A Few Secrets and a Memory of Dad

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, Rochester Dickens Festival, The Berkshires Magazine, Ventfort Hall Mansion

Although my only performance on Thursday would again be at 7pm, I had to be at Ventfort Hall at 8.30 in the morning for an interview and photo shoot. I had a small breakfast of yoghurt, granola and fruit and returned to the room to get ready. Outside it was very cold in fact the remaining puddles from Wednesday’s rainstorm were now solid ice, and when I tried to open the car door, I found that I could not. At first I assumed the lock had failed, or the remote key was low on battery, but I soon realised that the door had an effective seal of ice, and it took a good deal of force to break it, and gain access to the Santa Fe (maybe, bearing in mind the season, it should be a Santa Sleigh instead?)

It is always a nice feeling, when I have been to a city multiple times, to set off on the journey from hotel to venue without needing any digital aid to navigate me there. Such is the case in Lenox, although admittedly the journey is not a complicated one, involving only one turn, but still there is a feeling of belonging when you can just jump in a car and know where you are going.

I arrived at the Hall at the same time as Haley and waited as she unlocked the venerable old building and switched the lights on. I went upstairs and got into costume and by the time I was ready I could hear Haley welcoming Anastasia Stanmeyer, the journalist from The Berkshires Magazine. We shook hands and she immediately got down to work, starting with taking a whole series of photos to accompany the article. Firstly, I stood on my set, in front of the red curtain that Haley had fixed in front of the windows to provide a suitably theatrical backdrop. I did some Scrooge faces, as well as a few posed portraits of the real me (whoever HE is?) Next Anastasia wanted to move to other areas of the house (the article, of course, being just as much about promoting Ventfort Hall as my shows). I walked about and down the long hallway leading to the Billiard Room, and then posed in front of a great stone fireplace while Anastasia called out various emotions which I had to instantly reflect in my pose and expression, it felt rather like being at drama school!

With the photo shoot done (all on her phone, for long gone are the days of hours waiting for photographic lights and flash units to be erected, readings to be taken and a single image being captured before setting up again somewhere else), we sat down in the library, or auditorium as I like to think of it, and began to chat about the show and my career. One question that she asked, which interestingly has become increasingly common this year, was ‘what is your favourite part of the show?’ The answer is a scene when nothing is happening at all, there are no words being spoken, and no action, indeed no movement. I speak of the moment that The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come leads Scrooge back to the Cratchit’s house and simply points straight forward (over the spot on the stage where both Marley’s and Scrooge’s graves are placed). The line is, ‘It was quiet. Very quiet’. and I hold the pause. If everything has gone well up to that point you can feel the silence in the room, almost heavy in its intensity, and it is an amazing experience for a performer to know that an entire audience is almost breathless with fear and anticipation.

I also shared some of my ‘secrets’ about playing multiple characters, citing the conversation between Ebenezer and the charity collector on Christmas morning, during which old Scrooge holds his hat and cane together in his left hand, while the collector holds the hat in his left hand and the cane in his right. It is a simple device, and one that maybe an audience doesn’t really see, although they are aware that there is something different between the two gentlemen. And these are the kind of details and secrets that you will be able to read in my new book, available next year!

When the interview was finished, and thank-yous exchanged, I went back to change, The Hall was now open to the public, so I wouldn’t be able to leave my costumes on the chaise longue, but Haley told me that I could hang them in a large wardrobe in the room, where they looked as if they may feature in a new Narnia novel.

I drove back to the hotel, and did a little work before heading out for a lunch date. A very dear friend of mine, Jeneene Brengelman had flown in from Cincinatti with her companion Tom, to see my show. Jeneene has often travelled over to England for the annual Dickens Festival in Rochester each June and became very much a part of the regular crowd of characters, which is where we met. After years of hoping that I may perform in her own city, she decided to come to Massachusetts instead, and very kindly extended an invitation to lunch. We were due to meet at Electra’s Cafe, which was only a matter of a few minutes from my hotel. At 1 o’clock I pulled into the parking lot, locked the car door and walked into the building, only to discover that I had nonchalantly strolled into a cannabis store (legalisation of recreational cannabis in the state and the ability to buy it from an outlet was passed in 2018, and such shops are now as prevalent along the way as popular fast-food chains). Quickly realising my mistake, I exited and took the adjoining door which opened to a much more familiar scene, and there were Jeneene and Tom waiting for me. Jeneene makes wonderful Christmas ornaments and presented me with a special one featuring a family of four snowmen and a snow cat, with all of our names written around the frame – it will hang on our tree this Christmas! We sat down, and they told me about their nightmare journey of the day before, when they had been due to fly to Albany and then drive to Lenox. In the height of the rainstorms that had hit the region, their pilot had taken the decision that it would not be safe to fly, and so the plane had trundled back to the terminal, where they had to wait for a much later departure, meaning a very late arrival at their B&B, which was all locked up. I was truly fortunate that my flight from Virginia had been on the day before the storm hit, or I may have been describing a similar tale of woe. Soon the conversation was flowing, mainly with reminiscences from Dickens festivals in the past. Many years ago, Jeneene had sent me a picture taken at one of the festivals of me and my dad, and it is a picture I treasure, for his is very obviously looking out for me, making sure that everything was OK, without taking over – his support at that time, when I was finding my feet in what was a new departure for me, was essential for the success that followed. I owe him so much.

Looking at the picture now, so many years on, how slim I was and even had a sort of a fringe!

As we talked, we ate a delicious lunch, which for me featured my regular fare on the day of a show, a large salad with grilled chicken.

It was a lovely diversion and break to my day, and great to catch up with Jeneene and to meet Tom, who would be coming to the show at Ventfort that evening (having managed to change their tickets from the night before when they were stuck at the airport)

I went back to my room again, and actually had a short nap, before watching another extraordinary football match, this time Japan managing to beat Spain, thereby knocking Germany out of the tournament – it is turning into quite an interesting World Cup all things considered.

I drove back to Ventfort at around 5pm, and there were festive flurries in the air, not enough to make driving dangerous, but enough to make the town look extremely Christmassy. There wasn’t much to do when I arrived, for I had made sure the set was in place that morning, but it is always good to check so as not to be caught out, and everything was just as I had left it. I chatted with Haley, Leah and various volunteers who would be helping that evening, but even as we spoke the door opened and the first audience members arrived (actually, Jeneene and Tom). It was time to withdraw and to change. My costumes were hanging in the wardrobe, but I wasn’t transported to a magical land to be greeted by Mr Tumnus, which would have made for a very interesting blog post, but simply got changed into the meet and greet costume, without the Velcro attached.

As soon as I walked down the stairs, I could tell that the Thursday audience was a lot livelier than the Wednesday crowd had been, there was a buzz about the building. I circulated, chatted, and once again many people told me that they had seen me before at various other venues. I posed for quite a few pictures, and it was obvious that the evening was going to be a fun one.

Gradually the guests began to take their seats in the library, and I went upstairs briefly, to change into my performance costume. There was the inevitable delay while the queue for the single restroom cleared, but soon everyone was in their seats, including Anastasia, who had interviewed me that morning and was watching the show to further flesh out her article.

I was right about the audience; they were very lively and vocal and thoroughly enjoyed the performance. I had a few adventures during the show, including the fringe of the red cloth, that becomes the image of Tiny Tim’s frail body, getting caught on my coat cuff button. It seemed to take an age for me to untangle it, but I am sure it was only a few seconds. I made a couple of adlibs in the voice of Bob Cratchit, ‘ah, Tim does not want to leave go of me’ but I managed to untangle myself eventually and carry on. When I got to my ‘favourite’ moment, I hoped that the silence was as impressive as I had told Anastasia it would be, and indeed it was, I could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

The reaction at the end was spectacular and I could feel myself completely pumped up with a huge adrenaline rush. Having taken my bows, I stationed myself in the hall and chatted and posed with audience members as they left. Jeneene still had tears in her eyes as we hugged, and others were in a similar state of emotion. It had been a very good night.

My time at Ventfort had ended all too quickly, but before I changed, I posed for photographs with Haley, Leah and the other staff. and then mounted the grand staircase for the last time.

Back at the hotel the lobby bar was still serving food, so I had a burger and fries, before turning in for the night. On Friday I drive to New Hampshire for performances in Manchester and Nashua, before heading south to New York.

Rain, Tea and 1066 – a Very British Sort of a Day

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Bayeux Tapestry, Charles Dickens, D56, Earl Grey Tea, Ebenezer Scrooge, King George III, Norman Rockwell, Ventfort Hall Mansion

Lenox in The Berkshires is a lovely place to be, a small town in beautiful scenery. I have been here when there has been thick snow on the ground, and I have been in here in clear bright sunshine in a cloudless blue sky, indeed I have been here when there have been both of those things together. Wednesday in Lenox, however, was less New England, more old England, as the skies were leaden, and the rain fell constantly.

I had an almost full day before me, as I didn’t have to be at the venue, Ventfort Hall, until 5pm, but the idea of driving into the mountains and maybe hiking a little suddenly didn’t appeal very much. I unpacked my costumes and hung them on the rail, and at around 7.45 went down to the lobby for breakfast. I took a bag of my regular day-to-day clothes to put in the laundry but was somewhat dismayed to discover that both washer and drier were full. I took the laundry bag to a table and then went to the counter where I ordered some French toast and strawberries, with orange juice and coffee. As I sat, I noticed a lady at another table, with a large plastic bottle of laundry detergent next to her and knew her to be my victorious competitor.

As I ate, another customer went to the bar and asked for some tea, to which the assistant asked, ‘just plain old Early Grey?’ This seemed rather dismissive of what is rather an elegant blend, seen by some to be traditionally drunk by the more respectable classes of society. In England if it is just a ‘plain old..’ cup, we tend to say, ‘builder’s tea’. Curious as to who Earl Grey was, I took at my phone and did a little research and discovered that the tea is probably named in honour of the 2nd Earl (although nobody seems quite sure for certain), who was born in 1764, and rose to become prime minister of Great Britain in 1830. In his early career he resigned as Foreign Secretary over a disagreement of policy by King George III, who had had his own troubles with tea in the past, most particularly in Massachusetts. It is suggested, in family lore, that the 2nd Earl (christened Charles, but not the Charles Grey who would go on to blow Blofeld in the James Bond films) had engaged a Chinese mandarin to create a perfect blend of tea to counteract the taste of the water at the family seat in Northumberland, which was rich in lime. The addition of bergamot into a black tea created the taste the Earl desired, and so was established the beverage that had just been ordered in Lenox, MA.

I finished my breakfast and, checked in at the laundry, where both machines were still spinning, so returned to my room. There was no great rush, although I did have a radio interview coming in at 10am. After a while I went back to the laundry, and found that the washing machine was now empty, although the lady from the breakfast room stood guard over the drier. We chatted for a while, and she asked me what I was doing in town, and was I here with the other Brits who were at the hotel? Apparently, there are a few of us here, maybe the others are part of a tea-checking delegation.

As 10 came around I called the number that connected me with a radio station in New Hampshire, and instantly I was talking with the morning show, hosted by Greg Kretschmar, and his team which included a gentleman by the name of Roadkill. I think I have been interviewed by a Greg before, but never by a Roadkill, I am quite sure of that!

After the interview, I pottered around for a while, finished the laundry and got everything ready for the evening’s show, and decided to get out for a little bit, despite the weather, to stave off the onset of cabin fever. In past years I have driven into the nearby town of Lee, and I decided to do the same and explore some of the antique shops there. The weather was getting worse, so a gentle stroll through the streets was not really an option. I parked right outside Finders Keepers and made the dash from road to store, without getting too wet. An antique is something that is over 100 years old, and there wasn’t a great deal in the shop that qualified, but there was some interesting stuff, nonetheless. One stall featured lots of ceramic houses made by Department 56, a company with whom, I used to work, mainly because they produced a range called Dickens Village. When I started touring in the 1990s D56 villages where the complete rage, people collected manically, and each Christmas would create whole towns, with streets and rivers and people in order to display their collections. Desirable pieces fetched huge amounts of money and the world of D56 was quite an industry, but, seeing them in the store, dusty, unloved, at bargain basement prices, told me everything about the decline of the company in recent years.

Elsewhere in the shop there was a surprising amount of other Dickensiana, including a toby jug in the shape of Sam Weller and a couple of Norman Rockwell prints, one featuring Mr and Mrs Fezziwig dancing, and another of the beaming face of Mr Pickwick. There was also a lusterware jug with a scene from the Bayeaux Tapestry (which is not a tapestry, but an embroidery, and was not made in Bayeux, but in Canterbury), the famous 70-meter-long cloth depicting the events leading up to the Battle of Hastings in 1066 – a date that every English child knows. All in all, I felt quite at home in Finders Keepers!

I walked up the street to another antique store, but the weather was really starting to close in now, so decided to get back to the car before I got completely drenched.

I drove to a large grocery store and picked up a salad for my lunch, then returned to the hotel room and sat at the little desk to eat it. Throughout this time, I was exchanging messages with Liz back home and with the girls about to have their supper, it seemed a good time to have a video call. They told me about what they had been up to at school, and about the trip on Thursday to watch a pantomime in Oxford, which they were excited about. Soon it was time for their meal, so we all sadly said our goodbyes, and clicked the little red button to close the call, which always seems very brutal.

I spent the next hour or so catching up with some admin, emailing back and forth with upcoming venues, both in America and England, as well as providing information to my publishers about my new book, which will be available during next year’s tour.

When my work was done, I switched on the TV and watched an enthralling match from the World Cup, Argentina against Poland. I have never particularly been a football fan, but with our eldest daughter playing, and loving the sport, I have become more aware of what makes a good team, and can appreciate great play, and oh my, was there some great play in that match!

Late afternoon was drawing in, and the weather was too, with heavy winds now whipping the even heavier rain around. I collected my costumes and roller bag (I had put my hat and cane in the car earlier when I went out) and made a dash across the parking lot for the Santa Fe. Even in that short run I got completely soaked.

The drive to Ventfort Hall was only a few minutes, and in no time I was turning into the little driveway which led me up to the red mansion that had been built in 1891. This was my fourth visit, but it seems as if Ventfort has been part of my tours for much longer than that, for it feels very friendly and welcoming. I rang at the door, which was opened by Haley, who has looked after me during all of my visits. The dark panelled hallway was decorated for Christmas, with green garlands and white lights abounding. I took my things up to the lady’s boudoir, which is my sumptuous dressing room, and then returned to the library which for the evening would be my theatre. There was not a lot to sort out, as I do not need to use a microphone in such a small space. Haley introduced me to Leah, who would be looking after my sound effects. We ran through the script together, and it was obvious that she knew exactly what she was doing: I would be in safe hands. I took an opportunity to just sit in the parlour for a while, soaking up the atmosphere ready for the evening ahead.

Soon, the first of the audience were arriving, so I took myself upstairs. The format of the show at Ventfort was slightly different this year. In the past I have performed my show, and then the audience had been served a lavish tea, complete with cucumber sandwiches, cakes and other fancies. This year the decision was made to serve the tea first, at 5.30, and then my performance would be at 7. In previous years the tea has doubled as a signing session, with me just drifting through the crowd, chatting to audience members, and posing for pictures and giving autographs, as requested, and Haley had the same idea this year, but of course prior to the show.

I got into costume ready to meet n greet. I currently have two black frock coats, one has Velcro strips attached to the lapels which allows me to become ‘all black’ for the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and therefore the coat I need to wear throughout a one act performance, but which would look odd during tea, so I put my other coat on, and so as to remember to change before the show, draped my scarf over the Velcroed version.

When I was sure that there were plenty of guests gathered, I went down and circulated through all of the first-floor rooms – It was very nice to meet people, and there were plenty of audience members who had seen me before, and not necessarily in Lenox, but somehow, without having had the show, it was a bit stilted and awkward – nobody, myself included, quite knowing what to say. When I was in the hall, I was swept up by board member Mary-Frances, who took me in hand and went up to every table with the ice-breaking gambit of ‘How are the cookies, Mr Dickens has said if the cookies are not good, he won’t come back, so we are checking up!’ It was an effective ploy, and allowed everyone to engage in conversation, without the social uncertainty of how to begin a dialogue.

After I had chatted for a while, I went back upstairs to relax before the performance itself. I sat in a chair next to a fireplace and could hear the strong wind whistling and moaning down the chimney, as if Jacob Marley himself were about to appear. At around 6.45 I returned to the hall and Haley confirmed that most of the audience were in, although there was a long line for the restroom, but soon everyone was gathered and Haley welcomed them all to Ventfort Hall, and introduced me. It is still the policy at Ventfort that all visitors and guests wear a mask, so I was the only person in the building without one, which felt a bit odd, and I think also made the atmosphere a bit formal, as it had last year, but I carried on and soon there was laughter in the little parlour. This was the first one act version I have performed since I arrived back in America, so I had to concentrate hard on the script, and make sure that I didn’t go off on any tangents, thereby confusing Leah and Haley, who would not be suspecting that 70 people would want refreshment! I kept to my proper script, and by the time Mrs Cratchit was panicking about her Christmas Pudding, there was lots of laughter in that small room.

The show came to an end, and I exited through the central aisle to the back of the room, and when I returned everyone stood and applauded me, with a few be-masked shouts thrown in for good measure. I wished everyone a final ‘Merry Christmas’ and stood in the large hall and chatted and posed with and for anyone who wanted to, and there were plenty who did.

It was a round 8.45 when I changed out of costume and was able to leave everything in the Green Room, for I was due to return at 9 the next morning for an interview and photo shoot. The rain outside had eased a little, but it was still windy and very cold, Haley warning me to watch for icy roads, and I drove back to the hotel, where I had a microwaved pizza for my supper, which maybe was the least English thing of my day!

‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Dickens 30th annivesary, Ebenezer Scrooge, Merchandise, Vaillancourt Folk Art

Day two with the Vaillancourts, on Sunday, was due to be an almost carbon copy of Saturday, but with everything shifted backward by an hour, meaning that the first show was at 1, instead of 2, and the evening one at 5 instead of 6.

The morning marked an exciting moment for me, as it was my first opportunity to delve into a hotel laundry room and wash the costume shirts that I had used the day before. So, before breakfast, I loaded up the machine, swiped a credit card (no need for bags full of quarters at the Marriott), and enjoyed the buffet whilst my shirts tumbled and fell in their drum. My dining timings were excellent, for I was able to switch the shirts from washer to drier as I left the breakfast room and before returning to 410. When another thirty minutes had passed, I retrieved the clean costume and carefully folded all four shirts ready to be taken back to Sutton.

I left the hotel at around 11, as I wanted to check in with Curtis and discuss the microphone issues from the day before with him. When I walked into the theatre, I was greeted by a new sound engineer who introduced himself as Dave. Curtis had filled him in with all of the developments from the day before and we checked every lead and socket until we were as sure as we could be that nothing could go wrong. We then spent time huddled around the laptop going over the sound cues until Dave was confident in what he was doing.

My dressing room at the Vaillancourts is behind the packing department, and is well furnished with a clothes rack, 2 sofas and a table upon which had been placed a beautiful vase of flowers with a card saying, ‘welcome back Mr Dickens’, which was very generous. The room is sort of an anteroom to Gary’s office which is right at the back of the building, and so that he knows when anyone is coming to see him, he had installed a little motion activated chime which trills an electronic ‘bing bong. bing bong. bing bong’. When I am getting ready for a show I like to pace about, I am not good at just sitting still, so that even as I tie my cravat, or button my shirt, or put my watch chain on, I am walking to and fro, back and forth, and at Vaillancourts this had the result of constantly setting off the chimes. I would walk out of the room and into the packing area: ‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’. I walked back into my room again: ‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’. Maybe I had a drink of water from my large green water bottle, before going back out to listen to the audience gathering: ‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’. Back to put my microphone on: ‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’…and so on

On Sunday morning, my costumes were still hanging on the rack from the day before, and I unpacked my shirts ready for the day ahead. I use four shirts for day with two performances of the 2-act version of the show, and they are worn to the following timetable: shirt 1 is worn for show 1, act 1. At the interval it is taken off and hung on a hanger to dry, and shirt 2 is used for the second act. When the show is finished, I change into shirt 3 for the signing session, and that same shirt is used for Act 1 of the second show. Shirt 4 is put on for act 2, and then shirt 1, now dry and aired, is re-used for the second signing event. Simple, really.

When I had changed, I went through my normal routine of checking that I had everything ready – my hat, cane and scarf were on a steel table in packing, rather as if it were a props table in a theatre, and everything else was where it should be. With 20 minutes to go, I made a very quick video call home and briefly chatted with Liz and the girls, taking them on a little tour of the backstage area and showing them some of the beautiful Santa figures which were awaiting dispatch.

Naturally, my backstage perambulations activated the little alarm constantly. They told me all about their weekend, but our call had to be terminated due to the fact that Liz’s phone was almost without battery, the girls needed their supper, and I had a room fool waiting for me to do some funny voices. We finished the call with waves, blown kisses and goodbyes, and I took up position, and waited for the show to begin.

At 12.55 Gary called ‘the five’ and I left the dressing room, striding to the theatre, leaving the bings and the bongs in my wake.

Once again it was a full house, and it included a bus tour from Rhode Island, which had offered my performance as part of their itinerary, meaning that there were quite a few audience members who would be experiencing the show for the first time, which is always interesting, although there were plenty of loyal and regular fans to guide them through the trials and tribulations of Mr Scrooge and the rest of the cast. I have to say, after my self-criticism of the day before, I was very pleased with the matinee performance, it was pacey and energetic and engaged well with the crowd who seemed to enjoy it very much – they even gave Mr and Mrs Fezziwig a round of applause for their remarkable dance moves. The microphone popped once or twice, but not to the extent that Dave had to shut it off, as Curtis had the day before, and it seemed as if the noise was related to certain moments when it banged into my beard, I tried to subtly adjust it to see if that would help and it certainly seemed to. If the levels of sweat are any indication to my efforts on stage, then I certainly put a lot of effort into that performance, and those efforts were rewarded with a superb ovation at the end. I returned to the dressing room, pumped full of adrenaline, and quickly changed for the signing session, pacing back and forth to the constant soundtrack of ‘Bing bong. Bing bong. Bing bong’

It was lovely to meet lots of passengers from the tour, who had thoroughly enjoyed the show (some had actually seen me before in other locations), and I spent plenty of time chatting and posing with them. Usually, an audience naturally drifts away after a while, but the group had to wait for their transport of course, so stayed in the store and looked around the museum, meaning that I needed to politely absent myself so that I could have some lunch and restock my energy levels before the second show. When I had changed, and re-set the stage, I returned to the office space just behind the museum area, and loaded a plate with some salad and ham, and sat down with Luke and Abby, one of the artists who paints the Santas, and who, for my visit, was also tending the bar in the theatre (the reason for the 2-act format here). Just outside the office, the bus passengers were watching a video about the history of Judi and Gary’s remarkable company, and when that finished Gary did what he does so well, and chatted to them, and charmed them, making them feel as if they were all the most valuable and important customers who had ever walked into the store. When Gary had finished schmoozing, he joined us to eat, and we began talking about my ideas for 2023, my thirtieth anniversary tour. Thirty years of performing A Christmas Carol, can you believe it? I very much want the ’23 tour to be a celebratory one, and the opportunity for some special tour merchandising is obvious (my decision to wear my own branded clothing during this year’s trip is sort of a toe-in-the-water exercise to see what the reaction to GD apparel is).

All too soon it was time to start the preparation for the evening performance, and I returned to the dressing room and once more started the ceaseless (can you start a ceaseless thing? Is that an oxymoron? If something never ceases, then surely you can’t actually start it, although it must have started at some point. Ah, the English language!) round of binging and bonging. When I put my microphone headset on, I adjusted the wire, pulling it further from my face, thereby minimising the possibility of further banging.

I had put so much effort into my afternoon show, that I was worried that the evening one may be difficult, but actually I picked up exactly where I had left off, and the performance was as good, if not even stronger, although Mr and Mrs F didn’t get their applause this time. The audience were fully involved and responded with great gusto, obviously made up of regulars, for they joined in with many lines, often before I had a chance to say them. From a performance point of view Sunday had been a very positive day.

Having taken my bows, Gary called me back onto stage and announced that 2023 was to be a very special year, with the big anniversary, and that folk would need to book their tickets as early as possible: the Vaillancourt entrepreneurial brain was already shifting up a gear and accelerating hard!

Before I went to meet the audience in the museum, I made a point of finding Dave, who was packing up the sound equipment, and thanking him for his help and expertise – it had been a difficult couple of days but by the end we had got on top of our problems and delivered a pair of superb shows.

At the meet and greet session I met lots of old friends, but the final photograph of the weekend was with Gary, Judi and Luke surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands of Santa figures, each carefully produced from antique chocolate moulds and each meticulously painted by hand.

I changed out of costume and made sure I had all of my belongings with me, before driving back to Worcester, where Gary and Judi met me and took me to dinner at a steak house – we all dined well, and as the rain pelted the streets outside, we talked about our times together – in the past, the present, and of course, the future.

An Adventuresome Day

Tags

AC Marriott, Microphones, Oxford Half Marathon, Vaillancourt Folk Art, Worcester Mass

My first day back in the States started, as they tend to do following a flight from England, very early. I lay in bed for a few hours, trying to get back to sleep and then giving in to the inevitable and writing my blog post, as well as tackling Wordle, which I achieved in 3 attempts.

At around 7.30 I went to investigate the breakfast offerings at the Marriott and had some cereal and fruit, as well as eggs and bacon. On the wall a very large TV was showing the latest match in the football World Cup – Poland vs Saudi Arabia, which looked to be a very entertaining one.

Back in my room I decided that I may go for a short run, which I haven’t done for a long time. Back in October I completed the Oxford Half Marathon, which was quite an achievement for me, and since that day I haven’t been out on the roads again. I had packed some running gear with the thought that I might occasionally go to hotel gyms during my stay, although I absolutely detest running machines, getting my joy from being in the open air and seeing the scenery, hearing the sounds, watching nature. On Saturday morning I decided to go an explore the streets of Worcester a little more. It was a crisp morning, with a clear blue sky, and I turned left out of the hotel, left again, around a square, and then just followed my nose. I didn’t stay out for long, I don’t really know, maybe 2 miles, nothing impressive, but it felt good to be in the open air, and to see parts of the city that I didn’t know.

Back at the hotel I had a shower, changed into my corporate garb, and then began to make preparations for the day ahead – I was due to perform twice, once at 2 and the second show at 6, and both were my 2-act performances, meaning that I would need 4 shirts for the day. I checked that I had everything else (cufflinks, watch, cravat, penny pieces, red cloth, shoes and socks). I picked up both of my costumes, my top hat and cane and went to the lift.

When I had arrived the night before the desk clerk had given me a ticket for the parking garage, telling me to scan it whenever I entered or exited, and I wanted to check if I needed to do that at the pay station, or the exit barrier, so I stopped by the front desk to ask. I was in a line of lots of people checking out of the hotel but had time to spare so I waited patiently. When my time came to be helped, I asked the question and the clerk confirmed that I needed to scan the ticket at the barrier, and then she said something I didn’t quite hear, but which may have been ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’ I nodded in the affirmative, ‘and your room number?’ I told her, and then she cheerily said, ‘You’re all set, have a great day.’ and off I went to the garage.

Soon I was on the freeway heading out of Worcester towards Sutton, stopping briefly at Wal-Mart to buy some laundry detergent capsules for my trip, and it was as I was getting back into my car that I had a terrible realisation that I may have just checked out from my hotel room! There I was, in line with luggage, asking how to leave the carpark, what if the inaudible question had not been ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’, but ‘Are you checking out?’ I had nodded and told her my room number, she had tapped at her keyboard and said that I was all set! Well, there was nothing that I could do about it now, I would have to see what the evening held when I returned.

My journey to Sutton, and specifically the Manchaug Mills building, is a very familiar one to me, as I have been performing for the Vaillancourt family for the last 12 years and they are not just colleagues but good friends also. As I arrived Gary was standing in the sun and seeing me pull in, directed me to a parking space close to the building. Much of the carpark was taken up with two wooden cabins selling Glühwein and German pastries respectively, for the Vaillancourts love to celebrate Christmas and all of its traditions. We greeted one another as if it had not been a year since last I drove away, but a day or so, and we went into the beautiful store from where the company sells the amazing plaster, hand-painted Santa Clause figures that they make here. We went to the intimate theatre where the stage was decorated and just awaiting a cast of 26 or so characters to bring it to life. At one end of the room was a bar, with a hot jug of Glühwein giving a rich boozy essence to the room, whilst at the far end Curtis, our sound engineer, was putting the finishing touches to the sound system. We spent some time going through the various cues, and then did a sound check, using a microphone system that clips over my ears – I warned him that I am never very successful with those units, as they tend to fall off, but he assured me that we could adjust it, so it fitted snugly, and the sound quality was far superior to a lapel mic, which may also be prone to feedback from the speakers that were right against the stage. I took his professional advice with a few misgivings and retired to the dressing room to wait for showtime.

I could hear the audience gathering, and they were a lively crowd, as the Saturday afternoon bunch usually is at Vaillancourts. Among them were, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law along with their daughter and her wife (they are not actually sister and brother-in-law, it is slightly more complicated than that, but they feel like they are, and that is good enough for Liz and me!) I wanted the show to be special for them and was delighted to hug and welcome them before start time. At 2 o’clock Gary checked that I was ready and walked up to the stage to welcome the audience to the event and to introduce me. The theatre was packed full. in fact, every performance over the weekend sold out weeks ago. When Gary had finished, Curtis started the music, and I began the show. I knew that it would be a bit of a struggle, as I was still extremely tired from my journey and the early morning, but the audience were lively, which gave me extra energy, but then the microphone started playing up – not the headset particularly, although that felt loose, which distracted me somewhat, but it sounded as if there was a loose lead somewhere and every time I moved there was a loud electrical CRACK or POP, which meant that any sense of atmosphere was lost. My attention and concentration were so lacking that I suddenly realised that I had jumped from Scrooge’s school into the scene where Belle leaves him, without even bothering to visit Mr Fezziwig! I realised the mistake I had made because the stool was in the wrong place on the stage (having not been cleared away by Dick Wilkins), and so my practical brain kicked in – I would be able to return to the Fezziwig scene, as I don’t think there are too many laws of chronology in the world of fictional time travel, and then leap forward again to Scrooge seeing the older Belle happily married, celebrating with her family. It was all a bit of a fudge, but well worth the effort for my dancing abilities got a round of applause! The continuing microphone problems were very annoying, and still that cracking and popping accompanied and disrupted Dickens’s words. I was very glad that this was a two-act show, for I only had to wait until the interval to sort something out, rather than ploughing on through the rest of the plot. Actually, the audience applauded loudly as I left the stage, but I was extremely frustrated by the whole affair.

Curtis was soon with me in the dressing room, and we checked all of the leads, which seemed tight and secure, but he replaced the pack anyway, in case that would improve matters. It was rather like a panicked pitstop in the middle of a Formula 1 race, and as I got changed for the second half, I put my waistcoat on before the microphone, meaning that the lead from headset to pack was held under my frock coat only.

Back onto the stage and I picked up the story, and the audience continued to respond enthusiastically, although I was struggling to maintain my energy and concentration a little. They were plenty who had been to the show before, and when I gasped at the stuffing issuing forth from the Cratchit’s goose, they all instantly joined in, meaning that I couldn’t go to the oppose side of the audience, and that I had to rearrange all of my blocking for the rest of the show!

But the really annoying moment came when I was in the very moving scene as Bob Cratchit returns to his house alone and takes off his coat. I did that, as usual, but of course now the long microphone lead was free and flapping everywhere, getting caught in my arm, as I made gestures and pulling the headset from my ears again. It was not a good moment.

In and around all of this confusion, the actual show was going well and there was lots of laughter, especially as Topper did his thing, and old Joe spread his mucus over an unsuspecting arm

I got to the final scenes of the show, and to the point when I could get my coat back on, thereby securing the errant microphone somewhat, and delivered the final narrative before leaving the stage to loud applause and shouting. I returned to take my bows and the audience stood, which was wonderful, but I was angry with myself and circumstances. I was particularly upset for I had wanted the show to be really special for David, Sue, Amy and Tara.

I changed quickly and went up into the store, where I was due to meet and greet and sign books, and the response was positive ‘Best ever!’ ‘You are a true artist!’ ‘Simply amazing’ all bandied about, and I relaxed a little as I posed and signed. At the very end of the line my family members waited, and we hugged again and exchanged news and chatted for a while, which was really nice.

When the signing time was over, I went back to the theatre to talk things through with Curtis, but he was nowhere to be seen. I changed into my normal clothes and went back to the shop where a lunch/dinner of sandwiches and salad had been laid out for everyone to enjoy, I chatted with Judi Vaillnocurt, who’s artistic vision lies behind the entire company, and Luke who is increasingly taking the company into a new future.

The second show was at 6, and having finished lunch, I rested for a while in the dressing room, preserving my energy. There was a knock at the door, and it was Curtis who had returned to his store and picked up a different type of headset, ‘better for the more active performer,’ he said in the way in which a tailor might offer a suit to a client:’ If I may say so, sir, the looser cut is appropriate for the more sporting gentleman’. Certainly, when I slipped it on (the microphone, not the suit), it felt tighter and much more secure. All that I needed to do was to remember to put the lead UNDER my waistcoat.

The second show was much better, and I was able to concentrate on the words and atmosphere – I even managed to get all of the scenes in the correct order this time. Unfortunately, during the second act the electronic cracking and popping returned, but almost instantly Curtis took the decision to turn the unit off, meaning that I was unplugged for the final scenes, but it is a small room and actually it all worked fine – maybe tomorrow I will just not use the microphone at all. The audience were as enthusiastic as the first and joined in at every opportunity, many having seen me many times before. At the final scene, as the narrator says that ‘Scrooge knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed that knowledge’ I carefully picked up one of the Vaillancourt Santas and placed it on my top hat, which in turn was sitting on the stool. I regarded it for a moment and then said, in Scrooge’s voice, ‘I wonder where I can order more of these?’ which got a huge laugh. It had been a lovely show, one which restored my positivity, which had waned somewhat earlier in the day.

Again, I signed in the shop, and received plenty of praise, which is a nice way to end the day. Changing was quick, as I had no need to pack up my costumes and props, they could stay in the dressing room, and soon was driving back to Worcester, where I would meet up with Gary, Judi and Luke for a wind-down dessert and glass of wine in the restaurant next my hotel. Before heading to the bar, I went up to my room to drop a bag with costume shirts off and was relieved to discover that my keys still worked, and that I was still checked in as a guest of Mr Marriott!

The evening was nice and relaxed, but I was tired by now, so we all said our goodbyes. I headed to the lift and they to the parking garage and back to Sutton.

For sure, it had been an adventuresome day.

Performing With Kevin the Penguin in a Shopping Arcade

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Birmingham, Birmingham Penguin Parade Trail, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, Great Western Arcade, Japan Crafts, Kevin The Penguin, Spaghetti Junction, The Charles Dickens Museum

On Tuesday I was back on the road again for the first of my final two British events before returning to America again. My first venue was Birmingham, and I was not sure what to expect from it.

Earlier in the year I had been approached by what seemed to be an events management agency to perform on behalf of a shopping arcade in Birmingham as part of a series of special events on the run up to Christmas – not just on behalf of the arcade, but actually in the arcade, at 5 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. I had looked online at images of the venue, and it looked very pretty, and pretty historic, but my show, which is essentially a theatre show? Would it work, could it work? As I set off from Abingdon, I had NO idea what the day would hold and actually felt a real sense of fear for the first time in many years.

Most of my props were still packed in the car, but I had to rearrange them to include my reading desk and various extra props needed for Mr Dickens is Coming, which I will be performing on Wednesday evening. Once everything had been squeezed in, and the boot shut successfully, I was ready to head to the Midlands

The drive to Brum is a fairly quick one, taking me to the famed Spaghetti Junction and from there along the very busy Aston Expressway into the heart of the city, where I managed to completely confuse my satnav unit, and spent quite a time trying to drive into pedestrianised roads, or heading off in the completely wrong direction, before finally I found myself at the Snow Street Railway Station car park. I found a space and then, once again following the map on my phone, this time in walking mode, I went to discover the city, and right opposite the station entrance I saw The Great Western Arcade. Although I had meant to walk to the apartment where I was to stay, I changed route slightly to investigate my venue for the evening. The GW Arcade is, as the online pictures had suggested, a straight elegant Victorian arcade, beautifully lit for Christmas with tasteful twinkling lights and a large Christmas tree bedecked in gold. As I walked through, there didn’t seem to be anywhere obvious to perform. The shops were all independents, no national or international chains, and included a Victorian sweet shop, a whisky shop, some high-end clothes shops, it was all very smart and chi chi.

In the middle of the mall was a slightly larger area, where the Christmas tree stood, and I imagined this would be the best place to perform – but I couldn’t imagine that we would draw much of an audience here and I would simply end up annoying tired commuters who were hurrying to catch their trains at Snow Hill.

For now, though, I needed to check into my apartment, which as it happened was only a couple of minutes’ walk from the Arcade. Around a square which as alive with a brightly lit Christmas market (Oh, yes, Christmas has come early to the major cities of England), and into Temple Street. where the front door to ‘my home’ nestled between two shops. To gain access to the building I had to punch a PIN onto a keypad, and I had great trouble finding the message with that number on it. I had found the apartment on a booking agency which I often use to book hotels, and had received many messages from them, and the apartment owner, over the previous days, but could I find the one about the entrance code? No, I couldn’t! It seemed to be buried deep inside other messages and was only accessible through following a certain unexplained order of clicks. I sat miserably on a bench searching and searching and searching, slowly coming to the conclusion that I might be spending my night in the car, when all of a sudden up popped the relevant page! I quickly punched in the number and took a lift up to the relevant floor, before punching in the second code which allowed me into the flat itself. It was a lovely apartment, fresh, bright and stylish. I put my bags down, freshened up a little and then headed out again, as it was time to meet Katie and Man, my contacts for the event who were waiting for me back at the arcade. We all got on straight away and went back into the arcade to decide how best to stage the event. We all agreed that the area around the Christmas tree would be the most appropriate, even though I would be sharing my performing space with a large blue and yellow fibreglass Penguin, who apparently, so Katie told me, had been nicknamed Kevin. I may have performed in stranger circumstances over the years, but I am struggling to remember when that might have been!

Having seen the location, I now had to decide how much of my set to unload from the car. Looking at the stream of passers-by it didn’t seem sensible to try and create a fixed stage, for I could see that I would have to be constantly moving to allow people through, so I decided on just the hatstand and the stool: everything else I could improvise. Katie and Man kindly offered to help me carry my things and we all trooped into carpark, where for a moment I couldn’t remember which floor the car was on. The garage featured 1/2 floors, so they were labeled 1A, 1B, 2A, 2B. I knew I was on floor 2,but was it 2B, or not…..? You can fill in the rest of the actor’s joke for yourselves. We actually found the car on 2A, and I unloaded what I needed, so that we could set off for the Arcade once more: me with my roller bag and costumes, Katie with the stool and top hat, whilst Man, the smallest of us all, took charge of the large unwieldy hatstand!

The show was due to start at 5 0’clock, and it was about 4.20 now, so I changed (in an empty shop unit), whilst Katie and Man optimistically put out some chairs for the audience. I emerged in costume, and Man immediately taking lots of photographs (her area of expertise being in digital marketing and website design)

As I posed and grinned, I noticed a gentleman hovering nearby clutching a copy of a book that I knew very well, and which filled me with a feeling of warm nostalgia and happiness; it was the white edition of A Christmas Carol published by The Dickens House Museum (now The Charles Dickens Museum) in 1965. Why did this particular edition have such an effect on me? The very first time I can remember the story being read to me, it was on Christmas Eve and I must have been 5 or 6. My Uncle Claud and Aunt Audrey, with their children Kate and Rowland, were staying for Christmas and Claud read from the same, white-covered edition to us all, so introducing me to a story that has shaped my life. I have later editions of the same book, with a red cover and a green cover, but to see the white edition made me quite sentimental.

I soon fell into conversation with Barry, the book’s owner, and it turned out that he was a member of the Birmingham branch of The Dickens Fellowship and had been since 1965 at which time he was the youngest member of the society. ‘Now,’ we ruminated, ‘I am the oldest!’ We chatted for quite a while, and he shared his lifelong passion for Dickens. Barry was a wonderfully cheerful and knowledgeable gentleman, who had worked in that most Dickensian of industries, the law. At least I knew I had one audience member, and I began to feel more confident about the hour or so ahead of me, and gradually a few more people arrived and sat down, obviously come specifically to see what I had to offer. At five o’clock, I stepped into the space, with Kevin watching over me, and began. I didn’t have the usual music cue, so instead simply welcomed the group, now numbering10, by telling them that the very first time that Charles Dickens performed A Christmas Carol in public, it was in the city of Birmingham, and that he had told the audience that they should laugh or cry and feel free to express their emotions openly, rather than sit obediently in silence. I hope that the present group would do the same, and off I went.

Of course, the show was compromised slightly by the surroundings, and as well as concentrating on my acting I also had to be aware of the people using the arcade for their journey home, and make sure that I didn’t get in their way. Some simply marched straight through the set without caring, or possibly without even noticing what was going on, others hesitated, unsure if they should proceed, and to those folk I took the action to one side of the area and incorporated a slight gesture in the manner of a police office on traffic duty, as if to say, ‘please come through, its fine: it’s a pedestrian arcade after all!’ The nods or whispers of thanks from those people, made the performance even more special. Some people even stopped, watched for a while, and then took a seat, meaning that I had a larger audience at the end than I did at the beginning – it is always best that way round. Katie and Man sat together outside The Good Intent, a rather nice-looking pub situated opposite Kevin’s plinth, and from where quite a few interested drinkers watched the goings on with a sense of curiosity and, I hope, some admiration.

I cut a few bits of my longer script out, trying to judge the interest levels of my audience in the somewhat chilly alley, but kept the bulk of it. I finished, of course, with ‘God bless us, everyone’ and as I took a bow, I was greeted by one of the most welcome, and unexpected standing ovations I have ever received. I shook hands and chatted with the audience members, and the nerves of that morning seemed but a distant memory. The crowd gently dissipated, drifting away into the Birmingham night, as if they themselves were spectres, and I returned to the empty shop to change, while Katie and Man put the chairs away.

By way of celebration, we had a drink in The Good Intent, Man insisting that we bring my props into the pub rather than leaving them out on the arcade, so we sat at a booth protected by a hatstand which actually was rather useful for us all to hang our coats on.

The evening finished with another trip to my car (me taking charge of the hatstand this time), and we shared hugs and said our goodbyes before Katie and Man visited the Christmas market, and I bought a pizza to eat in my apartment far above the noisy and bustling city streets below.

It had been a fascinating day, and I am still not sure why Kevin, the blue and yellow Penguin was there – but he had been a fine companion, nonetheless.

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

‘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!

A Child’s Journey to Sturbridge

Tags

A Christmas Carol film, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Dickens Fellowship, Mark Twain, Old Sturbridge Village, The Signalman

Although my Friday alarm was set for 5.45 I woke before it and so it was easy to get ready and leave my room by 6.30. I had a three hour drive ahead of me and I was keen to get to Massachusetts by about 10am, therefore I decided to forego a hotel breakfast (as regulars know, this was a painful thing to do) and just grab something on the road. The traffic heading towards New York City was very heavy, even at that early hour, so it was as well that I left when I did.

I crawled and edged and trundled and inched and lumbered and crept, in fact I went so slowly that I would have had time to read a thesaurus if I’d had one to hand. Eventually I was passed New York and the heavy traffic was now filling the opposite carriageway and I could speed up and head towards New England. This is a journey I have done on many occasions, in one direction or the other, and it always brings to mind Charles Dickens’ American Notes, as I pass many of the cities that he visited and commented on.

After a while I pulled in at a service station and had a Panera Bread breakfast of oatmeal and fruit and a pastry, washed down with orange juice and coffee, before getting back into the Rogue and continuing north.

My destination was Old Sturbridge Village, a living museum near Worcester. I have heard a lot about it over the years but have never had the opportunity to visit, and on Friday I was to perform there. I made good time and pulled into the large car park a little after 10. My contact at Sturbridge was Ellen Taviano, with whom I have worked for many years at Winterthur House and Gardens in Delaware. Thanks to staff layoffs and changes during the pandemic, Ellen left Winterthur and took up a position at Sturbridge, heading up the retail operation. Having enjoyed such a close and successful relationship in the past she was keen to get me to to the museum to perform and the September tour proved to be the perfect opportunity. When I arrived, I left a voicemail on Ellen’s phone and made my way to the visitor centre, where the staff welcomed me and showed me into the empty auditorium where I was to perform. I say ‘I was to perform’, but actually I should say ‘where we were to perform’ for today I would be sharing the stage with fellow actor Jennifer Emerson, and this is the day I have been working towards and, yes, sometimes fretting over throughout the tour.

I took a look at the stage and saw that Ellen had placed a few articles of furniture for our set, but some were not quite right, so I took a look back stage and was delighted to find all sorts of bits and pieces that I could chose from Firstly, I pulled a few bits out, and brought them to the stage and as I did a lady dressed in an elegant Victorian gown entered the theatre, and this was Jennifer.

Jennifer has a long history in working at museums, interpreting characters and performing a series of her own one-person shows (including her version of A Christmas Carol). She has worked in costume and has directed and taught and is generally a very talented and committed go getter, and is also a member of the Dickens Fellowship.

When Ellen had chosen the shows for my visit she had asked for The Signalman (as she ordered plenty of my books), and A Child’s Journey With Dickens, which she had seen me perform at Winterthur. As soon as I saw that on the schedule I got in touch with Bob and suggested that we ask Jennifer to be involved. The performance is based around a speech made in 1912 by Kate Douglas Wiggin recounting the day that she met Charles Dickens on a train bound for Boston. The speech was made when Kate was 55, but the train journey had taken place in 1868, when she had been only 11, and the show features her at both ages. Now, I have performed it, with a degree of success in the past, but really? A balding, bearded Englishman trying to convince a New England audience that he is an 11 year girl from Maine is pushing it somewhat. Back in 2021 the Dickens Fellowship had asked me if I could give a Zoom performance, and I had suggested A Child’s Journey performed on the anniversary of the meeting on the train. One of the positives of the Covid pandemic was that it shrank the world, and people were suddenly communicating in ways that they had never realised possible. This extended to performance, and Id contacted Jennifer to ask her if she would like to work with me on the project. We developed a script together using purely archive material – letters, newspaper articles, memoirs, and of course Kate’s speech itself. As the story involved Dickens’ reading tour, we also featured a scathing review of one of his performances written by Mark Twain. Again the shrinking world had enabled me to ask yet another performer, Mark Dawidziak (who ‘does’ Twain), to record the piece for us – this was going to be a show performed by three actors each of whom specialised in performing on their own! The Zoom performance had been a great success and at the time I had said to Jennifer if there was ever a chance to actually perform it live, then we should grab it. Old Sturbridge Village was that chance.

We didn’t change the script very much, but had to think about how we would actually stage it. The idea was to have a lectern at one side of the stage where Jennifer would give the speech, as if addressing the guests at Delmonico’s restaurant in 1912, and on the other side would be a desk where I would sit as Dickens, writing letters about the tour, which were slipped into Kate’s dialogue at suitable moments. For example at one time Kate recalled praying fervently that Dickens didn’t suffer the pangs of seasickness as he sailed to America, and on that line I would recite two letters that he wrote from the SS Cuba as he sailed across the Atlantic detailing rough weather and sickness throughout the ship. The writing desk was angled away from where Kate stood, meaning that there was absolutely no connection between the two characters, until the key moment when the child Kate saw Dickens on the train, at which point we both sat next to one another on a small bench at centre stage, representing a seat in the railroad car.

When Jennifer arrived we continued foraging for the perfect furniture and when we were satisfied we started a rehearsal, our very first run through together. It went well, we both fumbled a few lines, but the the basic setting and idea seemed to work perfectly and we retired to the green room behind the stage in a state of great excitement

At 1 o’clock Ellen came to check that we were ready and then went to the stage and introduced us both and we emerged to applause. I welcomed everyone and made a very brief introduction to the show, and then introduced Kate as if I were chairing the meeting of the New York Dickens Fellowship in 1912. And so the show started. Oh, it went well, Jennifer had adopted two very different personas – the 55 year old Kate who had spent a life in education especially in the field of the Kindergarten movement, had a a teacher’s voice and demeanour, direct, factual but kindly, but as soon as she was on the train she became the 11 year old, excited fidgety, crossing and uncrossing her ankles, and gazing at her idol, Charles Dickens. I knew that all of this working superbly, although I could not see her performance as I was turned away, thanks to the laughter and joy coming from the audience. When it came to the moment that she precociously sat next to Dickens and he first saw her there was an instant connection between the two character. The audience responded wonderfully and laughed at all of the appropriate places (including during the Twain voiceover, saying of Dickens ‘His pictures are hardly handsome, and he, like everybody else, is less handsome than his pictures!’ Ouch.

Laughter turned to tears as Dickens asked Kate if she had wanted to go to his reading very much, and she had sobbed, ‘yes more than tongue can tell’ causing Dickens to cry also. Both Jennifer and I had tears in our eyes and we could see members of the audience wiping theirs too.

The applause at the end was wonderful and we knew that we had created a very special show which had worked just as we’d imagined it.

With all of the concentration and nerves that had surrounded the first act, it would have been easy to forget that I had The Signalman to perform in the second half and it required quite a mental re-set to get myself prepared for that. Actually I gave a very good performance of it, I think. It was dramatic and tight and the lines flowed well. The audience were hooked and applauded loudly when I had finished. During the applause I gestured to Jennifer (who had taken a seat in the auditorium to watch) and the clapping increased again as we both took more bows.

What a wonderful success.

After the show Ellen took me to the gift store for a signing session and it was wonderful to see many people who had come to see me in shows at other venues over the years. One man showed me a picture of me posing with his sons and said ‘Yes. that was seven years ago: look how young you look!’ Thanks!

When the signing was over I went to find my accommodation for the night. Sturbridge had built a small collection of cabins which were originally to be hotel accommodation for visitors to the museum, but Covid closed them and now they are used for staff, professors and visiting entertainers. My room was large and very comfortable and I slumped onto the bed and dozed a little for an hour or so, before it was time to return to the theatre and get changed ready for the second performance. After a while Jennifer appeared (she had stayed in costume, so hadn’t needed to arrive as early as I), and we chatted about the first show and how it had been received.

Soon Ellen appeared once more to check that all was well, and the evening show was under way. It was a larger audience than the afternoon, and once again they followed the story with rapt attention. I would say that at both performances it took a little while before everyone accepted the premise behind our performance, but it didn’t take long until they were fully involved and were laughing and crying. Once again our closing bows were met with a standing ovation.

The Signalman was also superbly received, and my most unsubtle plugging of the book was greeted with loud laughter, even applause. What a wonderful, and exciting day, and what a superb way to end what has been a difficult tour, not because of the schedule, or the venues, or the shows, but because I had wanted to be at home in England. I had wanted to file past the Queen’s coffin in Westminster Hall with Liz so that we could pay our respects to the only Monarch we have ever known; to be part of the national mourning. My home-made black arm band had been a token of my respect, but I had so wanted to do more.

After another signing session where many friends came to say hello, including Gary and Judi Vaillancourt, I returned to the theatre, got changed and collected all of my props, with the exception of the danger light, which would be collected by someone, sometime. Ellen had booked a restaurant for her, Jennifer, myself and her colleague Jacqui who had been helping with the lights and changing the set between shows. We had a lovely dinner, although conversation was awkward due to a singer who was performing throughout the evening. He was very good and had a wonderful set of songs, but with my tinitus it made hearing conversation extremely problematic.

The restaurant was emptying as we finished our dinner and it was clear that they wanted to close, so we said our goodbyes and headed back to our respective homes and lodges.

Saturday

On Saturday I would be flying home, but the morning was taken up to roaming around Old Sturbridge Village, and what an amazing place it is. The attraction was opened in 1946 and featured various historical New England buildings that had been dismantled and moved to the site. Now it covers 200 acres and features 59 properties. There is a blacksmith, a pottery, a cooper and various mills, all working. There are farms with cattle, sheep and pigs, there are demonstrations of 19th century cooking and crafting, and all in all it is a fascinating place to spend a day. On Saturday the sun shone, and I not only visited all of the properties, but also took the trails into woods and across pasture – I even ran a little.

After lunch it was time to head to the Logan Airport in Boston and board a 777 to fly home to a different England to the one I left 10 days before.

The Bells – Tales of Two Cathedrals

Tags

Canterbury, Canterbury Cathedral, Carnegie Forum, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Leicester Guildhall, The Signalman, Thomas Becket

Leicester

On the Friday following my return from Rochester I was back on the road once more, driving to the city of Leicester, where I was due to perform The Signalman at the ancient Guildhall which has been a regular part of my tours for many years.

The week had been mainly spent going over my lines, as once again I was performing a different script, I have not managed my 2022 tour very effectively when it has come to booking my shows, for I haven’t done the same script twice in a row for weeks now. Since I travelled to Cheshire on 21 May I have performed Great Expectations, Mr Dickens is Coming, Sikes and Nancy, The Trial from Pickwick, Doctor Marigold, Dickens and the Queen and now The Signalman, and my mind is getting more and more addled with all of those lines!

My regular visit to Leicester is as the final date on my winter tour, always performing A Christmas Carol as a matinee and evening show on 23rd December, so it felt odd to arrive in the warm sunshine of a June afternoon. The Guildhall is situated half way along a narrow cobbled lane, with the mighty spire of Leicester Cathedral above it. Even though the cathedral is currently closed for restoration work, the bells (which regularly accompany my shows) were still ringing loudly. I parked the car at the end of the lane and started carrying the first pieces of furniture that make up my Signalman set to the Guildhall’s front door, where I was met by Ben Ennis who runs the museum there and who has become a good friend over the years. He returned to the car with me and assisted in the unloading until everything was in and we could find a parking place. Ben hopped into the passenger seat to show me where we would most likely to be able to find an on-street spot, but as soon as we set off a car pulled out from the kerb and we were able to park straight away and conveniently close to the Guildhall which was a relief.

We walked back and I began setting up the room for the evening’s event. I was due to start by giving my talk about my book, ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’, as an introduction to ‘The Signalman’ the performance of which would take up the second act. The first job was to see if my laptop would talk to The Guildhall’s projector, as it is nice for the audience to have a few pictures to look at as I tell the story of the great 1865 rail crash. Last time I performed this programme, at Preston back in March, I never managed to get the projector connected, and I wasn’t confident that it would be any different this time round, so I was delighted when the screen flickered and images appeared.

With everything in place I made my way up to the huge room in which I change, and ate a small salad and some fruit and continued running through the lines of The Signalman, to make sure they were absolutely in place before the audience arrived for the 7.30 start. At Christmas I perform in the main Guildhall chamber and we have an audience of over 200, but because this was a smaller event Ben and I decided that the Mayor’s Parlour would be a better, more intimate room. The Parlour is directly under my changing rom, so not only could I hear the audience taking their places, but I am sure they could trace my footsteps as I circled the room above (whenever I run lines I have to be on the move constantly)

The Parlour was full when Ben welcomed me, and I walked to the front of my room in the blue trousers, pink shirt and grey checked jacket that is my casual ‘costume’ for the book talk.

The show was on 10th June, which was the 157th and a day anniversary of the crash itself, and the historical significance of the date was not last on the audience who followed every word with interest. The horrors of that June afternoon built the atmosphere perfectly for the intensity and darkness of the second half and I left the room, having heavily and shamelessly promoted my book which would be on sale after the event.

I changed into the all black Victorian costume, and went back to the Mayor’s Parlour to move the scenery into place once Ben had removed the screen and projector. I switched on the red spotlight which represents the danger light at the mouth of the tunnel and then returned to the Jury Room until Ben gave me the nod that it was time to start.

The words were firmly in place and the atmosphere in the room was perfect, even the Cathedral bells added to the intensity as they tolled solemnly adding a mournful soundtrack to the poor Signalman’s tale. At the end of the show I remained in the room and chatted with the audience, and sold a few books too. It was a fun, intimate, evening in great surroundings with some very nice people

I was not staying in Leicester that night, as one of our daughters was due to play in a football tournament early on Saturday morning, so when the audience had left I changed and with the help of the Guildhall staff loaded up the car before driving through the night back home to Oxfordshire.

Incidentally, the late night was well worth it, for our daughter scored an amazing goal in her tournament, firing a powerful shot into the roof of the net. Her celebrations with the team mates would not have been out of place in the UK Premier League, whilst her dad stood on the touchline with his arms aloft!

Canterbury

I didn’t bother to unload the car when I got home because I was due to be on the road again on Sunday afternoon, to drive to another cathedral city, Canterbury in the county of my birth, Kent. The fact that I was keeping the same furniture in the car may tell you that, thanks be to God, I was actually performing the same show for a second night! No new words to learn or revise, just the confidence of repeating a script which was firmly in my mind, and which had gone so well just two days earlier. It was a lovely afternoon to drive and the Sunday traffic was light as I listened to the radio commentary of the second cricket test match between England and New Zealand which was swinging one way and another between the two teams. The hedgerows and fields were alive with white frothy blossom, pricked with colour from poppies, cornflower and buttercups, the sky was blue, streaked with wisps of white cloud and the whole scene was perfectly British.

In Canterbury I drove to my hotel and just had time to check in and have a quick refreshing shower, before trying to find the venue for the show which was at The Canterbury Cathedral Lodge Hotel. Canterbury is an ancient city, dating back to the Roman times and beyond, and the centre is a spider’s web of tiny lanes, mostly closed to traffic. I followed my sat nav unit which took me to the very gates of the cathedral among groups of languid tourists and students ambling through the streets gazing at the views. Unfortunately at this particular point there was no vehicular access to the precincts so I had to double back and try an approach from the other side of the city. This time I got a little closer, but still wasn’t able to get to the hotel. I managed to find a parking place and went to the cathedral gift shop to ask advice. The staff directed me to a tiny driveway, next to one of the city’s many pubs, and so finally I was able to pull into the oasis of the cathedral’s grounds.

Canterbury Cathedral is magnificent and towers proudly over the city calling pilgrims to the tomb of Thomas Becket who was brutally murdered there in 1170 by followers of King Henry II. Naturally the bells were pealing loudly, as they had in Leicester.

The Cathedral Lodge Hotel is a modern building (by which I mean 1970s), and is more of a conference centre than a tourist hotel. I have actually performed there before at a conference for The Dickens Fellowship many years ago. I carried all of the Signalman furniture through the gates and up a long path, negotiated the swing doors into the entrance hall, and from there up a staircase to the room where I would be performing.

I was due to perform for a small tour group of ‘mystery readers’ from America. The tour had been arranged by Kathy, who I had met many years ago at a Rochester Dickens Festival. Kathy is based in America and has been putting these tours together in association with a company called Tours of Discovery, owned an operated by Nicky Godfrey-Evans, a certified Blue Badge tourist guide from Cumbria.

As I was setting up both Kathy and Nicky arrived and checked that all was well and then disappeared to freshen up after a long day out on the road (the group had been visiting Rochester where I had been just a week before). I finished positioning the set, and then stepped out onto a little balcony which overlooked the quiet gardens above which the cathedral tower towered.

The show was due to start at 6 and the various members of the tour started arriving and taking their place as the clock ticked around and when everyone was ready Kathy welcomed the group and introduced me. On this occasion I was not doing the first half about my book, but still prefaced The Signalman by talking briefly about the Staplehurst crash. Obviously quite a few of the audience didn’t know of the accident as there many gasps and shocked expressions as I continued telling the story. The Signalman had the same effect, especially the final moments, and it proved to be a most successful evening. Having taken the applause and been thanked by Kathy, I took some questions and was able to tell a few anecdotes and talk about my acting life and how the Dickens shows came about (incidentally all of which is the subject matter for my next book!)

When I had finished speaking everyone gathered around the table at the side of them room and a large proportion of the group ensured that they would be taking home signed first editions of a Dickens book.

I changed out of my costume and a few of the group very kindly helped me to ferry all of my furniture back to the car where I carefully loaded it. Kathy and Nicky had offered to take me to dinner after the show so we walked into the centre of Canterbury and ate at a Cote Brasserie in the company of Diane, another member of the group who had written her dissertation on Dickens and who is a massive fan of my ancestor.

We sat outside the restaurant as it was still a warm evening. It was very quiet in the city centre, and we ate our meal at a Parisian pace, enjoying the good food, chilled wine and fine companionship. It was so nice to be able to have a relaxed meal after a show, for so often I finish late and end up with a take away in my hotel room. It was getting dark when we walked back to cathedral, subtly floodlit against the dark blue of the night sky.

I said good by to Kathy, Nicky and Diane and returned to my car and drove the five minutes back to my own hotel.

The Carnegie Forum, Abingdon

I had to leave Canterbury early the next morning as I had another commitment back in Oxfordshire at lunchtime, so as soon as I had enjoyed the Premier Inn breakfast, I was back in the car and edging along in the morning rush hour. I had plenty of time to get home and passed the time listening to podcasts about the weekend’s Grand Prix and the Test Match.

I was due to speak at the Carnegie Forum event in Abingdon and was due to be there for 1pm. The Carnegie award is given to the best work of children’s literature each year and has been awarded to many influential and notable authors. Alongside the official announcement schools around the country are encouraged to stage their own events based on the shortlisted novels. In Abingdon pupils from 6 schools come together to work in teams, preparing short presentations extolling the virtue of each novel. Many of the students have also written reviews of the books, and these are judged also (in past years I have been on the judging panel and certainly didn’t envy the task of this year’s judges!) I had been asked to give a 20 minute talk on the art of public peaking and presentation. As public speaking is not something I enjoy, or think I’m particularly good at, I talked about the ability to ‘assume’ a character as a speaker – a more confident version of oneself, just as if I were playing Scrooge, or Cratchit, or Marigold.

I arrived on time and the pupils were all working hard in their groups under gazebos in the middle of a large school playing field. One of the great things about the event is how students from a wide variety of backgrounds – independent fee-paying schools, and state funded schools, just work together and create some amazing things.

My talk was inside a small sports pavilion and as there were so many kids working I gave the speech twice, taking half of the participants each time. I hope it was alright and hit the brief – everyone seemed to listen quietly and they all applauded at the end, so it must have been OK! The best bit was the opportunity to extol the virtues of my own favourite book from my childhood – A Bear Called Paddington, by Michael Bond, and I wallowed in nostalgia as I explained what that little book (and that little bear) had meant to me. I also tried to communicate my sheer pride and emotion at seeing Paddington’s starring role as part of the Jubilee celebrations.

With my talks done, we all went outside and watched the presentations. Part of my speech had been about the practicalities of being heard and understood effectively, but as the sketches were being performed in the open air with the busy A34 road just behind the field, it was very difficult for all of the performers, (although some really shone out).

The conclusion to the afternoon was to announce the winning presentation, the best book reviews and then the result of the student’s vote for their favourite shortlisted novel, and it is always interesting to see how that compares with the official announcement, which will be made on Thursday.

It had certainly been a busy few days and now I have a few days rest before getting back on the road on Friday.

Returning to Bury St Edmunds

Tags

Bury St Edmunds, Charles Dickens, Doctor Marigold, Guildhall, Pickwick Papers, The Trial

My busy week continued on Thursday when I drove across the country to the Suffolk town of Bury St Edmunds, and this had been a show which was a long time coming. About three years ago I first had an email from Clifford Hind asking me to appear in the town as part of the 2020 Bury St Edmunds Festival, and arrangements were made as to which show I should perform and what my fee would be. Charles Dickens had visited the town three times, and Cliff was keen to bring the Dickens name back after a gap of 159 years. February came and confirmatory emails were exchanged. March came and the spread of Covid began to take its grip. Inevitably I had another confirmatory email (among many others from various venues), this time with the news that the festival had been cancelled, but asking that we go ahead with the plan for the 2021 festival. A year passed and still Covid held sway, and the Bury St Edmunds Arts Festival was cancelled once more. It seemed more unlikely that the show would ever come off, but Cliff asked that we keep in touch and hopefully we could do something, sometime.

As Autumn of 21 passed it seemed as if things were improving and Cliff was back in touch asking of May 26, 2022 would work – the show wouldn’t be part of the Festival but would be a benefit for the Moyse’s Hall Museum, a 12th Century building housing an comprehensive collection of items telling the story of the town’s long and fascinating history. Cliff wanted me to perform The Trial from The Pickwick Papers and Doctor Marigold, as well as giving a brief talk about Charles’s connection with Bury St Edmunds. The latter request always fills me with terror, for the truth is that local historians will always have access to a great deal more information than me, and the danger is that I just trot out a few easily discoverable facts, promoting local ire. I would need to make sure that my research was sound and that I delivered it in my own way.

On the 16th May, shortly after my return from Kent and before I set off for Cheshire, another email from the Hind household came in, but this time it was from Diane, Cliffs wife with the very sad news that Cliff had unexpectedly died. Our show had occupied so much of his time and attention that Diane and the committee had made the decision to go ahead with the plan and stage the evening in his honour. Suddenly the pressure to do a good job mounted.

On the morning of 26 May I loaded the car with my reading desk and the various rustic paraphernalia for Marigold, as well as the costumes I would need. For some reason I was incredibly nervous about the day and had woken that morning with a pit-of-the-stomach sense of panic, which didn’t leave me all day. As I drove I had my script laid out on the passenger seat and made constant reference to it when I was stopped in traffic.

I arrived in Bury St Edmunds at 4pm, an hour before I was due at the Guildhall where I was to perform, so I parked in front of the famous Angel Hotel, which is where Charles stayed on each of his three visits. As with many hotels across the country, the Angel is proud of its association with Dickens and boasts a blue plaque on its ivy-covered façade, honouring him.

I went in and sat in the stylishly designed lobby and ordered a coffee. A nearby bookcase had copies of Dickens books, as well as a little figurine representing Mr Pickwick and I quietly raised my cup to him. Having finished my coffee I left the hotel and walked through the great stone arch into the abbey gardens where beautifully manicured lawns are dotted with various flint ruins. My home town of Abingdon has similar gardens, where our own Abbey once dominated the skyline, but Henry VIII changed the landscape of Britain forever with his dissolution act of the 1530s, and these beautiful buildings were destroyed. In the case of Abingdon we are not even left with even ruins, for not only was the gold, silver and other treasures taken but the stone itself was taken on barges down the River Thames to be used in the building of new and grand palaces.

Bury St Edmunds Abbey Ruins

After a peaceful and relaxing walk I returned to my car and drove to the Guildhall building, just a few steps away from The Angel, but quite a drive as I had to navigate through a narrow warren of one-way streets, before turning through an opened gate into a small driveway with a space reserved for me. I was greeted by Jill Badman who is not only the manager of The Guildhall but also lives in a charming cottage on site. As I took in my surroundings (beautifully tended gardens) Jill took me into the main building and showed me the room in which I was to perform, and an elegant space it was indeed. A small stage had been erected in front of the fireplace, which would be a perfect setting for my red reading desk.

The Guildhall has a definite history that dates back to 1279 and there are possible references to it over100 years before that, making it senior to my ‘other’ Guildhall in Leicester, which is a little scamp having been built in 1390!

Jill showed me my dressing room which was in the Tudor Kitchen complete with a huge fireplace complete with a pulley operated spit. When she was sure that I had all that I needed Jill left me to my own devices and I began to ferry my props, furniture and costume from my car to the hall. I erected my red screen behind the stage and set up the desk and while I was doing that Diane Hind arrived and introduced herself. I don’t know if Diane is a hugger, but I gave her a big hug and we agreed that Cliff would have been pleased that we were staging ‘his’ event and that we would all make it a memorable evening in his honour. Diane and her son were incredibly strong throughout the evening

As more volunteers and committee members began to arrive, I retreated to my kitchen (where I learned from an educational sign that the Tudors only ate strawberries if they have been cooked) and pondered as to how I would present the first act. Cliff had asked me to talk a bit about how The Pickwick Papers had been written (the novel having connections with Bury), and I was torn between academic and entertaining…I plumped for the latter. In my mind I ran through the various talks I had given about CD’s childhood, his seeing Gad’s Hill and his father’s motivational words about it. I would talk about the creation of Sketches by Boz, his meeting with artist Robert Seymour and the creation of Pickwick. All of those stories are delivered in a light-hearted way, and occasionally take liberties with strict fact (for example, I don’t think that Frederic Chapman really did cry out ‘Who the Dickens is Boz?’ when trying to engage the young author to provide text for Seymour’s illustrations), but they are all based in reality.

Having satisfied myself as to the shape of Act 1 I relaxed in the gardens as the audience gathered. At 7pm I waited at the back of the hall while Margaret Charlesworth introduced me. When I had walked to the stage to welcoming applause Margaret also took a moment to say a few words about Cliff before handing over the evening to me.

My cobbled together first act worked very well and I brought the whole story back to Bury St Edmunds by quoting two letters that Dickens had written during his reading tour of 1861. He had debuted a new reading based on David Copperfield in the city of Norwich and had complained that the audience there were ‘lumpish’, however two days later after another performance of the same piece he described a ‘very fine audience. I don’t think a word – not to say an idea – was lost!’ and that audience was from Bury St Edmunds. There is a natural geographic rivalry between Norfolk and Suffolk, so this mini victory was well received.

Having finished my biographical performances I stepped up to the reading desk to perform The Trial from Pickwick. This was one of Dickens’ favourite readings and is the one that he performed more than any other during his years of touring. It is filled with wonderful characters such as Sergeant Buzfuzz, Justice Stareleigh, Mrs Cluppins and, of course Mr Pickwick and Sam Weller, and pokes fun at the sheer pomposity of the legal system. The reading went well with plenty of laughter and when I concluded I received a very warm round of applause.

I was rather worried that I had over run somewhat, but nobody seemed to mind and I called to mind Jill’s words from earlier, ‘Remember, we are on Suffolk time here’. I returned to my kitchen and changed into my Doctor Marigold costume before returning to the hall, removing the reading desk and screen, and replacing it with the little wooden steps, the 3-legged stool, the rustic wooden box and a kettle and shovel which go to make my set for my favourite performance.

When everyone was seated I took to the stage in the character of the lovable cheapjack and told his story with all of its highs and lows. The audience were transfixed and were with me the whole way through (even when a rather loud motorcycle revved his engine in a most un-Victorian manner outside). Charles Dickens’ tour manager George Dolby described how the audiences gasped when a revelation is made in the last two lines of the performance, and I would love to be able to tell Dolby and his Guv’nor that a 21st century audience gasp in the same way – there was hardly a dry eye in the Guildhall on Thursday evening, and I include my own in that. It was a wonderful performance and one I was extremely proud of.

Margaret returned to the stage, clearly very moved, and thanked me, and after taking more applause I made my way to the back of the room and signed some copies of my books and chatted to the audience as they left. It rounded off a most enjoyable evening.

Margaret had very kindly offered me hospitality at her home, and when I had changed and packed up all of my things into the car she rode with me and directed me to her wonderful Victorian house where her husband Roger was waiting. We sat around the kitchen table and chatted as we ate some bread and cheese and sipped a little wine. We finished the evening with a cup of tea and my mug had a facsimile of the Magna Carta on it. Margaret’s email address features the word magnacarta and its turns out that she is a renowned export on the subject. This was a curious coincidence as earlier in the week on a run I had been listening to an audiobook of ‘Three Men in a Boat’ in which the narrator imagines being present at Runnymede in 1215. As I listened I realised that I know so little about such an important moment in English history and vowed that I would purchase a book on the subject and educate myself. So, in Margaret’s kitchen, as I sipped my tea, I mentioned to her this happy twist of fate, and explained that other knowing that the Maga Carta had been signed at Runnymede I knew little of the political background and circumstances. Well, I had clearly failed my first test, for Margaret pointed out that ‘It was never signed! It was sealed!’ Oops!

It was late now and as the adrenaline that had coursed through my veins that evening gently dissipated, I began to feel tired and said my goodnights to Margaret and Roger.

I slept very well and next morning enjoyed a simple breakfast of fruit juice, muesli and toast. Before I left, Margaret showed me their beautiful garden, as well as asking me to sign their visitor’s book. I had been their first guest, other than family, since the first lockdown of 2020. Soon it was time to get on the road and as I drove away I reflected on a very happy day in the company of kind and hospitable people, and I hope that the gap before the Dickens name returns to the town will be a little shorter this time.