To Cheshire and Weaver Words

Tags

A Christmas Carol, A Christmas Carol film, Best Western Hotels, Charles Dickens, Cheshire, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Frodhsam, NPR, Overton Hill, Weaver Words Literary Festival

My Spring tour continued on Saturday night when I headed North once more, this time to the county of Cheshire where I had been booked to perform as part of the Weaver Words Literary Festival in the small town of Frodsham which nestles at the point where the River Weaver joins the mighty Mersey. I have performed for the festival before, so this promised to be a nice return to a county that I very much enjoy.

As I mentioned last week, I was to perform Great Expectations, which is quite an involved and complicated script, and I had been going over and over the lines for a few weeks previously. Fortunately by Saturday Liz’s car had been fully repaired so I didnt need to hire another van, but could load up my trusty Renault with the various pieces of furniture that I required, including the white hat stand that forms Miss Havisham’s skeleton.

The drive was considerably shorter than that of 7 days earlier, taking only three hours, and I arrived at my hotel at 4pm, which gave me plenty of time to rest before preparing for the show. I was due to meet Philip Reeves, a radio journalist working for America’s National Public Radio, but based in England. We were due to contact each other by phone to arrange a good time to meet and talk before the show, but as it happened we didn’t need to, for we arrived at The Best Western hotel at exactly the same, and, having recognised me from my various online images, he introduced himself to me at the desk. We arranged to meet up in the lobby at 5.30 to record part of the feature that he was making.

I went to my room, watched some TV (the Snooker World Championship) before having a shower to freshen up and then heading to the hotel foyer where Philip was already waiting. We found a small conservatory space in which the inevitable muzak was not being played and settled down to chat, for his technique was very conversational, rather than a barrage of pre-prepared questions. We started talking about my background and career but soon he steered the conversation around to the current BBC adaptation of Great Expectations, which was his main focus. The show has created a great deal of controversy, for it doesn’t portray the soft-focus Victorian age than many would want or expect to see on a Sunday night. Instead the series is dark, violent, and not at all reflecting what Charles Dickens wrote in 1861. There are scenes of sadism, opium smoking, suicide, murder and all of this is laced with a foul-mouthed vocabulary which would make a maiden aunt blush.

So, what do I think about Great Expectations? Well, firstly I must say that I admire and accept any author’s attempt to adapt any work, by the very nature of the process every single adaptation (my own stage shows included) will be flawed and not reflect the original author’s vision. The only way to experience a pure telling of a novel is to read that novel. I therefore respect the producers and their decision to tell the story in their own way, I don’t even have an issue with their changing of plotlines and characters to tell their story. The truth is, that whatever a screenwriter does, however wild their vision, they will never taint the works of my great great grandfather – he is too big for that. Indeed, the very fact that hard-nosed producers are still investing millions of dollars into new adaptations is proof as to his standing, even a quarter of the way through the 21st century. So by mucking about with Great Ex, the memory and legacy of Charles Dickens will not be harmed, I am sure of that, So, what next? Well one of my major problems with the new version is why Great Expectations? It has been done so often (Helena Bonham-Carter, Gillian Anderson and Gwyneth Paltrow have all played Miss Havisham in recent years) and I don’t understand the need to do it yet again (says the actor who was preparing to perform his own adaptation!) If you are going ‘off the wall’ then why not choose one of the lesser-known novels which would not excite the same level of public outcry? I think the series was flawed as soon as they chose Great Expectations.

My second point about the show is that it has to stand up as a piece of theatre or entertainment on its own, without relying on the controversy to give it it legs, and this is where it disappoints me, I have found myself following it out of duty, rather than with any desire to see what is going to happen. I have found my mind wandering and getting a little bored by the whole thing. Some of the scenes and characters I admire, and can see how the original influenced them, but it will finish when it finishes and not leave any waves behind it.

Phillip and I chatted for about 40 minutes, with him gently prodding me to denounce the adaptation, raising many of the criticisms that have been aired and published in recent weeks for me to comment on. By 6.15 I needed to leave for the hall to prepare for the show, so we wrapped up the interview for now, and I drove the 5 minutes to The Frodsham Community Centre. In the carpark there were a few early audience members waiting for the doors to open (they are keen in the North West), and I unloaded all of my props. My contact with the Weaver Words Festival is Lynn Pegler and having greeted one another I started to place all of the furniture in the correct places. The set is dominated by a Miss Havisham figure standing upstage left, made from the white hatstand draped with various white and ivory fabrics to create the image of a stately bride.

When everything was in its correct place I went to the main hallway to introduce Phillip to Lynn (he was going to record some of the show for his feature) and found that there was a long queue waiting to come in, and many of them offered greetings as they had seen me in other venues throughout Cheshire and on Merseyside. I have quite a following now in this part of the country and love performing for what can be the most enthusiastic audiences imaginable. Having shaken a few hands and said a few hellos, I retired to my dressing room where I dressed and prepared for the evening ahead.

At 7.30 Lynn came to the dressing room to check that I was ready and then went to the stage to welcome the almost sell-out audience, and to introduce me. I stood in the wings, eager to begin like a caged Lion desperate to be released. Fortunately the opening lines are explosive, as the character of Magwitch pounces on Pip in the churchyard. The story is quite dark and intense, but is punctuated by Dickens’s trademark humour (rather overlooked by the BBC). In the opening scenes the audience chuckle and laugh at Pip’s sister, Mrs Joe Gargery, but are then taken into the confusing and domineering world of Miss Havisham at Satis House.

The first act went very well and was greeted by warm applause, which is always a relief with this particular show. I changed from the working clothes of the first act into the smart frock coat ensemble needed in the second, to reflect Pip’s progress from the Kentish Marshes to the respectability of London. I made sure the stage was cleared of the detritus of the first act (scattered playing cards and various items of costume), and then patiently waited until Lynn once again appeared.

The second act features dear old Wemmick and his Aged Parent as comic relief, before getting back to Pip’s frustrations regarding the beautiful Estella and the revelation as to the real provider of his great expectations. Very frustratingly I missed two lines of dialogue between Pip and Magwitch in which the convict, returned from Australia, introduces himself – this meant that the audience never knew that he is called Magwitch, or had used the pseudonym of Provis, making some of the later scenes potentially very confusing. Most annoying, especially after all the work I’d put in. Hey, ho, sometimes these things happen and I just had to put it from my mind and concentrate on doing a good job for the rest of the show.

In my script I use the second ending that Dickens wrote, in which he meets the ruin of Estella in the ruins of Satis House, the novel closes with them hand in hand, leaving the desolate grounds and hopefully into a life together.

Apart from my missed line, it was very good, energetic and convincing performance, and the applause at the end told me that it had hit the right marks with the audience. When the clapping had died down I opened the floor to questions, and was asked about the 2 endings to Great Expectations, about how Dickens had performed when he was on tour, naturally about the TV series, about my childhood experiences in the shadow of Charles and a few others. Eventually I wrapped up the evening and took another round of applause before making my way to the little merchandise table from which I sold my book, some A Christmas Carol brochures, as well as the DVD of A Christmas Carol. Lots of people came to chat and pose for photos. One particularly gratifying comment came from two separate ladies (I suppose that makes it two comments) who both told me that they were hard of hearing and yet could hear every word of my show. Good old fashioned projection and enunciation has always been a central part of my enjoyment when performing, and to have confirmation that my vocal talents are still working successfully is important to me.

Eventually the audience departed and having posed for a few photos on stage with the various volunteers from the festival, including Irina, a children’s author from the Ukraine, I started to change into my normal clothes and pack up the car again. It was around 10.30 when I left the hall, and realised that I hadn’t made any provision for dinner – the hotel restaurant would be closed, and there wasn’t much in the way of local restaurants who may be able to deliver at that time of night. Fortunately I had noticed a petrol station in the town, which had a convenience store attached and it lived up to its title for it was conveniently open. I bought a sandwich, some crisps, a box of little strawberry tarts for my dessert and drove back to the hotel where I sat on the bed watching a film on TV as my mind and my body gently wound down for the night.

The next morning I woke early and headed to the dining room at 7am, when the breakfast serviced started. The room was circular with floor to ceiling windows giving an impressive view of the landscape outside. The hotel is built on the top of Overton Hill which is a commanding position, and the scene before me was made more dramatic by squally rain that was sweeping across the countryside. I was looking over Mersey river, flowing inland from Liverpool, the Weaver and towards the towns of Runcorn and Widnes on the opposite banks.

Having finished my breakfast, it was soon time to get on the road and head back south once more, It had been a successful two weeks and it was good to back touring again and to feel the enthusiasm of the audiences. After a time away from the stage it is always reassuring to know that I can still do it, and that the public still enjoy it. The rest of my year is well booked with more visits to the North, the south and into Wales, and then of course I will be returning to America for my 30th anniversary tour in November and December – an exciting year, indeed.

As If By Magic……

Tags

Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Furness No 20, Mr Benn, The Didcot Railway Centre, The Signalman

When I was a child, in the years long before wall-to-wall kids TV and when there were only 3 channels to chose from, I loved a simple animated programme called Mr Benn. At this point many of my English readers will be smiling fondly and nodding their heads as their minds go back to the early 1970s, whilst my American readers will either be skipping forward to a part of this post that means something to them, or hurriedly Googling ‘Mr Benn’ to see where this is leading; let me help you out. Mr Benn was a respectable gentleman who lived at number 52 Festive Road. He wore a black suit and a bowler hat and presumably was employed in the Civil Service. At the beginning of each episode Mr Benn would walk to a fancy dress shop where a shopkeeper appeared, as if by magic. Mr Benn would choose a costume (a knight, a chef, a caveman, a pirate among many others), and would make his way to the changing room where he would take off his bowler hat, put it on the ground and then magically his suit would disappear to be replaced by the costume. a green door at the back of the changing room stood open and Mr Benn would walk through and into an adventure. It was simple stuff, lasting only five minutes, but I liked it!

Over the Easter weekend I felt a bit like Mr Benn as I put on my Victorian costume for the first time in months, because it felt as if I was returning to an adventure that had happened long ago. The start of 2023 was not easy thanks to various complications stemming from the bout of Covid that I caught during my American tour. I had noticed that one of my eyes had drooped and the pupil in it had shrunk to a much smaller size than its counterpart. I took myself to my doctor who immediately diagnosed Horner’s Syndrome, and I was booked in to hospital with great haste to find the origins of this condition. Horner’s Syndrome in itself is not serious or dangerous, but it is cause by damage to the nerves which run from the brain stem down to your neck and then back to the eye (a rather clumsy piece of engineering, it seems to me!) Damage to those nerves can be caused by all sorts of things, some of which are potentially very serious indeed. I was given a great many tests: blood tests, CT scans, MRI scans and blood pressure tests, and it was the last two that threw up the answer – thanks to Covid, the doctor thought, my blood pressure had soared to catastrophic levels, so much so that one of the arteries in my neck had split causing a small blood clot which fortunately didn’t travel north! The course of treatment was a prescription of blood pressure medication and very regular checks to keep an eye on things.

Fortunately, three months on, my blood pressure is back to the levels it should be, and I am feeling healthy and ready to tackle another year, a year which will mark my 30th anniversary of performing A Christmas Carol.

So, on Good Friday I was channelling my inner Mr Benn for my costume seemed to magically become part of me again and I was ready to go. The weekend commitment was not actually a show, but three days of appearances at our local historical railway museum, the Dicot Railway Centre which is situated only a few miles from our home. When I was writing my book about the Staplehurst rail crash I was fortunate enough to use the centre for some research, including actually driving a steam locomotive. During the holiday weekend the centre were staging a Victorian event, and it seemed like a great opportunity to sell some books and sign some copies.

I arrived at 10.30 on Friday morning, gently making my way past the long queue of public waiting to buy their tickets, as if my top hat were a special pass, and, as I was a little early, I decided to take a ride on the steam train which was waiting at the platform. I sat in a compartment and within a few minutes the whistle blew, the carriages shuddered and we were off. I was clutching a copy of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst: A Biography of a Rail Crash’ and once again wondered how Charles Dickens must have felt as the train left Folkestone on the 9 June 1865. I didn’t realise it at the time, but the locomotive that pulled my train did in fact have a connection to Staplehurst, but more of that later.

The first train ride took me the length of the centre, and then I boarded another train which took me back to the little square where the museum, cafe and book shop are situated, and which would be my home for the next few days. I was greeted by Sarah, the events manager at Didcot, who had planned this whole idea. As well as selling my books (of which she had bought a huge stock), Sarah had also produced a special edition beer which had been brewed to her own recipe by the Hook Norton Brewery Company, which still brews in the traditional ways, even having the original steam engine which used to power the brewery (indeed, they still fire the engine up once a month). Sarah had christened her beer ‘Off The Rails’ and apparently it had slight notes of orange to give a fresh citrus flavour for the summer months. Some suggested that this ale had a slight taste of marmalade, which may be very suitable for a forthcoming event when the centre is running ‘A Day With Paddington’. So, outside the shop, one end of the table was piled high with my books, and the other with bottles of beer and a tray of little plastic cups filled with free samples for visitors to taste – you can guess which end of the counter was more popular!

The Didcot Railway Centre is an amazing and vibrant place – it is very much a working museum with the focus very much on renovation and restoration. Some historical railways offer long stretches of line, giving passengers plenty of time to experience the age of steam and even dine on board, but that is as far as the experience goes. Other Rail museums, such as The National Rail Museum in York, have huge sheds with static displays, showing some of the great locomotives of the past in all their glory, but they do not run. All have sheds where restoration and repair work are carried out, but it is rare that you are able to see that. Didcot has all of this and more – the site is a breathing piece of history, the smell of coal and oil and grease and polish pervades the great engine shed (itself a grade 2 listed building dating back to the 1930s) as volunteers go about their daily tasks, and they all do it with a passion and a pride that is rarely seen in the modern world. This is no sterile visitor attraction, it is a visceral experience.

The books sold well throughout the weekend, and were especially popular with the many enthusiasts who came to the event clutching their cameras. I chatted at length to people who had maybe heard of the story and in some cases researched it for themselves. In one case a young man had actually adapted his own version of The Signalman to be performed and, by chance, he works in Westminster Abbey where Charles is buried in Poet’s Corner.

During quieter moments I took the opportunity to walk around the site, marvelling at the engines and watching the Easter Bunny reward the younger visitors with chocolate eggs. It was on one such sojourn that I ran into the team from The Furness Trust who had brought a special guest locomotive to the party.

Furness No 20 is the oldest running standard gauge locomotive in the country, having been built in 1863, and is a beautiful machine to behold, gleaming in her rust-coloured paintwork and highly-polished brass trimmings around the cab. Furness 20 was the engine that pulled my morning train on Friday, and the team mentioned that she had a special connection to the Charles Dickens story. Ten years ago the actor Ralph Fiennes directed and acted in ‘The Invisible Woman’, which is the story of Charles Dickens’ relationship with Ellen Ternan. Those of you who have read my book (and if not, why not?) will know that Ellen was on the train when it crashed just outside the town of Staplehurst, so the accident was featured in the movie, and it was Furness No 20 that pulled the train in those scenes (being the only operative locomotive of the correct age). Whilst I was chatting to the driver, a fellow with splendid muttonchop whiskers, he told me that during the filming of the aftermath of the crash, when he was attending to a lady flung from the wreck, he whispered to her ‘You know what? You should’ve got an earlier train!’ Fiennes, in his Dickens persona, was nearby and apparently hissed ‘this is supposed to be serious!’

On the last day of the event I happened to be in the staff and volunteers mess having a bite of lunch, having a conversation with Kevin Dare who had been my teacher in all things railway during the research for the book. It turned out that Kevin was on driving duty that day and invited me to join him on the footplate of Furness 20, an opportunity I leapt at! The appropriate permissions were granted and the formal slip of paper signed and I found myself in the cramped open cab of the train, with the furnace glowing and all the pressure gauges reading as they should. Kevin let me sound the whistle before he carefully opened the regulator, released the brakes, and the sheer power of steam began to turn the wheels and we were off. What a joy, what a privilege.

The weather on Monday was not as kind as it had been over the rest of the weekend, meaning that visitor numbers were lower, so Sarah and I walked around the whole complex looking for possible venues for a performance of ‘The Signalman’ later in the year. There are various sheds that would work, but the most obvious setting to me was in the open air, outside a genuine signal box. Sarah suggested that if I performed there she would bring a locomotive in behind, with steam and smoke creating a wonderful atmosphere at dusk. We do not have a date set as yet, but do watch this space, for it promises to be an exciting prospect.

I was sad to say my final goodbye to all at Didcot for I had really felt like a member of the team during the weekend, and I look forward to co-operating with them all more very soon.

In Mr Benn, the adventure over, the shopkeeper appears again, as if by magic, and leads our hero back through a door where he finds himself in the changing room again. Mr Benn changes back into his suit and picks up his bowler hat once more and walks back into the shop to hand the costume back. The shopkeeper gives Mr Benn a souvenir of the adventure, and in my case that was a copy of the stylish new guidebook which has just been produced.

With happy memories of a fun weekend I returned to ‘Festive Road’ and returned to my normal life.

Friday in Liverpool

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Christmas Market, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Liverpool, Muppets A Christmas Carol, St George's Hall, WKGS

My second day in Liverpool began when I woke at 8.15, which is quite unheard of for me. Possible reasons for my late arrival to Friday were supremely effective heavy-draped curtains in my room, which created a complete blackout, and my body’s need to keep rebuilding strength and stamina. I have been staying at The Shankly Hotel for many years, mainly because of its proximity to St George’s Hall (in fact, as I drew the curtains I had a fine view of the great old Palladian building), and it is a hotel that I feel comfortable in. It has changed a little over the years, for when I first stayed it was very much a Liverpool Football Club supporter’s heaven – with the lobby and every room dedicated to the life and career of one of LFC’s finest managers, Bill Shankly. You would fall asleep looking up at one of his inspirational quotes, and the material padding on the room doors were of the same texture as a football. In recent years, though, the hotel has embraced the party vibe of the city, and the tone has changed from dugout to dancefloor. I was staying on the 5th floor, the corridor was painted a vibrant pink, and all of the rooms had not only numbers, but names too, names to make a mother blush: Sin, Adam (Eve was demurely next door), Temptation and my own room, Desire. Desire contained beds for 4 and a jacuzzi hot tub for the same number. I imagine that I am one of the quieter guests on the fifth floor……

The Shankly did not have chefs in on a Friday morning, so breakfast was being served in the sister hotel across the street – The Dixie Dean. Liverpool is a city divided from a footballing point of view, with two tribes supporting either the reds of LFC or the blues of Everton. I imagine that the owner of The Shankly realised that he was reducing his possible local clientele by half, so opened a second hotel named in honour of one of the greats of Everton. I made my way across the street and had a most enjoyable breakfast, feeling slightly traitorous, and then returned to my room, where I rested for a long while. I didn’t need to be back at St George’s Hall until 1pm, so had plenty of time. At around 11 I walked into the city and joined the throngs of Christmas shoppers bustling here and there through the great Liverpool1 shopping complex. Liverpool always makes me feel very festive and Christmassy, for there is a wonderful atmosphere on the streets. While I walked my phone ran out of battery, for I had left my charging lead in my dressing room at St George’s Hall, but I knew roughly what the time was. I returned to my hotel room, collected some fresh shirts, and then walked up to the hall ready for my matinee performance. I had forgotten, however, that to be granted access to St George’s I needed to call the duty manager, and my phone was inactive. I stood outside the door, and knocked and banged at the door, to no avail. Another young man stood at the door next to me, and I guessed he was an audience member arriving early, for his T shirt was emblazoned with the message ‘Scrooge and Marley. Accountants.’ After a while I saw a member of the St George’s Hall Staff walking by, and asked him if he could alert the manager to my presence, which he kindly did.

I said hello to everyone who were setting up the bar, and my merchandise table, and made my way up to the dressing room, and onto stage where Taz and I did a quick sound check to make sure that everything was still functioning correctly, and I made sure that everything was as it should be on the stage, before shutting myself into dressing room, drinking lots of water, and just relaxng.

The afternoon show was due to start at 2.30 and as usual the audience would be entertained by a choir, before I took to the stage. Usually the choir is one of a few very fine community choirs from Liverpool or The Wirral peninsula, but on Friday both the audience and I were in for a special treat, for Lynne had arranged for students from the West Kirby Grammar School to sing on the stage. From my dressing room I could hear the choir gathering, and assuming that it was one of the usual troupes, I opened the door to say hello, and was amazed to find 30 or so teenagers, anxiously talking, waiting to walk into the bright stage lights. We chatted until it was time for them to perform, and I wished them all good luck and told then to enjoy themselves, and in turn many told me to ‘break a leg’. When they were on stage I went up to the gallery and slipped in the door to watch them sing their first two songs, and they performed beautifully. I always like to watch the choirs from up on the gallery, for two reasons. One, it gives me the opportunity to listen to amazing singing in a setting designed purely to enhance it, and second, it gives me an opportunity to take a look at the audience, and judge what sort of performance we are about to share.

After the girls had completed their second piece, I slipped back down to the wing space, put my scarf and top hat on and waited to begin. As the choir came off stage I congratulated them, and then turned my thoughts to my own performance. The energy that I always get from the Concert Room inspired me, and the performance was a really good one, with the inevitable few coughs along the way. The audience were very good, and the ovation at the end was a typically loud Liverpool stomp! Having left the stage I changed slowly into a fresh costume, before going down to the lobby to sign copies of my book (which we sold out of) and chat to excited and bubbling audience members, one of who was the young gentleman whose T shirt I had complimented on the pavement a couple of hours before. It turns out that he is working on the script for a new musical version of A Christmas Carol, and we talked about my adaptation, and the direction he is taking his version in, that being darker more intense than the norm.

When the signing session as finished, I went back to The Shankly, and rested for a while, before showering and walking back to the Hall for the evening show, stopping to buy a large freshly cooked Bratwurst from the Christmas market which was crowded and noisy.

In the dressing room, I finished my hot dog, and then got into costume ready for a 7.30 start. The choir was one of the regular one,ms and for this show the choir leader had asked me if I minded them performing a medley from The Muppets Christmas Carol, I wouldn’t think it in any way disrespectful? It was thoughtful and kind of her to ask, and of course I said yes, go for it!

The evening audience were not as demonstrative as some of the other St George’s Hall groups, but they were intense, listening, following. There was no rustling or fidgeting, and in the pauses the atmosphere in the hall was heavy. The applause at the end of the first act was very loud, as was the applause when I returned to the stage at the start of act 2, and the final explosion of applause at the end of the show was amazing, filling me with a huge sense of reward and satisfaction.

Despite my physical limitations, I had given three very strong performances in Liverpool, in ‘the most perfect hall in the world

A Remarkable Gift

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Bill Bryson, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Notes from a Big Country, Revelation Arts Centre, Revelation Ashford

The weather in Birmingham early on Wednesday morning was wet – very wet. As I woke in my lovely apartment, I could hear the rain lashing down outside the window. I got up and went to the kitchen in order to make myself a cup of coffee, and then remembered that my ‘welcome’ email had mentioned that there would be no milk or bread, but they could easily be bought at the Tesco shop just down the street. I checked on my phone and discovered that it had opened at 6.30, so I threw on some clothes, descended 6 floors in the lift, and dashed through the rain to a surprisingly busy shop. I decided to buy some things for my breakfast too, loading my basket with some granola, fruit, orange juice and a pain au raisin, as well as the milk.

Back in the flat I worked out how to use the Nespresso pod coffee maker, sat at a stool at the counter and began work on my blog post for the day. After a while I had my breakfast, warming the pastry in the oven, and then took a shower, which was immensely powerful and completely energising. Outside the clouds were clearing now and even the sun was beginning to break through. I wrote some more, and then began to pack my things away ready to leave at 10. I had received strict instructions on how to leave the apartment, so as not to incur extra charges, and I made sure that everything was in order, and that I had all of my belongings.

At 10 I bade farewell to my lovely flat, taking my two bags, and I walked into the streets. Birmingham has a reputation in Britain for being a somewhat dull city – it was heavily bombed during the war and much of the architecture is dull and uninspiring, but oh, my goodness, there are some beautiful historic buildings hidden away between the office blocks, and even the recent additions have been designed with a great flair, meaning that the city centre is a fascinating and inspiring place to walk.

I arrived at the car park, loaded everything into the back, and set my map to take me to Ashford, in the county of Kent, which would take me around 3 hours. I had missed the rush hour, but the Aston Expressway was still heavily loaded for incoming traffic. The road is a 6-lane highway, with no central island, but overhead warning lights to let you know which lanes are open or closed. On Wednesday morning only two lanes showed green on the way out of the city, whilst four showed a red cross above, and there was a steady flow of traffic entering. I have always thought that this system seems incredibly dangerous, but it seems to work – at least it did on that morning.

I approached the Gravelly Hill Interchange, where many trunk roads meet and entwine, but got into the wrong lane and took the wrong strand of spaghetti, meaning that I found myself heading north up the M6, instead of south. This wouldn’t normally have been a problem, for I would simply drive up to the next intersection double back around the roundabout and continue on my way, but on that morning, there had been an accident on the southbound carriageway and the traffic was at a standstill. My map suggested an alternative route, which I accepted, and soon I was on a clear road, speeding towards Kent. For a long time, the map suggested that I returned to the previous route telling me that it was ’57 minutes longer’ and that it involved tolls. It would seem odd to decide to select this option, what would I be thinking? ‘Oh, there’s a thought, I could always go back and sit in stationary traffic chatting to other disgruntled drivers for an hour, and pay for that privilege, or should I continue my free, uninterrupted route to my destination? Hmmm, a tricky one!’

The journey was uneventful, and I passed the time by listening to the end of Bill Bryson’s ‘Notes From a Large Country’ which had me laughing out loud in the car – especially as he described his clumsiness and awkwardness as a traveller, so much of what he said I could relate to, especially the need to go to hotel front desks to ask them to remind him what room number he was staying in – I have done that often. Also, the moment on a plane when he bent forward to retrieve something from his bag at the exact moment that the passenger in front reclined their seat, meaning that he was caught, as he described it, in an inadvertent brace position, from which he had to be released by the cabin crew!

I stopped for lunch at around 1.30, then continued to Ashford where I arrived at my hotel an hour later. As I checked in, the clerk at the desk said, ‘You have a very big room for just yourself!’ and when I arrived at number 32 I saw what he meant! It was a huge room in its own right, with lots of space around the bed, but there was an arch that led to another bedroom complete with bunk beds, and also a sofa which could pull out to give me yet more sleeping accommodation – I could have brought the whole family and some of their friends too.

I had arrived quite early in order to record a radio interview for one of the forthcoming events in America. At exactly 3.30 the station called, and I was patched through to the presenter. The programme was arts based one, and the questions focussed on my particular adaptation and performance, which was really fun to discuss. It was also a lengthy chat, meaning that I could go into quite a bit of depth with my answers, rather than the usual quick-fire questions crammed into a 2-minute slot (another Bill Bryson story came back to me, he was talking about radio interviews on one of his extensive book promotion tours, and on one occasion the interviewer said ‘So, Mr Bryson, you have a new book?’ to which Bill answered, ‘Yes, I do’, the interviewer then concluded the chat, ‘well that’ great! Now folks, join me tomorrow when my guest will be……’). My interview was much more fulfilling, and it was good to remember how this adventure had all began back in ’93.

As soon as the chat was finished, I had to get into the car to drive to The Revelation Arts Centre in Ashford, where I was to perform that evening. Revelation is a regular stop for me, indeed I am a patron of the theatre, and it is always fun to go back. But this year, I had concerns about the evening. Debra, the manager, had wanted to stage a double bill of Mr Dickens Is Coming, and a one act version of A Christmas Carol, which seemed a very long show, especially as the venue had a curfew of 10.30. I just couldn’t see how it was going to work. We had spoken about it on the phone earlier in the year, and it seemed like a possibility then, but now I thought about it I wondered if I had misled Deb with the timings, or I had said the wrong length for A Christmas Carol: Even if I managed to reduce Mr Dickens is Coming to only 45 minutes, and made sure that the interval was only 15 minutes, and not a second longer, I would still only have an hour to squeeze the Carol in, and that would be a VERY pared back version of the show, which would be very disappointing to what has become a loyal audience.

I have to admit I was a LITTLE bit Diva-ish when I arrived, telling all and sundry that the timing was going to be tight, mentioning to John, my superb technical guy at Revelation, that we would have to go through the script and cut a lot of the scenes (he looked rather crestfallen at this, having already programmed all of the lighting and sound cues into his computer). Eventually Debra came up with a timing sheet for the evening, and said ‘are you sure we have to cut the show? and carefully went through the evening hour by hour. And then it dawned on me, I felt completely foolish, and quite elated, for I realised that in all of my calculations, that I had been running through my mind all day, I had mislaid an entire hour somewhere! Even doing the full 1-act version of A Christmas Carol we would be finished before 10! I apologised to everyone, and looked forward to the night with a greater sense of excitement than I had previously.

John and I went through the complete script and checked all of his cues, I loved seeing the names he had given each one, especially ‘Warm Fezzis’

Soon the audience began to arrive, so I retreated to my dressing room, and nibbled at the sandwiches and fruit that had been laid out for me. The Revelation Arts Centre is based in a church, and the two organisations share the building. The stage, with the huge stone columns to either side is truly imposing, whilst my dressing room is used on a Sunday by the vicar to robe in. It is a remarkable place.

At 7.30 I was given the nod, and John faded the house lights and brought the stage lights up. I walked on and immediately got a round of applause, which was a nice way to start. The venue is a perfect one for Mr Dickens is Coming, as it is very intimate, the stage being only 2 steps high, and the audience close. They enjoyed all of the silliness: the Micawbers, Uriah Heep, Queen Victoria and James Bond, etc, and the first act rushed past. I brought the show to a close with the thought that now the audience had heard how Dickens came to perform A Christmas Carol, it was time to see it for real. I left to lots of applause, and I waited a few minutes for those who were going to the bar to leave, and then quietly went about rearranging the stage for the second half. When all was done, I returned to the dressing room, changed waistcoats and made sure that I was in the right state of mind.

I have performed The Carol at Revelation for many years, so it was with a sense of familiarity that I took to the stage. It was a lovely performance and, despite the audience being very cold (the Church’s heating system has been rather temperamental of late, and most people were wrapped in coats, scarves, hats and even thick pink blankets that Debra had bought and placed at the end of rows), they responded warmly and increasingly enthusiastically.

Despite my earlier misgivings, this was a most enjoyable evening, but the highlight was yet to come. When I came out of my dressing room, I was met by a gentleman named Tony, who congratulated me warmly, and said that when I had finished chatting with others, he had a little bit of Dickens memorabilia, that I may be interested in. He hovered until I finished and then produced a white envelope. I took it from him and was surprised by its weight, he directed me to read what was said on it, and the true story of what was within was revealed: ‘Coachscrew or Chairscrew or Dogscrew, 1860. Found at Staplehurst railway, site of accident.’ The heavy piece of ironwork had been found in the fields around the small viaduct over the River Beault by a railway surveyor who was engaged on repairs to the bridge a few years ago, and found it deep in the mud. I don’t know how he aged it, or if it was actually discarded on that memorable afternoon in 1865, but to hold it in my hand and to imagine that this had come to me from a day that I have written so extensively about was remarkable and moving. I thank you Tony, very much.

I packed up all of my furniture, props and costumes, and Deb and John helped me to load them into my car, I said my goodbyes and I drove off to my hotel where I fell asleep very quickly. And that is the end of my brief time in the UK, on Friday I return to America for the main part of my annual tour.

Hyde Festival Theatre for Willow Wood Hospice

Tags

A Christmas Carol, A Christmas Carol film, Brontes, Charles Dickens, Corronation Street, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Haworth, Hyde Festival Theatre, Leeds Library, Mark Llewellin, Roy Barraclough, Willow Wood Hospice, Wuthering Heights

I actually slept for a remarkably long time in my Leeds hotel room, not waking until 7.30, which is almost unheard of for me. I made some coffee and started my blog writing, before going to the restaurant for breakfast at around 8.30. It was a standard but extensive buffet, and I made full use of it.

I had said to Ian that I would go and collect my things from the library in the morning, so after breakfast I packed up my bag in readiness for check out, and then walked into the streets of Leeds, which were already packed and bustling. It really struck me both in Leeds and in York the day before, how busy the city centres, what Americans refer to as downtown, were compared to the relative ghost town of Minneapolis where I had been a few days before.

I arrived at the library shortly after 10 and initially thought I would need to make two journeys but having taken my roller bag back to the hotel the night before, I managed to balance everything (costumes, hat, scarf, cane, merchandise and stool) in one precariously balanced load. I said my goodbyes and tottered through the Christmas shoppers, through the railway station, where the progress of a man with two frock coats, a top hat and a stool was ignored in favour of a group of about ten men dressed in skintight lycra leopard-print all-in-ones, with skimpy grass skirts and curly black wigs. I returned to the car, got all of my things loaded and then went back to the hotel to plan my day. It was raining hard now, very hard (hence my detour through the station concourse). My evening show was to be near Manchester, which was not a long drive, so I had to find something to fill my day. I had originally thought about driving to Haworth, the home of the Bronte sisters, but the weather didn’t seem to be in favour of that. However, a drive out to the moors may be fun, so I decided to continue with that plan.

I finished packing and checked out and made a wet dash for the car. I set the satnav for the Bronte Parsonage Museum and set bout through the wet, glistening streets of Leeds. The route took me to Bradford and from there into the countryside, and as I left the urban sprawl behind me, so the clouds cleared, and the sun began to shine. I drove into the little village and up the steep hill where there was a car cark for the museum, but it was full, so I drove on and out into the countryside. I found a little parking place next to some paths and made my way up onto the moor. It was not wild nor windy, but the views across the valley were stunning, and I just continued to walk, further up, taking this path, then another. On my side of the slope there was heather and wild bilberry bushes, on the opposite side was typical Yorkshire dry-stone walls separating the fields. It was truly idyllic and energising, and I loved every minute.

After a while I began to make my way back down the hill and returned to the car, I drove back into the village (the museum car park was still full, and I didn’t feel I needed to visit anyway, for I had experienced what I had come for). At the bottom of the village was a little railway station, and the crowds gathering suggested that a train was due, and on close investigation I discovered that it was a heritage steam railway. I didn’t want to take a trip but having seen the static locomotives in York the day before it would be nice to see one in full steam, panting, puffing and doing what it was built to do. There was a little footbridge over the track and as the train passed underneath me, I was engulfed in clouds of damp, musty steam. I hurried down to the platform where families, and camera-toting gentlemen wearing anoraks (I was obviously wearing a high-tec walking jacket and was toting a Samsung phone), were climbing aboard. I stood close to the locomotive and as the whistle blew and the green flag was waved, the driver opened the regulator valve and the whole animal let out a deep guttural CHUG, and slowly the train left the station.

Before I left, I checked the little gift shop and made a note to send details of my book to them, too! There was a small supermarket across the street, so I bought myself a picnic lunch and drove up into the hills, found a layby with a view and listened to the qualifying session from the Grand Prix in Abu Dhabi.

By now the afternoon was moving on, so I set the satnav for the Hyde Festival Theatre and heading off towards the urban sprawl of Manchester. It was around 4pm when I arrived in Hyde, and I was not due at the theatre until 6, so I found a local coffee shop and finished the previous day’s blog post, before going back to the car. I decided that it was not worth waiting any longer, so drove to the theatre where my ring at the door was instantly answered by Dan, the theatre’s manager. Through the small foyer and box office area and there I was in a beautiful auditorium, complete with what had once been a very grand circle, with white plaster mouldings on a grey background. The theatre had been built as a cinema in the early 20th Century, since when it has undergone various periods of success as a theatre, most recently being run and promoted by an ambitious team who are desperate to make it a thriving part of the community once more. As well as the theatre staff I was also greeted by Mark Llewellin, the gentleman who had booked me for the evening. I had first met Mark and his partner Roy many years before on a cruise ship, and they had enjoyed my performance of A Christmas Carol back then. Now Mark is responsible for fundraising at a local hospice and had contacted me to perform on their behalf.

Mark and Roy, who died at the hospice 5 years ago, had both had long careers in theatre. Roy Barraclough had been a very popular television actor, appearing for many years in Coronation Street and also creating the comedy duo of Cissy and Ada alongside Les Dawson, but his career stretched much further than television and he was an extremely accomplished stage actor as well. Mark himself has a long history or production, direction and performance in all aspects of the industry, but most of all in Pantomime. Now he tours and talks about many aspects of his life and career – his contact book is indeed veritable who’s who of the world of entertainment.

Almost as soon as I arrived the theatre machine went into overdrive. I had sent my script to Mark who had forwarded it to the tech team, so lighting cues and sound effects were all ready to go. They even asked me if I wanted haze, to create the foggy streets of a London. Yes, please! We did a microphone check, using one of those units that hook over the ears, and which inevitably fall off me, and all was well, although in that lovely auditorium I doubted I would really need one. I went up to the dressing room and hung up my costumes, before going through the extra act two lines again. Mark introduced me to his fundraising team, and it seemed certain that we were going to have a wonderful evening.

The show was due to go up at 7.30, so Mark and I went down to the wings at around 7.20, and we could hear the audience gathering in the auditorium. I paced back and forward behind the tabs, like a caged animal, until it was time to begin. Mark took the stage and said a few words about the hospice, A Christmas Carol and me, and then it was time to begin. The sound effect played, and I walked on, from stage left to stage right and stood over Jacob Marley’s grave. On the third ring of the bell, I gave the ‘harrumph’ sound and instantly knew that the microphone wasn’t working. I hadn’t touched it since the check, unless a lead or something had come loose when I got into costume, but for whatever reason there was no microphone. I simply raised my volume slightly and projected to the very back of the room (advice that Charles Dickens had given to his son, Henry when he was due to give a speech). I didn’t have the whole stage to play with as a set for the forthcoming pantomime was being built, so I only had quite a narrow strip of stage in front of the main curtains, but I had plenty of width to use.

The audience were great and all of the sound and lighting cues (the first venue to provide lighting this year) worked superbly. I left the stage at the interval to great applause and ran up the stairs to the dressing room, where I changed shirts. Dan came up to see what had happened to the microphone, although he said that he had heard all of my lines quite clearly. He replaced the batteries, checked all of the connections and we were good to go again.

Act two was as even more fun than the first and the audience joined in enthusiastically when encouraged to do so and giggled loudly as Mrs C panicked about her Christmas Pudding, this mirth was counterbalanced by the shocked silence that greeted Scrooge’s visit to the Cratchit’s home in deep mourning. At the end of the show the audience started to stand during their applause before I had even left the stage, and the response was amazing.

I hadn’t planned to sell my merchandise at Hyde, rather encouraging the audience to spend their money on the fundraising raffle to which I donated one of my DVDs, but the news that such a product existed encouraged people to ask if there were more available, and Mark said I should go to the foyer and flog a few, which I did. One lady gushed to me about much she had enjoyed the show, going on to say ‘I saw someone else from the family do a show like this a few years ago!’

‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘who was that?’

‘I don’t remember, but he said that he went to America a lot’

‘Well, that SOUNDS like me! I go to America, I am going next week.’

‘It was at Stockport Plaza’

‘Yes! That was me!’

‘Oh, goodness. I was going to say that you are much better than he was!’

I am glad that it was that way round!

Once the audience had left and I had changed, Mark and I joined the theatre team in the bar and wound down with a drink and the sharing of many theatrical anecdotes. Finally, it was time to drive away, and I made my way back to Mark’s house, for he had kindly offered me hospitality. I had some cheese and a cup of tea, as we chatted about theatre and variety, but soon I began to feel the fatigues of the day catching up with me, and having said goodnight, availed myself of a spacious spare room. Another successful day in the winter of ’22

The Hyde show was to raise money for the Willow Wood Hospice, which like all others does sterling work. If you would like to donate to this amazing cause, please follow this link:

https://willowwood.info/support-us/giving/donate

Nobody Puts Mrs F In a Corner

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Leeds, Leeds Library, National Rail Museum, The Met Hotel, The Shambles, The Signalman, York, York Minster

Usually when I wake up in the Sleeperz hotel in Newcastle I have to get on the road early, but on Friday I had a fairly leisurely day ahead of me, with no commitment until the evening, and that was to be in the city of Leeds which was not a huge drive. I had my breakfast at around 8.00, an extensive buffet with plenty of choice, and then returned to my room ready to be on the road by 9am, for, although I had nowhere to be professionally for several hours, I did have a plan for my day. I had decided to drive to the city of York and visit the National Rail Museum, as I had been in touch with them a few times during the research for my book. The drive was about an hour and a half, and I was able to finish the final two episodes of my Formula 1 podcast series, before listening to live coverage of the opening practice sessions from Abu Dhabi.

The start of my journey took me down the busy A1/M trunk road, but soon my Satnav began suggesting alternative turnings across country, and as I had no specific timetable to follow, I thought I would take them. I wound through small market towns and villages, through farmland, passed flooded meadows and across rivers. It was much more fun than maintaining a constant 75 mph (oh, I’m sorry officer, I meant 69.5 mph) on a very busy road.

Eventually I arrived on the outskirts of York and was directed to the Rail Museum’s car park. The National Railway Museum is part of a network across the country under the umbrella of London’s Science Museum, and as such is free (although I did note that the car park would cost me £10!). It is magnificent, you walk into a huge hall, set up with a series of platforms, each with an impressive train (locomotive and carriages) spread out: these are all Royal Trains, with carriages belonging to Victoria, Edward, George and Queen Elizabeth II. Also in this shed is the original Stephenson’s Rocket, one of the most influential of the early locomotives, and which generally settled the standard design for decades to come. From The Station Hall one walks through an underpass and to The Great Hall, and this is where the magnificent collection of giant locomotives are shown off. A giant steam train is a thing of sheer mechanical beauty, I adore them, and looking up at them from ground level, rather than from platform level, reminds you of the sheer scale and power of these beasts, the quality of engineering and design is simply breathtaking. Most prominently displayed in this hall, and quite rightly too, for it has a place in the British psyche alongside the Spitfire, Concorde and the Mini, is the jaw-droppingly elegant and beautiful Mallard. The Mallard was built in1938, using advanced streamlining techniques to make it faster and more efficient. In the year of its launch, it achieved a speed of 126 mph, a record which has never been beaten by any other steam locomotive. Of course, to a petrol-head like me, the streamlining and blue paintwork evoke the record-breaking achievements of Malcolm and Donald Campbell in their Bluebird cars and boats.

One other exhibit which fascinated me was tucked to the side of the hall, and of course was somewhat in the shadow of the great locos, and it was in a very tatty condition, not beautifully restored and painted – it was a passenger carriage dating from 1851, and from the various engravings and photographs from the Staplehurst rail crash, this was the sort of carriage that Charles Dickens, Ellen Ternan and her mother were travelling in on June 9, 1865. I felt quite moved looking at it, imagining Charles clambering from the door, down the embankment to assist his fellow passengers as they lay wounded and dying in the river Beault.

From the Great Hall I returned to the main building and took a look around the gift shop, where I was astounded, nay horrified, to discover that although there were a couple of books relating to Charles Dickens (Tony Williams’ ‘Dickens on Railways’, and A small copy of ‘The Signalman’), there was no copy of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst, A Biography of a Rail Crash’. I immediately sought out the shop manager, who promised to forward my details to the buying team, as she thought it would be an excellent book to sell: well, durr!

By this time, I had exhausted my interest in railwayana and as the city centre was very close, I thought I’d spend a little time strolling up to York Minster. My walk took me right passed the mainline railway station, and this brought back so many very happy childhood memories. In the early 1970s my parents would take us on our summer holidays to a small, remote village in the northeast of Scotland, and there we would spend time as a family swimming, exploring, playing, climbing and just having the most idyllic summers. The village is called Cromarty and still has a grip over me, so much so that when Liz and I married in 2015 it was in the gardens of Cromarty courthouse where we made our vows. We try to return as often as we can, and it is just as beautiful and relaxing as it was when I was a child. So, what does this have to do with York railway station? Back in my days of childhood my father liked to pack the car up with all of our belongings and take an overnight sleeper train to Inverness, whilst the car was loaded onto trucks behind, as part of British Rail’s Motorail service. I am guessing that the Motorail part of the equation didn’t run from London, for we would drive for 5 hours to York and board the train there. The start of the summer holidays coincided with either my mother’s or father’s birthdays (July 29 and August 6 respectively), and there were occasions when we decorated our compartments on the train and had a celebratory picnic before the great diesel engines (one of which had been on display at the museum), began hauling us north. We would settle into our bunk beds as the gentle rhythm of the train lulled us to sleep, and when we woke, answering a deferential knock on the door from the train steward, who left a tray of morning tea and biscuits (always Rich Tea biscuits, and I am sure that’s why I have an enduring love of those very plain items today), we would look out of the window to see moors covered with heather, slashed at points with dark almost black peaty streams, and shining white waterfalls. That blue/purple hue of the terrain can be seen nowhere else and meant that we were in the Highlands. All of that came back to me, as I stood on the busy ring road in York and looked back at the steel arches of the station.

I continued my walk to The Minster and was a little disappointed that would not be able to go inside, as there was a graduation ceremony in full swing, but I strolled around the precincts and admired the fine old building from every angle.

Next, I thought I would continue my walk to The Shambles, a collection of narrow Medieval streets, which are very much a part of York’s appeal to tourists. Indeed, the Shambles were packed, and as I stood at the end looking down the lanes, I thought how this must have been an inspiration for JK Rowling when she hit upon the idea of Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter books. I walked in, and to my dismay discovered that I was not the only one to have had this thought, for rather than the quirky antique shops and small businesses that used to be in The Shambles, there were now Ollivander Wand Shops, outlets to buy Butterbeer and just Potter tat shops. Rather sad.

I was getting hungry by this time and decided to walk back to the Railway Museum and have lunch in the cafe there (the centre of York was so busy, I could imagine myself having to wait an age). The Cafe is set on the Platform in the Station Hall, and the seating is in booths, using carriage benches and tables, as if you were sat on your train setting out on a long journey.

With lunch finished it was time to get back in the car and head to Leeds, where I would be performing that evening. I had booked a hotel in the city centre, an older looking property – The Metropole, or ‘The Met’ as it is currently branded. I thought that I had read online that the hotel had no parking, so I made my way to the nearest public parking garage I could find, attached to Leeds Railway station, and walked the short distance back. Actually, there was a small parking garage, but the desk clerk told me it was full, and there was no guarantee that there would be spaces whenever I returned, so I decided to leave the car where it was.

I had two hours to watch some television and relax on the bed, until it was time to rouse myself and decide how best to get my things from the car to The Leeds Library, the issue being that the venue is in a pedestrianised street, and the nearest parking was a multi-story serving the huge shopping centres nearby. This being the second time that I had performed at the Library I knew that it was difficult to lug pieces of heavy furniture into lifts and through busy shopping streets, so I had asked if the library could provide the set – a chair, a table and a hatstand (I would bring my own stool, as I knock on it with my cane, and didn’t want to damage theirs). But even so I still needed to carry two costumes, a top hat, a scarf, my roller case, and a box of merchandise. I looked at the map on my phone and realised that my best bet was simply to leave the car at the station and make two trips, the walk being only about 6 minutes each way.

I arrived at the library at about 4.45 with my first load and was met by Ian Harker and Carl Hutton, who have been my contacts there. I said a quick hello and then disappeared into the busy streets to bring the remainder of my things, before settling in for the evening. The Leeds Library is an amazing old building which has stood in Commercial Street since 1808 and featuring the most amazing galleried central room, in which I would perform. A small stage had been set up at one end of the long room, and shelves of books towered above on all sides. The centre of the hall was filled with as many chairs as could be squeezed in, for once again the event was a sell-out. I arranged my furniture and stood for a while taking in the majesty of my office for the evening.

Carl would be looking after the sound effects and had stationed himself at a small table stage right. He was a little nervous about taking on this responsibility, but we ran through the cues a few times and I assured him that I had the utmost confidence in his abilities!

When all was ready, I retired to the Committee Room which was behind the stage and busied myself by going through the extra lines required for the two-act show (this being the first of the year in this format). I heard the audience arriving, and relished in that murmur of expectation and excitement, which is one of my favourite sounds in a theatre.

At 7, Carl knocked on the door and said that we were ready to start. I would make my way to the back of the auditorium, and when I was there Carl would start the first music cue. I walked through the more modern part of the building, through a passageway and there I was behind the audience who sat in silence. To quote the show, they were quiet. Very quiet, and then there was a degree of shuffling and looking around. The horrible thought came to me that perhaps Carl had already played the sound effect when I was not there, and now the audience were wondering what should happen next. I was wracked by indecision – should I just march up to the front and begin, or should I wait? I didn’t think that there would have been time for the effect to play all the way through without my hearing it, but what if it had? How long dared I wait? My confusion was relieved when Carl’s head popped his head around the wooden pillar that marked the edge of the stage, nodded, and started the sound effect, meaning I could begin in the usual style.

The Leeds audience were as enthusiastic and engaged as the Newcastle one had been and the first half was filled with fun and laughter. The extra passages slotted into the script easily, which was a relief and the whole thing moved on at a great pace. The most enjoyable part was Fezziwig’s party, as I had a little idea that I wanted to try. Rather than confining Mr F’s dance moves to the stage, I decided to utilise the central aisle in the hall, galloping all the way down and then all the way back, as the fiddle music of Sir Roger de Coverly played. As I came back, I gestured to an imaginary Mrs Fezziwig, standing on the stage, that she should join me in my dance, crouching slightly as I moved forward and beckoning to her, thereby recreating the iconic final scene from Dirty Dancing: Swayze and Grey had nothing on us. Nobody puts Mrs Fezziwig in a corner! The whole scene even merited a very small moment of applause from an audience member. Shortly after the Fezziwig scene had faded away there was a loud noise from the streets outside, a large dumpster being emptied of what sounded to be hundreds of used bottles. The Fezziwig’s ball had been quite an event, obviously.

Fortunately, I remembered to stop after the Ghost of Christmas Past had vanished, for it would have been so easy just to carry on as I have been for the last few weeks, but that is the point of the show where the interval comes, and I returned to the Commitee Room to change shirt and drink lots of water,

The second half was as fun as the second, and the whole show was a great success with another great ovation from the audience.

Once again lots of people remained afterwards to chat, and have merchandise signed – audience members of all ages, which was really gratifying. It was just after 9 o’clock when I started getting changed. I had asked if I could leave my things at the library, so that I could collect them in the morning, and with that I returned to the hotel, without needing to divert to the railway car park, and discovered to my delight that the restaurant was still open, meaning that I was able to finish my day with a fine plate of fish, chips and mushy peas.

Charles Dickens had not particularly liked Leeds, calling it rather unkindly ‘an odious place’. Well, I am sorry that he didn’t enjoy his time there, but for me it is a wonderful city and one that I hope to continue to visit for many years to come

Beginning a Tour of the North

Tags

A Christmas Carol, A Christmas Carol film, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Spygate, The Literary and Philosophical Society, The Word

I arrived back home from Minneapolis on Tuesday morning and on Thursday morning, after just one full day at home, it was time to set off on my travels once more. My first UK venue of the season was to be at The Lit and Phil society in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a drive of about 4 1/2 hours. When I came to load, I had to think carefully about what I needed for my shows, as I have become used to turning up to a venue in America and having the set all laid out for me. As I was about to drive away, I took one final look at the load and was worried that I didn’t seem to have enough equipment and realised that I had omitted to put the hat rack in, so I went back to the house and fetched it. Hmmm, it still didn’t look right, so I did a mental skim through the script, and discovered that I hadn’t put the little table in either. Back to the prop store to liberate the table and at last I was on my way.

The weather on Wednesday was foul and the whole drive was carried out in heavy heavy rain, with patches of the road flooded with standing water. To pass the time I discovered a new 8-part podcast about a particular scandal in Formula One racing, dating back to 2007, when one team illegally obtained a complete dossier about a competitor’s car design. The scandal only came to light because the designer of the team with the stollen information sent his wife to a high street copy-shop where she asked them to photocopy the entire 780 pages of information. Unfortunately for her, and the designer, the man who ran the copy shop happened to be a fan of the aggrieved team and emailed them, setting in place the course of events that became known, unimaginatively, as ‘Spygate’.

Newcastle is in the far Northeast of England, so my journey took me through the whole range of countryside that the country has to offer. Earlier in the week my brother and I were discussing the question ‘where does the north begin?’ For my part I always think that when I get to Derby I am in the north of England.

I arrived at my hotel, the Sleeperz at 3.30, which gave to me 90 minutes to relax before I needed to be at the venue, the Literary and Philosophical Society, a very fine and historic library in the heart of the city. I have been performing for the Lit and Phil for the last 5 years, or so, and the routine is a familiar one. The only parking for the hotel is on the street, but fortunately the library itself is only a few doors away, so I did not have to move the car when it was time to leave. I left my room to get into the lift and for a moment forgot that I was back in the UK, rather than in America, for I automatically hit ‘1’ and was surprised when the doors opened into a corridor of rooms – in England the bottom floor, or lobby. level is called the Ground Floor, whereas the 1st floor, is actually the 2nd. In America, of course, the ground floor is the first, and the 2nd is the 2nd. I don’t know why I should have been confused

I walked to the car, unlocked the boot and started to unload the props in the pouring rain and. After three or four trips everything was inside. I was greeted by a poster for my show with the very happy tidings ‘SOLD OUT’ stuck across it.

I laid out my set on the floor, there not being a stage, and as is tradition we played around with various combinations of overhead florescent tubes and standard lamps to create some sort of theatrical atmosphere. The room at The Lit and Phil is not a particularly atmospheric one, but the shows here have always worked very well there, with the enthusiastic Newcastle audience bringing it to life.

When everything was set, and before the audience arrived, I popped to the loo, in which there was a notice pinned to the wall: ‘Please do NOT empty the basin when the urinal is flushing. Thank you.’ Goodness, what would happen? The sign had the sort of effect on me that a large red button bearing the legend ‘UNDER NO CIRCUSMTANCES PRESS THIS BUTTON’ You just have to, don’t you? There is an inner curiosity to do the complete opposite, despite the warnings. Fortunately, for the continued stability of the Lit & Phil building, I managed to conquer my rebellious nature and did NOT empty the basin while the urinal was flushing.

I settled myself into my dressing room, actually a large meeting room with a large table, and spent some time going over the extra lines for the 2-act version of A Christmas Carol which I will be performing later in the week. There are not too many additions, but Marley gets a little extra time to tell us that he only has little time and cannot stay, rest or linger. When Scrooge first stands in the snow with the Ghost of Christmas Past, he sees his school friends making their way home and he recognises them all, feeling strangely moved to see and hear them wish each other ‘Merry Christmas!’ There is an extra scene at the school, in which Scrooge’s little sister bounds in, and there are a few extra lines at the start of the second act, when Scrooge wakes expecting to see the second spirit. The wisdom of learning lines that I was not about to use may be debatable, but I was confident that I would be able to perform the very familiar 1 act version without a problem. I also attached black Velcro strips to my frock coat, as I did last year, so that I could create a fully black creature, with no gold waistcoat showing, when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come makes his first appearance.

I could hear the audience arriving and just before 7pm there was a knock on the door, and it was time to make my way to the back of the room. As I mentioned earlier, the Lit and Phil audiences are always excellent, and this year was no exception. The show went really well, with lots of reaction, leading to a very noisy standing ovation at the end. I took my bows and then lingered in the large room through which the audience exited to chat and answer questions. I had copies of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ as well as the DVD version of ‘A Christmas Carol’, and both sold well. It was lovely to discover that there were audience members who had seen me perform at The Word on South Tyneside (the same has been the case the other way round), meaning that although geographically the venues are fairly close, they actually support each other.

When the audience had left I changed and loaded up the car (it was still raining hard), and strolled back to my hotel, where I ordered my supper from a local Chinese restaurant and twenty minutes later an Uber Eats courier delivered it to me. I ate in my room and then after a long, but successful, day went to sleep knowing that I had a quite relaxing day ahead of me on Friday.

‘Marley Was Dead, But Charles Dickens Is Very Much Alive’

Tags

A Christmas Carol, A Christmas Carol film, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Ebenezer Scrooge, Jacob Marley, Mid Continent Public Library, Miriam Margolyes, Snow

Saturday 5 November was very similar in shape to Friday 4th, with two performances of A Christmas Carol at a single venue, in this case back at the Woodneath Library auditorium. Woodneath is only a five-minute drive from the Hilton Garden Inn, and I didn’t have to be there until 1pm, so I had a very lazy, and recuperative, morning ahead of me.

After the torrential rain of Friday, I was astounded to see low cloud and snow greet me as I arrived in the lobby for breakfast. Of course, the ground was so wet that none of the snow survived on the ground, but it was lovely to watch the big flakes float down.

There is not much to say about the morning, really (Wordle in 3, is worth a mention though!), I did a little more laundry, not that I really needed to, but it is good to keep on top of it and keep a full stock of white costume shirts in the bank. A day of two shows typically uses three shirts – one to be worn during the first performance, then a second one to change into for the signing session, which I will also wear for the second show, and then a third fresh one for the evening signing. There are days on tour when there is not time to get laundry done, thanks to travel commitments, so I have always tried to catch up as often as possible.

As the morning went on, so the weather cleared and by the time I was collating all of the costumes and props the sky was clear blue with the temperature rising. Kimberly arrived at 12.45 and we made the short drive to Woodneath where we were greeted by a somewhat panicky group of librarians, for they had discovered that when the furniture for the stage had been collected from MGC that morning, the guys had forgotten to load the leather armchair that takes on the multiple roles of Scrooge’s office chair, his bed and Mr Fezziwig’s desk respectively. By the time the discovery had been made there was no time to drive back to Independence, collect the chair and get it back to Liberty in time for the matinee, so we had to improvise. Fortunately, the Woodneath branch has been imaginatively designed and styled, so there were a few possible ‘understudies’ dotted around. I chose a fairly plain green vinyl one which, although a little modern, would do the job. As we placed this humble chair onto the stage, the famous line from 42nd Street came to mind – ‘Hey, kid, you are going out there a nobody, but you have to come back a star!’ I hoped that the chair would not crumble under such pressure.

With much larger audiences expected to attend A Christmas Carol than those that came to watch A Child’s Journey With Dickens two days before, the true flexibility of the brand new Woodneath auditorium was literally revealed, for a wall could be raised allowing a whole new area of seating to have a view of the stage.

With the minor emergency of the chair averted, I went into my usual preparations for a show – changing into my costume with 30 minutes to go. As the audience gathered, so they were entertained by the Dickens Carolers, who sung wonderful acapella arrangements of favourite Christmas songs. The group is highly popular in the Kansas City area, and for my shows a group of 4 (the entire choir is much larger) delighted the audience with their very witty and lively renditions. Having got into my costume, I stood in the wings and watched them perform, which really helped me get into the spirit of the day, as well as giving me a chance to gauge the responsiveness of the audience.

With five minutes to go I made my way to join Sara in the sound booth and watched the end of the caroler’s set from the back of the hall. At 2 o’clock they sang ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, their final number, and left the stage to loud applause, which boded well for the next 90 minutes. Indeed, the show went very well, although my voice was still a little husky. The chair fulfilled its commitments admirably, and maybe was even a good omen, for when I flung my top hat into the air as Scrooge gets dressed ‘all in his best’ it landed squarely and securely onto my head, thereby earning me an extra, and quite undeserved, round of applause. I am often asked how often the hat lands on my head successfully, and the answer is very rarely, maybe two or three times each season. Usually, as it drops to the floor, I cheerfully pick it up, dust it down and say, ‘One day!’, which actually helps to established old Ebenezer’s new sunny and positive outlook on life. I haven’t quite worked out how to best respond when the hat trick is successful. Yesterday I simply stood at the centre of the stage with my arms spread, soaking up the applause, but I wonder if a better response is simply to carry on the scene as if it were an absolutely normal part of the script: maybe I will try that approach next time.

The audience reaction was wonderful, as it always is in the Kansas City area, where I have so many fans and supporters. I quickly changed into a dry costume (even more important with my throat being a little tender), and made my way to the lobby where a long line of people was waiting for me. My signing table was in front of the magnificent living moss wall, which provided a quite spectacular backdrop for the many photographs that were taken. Last year when I was in the area my Staplehurst book had yet to be delivered, so Kimberly had asked me to sign 200 bookplates which could be stuck in when the stock arrived. Now, even with the bookplates, everyone wanted their copy personally signed, and I can quite understand that. I recently bought a copy of Miriam Margolyes’ autobiography which had been ‘signed by the author’, but it would mean so much more if I was next to her chatting as she scribbled her name. I was actually filming with her recently, for a forthcoming TV programme, and very foolishly forgot to take my book!

When the signing had finished, my first job, as always, was to re-set the stage for the evening’s performance. A performer, or stage manager, will always do this immediately a show is finished, rather than waiting until the evening when, if there is a problem, it is too late to resolve. Once the stool was back in its starting place, the red cloth draped over the stand-in chair and the hat, scarf and walking stick back in the dressing room, I changed into my normal clothes and went to get my lunch, which the team had ordered in for me. Unfortunately, my salad hadn’t been delivered with the rest of the order, so Kimberly suggested we drive back to the deli, collect my lunch and then I could take it back to the hotel eat it there and have a short rest between shows, which was what I did.

Back to Woodneath, the original chair had been collected and now sat rather sheepishly, slightly out of position on the stage, whilst the replacement had resumed its life in the library, having had the briefest glimpses of show business. I positioned the original how I wanted it, placed the cloth over it, and went to get ready. Again, I listened to the carolers (a different quartet) as they did their thing equally as cheerfully and energetically as their afternoon counterparts. The audience was another large one, and they sounded to be equally responsive.

My voice was still not fully up to par, despite drinking a lot of water, sucking on Fisherman’s Friend lozenges, and doing all of my warm-up exercises. The good thing is that it does not feel sore or inflamed and I think that it is simply a question of getting used to being constantly on the road, performing every day. Sadly, I was not able to repeat the success with the top hat, so couldn’t try out my new idea – it may be a while until I can! The response was every bit as enthusiastic as the afternoon’s had been, and everyone stood and cheered and stamped as I bowed to all sides of the room.

The signing session was fun, and there were more gifts bestowed upon me, but the best moment was when a gentleman approached me (he was not standing in the queue), shook me very firmly and earnestly by the hand, and said ‘Marley was dead, but Charles Dickens is very much alive within you’. He didn’t say anything else, had no book or DVD to be signed, didn’t want a picture, he just said those words, which meant the world to me.

My time in the Kansas City area had come to an end, I said goodbye to the various MCPL staff who had looked after me so well, most especially to Sara who had run the shows expertly from the tech booth throughout my visit, as well as wielding the rubber plunger when necessary.

Kimerly took me to the nearby Longhorn steakhouse, where we celebrated with a couple of Ribeye steaks and baked potatoes, before returning to the hotel where we said our goodbyes for another year.

On Sunday morning I get to drive my Toyota Venza for the first time since Wednesday as I make the journey to Omaha to get together with more old friends and to continue my adventures

PS: A very happy birthday to my brother Ian, who has had such a positive and supportive influence of my career, and life. Celebrate well!

Channelling the Founder of the Feast

Tags

A Child's Journey With Dickens, A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, Line learning, Mid Continent Public Library, Rehearsal

Friday 4th November would see me perform A Christmas Carol for the first time since December 23rd 2021, and to be perfectly honest I was quite worried about it, as in the build-up to the tour the words were just not coming back to me as easily as I would have expected. During the preceding weeks I have been doing a lot of rehearsal and line learning of A Child’s Journey With Dickens, which of course proved very successful, but when I came to A Christmas Carol it had been a bit of a struggle.

On Friday I woke with the knowledge that I would be tested twice later in the day, and that there would be nowhere to hide, so the morning would be given over to some serious rehearsal. Having completed Wordle (my usual score of 4 again) and had breakfast, I returned to my room, and prepared to run through the entire 80-minute script of A Christmas Carol. Outside heavy rain was falling, very heavy rain for a storm was lashing the Midwest with a ferocious intensity that was quite scary, and traffic edged along the busy freeway with thick clouds of spray hanging in the air. Occasionally an emergency vehicle’s flashing lights brought a splash of colour to the scene.

And so, I began: ‘Marley was dead, to begin with…….’ Amazingly, suddenly, unlike my previous rehearsals, the words just flowed. I slightly change my rehearsal from purely a vocal one to include the movements, which was rather difficult seeing as I had a tiny strip of floor between the hotel bed, the desk and the TV stand, but even then, everything came back to me. It was almost as if my mind had been controlling my rehearsal needs and had prioritised A Child’s Journey, before releasing the Carol into my memory when I needed it. I had never felt anything like this before, and it was equally reassuring and unnerving, for I felt slightly out of control.

The run-through finished, and I made some coffee and relaxed, thinking about what I had just been through, and decided to repeat the process in a little while. Firstly, I took the trip’s first load of laundry downstairs and caught up with some emails and admin. One email was from my brother who had seen that Dolly Parton was taking her Smoky Mountain Christmas Carol to London. In previous years when I used to perform in Pigeon Forge this was a very familiar production to me, so I sent a tweet to Ms Parton welcoming her to England. It would be amazing to unite the two shows one day! It would have been easy to stay online, but I forced myelf to start another rehearsal and launched into the script once more. Again, the words, the intonation, the pace, the expression all came from within, and it was if I had been performing the piece every day throughout the previous weeks. There was a huge sense of relief as I came to the end again.

Outside, the rain was till beating the ground and I started to gather everything that I would need for the show – two costumes, cufflinks, watch and chain. walking stick, top hat, red cloth to drape over the chair, Victorian penny pieces in both waistcoat pockets, and then it was 12.15 and Kimberly was due to collect me. I went to the lobby and joined the little group of staff and guests watching the torrent of rain falling from the clouds above.

Kimberly’s car pulled up under the portico, so I could get my costumes and bag stowed without them getting soaked, and off we set to join the streams of cars. The windscreen wipers couldn’t work fast enough to clear the water, so the journey was a slow one, but we still got to the Genealogy Center in good time. Usually in the KC area I have two shows each day in different venues, meaning that as soon as I have finished it is time to pack up and get on the road, but this year it had been decided that I would spend one day at MGC, with two shows, and one day at Woodneath.

The team was already there, Beth, Carmalita, Susan and Sara, and straight away I wanted to go through the music cues to make sure that the show would be slick and perfect – I was still harbouring those nerves from early that morning. Sara opened the sound equipment, and we ran through each sound effect, until we were sure that we were both confident. Next it was time to do a sound check from the stage and I started to run through lines again, and continued for much longer into the script than was absolutely necessary.

Having made all of the preparations I withdrew to the green room, where I got into costume and then began to make my final preparations. I did some deep breathing exercises, and then started my favourite tongue-twisters to make sure that my lips and tongue were working well: ‘Bibbity bobbity bought a bat. Bibbity Bobbity bought a ball’ and ‘She stood upon the balcolny, mimicking him hiccoughing and amicably welcoming him in.’ The important thing about these is to get every syllable pronounced, basically taking my father’s advice from years before, ‘always finish one word before starting the next’. In the second of those excercises it is the ‘ing’ sounds that it is easy to lose, as well as the ‘m’ on the end of ‘him’.

I had done all of the work and preparation that I could so now I sat down quietly to think about the show. I took a selfie of me in pensive pose, and when I looked at it there was an almost uncanny resemblance to my great great grandfather’s pose in an 1859 portrait, even the colour of the wall matched. I swear that I didn’t set out to recreate the Frith portrait, it was simply a happy coincidence. I was definitely channelling the founder of the feast.

At 1 o’clock Susan popped her head into the dressing room to check that I was ready and then went to the stage to make my introductions, while I made my way to the back of the hall to start the show walking through the audience as the somber music played.

What can I say? The show went so well, so smoothly, and the audience responded to all of the moments that previous audiences have – not just the big obvious ones, but also those little times when I listen for a gasp, a giggle or even for complete silence. Even the weather contrived to help, for during the Christmas Future scenes thunder began to rumble outside, adding a portentous and heavy atmosphere to the proceedings, and then stopped again when the story returned to Scrooge’s bedroom on Christmas morning. From a personal point of view there were a few moments of timing that were not absolutely perfect, but these were minor – A Christmas Carol was back in all its glory.

After I had taken my bows, I changed costume and made my way to the auditorium lobby to sign and chat. The reaction to the performance both from well-seasoned fans and first timers was extremely gratifying and for the first time that day I began to relax.

Once the last of the audience had made their wild dash through the rain to their cars, it was time to rest with over 4 hours until the evening show. The library staff had kindly ordered in lunch, in my case a salad, and when I had eaten, I pushed two chairs together, stretched out my legs and although I didn’t actually nap, just switched off.

The evening show was very well subscribed, although we didn’t know if the weather would put people off (the events here are all free, but attendees have to register, meaning that there is often a degree of drop off in numbers.) As 6.30 passed it looked as if almost everyone was coming, for the hall was filling up nicely, and it promised to be a really enjoyable evening. With 5 minutes to go I put my hat and scarf on and prepared to go, when I saw Sara, who I would have expected to be at the sound desk, walking down a corridor wielding a large rubber plunger. She gave me a wry look and said ‘Oh, the joys of being the building superintendent’ and off she marched with an air of resigned determination. Shortly afterwards Beth appeared to tell me that we may be delaying for 5 minutes or so, as there was a slight plumbing emergency that needed attending to – I didn’t ask for any details. It was not long until Sara was back, and we were ready to go.

The evening performance was another good one, although my voice was a little husky, probably due to the efforts I had put into the morning’s rehearsing as well as the first show. It was great to perform for such a large crowd, and it felt as if they were all engaged in the story. There were quite a few children in the audience, and they were giggling at the silly bits – snoring etc, and at one point I found myself playing to them too much and had to pull myself back into line. The response at the show’s conclusion was amazing, with shouts and whistles and whoops. It had very definitely been a good day

At the signing table there were more gifts, a drawing of the Child’s Journey stage by Aiden, and a painting by Paisley, whilst Lily, who gave me the picture the day before, was back with her mother too. I signed lots of copies of my book, as well as the A Christmas Carol DVDs which are available this year and posed for lots of photographs.

When all was finished, I packed up my belongings, said my goodbyes and Kimberly drove me back to Liberty, where we dined in a sports bar (a delicious salmon and mashed potatoes for me), before she took me back to the hotel. It had seemed a long day, but an ultimately successful one, the only negative aspect being that somewhere along the way I had mislaid one of my red cravats – maybe it fell off the coat hanger when I was running through the rain, but that means I only have one for the rest of the tour.

I may have lost a small item of costume, but I have NOT lost A Christmas Carol.

A Week of Fundraising Begins

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Abingdon-on-Thames, Brain Tumour Research, Charles Dickens, Doctor Marigold, Michaelmas Fair, Mr Dickens is Coming!, Oxford Half Marathon, Uriah Heep

As I celebrate my 59th birthday so my week of fundraising began in earnest. Of course, the main event will be on the 16th October with my debut run in the Oxford Half Marathon, and I will return to that story later, but on Friday night I performed in my hometown of Abingdon-on-Thames for the first time in many years.

I had chosen a new venue for me, and that choice had come about through a curious circumstance. My youngest daughter had been invited to the birthday party of one of her classmates at school, and the event was held at the Abingdon Baptist Chapel, where the birthday girl’s parents and grandparents not only attend, but administer too. The chapel is set a little back from the road and is an impressive building, with Palladian columns giving it an Acropolis-esque look. It is one of those buildings that I have driven passed a thousand times and thought how elegant it looks but had never investigated further. On the day of the party, I went to collect our daughter, and on walking through the main door I could see straight away what an impressive hall it was – simple, surprisingly modern and well lit, although the effect was somewhat obscured by a large bouncy castle, complete with an illuminated glitter ball in the centre. I tucked the memory away, ready to be used when next I needed a space to perform in.

The idea to give a benefit performance in aid of Brain Tumour Research came after I had been accepted to run in the half marathon, and I thought it would be a nice opportunity to raise funds by doing what I do, in addition to the terrifying thing that I do NOT do. I approached the Baptist Church and having checked the diary they were able to offer me Friday 7th October, which I grabbed with both hands. There was a slight moment of concern in that the ancient and traditional Abingdon Fair takes place at the start of October and the whole main street is closed for two days and filled with noisy, whirling, garish rides, and stalls selling candyfloss, hot dogs, burgers and other unidentifiable foodstuffs, whilst the Oxfordshire night air is filled with the screams of flirting teenagers. The Baptist Chapel sits on the very road where the fair is held, so not only would my audience be unable to get to it, but the accompanying soundtrack would not have been conducive to Victorian literature. Fortunately, tradition (and law) dictates that the fair be held on the Monday and Tuesday before the 11th October, and it is not built until the Sunday before, so my Friday date was safe. As an aside, the Abingdon Michaelmas Fair dates back to the 14th Century when it was created as a gathering to hire labour in the aftermath of the Black Death.

The next issue was to publicise the show, which was not easy. As I was producing the event, on behalf of Brain Tumour Research, I didn’t have a large budget to play with, indeed I had no budget to play with, so other than printing some leaflets and posters, all I had was good old fashioned leg work, and modern social media.

I had planned to start my publicity assault when I was in America in September, but of course that coincided with the death of the Queen, meaning that not only was I not in a state of mind to shout and scream about my show, but also the country and potential audience would not be responsive anyway.

When the funeral was over and life slowly started to get back to normal, I began distributing leaflets, initially in my own neighbourhood, hoping that curiosity and a sense of neighbourly support would bring in a few sales. After that I picked areas of the town the I felt would house the demographic that usually attend my performances and spent many mornings walking up and down leafy roads, slipping A5 fliers through letterboxes. The art of leafleting is not as easy as once it was in that most houses have highly sprung and insulated letterboxes making it a real struggle to push a flimsy piece of paper through. I had no idea if these operations would bring forth results, I didn’t know if anybody would even read the leaflet but clung to the hope that somewhere in the hundreds of houses was someone who loved either local theatre, Dickens or preferably both. I was startled by barking dogs and avoided the angry glares from people sitting in their front rooms watching me trespass on their properties.

In the town centre many businesses were kind enough to display posters and take leaflets and little by little the word started to spread. I bombarded local Facebook pages with posts about the show, but ticket sales remained frustratingly slow. I emailed large businesses in the town attaching the flier and asked them to circulate the information among staff, and I did the same to all of the local schools.

As the week of the show arrived the sales were still not great, but I could satisfy myself that the show was only part of my greater fundraising efforts, so from that point of view anything that I made would be a success, but I did want the atmosphere in the Church to be good and the evening to be an enjoyable one.

The day of the show arrived, and it was a very odd feeling not to have to pack up the car early and get on the road to some venue far away. The programme for the evening was to be Mr Dickens is Coming! and Doctor Marigold and that combination means quite the car full and, on this occasion, I also had a large box containing various promotional materials from Brain Tumour Research along with two collection buckets.

Naturally as I pulled into the small car park outside the church rain started to fall meaning that I was a bit damp by the time everything was inside!

The space was perfect with a small ‘stage’ at one end, a balcony around the top and a high vaulted wooden ceiling above.

I busied myself setting up the stage for Mr Dickens is Coming, which involves recreating the set that Charles Dickens used for his readings. I erected my red screen (fabric over a simple frame which, although Dickens’ was solid), placing my copy of his red reading desk, complete with the cube for the performer to rest their hand on, a handkerchief, and a small glass carafe, which bears my great great grandfather’s crest, and which is the only item I own that actually belonged to him. Once everything was in place, I started to rehearse a bit of Doctor Marigold and could hear the words echoing back to me, so tried to tone down my volume as much as I could.

There were other preparations too, for I had to make sure that the ticket sales table was in place, complete with a cash float (which I had withdrawn from the bank earlier in the day), and laid out my various items of merchandise, which this year includes the DVD version of ‘A Christmas Carol’, as well as ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ and a DVD of Doctor Marigold. I also needed to lay another table out with all of the leaflets and publicity for Brain Tumour Research, and in the centre of all of that literature a large yellow bucket in case audience members who had already parted with their hard-earned money to attend the evening should feel disposed to donate further as they left.

When all of the preparations had been completed the audience started to arrive, so I dashed into my dressing room, quickly changed into my costume and then went out to meet and greet and mingle. As this was ‘my’ show I had decided to be present as the audience arrived, rather than theatrically hiding myself away – in this way I became actor, writer, producer, front of house manager and stage manager all in one, which didn’t allow me a lot of time to relax and prepare for the forthcoming performance.

The first arrivals were all from my own neighbourhood, and they gathered in the centre of the hall and chatted busily together, meaning that I could just as well have well given the performance in the middle of our street, and saved everyone the trouble of travelling. but soon others began to appear, and the small hall began to fill. It was by no means a full house, far from it indeed, but my efforts of the past few weeks produced a decent enough audience. Liz was there, with our two girls who have not seen me perform before and who would be staying for the first half, and there was a goodly sprinkling of friends and family, including Liz’s nephew Richard, a son of Sheila in whose memory these events are being held.

At 7.30 I made my way to the stage and began the show. Usually as I wait in the wings I listen as one of the organisers gets onto the stage and explains where the emergency exits are, as well as the toilet facilities, but being my own show, it fell to me to clumsily do that, before launching into the words of Charles Dickens, which begin the performance.

It was a fun half and the old script still got laughs where it always does. I felt slightly awkward writhing and squirming in the rather suggestive manner of Uriah Heep, and wondered what my daughters would make of daddy looking like that (and indeed when I was at home the next day they proudly told me that was their favourite part!), but gave the whole performance as much as I could.

The interval came and I rushed to change into Doctor Marigold’s costume, before returning to the stage to rearrange the furniture (thus adding stagehand to my growing job list!), and when I had completed the task I was able to give the girls a hug and say goodbye to them and Liz, before preparing to transform into Marigold.

The second half went well also, although the slightly boomy acoustics in the hall made some of the very fast paced dialogue difficult to hear, but the response to the ever-changing fortunes of the poor cheapjack was moving and generous as I took the applause at the end. Having taken my bows, I thanked the audience for their generosity once more and reminded them that in just a week’s time I would be running the Oxford Half Marathon for the same cause, thereby shamelessly encouraging them to part with yet more of their cash, and brought the evening to a close.

As the audience left, I stood at the door and thanked them for coming, and signed a few copies of my book, and one of my ‘A Christmas Carol’ DVDs, until the hall was empty with the exception of the staff and volunteers who had helped make the evening a success. As they began to rearrange the seating, I changed and started to pack up my belongings knowing that in the event of leaving something behind (a fairly common occurrence as regular readers will know), I wouldn’t have far to drive to retrieve it. I said my goodbyes and thanks, and set off into the night for my 5-minute drive home, where Liz was waiting for me.

The evening had been a success and added a few hundred pounds to my fundraising kitty. The audience had been incredibly generous and had donated an extra £78 into the Brain Tumor Research bucket. Now the focus will change as I prepare to line up at the start of The Oxford Half Marathon proudly bearing number 1391 and completing a challenge that began on April 16, 2022.

To become part of my fundraising efforts simply follow the link to:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens