after the sound, and his boss, Chris is setting up lights.  In the early years of performing for Fortin Gage we always struggled with sound and light, but over the past few years Chris has done a fantastic job for me.  We do a sound check and try the CD out (Pete complimenting me on my choice of music), before I leave and head for the restaurant to enjoy dinner in fine company.

Every year an ex-pat Lancashire lass hosts a pre-show dinner for her friends.  Mar Mar is the sort of lady who attracts a wide circle of interesting people.  Over the last few years she has had increasing health problems and she is on a permanent regime of dialysis.  Tubes lead from an oxygen tank to her nose, but she is as strong, spirited and ebullient as ever.

I order a simple grilled salmon and rice, which is delicious, and chat to her guests who include a man originally from Orpington in Kent (not far from where I was born), and another who owns classic Singer cars and struggles to find the spare parts from England.

All of the while Mar Mar is watching out for everyone, and making sure that they have everything that they need.

I excuse myself at 6.15 to go and change ready for the evening’s performance.  When I return to the ballroom the crowd are already gathering, and it is an impressive sight.  Chris has done a fantastic job in lighting the stage and the room looks fabulous.

With about ten minutes to go a message comes from the front of the room, where a member of the audience has noticed that the chair on the stage has a crooked leg.  Fortunately this eagle-eyed member of the public has seen the show many times before, and knowing that I will leap onto the chair as the fiddle player tuning like fifty stomach aches, is worried that it may collapse.  It pays to have loyal fans.

I talk to Jody, Jill’s husband, and he tracks down someone from the hotel, who swiftly finds a new chair and makes the switch.

The audience continues to swell, until it numbers close to three hundred.

Jody is making my introductions tonight and he welcomes the guests before announcing the show.  I am immediately at home on this stage (which I think is slightly larger this year, giving me more space to move around in).  The audience is very responsive and my performance gets better and better as the evening progresses.  I would go so far as to say that it may be the best performance that I have given on the tour so far:  I am very pleased with it.

Having bowed and enjoyed the applause I change into my ‘dry’ costume in a massive boardroom, before going to sign.  The area around the table is heaving with people and I can see that I am in for a long session.

There are many familiar faces, and some give me gifts and others ask me to sign photographs taken in previous years, before posing for the 2015 version.  Some comment on the blog, some rave about the show: everyone is happy.

Jill suggests we meet in the bar to celebrate, and so I go back to my room to change.

When I get downstairs I find Jill, Chris the sound man, and Cindy, who has been helping at the event tonight, sitting with cocktails.  I join them and we spend a happy hour or so catching up on our respective news.  Not only have I got married in the past year but Chris is engaged to, so that results in glass-clinking all round.  We are well looked after by Frank the bar tender who always seems to be working when I am in town.  Maybe he works every night.

In previous years I have spent two days in Nashua but this year I am only here for a single day, so when it is time for bed I say my good-byes before taking the lift back to the eighth floor.  I don’t have a very early start in the morning so I can leave the packing until then.

I’m half tempted to use the huge whirlpool bath for a long relaxing soak, but in the end it is the prospect of sleep that wins through.  before retiring I check my emails and am delighted to find one from Wilton: the scarf has been recovered and we will be reunited in Omaha.

With that good news, I get into bed and drift away into sleep.

Links:

Fortin Gage Florist and Gifts: http://fortingage.com/