It’s All About the Shows

For the final part of my Aurora trilogy I would like to tell you about my professional life on board and how my shows were performed.

I had been booked by P&O cruises last year to appear on this particular leg of the South American Adventure.  A quick look at the itinerary showed me that I would be on board over multiple sea days, and assumed that my performances would be part of the daytime lecture programme to pass the long hours as we headed southward. I first performed on a cruise ship in October 2006, and then a couple a year for the next few years, and I had always been booked to perform during the day, which was a situation I greatly enjoyed.

I was somewhat surprised then, upon joining Aurora, to discover that my first show would be in the evening of our one and only port day, and it was in the main cabaret slot at 8.30 and 10.30.  Yikes!  I am confident in what I do, and I know that my shows work for a cruise ship audience, but this was an altogether different thing.  Within an hour or two I was talking to the production director on board so that he could understand all of my technical requirements in good time:  Lighting?  Did I have a lighting plot, and a fully marked up script for his team to use during the show?  Umm, really just general stage lighting, if that’s OK.  Alright.  Now, the orchestra, do you have the parts for your musical arrangement with you, and will you be needing a hand held microphone for singing?  Umm, no orchestra, no music, and really just me talking.  OK, will you be using the screen for slides and images.  Umm, no, just the tabs closed behind me please.  OK, How about follow spots?  Umm, don’t really need them, but I suppose we could.  OK, Will you be introducing guests during the show?  Umm, no, just me.

It didn’t sound very cabaret!

 

The Curzon Theatre

 

That night I made sure that I went to watch the cabaret show, both to enjoy the entertainment, but also to study the reaction of the audience so as to fully understand their expectations and the relationship to the performer.  The show was given by harpist Rebecca Mills and she delighted the audience with her superb playing and her great banter.  Rebecca is from Tyneside and after playing two beautiful pieces she welcomed the audience in her broad Geordie accent and proceeded to tell us her life story (including the brilliant fact that her first car was a converted hearse, it being the only vehicle that her harp would fit in).  Back to the music and the pieces became more flamboyant and virtuosic, which impressed the audience.  At the next chat break Rebecca told us how as a girl she had been inspired by watching Marx Brothers films with her grandfather and of course most particularly by Harpo.  Then she introduced an old Marx Brothers video clip featuring her hero, and left the stage whilst we all wallowed in nostalgia.  When Rebecca remerged she was in a new dress and then proceeded to play a duet with Harpo from the screen – brilliant!

So my show, Mr Dickens is Coming, was looking rather timid and limp in comparison.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it is not that I had doubts about the show, for I have performed it many times before and know that it is always well received and greatly enjoyed.  My doubts were how it would be received by this particular crowd.  Usually audiences come to see Mr Dickens is Coming because they have an interest, or the very least a curiosity,  about Charles.  The cabaret audience go to the Curzon theatre because they have just enjoyed a delicious dinner and now want to be entertained, no matter who is on stage.  However if the fare on offer does not satiate their appetite word very soon goes around the ship: ‘Did you see the show last night?  Very poor, very disappointing, not the standard we expect!’

So that was my mind-set as we made our way south.  My first job was to go through the script and come up with a lighting plot to make everything look a little more theatrical, I even managed to find some places to pump smoke onto the stage (another staple of the cabaret performer’s arsenal).  With the script all marked up I sent it to the Production Office so that they could be ready for my show.

If truth be told I was probably making far too much of an issue of a problem that didn’t really exist:  I had performed on the main stage of Aurora, Oriana and Arcadia many times and the shows had always gone down well, what bugged me was this ‘cabaret’ label. I made sure that I went to all of the other shows and watched all of the performers, trying to picture myself in their shoes.  What all of the acts had in common, apart from their artistic prowess, was the connection to the audience – almost flirtatious – so in my mind I worked out how to deliver my lines in such a way as to build that same relationship.

On the day before our arrival in the Falklands I went to the theatre at 11.15 to listen to ex marine Tony Green give the final account of his 1982 experiences and the theatre was packed.  We all listened until the end and then applauded enthusiastically.  Tony bowed modestly and left the stage, to be replaced by John the Cruise Director who announced that Tony had agreed to do a question and answer session in Carmen’s Lounge on the following evening (ie, the evening of my show in the Curzon) at 7.30 and 9.30.

I looked back at the audience and realised that in all probability Tony’s show would be much better attended than mine, as he had built up a following over the past few days, whereas none of the passengers even knew I was on board yet!  I made my way back to the technical booth where I told John that Tony should be in the big venue, and I would perform in Carmen’s instead.  He replied that he had already thought of that but couldn’t decide if it would be the right thing to do, but to leave it to him.

The strange thing was that by this time I was rather looking forward to trying my show (complete with lights and smoke) in the Curzon slot, but I really did genuinely feel that Tony deserved the larger venue and that there would be a lot of disappointed passengers if he was put in the smaller lounge.

That evening, when the Horizons newspaper was delivered to be my cabin I discovered that sure enough Tony Green would appear in the Curzon Theatre at 8.30 and 10.30, whereas Gerald Dickens would perform Mr Dickens is Coming! in Carmen’s Lounge at 6.30 and 9.30.  I’m glad that Tony had been more careful when he was in the Falkland Islands than I had been during that day – I appeared to have shot myself in the foot!

I have described my day on the Islands themselves in a previous post, so I shall pick up the story on the quay side, where I found myself at the back of a very long queue waiting to join a tender and suddenly the wisdom of coming ashore seemed questionable!  I was due to have a production meeting in Carmen’s an hour before the show and it was looking doubtful as to whether I’d even be back on board the ship in time for it.

The P&O Crew were efficient however and in no time I was at the front of the line and boarding the little craft ready to bump my way back to the mother ship.  Without even going back to my cabin to dump my coat and camera I rushed straight to Carmen’s where the production crew were patiently waiting for me.  I made my apologies and we got down to the meeting.  The guys had a copy of my new script, with all of the lighting changes and smoke added, and are worried that they will not be able to give me all that I required, so we reverted to the original plan and I asked just for a plain lighting rig.  The room in Carmen’s is more of a dance venue, so has a very small stage at the back (where a band can be housed behind the curtains), and then a large circular dance floor, surrounded by seats and tables where I would do my stuff.  I did a microphone check and paced around the floor as I would during the show and discover that in the very centre of the floor, under a dome, there is an odd acoustic spot where everything echoes, so I had to be sure not to stand there too much during the performance itself.

Finally we did a quick safety briefing so that I would know where the exits to the deck were, and having signed an official document saying that I had been thus briefed, I went back to my cabin to shower and gather my costume, etc.

I returned to Carmen’s in plenty of time, and it was still deserted.  Would anyone want to come to my show?  Would anyone be interested?  The waiters arrived ready to sell drinks to the audience, and there were twelve of them spread through the room patiently waiting for…..no one!

I sat in a corner wondering if the stewards would actually outnumber the audience, when they started to file in: slowly at first, one by one, but soon Carmen’s was filling up and by the time the 7.30 start time came around there was a goodly crowd waiting for me.

I waited to one side of the stage whilst my introduction was made and then I walked onto the dance floor to the warm applause.  The show starts with a rather serious and stuffy  ‘quote’ which, I explain, is taken from ‘the words of Charles Dickens,’ and which explains how Dickens wanted to pass his legacy down to ‘his family: those members known to me today and those descendants whom I shall never meet.  May they take the pleasures that I have taken from the institution of The Theatre!’  When the quote is over I lay the book down, look to the audience: ‘As I said those were the words of Charles John Huffam Dickens.  Sadly for me he never actually used them in that particular order, but they were all his words at some time or another!’ Lots of laughter, ice broken and we can get on.  That is the plan, anyway, but in Carmen’s, just as I launched into the speech, so the Captain decided to make a long announcement which was broadcast throughout the ship, and I just had to stand waiting patiently until he signed off.    It was rather an anti-climatic start to the evening.

However the rest of the show went well.  The audience squirmed along with Uriah Heep, and laughed when I produced the toy white cat at the end of the James Bond spoof; they gasped in disbelief to hear that Charles refused to meet Queen Victoria on multiple occasions and were silent during the final lines from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

In short the show was superbly received and I could breathe a huge sigh of relief!

The next day my identity on board changed.  From being the rather curious man travelling alone, I was now ‘the Dickens man’, as in: ‘Excuse me, but aren’t you the Dickens man, who did the show?’  People came up to me on deck, in restaurants, or as we sat in the audience at other shows and complimented me, told me about their particular memories of reading Charles Dickens and most importantly asked: ‘when is your next performance?’

Our sail around Cape Horn and through the Beagle Channel took up the next two days and as I have already described it was stunning.  My second show was to be back in Carmen’s at 3.00pm on my last day before leaving Aurora in Punta Arenus and the ship’s grapevine was working overtime.  One gentleman was indignant, ‘You shouldn’t be in Carmen’s!  That’s ridiculous, I’m going to see the Cruise Director to have a word!’

In the meantime I had work to do on my programme, as I had to be confident with the changes that I had made to it. The show was to be Doctor Marigold, which was one of Charles Dickens’ most popular readings in his time, but which is little-known today. The story is told by the titular character who is a market cheapjack. At the start he addresses the audience directly, as if they were a crowd at a country fair, and he is on the back of his waggon selling his wares. The patter is fast-paced and funny and the audience settle down to be entertained in the same manner. After a while however Doctor Marigold decides that he can trust these people and begins to recite his life-story and the audience are suddenly brought crashing back to Earth when he admits that his wife had been an alcoholic abuser who beat their little daughter who subsequently died. Despite this, and other, tragedies Marigold is man of great resilience and the story continues to describe his adoption of a little deaf and dumb granddaughter and how they learn to communicate.

 
The only problem with the show is that it lasts for 60 minutes and the P&O slot is a strict 45, so every day I found a place on the ship (my outside for’ward deck was not an option in the cold and high winds of the Cape, not to mention with the crowds gathered on deck to admire the views), to rehearse. I discovered that Carmen’s itself was quiet in the morning, until the dance instructors turned up at 9 to give private lessons, so each day Doctor Marigold was to be found on the dancefloor perfecting his patter.

 
On the morning of the performance day I rehearsed as usual and then spent the day walking and reading. Lots pf people came to ask when I was on again ‘Carmen’s this afternoon, at 3’. Eventually a lady who was at my dinner table approached me and said ‘are you sure its Carmen’s because the Horizon paper says you are in the Curzon’ A quick check proved her to be correct! The grapevine had done its work and in a reversal of two days before I had been ‘promoted’ into the large theatre.

 
As before I had a technical meeting an hour before curtain up, and I found a set of two steps back stage which would perfectly stand in for the footboard of Marigold’s cart, and that is all I required from the team. The auditorium filled up and by 3pm there was a goodly audience waiting to listen to a piece of Dickens that none of them knew.

 
‘I AM A CHEAPJACK!’ Instantly I (or more accurately he) had the audience’s attention. The Curzon stage was a perfect setting for this show, and in my mind’s eye I was looking over a muddy fairground entertaining the revellers and gentry who had gathered to watch.

 

Whenever Dickens performed a new piece in his repertoire the press would review it as if it were a  west end premiere , and one of the contemporary reviews of Marigold mentioned that the crowd audibly sobbed during the final passages. I am glad to report that the passage of time has not dulled the sentimentality of the human race, for as I uttered the relevant line, so I could hear little gasps from the audience.

 
Marigold had worked its magic as it always does, and I left the stage to great applause. My professional duties on board were over and both shows had gone well. I have not performed on a cruise ship for around three years now, but I greatly enjoyed my time on board Aurora and hope to do more trips with P&O in the future.

 
All of the entertainers who had joined in Montevideo were leaving the next morning, making our ways back to our various homes, so a group of us decided to meet for dinner at Sindhus, which is the signature restaurant designed by Michelin-star celebrity chef Atul Kochha. And so it was that Tony and Jill Green, Rebecca Mills, David Fairclough and myself all dressed up in our dinner jackets and ball gowns (in due deference to the formal night status on board) toasted to a very successful and very happy cruise!

 

Farewell.  l-r: David Fairclough, Jill and Tony Green, Rebecca Mills and GRCD

 

 

 

It Turns a Little Chile as we Round the Horn

Leaving the Falkland Islands behind us we steamed (diesel-ed?)into the night, and when I awoke next morning I discovered that my porthole was blocked by something, for no sun was getting in.  I pulled the curtain back only to discover that the object blocking my view was a view.

We were heading towards Cape Horn and making our tentative way through a narrow channel whose banks seemed to plunge straight down into the sea.  It seemed that only a few feet from our flanks icy waterfalls cascaded from terrific heights to the shores below.

I hurriedly changed and went up onto deck 12 where I joined many other passengers wrapped up against the cold, most of whom were touting cameras with lenses of various lengths and girths (I am sure that a psychologist would come to some very interesting conclusions:  I myself have a little compact model from Olympus…..)

All morning, all day, we made slow progress through the ever changing scenery as cormorants and other sea birds accompanied us, swooping close to the waves and dipping their wingtips in for fun.  Massive glaciers hove into view and we all tried to remember our ‘O’ level geography lessons,  glibly pulling out such terms as ‘terminal moraine’ as if we all had 1st class degrees in the subject.

At mid morning the bows were aimed towards a narrow channel with an island on one side, the mainland on the other and the most perfect Toblerone-shaped mountain dead ahead.  We were at Cape Horn and for the next couple of hours we lazily circumnavigated the Isla Hornos (darned if I can work out what THAT means).

I am reliably informed by one who knows that having passed the Cape from East to West I am now eligible to have a hoop in my right ear.  Although as we went all the way round the island maybe I’m allowed one in the left ear as well, and another in my nose.

It was the most extraordinary thing but the terrain on the northern side of the island was almost exactly the same as the North Sutor which guards the Cromarty Firth in the Highlands of Scotland, where Liz and I retreat to each year.

 

Isla Hornos

 

North Sutor, Cromarty

 

 

As we turned south, so we seemed to pass The Needles from the Isle of White, and I began to doubt whether P&O had brought us to South America at all, and that this was all a great plot to save fuel.

Any doubts of our position on the globe were swept away however when we finished our circle and the captain guided Aurora towards The Beagle Channel.  In the distance were massive snow capped peaks of the Southern Andes, which brought forth more ‘O’ level geography memories such as the well remembered joke:

Teacher: ‘Where are the Andes?’

Pupil: ‘At the end of the Armies!’

I had to feel sorry for those who were giving lectures during the day for very few people ventured from the decks, terrified that they might miss that perfect view.

Into the evening we sailed and so the sun shone brightly and the views remained spectacular.

The routine of life on board continued, and we all dressed for dinner, squirted alcohol hand sanitizer onto our hands, and rubbed them like hundreds of Uriah Heeps.  Into the restaurant we went, greetings were exchanged, menus consulted, choices made.  With remarkable haste the amazing meals were served and the noise of the chat grew in proportion to the amount of bottles that were uncorked.

Starters, salads, soups, main courses, deserts, cheese boards, coffee and mints came and went and slowly the restaurant began to empty as the guests made their way through the ship to watch Victor Michael, who was performing in the Curzon that night, but sadly for Victor the theatre remained sparsely populated because alongside the ship dolphins and whales had been spotted.  There are many things that performers can overcome, but what they cannot compete with are cute dolphins and majestic whales: sometimes it is just a question of excepting defeat!

Into another night we sailed, and it had to have been one of the most remarkable day’s travelling that I have ever experienced – I had no idea that we would get so close and personal to the scenery and it left an impression that I will never forget.

In my final blog post from this trip I will talk about my time on board, and my shows.

 

To The Falklands and Beyond

Safely aboard P&O’s mid size cruise ship the Aurora I joined the 1,873 other passengers as we prepared to sail from Montevideo and into the South Atlantic Ocean, or next destination being The Falkland Islands where we were due to arrive three days later.  I had been booked to be on board for a week, but the cruise itself was a 65 day marathon, so my shipmates were seasoned travellers by this time.

Life on board soon settled down into a regular routine, which on sea days basically meant filling the time between meals.  I usually wake early in the morning and being on a ship didn’t change that, and  often used that time to go over my lines.  On Aurora there is a small bit of deck, just above the bridge, that I used to pace around and mutter the lines to Doctor Marigold (at least I muttered some of the lines, as I had to shorten my performance from an hour to 45 minutes – the official P&O time for shows and lectures).

 

Ready to Rehearse

 

With the line learning completed I would go to the buffet and pile up a plate for breakfast – sometimes fruit and cereals, sometimes cooked.  Sometimes poached fish, sometimes the full English.  Sometimes toast, sometimes croissant.  With such variations did I pass my mornings!

Being on board as an entertainer who hasn’t done anything yet can be a lonely existence as nobody quite knows why you are there, so I tended to read a lot and walk the decks.

At 11.15 each morning the lectures began and on this trip I was in for a real treat.  P&O had booked a gentleman of my age by the name of Tony Green to talk about the Falklands war, but these were to be no dry, academic lectures recounting endless statistics and dates – in 1982 Tony was a 19 year-old Marine, getting ready to leave his barracks and go home to Hartlepool for Easter.  However the word came through from Westminster and overnight all leave was cancelled, Hartlepool became Goose Green.

Tony’s talks were masterpieces of delivery, he just told his story in the most personal manner you can imagine – yes he listed dates and casualty figures, but we knew we were listening to a frightened young boy in the heat (or cold) of war.  Churchill once wrote that ‘Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at….’  Tony strongly disagreed!

What made the lectures even more moving was the fact that Tony would be returning to the Falklands for the first time since the war, and was planning to climb Two Sisters Mountain and visit the remains of the Argentinian machine gun post that he had destroyed by flinging a grenade into it 36 years ago.  By quirk of coincidence he left the Falklands on board a P&O ship (the requisitioned Canberra) and was now returning on another.

After the lecture is was back to the buffet for lunch (usually a salad) before spending an afternoon either reading or watching films in my cabin or the small cinema on deck 8.

To fully accommodate all 1,874 guests the dinner service is divided into two sittings, one at 6.30 and the second at 8.30.  The evening entertainment is arranged so that each group of diners can watch everything that is going on.  I was placed on a table at the first sitting, and very much enjoyed the company of a group of committed cruisers who had circumnavigated the globe many times.  This wealth of experience did create a slight shadow over the cruise, for one of our number – a 91 year old – had visited The Falklands on three previous occasions and because of strong winds had never been able to get ashore.   To think of Tony making his pilgrimage and having to sail straight by was too awful to think about; we had to hope that the Gods would be smiling on us.  As John, the Cruise Director muttered after one of Tony’s lectures, ‘If General Galtierie could get ashore then so can we!’

After dinner was finished (5 courses is you wished to avail yourself of everything, although I restricted myself to 3), most people made their way to the Curzon Theatre to watch the evening cabaret show.  On this leg of the journey we had a harpist and two vocalists, all of whom I got to know during the trip.  The shows featured lots of dry ice and swirling lights to back up the fabulous performances.  Every performer was backed by the seven-piece Aurora Orchestra who only get a single rehearsal for each show, learning new arrangements for songs they have played many times before.

The days and the sea passed by and the weather reports for our arrival in the Falklands were promising.  Every day I made my way round the ship refusing to take lifts between decks, so that I could walk off some of those calories that I took on three times a daily.

As we got closer to land I had a decision to make:  my first show was scheduled for the evening of the Falklands visit, and the professional thing to do was to stay on board and rest or rehearse, but when would I ever get the chance to return here?  I so wanted to see the landscape, and get up close and personal with the penguins which inhabit the beaches.  In the end my decision was made by the harpist Rebecca Mills, who was booking a private trip to Volunteer Point, and was looking for three others to share the cost.  ‘Bugger professionalism’, I recklessly thought and told her ‘yes’.

The day of the Falklands dawned bright, and more importantly calm.  We navigated carefully between the islets until we were just outside the harbour of Port Stanley where we dropped anchor.

Soon the little tenders were ferrying passengers from Aurora to the shore where we were met by a fleet of various 4x4s.  Rebecca’s group was completed by Liverpool football legend David Fairclough and Jill Green (Tony’s wife, who came with us while he faced his memories on Two Sisters).  We were introduced to Michael, our driver for the day, folded ourselves uncomfortably into a proper British Land Rover Defender and headed off.

The drive to Volunteer Point would take us two hours, even though it looked to be no distance on the map.  The reason for the tardy journey soon became apparent as we turned off the road and started to pick our way through the bogs of the Falklands.  Michael kept the car in high range and low gears with the differentials locked, gently letting the rugged tyres find whatever grip was available to them.  We plunged down steep banks and mounted impossible climbs.  There were five cars in our convoy and we stuck together so that if anyone got stuck another car could winch them out again.

Michael knew his territory well and seemed to be using the Force to navigate. The way in which he gently guided the wheels brought to mind Tony’s description of the way that the Marines gently  eased their boots into the soft ground, trying to feel the hardness of a landmine beneath their soles, before allowing their full weight to fall on the trigger.

Eventually we arrived at Volunteer Point and spent an hour and a half among the penguins.  Oh, oh how amazing these creatures are: so proud, so trusting, so comical, so smelly!

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From the Land Rover I walked straight to the beach, which has the most extraordinary sand – white with a hint of coral pink streaked through it like raspberry ripple ice cream.

A few birds were making their way back from a quick bathe, whilst a group of four were waddling down to make their ablutions.

 

One of the sea-bound penguins was so keen that he kept flinging himself onto his stomach in the slightest of puddles, only to struggle back onto his flippers to continue the march, whilst the others looked on dismissively.

Having spent time on the beach I then walked back towards the main colony, pausing only to marvel at the strange sight of penguins sharing a field with sheep and cattle.

At the main colony a few circles had been marked out with white stones, and the penguins crowded into this safe haven seemingly knowing that the humans had been given instructions not to cross the line.

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There are three species at Volunteer Point – the Kings, the Megellanic and Gentoo and each species has its own circle where they can lay and protect their eggs.

After a packed lunch (cheese and pickle sandwiches, prawn cocktail flavoured crisps and of course a Penguin chocolate bar), it was time to climb back into our Land Rover for the slow crawl back to Port Stanley.

Michael was not only a great driver but also a fascinating guide, giving us many insights of life on the Falklands.  There seems to be a real sense of community and everyone looks out for everyone else.  There have been occasions when cruise ships have disgorged their passengers in the morning only for the winds to get up during the day meaning that they can’t get back, and then the phone call goes round to see who can offer beds – 1 here, 2 there, the Finlayson’s children are away so they can provide three beds, and so on.

As far as groceries are concerned the Islands are quite self sufficient (a lot of lamb is consumed), but would you believe many people order online from Asda, and approximately eight weeks later the goods arrive from Blighty.

At one point Jill asked if there is a majority wish to remain British and Michael chuckled: ‘We had a referendum a couple of years ago and the result was 98.8% in favour.  We never found out who the .2% were – they must still be in hiding!’

Finally we made our way back to the road and turned towards Port Stanley but before we got there Michael pulled over and pointed out two twisted piles of metal in the middle of the landscape: the wrecks of Argentinian helicopters left where they crashed in ’82 are a stark and morbid reminder of the war.

All in all it was an amazing day and I felt greatly privileged to have been there.  I joined the queue on the quay to get a tender back to Aurora and that night we left this little piece of Britain behind us.  On board the routine of the cruise resumed, and at 7.30 passengers made their way to Carmen’s lounge to watch Mr Dickens is Coming! before dining.

In my next post I will describe our journey around Cape Horn and through the Beagle Channel.