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Having arrived home on Monday lunchtime, I had a couple of days to indulge myself in the wonderful ritual of balancing on the top of a ladder propped up against the front of our house to fix Christmas lights to the eaves. I like to use two long sets of lights to give a really intense effect, and of course one string wasn’t working, so I had to go and buy a replacement before the result was as I wanted. As a family we also decorated our tree, and loved finding all of the old decorations that hold particular memories for each of us. The house looked in fine festive fettle, and ready for a small party for some of Liz’s colleagues.

And then on Thursday it was back to work, although the first show didn’t necessitate travelling, other than a twenty minute trip to the next major town, Didcot. Back in the Summer I performed The Signalman at the Didcot Railway Centre, a living museum dedicated to the preservation and display of various locomotives and carriages, and the open air show in front of a genuine signal box had been very successful. At the time we discussed the possibility of bringing A Christmas Carol to the site, and I managed to find a date in my schedule, before I set off for the North of England.

The show was a leap into the unknown for both me and the centre, who had never tried a nighttime event before. Unfortunately there is no parking at the site, so I would have to carry all of my things from a public car park, across a street, through the bustling Didcot Parkway mainline railway station, through a tunnel beneath the tracks, up a flight of stairs and into the Railway Centre. Even then there is a long walk between tracks and past various trucks and wagons before you even reach the cafe and giftshop, the centre of the operation. Fortunately for me Sarah Jermyn, my contact at Didcot, had told me that she would find the various pieces of furniture from around the site, meaning that I wouldn’t have to make three or four long trips. Even so, to carry my costume, the top hat and cane, pull my roller bag and balance a box of books to sell was difficult enough. I fervently hoped that I would sell a lot of books, not only for pecuniary reasons, but that my load may be less on the return trip!

Even as I arrived at 4pm, for a 6.30 start, I was accompanied by the first of the audience members – keen indeed!

I was met on the platform firstly by Thomas Macey, who acts as a guard on the various trains, and who is always dressed immaculately in the uniform of a GWR employee, and then by Sarah, who took me down to the Transfer Shed, where the show would be staged. We walked through the darkness, passing a rather sinister wrought-iron stanchion from some old bridge or platform furniture, in the shape of a lion. In the darkness it looked rather like the face of Jacob Marley in the door knocker.

Eventually some twinkling coloured lights came into view and we arrived at the long rail shed that would be my theatre for the night. During the day at this time of year the platform plays host to Santa’s grotto, so the various carriages and locomotives were decorated and lit for the season. My ‘stage’ was on the platform and at my back was the magnificent ‘Iron Duke’ locomotive, dating from 1847 and, with its huge twin driving wheels similar in design to the locomotive that pulled the Staplehurst train in 1865. As an actor I usually like the backdrop to be as plain as possible, certainly with nothing more interesting than me behind, but on this occasion I must be resigned to being upstaged.

The performing space was very narrow front to back (the width of a small platform), and one row of chairs had been placed with their backs to a series of passenger carriages. At either end of the area were four banks of chairs, rows of four or five, meaning that I would be covering quite a distance to make sure that everyone felt included in the show.

Having set the stage as I wanted and tried a few lines to see what the acoustic would be like (surprisingly good, actually), I walked back up to the gift shop where Thomas had left two boxes of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ for me to sign, which I duly did.

Having finished that, I walked back to the Transfer shed, once again passing the spooky lion, and went to my dressing room, a guard’s carriage which was used during the day by various elves, whose costumes were hung up. I wondered if the jolly old man with the white beard even rested in there for a while. From the evidence gleaned I can let you into a secret about Santa: he uses Strepsils to keep his Ho! Ho! Ho! clear and resonant.

I changed into costume, and spent a little more time in my performing space, trying to work out the best way to stage the show. The carriage opposite me had a destination board on the side, and the three destinations all bore some relevance to me and the show, they were Paddington. Worcester. Shrewsbury. Let me take those destinations one at a time, Paddington, as many will know, is the little bear from Peru who first got me reading. I would have a torch beneath my covers long after my bedtime delighting in his adventures and living in his world. The connection with Worcester is not with the city in the West Midlands of England, but with Worcester Massachusetts. I not only stay in that city when I perform at Vaillancourt Folk Art, but Charles Dickens himself performed in the city, at The Mechanics Hal, and I was fortunate enough to do my show there as well. Finally, Shrewsbury. Shrewsbury is the city, as I mention in a recent post, that was the location for the George C Scott version, and where the Scrooge’s gravestone still lies.

At around 6.20 I could hear the unmistakable sound of a diesel locomotive on the tracks, which was bringing the audience from the cafe area, saving them the need to walk through the dark woods and over tracks. I stood at the end of the platform as they disembarked, and welcomed them all. I was glad to see that they had heeded the advice of the publicity and wrapped up warmly for the evening.

When everyone had found seats, Sarah welcomed them to Didcot, ran through a few health and safety requirements, and then the show began. We had no sound effects down in the shed, so it was a very old fashioned style of performance, which was no bad thing. It was also pacier than usual, for I couldn’t leave any long and dramatic pauses, with the audience spread out as they were. I arrived at the interval, at which point we all boarded the train to go back to the cafe where mince pies and mulled wine was served, and I was able to mingle and chat, which was rather a nice way to pass twenty minutes, rather than sitting alone among various elf costumes and discarded Strepsil packets. People had brought all kinds of things to show me: one lady even had a copy of her PHD on Dickens’ ghost stories. Many were interested in my book, and I promised that I would sign after the show.

We all got back onboard the train and trundled back to the shed, where the Ghost of Christmas Present took up the story. The audience were not a demonstrative group, huddling in their woolly coats and hats, under rugs, but on my were they attentive and focussed. They were a joy to perform for, and the applause at the end was wonderful.

The train came back to meet us (it was parked a little up the line so that the steady throb of a Diesel engine idling didn’t disrupt the show), and we went back to the cafe where I set up my phone and card reader and started to sell books, all of which went. I signed the lady’s PHD (she was the subject of Topper’s advances, so I was relieved that she was still speaking to me), as well as my books, DVDs and various other items, including an autograph book: I haven’t seen an autograph book for years, maybe since I had one when I was a child, waiting behind the pavilion at The Nevil Ground for star cricket players to appear, or at Brands Hatch race circuit and my Formula 1 heroes.

The audience made their way off into the night, and I was given a ride on the train once more to change and gather my belongings before saying good bye and thank you to Sarah and the team, before walking into the darkness, between the rails and back to my car.