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During the Easter weekend, in May, I spent three days making appearances and signing books at the Didcot Railway Centre, in Oxfordshire, the home of The Great Western Railways Society. During those days it was suggested that I return to the centre soon to perform Dickens’ intense and atmospheric ghost story, ‘The Signalman’ in a perfect setting. We had identified a small cobbled area in front of The Radstock North Signal box, and level crossing gates as a suitable venue, and Sarah, the events manager at Didcot, had set to work publicising and selling the event.

The week building up to my trip to Didcot was filled with line revision, as not only had I not performed The Signalman since last September, but two days after my that performance I would be doing Great Expectations at a festival in Cheshire, so I had two scripts to prepare. The discipline of organising my time during rehearsals was an interesting conundrum, for The Signalman needed more work, but is a much shorter script, whereas I performed Great Expectations not too long ago, but it is a much lengthier and detailed show. I had both scripts laid out at home, and concentrated on The Signalman first, until it was in a good place then started going back through Great Ex, until I reached the end of that, at which point I returned to The Signalman again to make sure it was nicely polished. I had decided to change the performance ever so slightly, by changing some of the narrative into dialogue. For example rather than reciting the exact text during a passage such as:

‘Regarding those many long and lonely hours of which I seemed to make so much, he could only say that the routine of his life had shaped itself into that form, and he had grown used to it. He had taught himself a language down here — if only to know it by sight, and to have formed his own crude ideas of its pronunciation, could be called learning it. He had also worked at fractions and decimals, and tried a little algebra; but he was, and had been as a boy, a poor hand at figures.’ I had decided to perform the dialogue in the voice of The Signalman himself. It wasn’t a great change, but needed a bit of work so as not to confuse me during the intensity of a performance.

Saturday 24th June dawned, and I had an early start for my first show was due to be at 9am. Fortunately I didn’t have to load the car up with all of the furniture that makes up my set, as the Railway Centre had a suitable desk, chair and stool in their own signal box that I could use.

Sarah had booked such an early show time so that I could be finished before the centre officially opened for the day, and the various locomotives started making their noisy way over the tracks. Unfortunately the sales for that early performance were low (people not being so willing to get up and out to be at Didcot at 8.45 on a Saturday morning), but there were plenty of volunteers and staff arriving at the centre for the day, and a few of them took the opportunity of coming to watch.

The setting was even better than I had remembered it, and I set up with the level crossing gates, protecting the public from one of the active stretches of track, behind me meaning that the signal box was to my right. This meant that I would be performing the show as a mirror image to my normal set, when I place the box scene to my left. A challenge, but with all of the furniture to that side, I was fairly confident I could return to the correct marks!

Sarah left to collect the audience from the main gate, and I took the short opportunity to run some of the show, testing my vocal abilities in the open air, and making decisions on how to use the topography.

Soon the audience were in place, and it was time to start. As ever I began by running over the circumstances of the Staplehurst crash, and the effect it had on Dickens, before beginning the performance itself. I gave the opening line ‘Helloa! Below there!’ full volume, and it echoed around the countryside, as it would have done had I been stood at the top of a railway cutting, calling down to the lonely signalman. The call was answered by rapid flapping of wings, as startled birds flew from their nearby perches, and the whole scene felt completely perfect.

The performance went well (a few tiny line glitches, but nothing to disturb the flow of the atmosphere), and the outdoor nature brought a sense of realism to the telling, that is not so achievable in a theatre or hall. Part of the admission price was to have a signed copy of Dickens and Staplehurst, and when I had taken my bows, I sat at the desk on the set, and signed as people chatted and asked questions, which was a very relaxed way of going about things.

And now the centre was getting ready to open to the public, locomotives were getting up steam, guards were in uniform, engineers in grimy overalls, the gift shop and cafe threw open their doors and normal life returned to The Didcot Railway Centre. I now had 5 hours before I needed to make preparations for my second show, so decided to return home, as Didcot is less than thirty minutes from Abingdon. To be honest I felt completely exhausted and welcomed the opportunity to rest and be a bit lazy. We all had lunch together, and then the girls went onto their screens and Liz and I relaxed watching an old Poirot mystery, until it was time for me to get back into costume and drive back to the centre.

There were many more people when I returned, and I took the opportunity to explore the engine sheds where the silent beasts were resting, but still exuding a huge sense of power.

I took a ride on one of the trains, look at the carriages in various stages of restoration, I even descended into a WW2 air aid shelter and listened to the famous recording of Neville Chamberlain announcing war on the wireless.

Back at the Radstock North Signal Box, the sun had moved across the sky and the scene was very hot. A larger audience gathered, and once again the opening words echoed through the site, which was emptying now as the day’s track activities were coming to a close. I was able to try out one other idea, which had come to mind during the first show, and that was to surreptitiously leave the signalman’s warning lamp turned over on the floor, near to the part of the stage representing the dark, dismal tunnel mouth, so that at the end of the story it would be a visual reminder of the fate that had befallen him, as if it had been dropped. I am not sure that it altogether worked, in that the lamp was behind some of the furniture and thereby not visible to the audience, but its an idea that I shall pursue in the future.

When I was signing books after the show, one gentleman told me that he was actually involved in railway safety, and that he was currently working on various lines in Kent, including those around Staplehurst. Many of both audiences had been to a performance of The Signalman in Oxford, staged by Creation Theatre, a show that I had also been privileged to watch, and it was fun to discuss the story and the various adaptations of it.

Soon it was time for the audience to leave, and I gathered my things, said goodbye to Sarah and the rest of the staff and walked away from The Dicdot Railway Centre in full, albeit rather damp, Victorian garb. I hope to return soon, and possibly as part of my A Christmas Carol tour. Watch this space!