Well, That Was Quite A Birthday! Part 4: Happy Birthday to the Immortal Mr Dickens

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Charles Dickens, Charles Dickens Statue, Portsmouth, The Charles Dickens Museum, The Union Jack Club, Waterloo Station

And so my week of celebrating came to an end as Monday 7th February dawned – 210 years since Elizabeth Dickens gave birth to her second child Charles. It is sometimes reported that Elizabeth and her husband John had been dancing at a party the night before the birth, thus imbuing the infant with a love of entertainment and fun.

My birthday celebrations would involve driving to London to be present at a dinner to honour the event, hosted by the Central Branch of The Dickens Fellowship. My brother Ian, who is currently The President of The Fellowship had a busier day in store, as he travelled from his home on The Isle of Wight, and attended celebration events in Portsmouth, the city of Charles’ birth. Firstly a visit to the Charles Dickens Birthplace Museum and then onto the UK’s only statue of the great man where a garland of red geraniums were placed over his head (Charles’s not Ian’s!).

My journey to London began after I had taken my daughter to her dance class, and as I was getting on the road straight away I was the best dressed dad there, looking rather like James Bond in my dinner jacket and hand-tied bow tie (no clip-ons here!). The traffic to London was light and I had booked a parking space ahead of time, so I would not have to trawl around the city centre, panicking that I would be late for the dinner. As it happened I arrived almost an hour before the reception was due to start, so I simply sat in my car and read for a while, until it was time to make the short walk through the Waterloo district of London, to The Union Jack Club where the dinner was to be held. The main road in the area is Waterloo Road which is a busy, bustling thoroughfare filled with buses, taxis and bikes. Pedestrians take their lives in their hands as they dash across the road to reach the huge Waterloo railway terminus, rather risking being struck by a car than missing that all important train home. But running parallel to Waterloo Road is Cromwell Road and that is quiet and peaceful street, lined with a terrace of elegant Victorian houses, now much sought after and no doubt eye-wateringly expensive, but presumably built as mass housing for manual labourers, maybe those who built Waterloo Station. It is a lovely part of London, and surprisingly very peaceful and it was along Cromwell Road that I walked from my car to the club.

The Union Jack Club has no Dickens connections, but exists for the use of servicemen and veterans. It was first built on the site in 1907, but was heavily bombed during the Second World War, and eventually (in 1975) a new building was erected on the same spot.

The Fellowship dinner was being held in small dining room, and we had 46 attendees. Paul Graham, the Hon Gen Sec of the Fellowship had not been sure how many members would actually attend this first meeting since lockdown restrictions were eased, but it was a goodly crowd who gathered. Ian, in his role as President was hosting the event, and it was lovely to hug him and his wife Anne when I arrived.

There were many old friends and familiar faces in the room and we all chatted until Ian called the evening to order and recited the traditional Dickens Grace:

‘In Fellowship assembled here; We thank thee Lord for food and cheer; And through our saviour, thy dear son; We pray ‘God Bless Us, Every One!’ We all joined in the last line and then took our seats to dine and converse.

Many of the guests had watched my streamed performance the night before, and were kind enough to compliment me on it. Cindy Sughrue, from the museum, was also there and told me that the feedback from the event had been very positive, which was immensely pleasing.

Ian, Anne and I shared our table with Adrian Wooton OBE, the Chief Executive of Film London and The British Film Commission. Adrian became involved with the Fellowship in 2012, when we celebrated the 200th anniversary of Dickens’ birth, by curating a series of events based on Dickens in Film and has been an active member ever since, he was due to speak at the end of the dinner, and was a marvellous companion. Ian and I in particularly relishing a shared love of Formula One motor racing!

Dinner was delicious, consisting of a smoked salmon and horseradish starter, a steak with mashed potatoes and broccoli for main , and a crème brule for desert. At one point, when the steak was served, Michael Eaton, another table mate, was spooning mustard onto his plate. Unable to shift the thick yellow paste he knocked the little silver spoon against the china plate sending a ringing retort throughout the room, which was immediately followed by a pushing back of chairs and a silence descending, for everyone thought it was time for the speeches!

Ian hosted the dinner with such grace and ease, moving everything along, and speaking effortlessly whenever he needed to. When desert had been cleared and coffee cups filled he announced a 5 minute comfort break and when all were gathered once more it was time for me to do my party piece. At such events it is the job of The President to introduce the speakers, and this usually involves quite a bit of research to create factual and witty remarks to welcome the guest. On this occasion Ian just had to talk about his baby brother, and did so with such a sense of pride that I got rather emotional.

I had decided to speak about my own personal milestones in my relationship with Charles Dickens, and spoke about becoming aware of his importance to our family at the age of 6 when I shared a pew with the Queen Mother in Westminster Abbey. I recalled being made to study Oliver Twist at school (quoting Roald Dahl’s ‘Matilda’ along the way), and I recounted the story of my first ever performance of A Christmas Carol in 1993, and how Dickens’ brilliant descriptive text helped me morph into the characters. I finished by telling the story of visiting the site of The Staplehurst Rail Crash and sinking up to my neck in muddy water. When the bemused farmer saw this bedraggled man trespassing in his field, and listened as I explained that I had been visiting the site of the rail crash, instead of taking a pitchfork to me he said simply ‘Charles Dickens’. I wound up my talk by saying that ‘he didn’t know I was there to research a book.  He just knew of the celebrity who had been at that exact spot 154 years before.  And that says everything about the long shadow that Charles Dickens has cast across our globe – much longer and more influential than just 21,307 days of life.  He left a legacy that can never be measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, or years.  Charles Dickens’ influence over our society is timeless.’

I invited the guests to stand, charge their glasses and I proposed the toast to the immortal memory of Charles Dickens.

It seemed to be well received, and there was some nice applause as I sat down. The truth is that I really feel uncomfortable giving speeches, it is not where I am happy, and I feel exposed and vulnerable. Give me some voices and contorted facial expressions to hide behind and I am relaxed as anything, but put Gerald Dickens in a dinner jacket and ask him to stand and talk…..

I was relieved when I was finished, and envious as I listened to the naturalness with which Ian and Adrian spoke, but it was a great fun evening and it was wonderful to meet so many old friends.

In closing this quartet of birthday blogs I would like to point out a remarkable coincidence: Charles Dickens died when he was 58 years old, in fact he lived for 21,307 days (hence the reference to that number in my speech). On Tuesday 8 February, (the day after I spoke in London), I was also 21,307 days old.

It was a wonderful week and I will conclude by once again offering a birthday wish up to Charles Dickens, and to thank him for making my professional life so unbelievably exciting.

Well, That Was Quite A Birthday! Part 3: A Home From Home

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Mr Dickens is Coming!, Mr Micawber, The Charles Dickens Museum, The Pickwick Papers

My week celebrating the 210th birthday of Charles Dickens continued on Sunday 6th February in two homes – his and mine.

On Sunday evening a specially filmed version of my old show Mr Dickens is Coming was due to be streamed by The Charles Dickens Museum, which is based at 48 Doughty Street, the home that a young Charles moved into having enjoyed instant success with The Pickwick Papers.

Cindy Sughrue, the director of the museum, had approached me last year with the idea of my developing a version of the show that would utilise many of the rooms in the museum, meaning that I would have a wonderful backdrop for my performance whilst the museum could be shown in its best light. The original idea had been to film it before Christmas, but various issues with my tour, obtaining visas and some family concerns at the time meant that we decided to delay the project until early in the year, using the birthday as a suitable time to screen.

Monday 17th January was selected as a filming day, with the 18th being held as an extra. The advantage of these particular days being that the museum is closed on a Monday and Tuesday, thereby giving us full rein to use whichever rooms we needed, whenever we wanted without disturbing the paying public.

I arrived at around 10.30am, and was met by Jordan Evans who is the Marketing and Events manager at the House who was responsible for co-ordinating the entire project. We would be working with videographer Alex Hyndman who has filmed in the museum often, most particularly with actor Dominic Gerard who performs his brilliant A Christmas Carol from the house in December, and as I arrived Alex was setting up cameras and lights in readiness for the first takes.

I quickly changed into costume, which included one of my oldest waistcoats – a black one with shining golden embellishments, and bright patches of colour. I saw it back in the 1990’s hanging on a bargain rail outside a charity shop in the pouring rain. I had been looking for a garish waistcoat for the show, and this one seemed to be calling out to me: ‘buy me! buy me!’ And I did.

I had re-written my old script whilst taking the virtual tour of the museum, which is available on the Carles Dickens Museum website, and had tried to feature each room in a way appropriate to the part of the story I was telling. My opening shot would see me striding down the centre of Doughty Street towards the camera and then entering the famous red door to begin, and this, Jordan decided, would be the first scene to film. The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray, as Rabbie Burns wrote, and on the morning of filming we discovered that it was bin collection day, so the elegant street was lined with piles of rubbish and recycling rendering our idea for the long view of Doughty Street impossible to capture. The three of us stood in the street pondering our next move and I realised that I was holding my hand up to shade my eyes against the low-in-the-sky sun shining along the street (which apparently runs East-West). ‘Guys,’ I said, ‘why don’t we use my shadow on the pavement?’ and so the show opens with a panning shot of a top-hatted shadow striding along, until the camera pans up to show me walking up to the door.

For the rest of the day we moved from room to room, planning how to shoot each scene and taking care not to touch the historic furniture and artefacts as we did. In the nursery on the top floor I performed the passage about John Dickens next to his bust, and then Alex was able to swing the camera round as I walked behind the original prison bars from The Marshalsea Prison, where the family had been sent for debt. At the end of the scene I moved out of shot, revealing a picture of Mr Micawber on the wall behind me.

We managed to get the whole show filmed in the single day, wrapping with a final shot in the little courtyard garden, and I drove home again, leaving Alex to cast his editing magic wand over the whole thing.

During the intervening weeks Jordan made sure that social media was covered with information about the screening, and Alex had made a short trailer for the film too, which meant by the 6 February we had a goodly number of viewers signed up. I would be watching the film, and then taking questions afterwards, from our new garden office, which we have yet to paint, so it would look rather as if I were sitting in a sauna. During the afternoon, after I had driven back from Sharnbrook, I went up into our loft and grabbed a large picture of Charles Dickens as a young man, one of Henry Fielding Dickens, my great grandfather, and one of me on stage, and hung them in such a way as if to suggest I was in a picture-lined study (I am sure that I didn’t fool anyone!).

I was scared watching, for I knew that many viewers would have highly academic backgrounds, and Mr Dickens is Coming was never written with that in mind: it was always a light-hearted script designed to entertain primarily and doesn’t really bear serious analysis, but Alex had done a great job with the editing, and it came across pretty well, I thought. We had viewers from Australia, Japan, America, Georgia, Malta and many other countries, such is the international influence of Charles Dickens.

When the final shot in the garden faded to black, Cindy Sughrue’s camera flicked into life, which was my cue to switch mine on as well. The comments in the chat room scrolled quickly as various viewers from around the globe congratulated me and asked many questions, which Cindy put to me to answer on screen. We spent around 30 minutes chatting until Cindy would the session up, and having said farewell, I logged off, leaving Charles Dickens’ home behind me and walked back down the dark garden towards the warm, welcoming glow of my own house.

‘Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!’ Quite a Way to End!

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, Leicester Cathedral, Leicester Guildhall, Mr Fezziwig

The final day of my 2021 Christmas performance season was in the City of Leicester, in The Midlands. It has become something of a tradition over the years that on the 23rd December I perform a matinee and an evening show in the amazing surroundings of the Guildhall’s Great Hall, which was built at the end of the 14th Century. The room is timber framed and at the centre there is a huge fireplace which is always lit during my visit to warm the sell-out audiences that always attend.

With the Café Royal’s sad cancellation, I had spent my free day with Liz and the girls, and in the evening we had visited the Silverstone race track, where we had attempted to ice skate (I had a great fear that I would fall awkwardly, thus making my rendition of Tiny Tim rather too real), and then drove a very slow lap of the track to admire the light and laser show that had been installed for the Christmas season.

On Thursday morning the car was a prop carrying vehicle once more and I was back on the road. As I drove, the radio programme which was playing asked listeners to supply their favourite questions for Christmas quizzes, and one chap phoned in with the inevitable ‘How many ghosts visit Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol?’ The answer being, of course, four (Marley and the ghosts of Past, Present and Future), but then somebody else texted in with the pedantic opinion that as ‘Yet to Come’ was from the future it couldn’t be considered a ghost, so the answer was three after all. My solution to this celestial conundrum was to include the words ‘on Christmas Eve’ after the question, which means the answer is one, as only Marley appears before midnight, although there is the issue of the air filled ‘…with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free.’, but technically they haven’t actually visited Scrooge, so don’t count!

I arrived at Leicester at 11, and parked as close as I could to the venue and started carrying the furniture down the narrow cobbled alley which runs between The Guildhall and Leicester Cathedral with its tall spire.

I was welcomed by Ben Ennis, a friend of many years standing, and we chatted for a while, catching up on our news. Ben had caught Long Covid very early on, and suffered for many months. Although understandably he had been extremely cautious, worn a mask and kept away from crowds, he actually caught it again, thankfully this second time he recovered within a couple of weeks. I asked him if the Guildhall’s audience numbers were being affected by cancellations (after the Café Royal’s experience I was nervous during these last days), and he said although some had called, their tickets had been snapped up by those on the waiting list, so he wasn’t too worried.

Once the car was unloaded I had to move it to a nearby car park and as I walked back I saw that Jubilee Square was filled with a huge Ferris Wheel and a skating rink – I knew from experience that noise from the square accompany would my performance, and I resigned myself to the fact there may be distractions for both me and the audience – little did I know then that later I would have given my right arm to just have the noise from the ice rink in the background!

My changing room at The Guildhall is The Jury Room, from where I can hear the audience gathering and on Thursday the afternoon crowd sounded a lively bunch, and very Christmassy. There was a lot of laughter and loud conversation, which boded extremely well.

At 1pm I went to the back of the hall, and slowly walked through the masked audience, with my scarf pulled up over my face, until I reached the stage. I was right, the audience were imbued with the spirit of Christmas, and we all shared a great afternoon together. Unfortunately there wasn’t a big enough staff to spare anyone to follow the script and look after the sound cues, so apart from the opening music I was performing unplugged, meaning that Mr Fezziwig had to dance without the strains of Sir Roger de Coverly to give him rhythm, but he managed quite well.

The show finished at around 3pm and I took my bows to loud applause and returned to the Jury Room to change. It has been a tradition in Leicester that between shows Ben has brought in a Christmas lunch of Turkey and all of the trimmings and so, with various staff members and his family, we have celebrated the season with good fellowship, but of course this year we couldn’t gather, which was a shame. Ben made up for this loss by presenting me with a turkey sandwich, some fresh fruit, and a trifle, which I took back to my hotel room, where I lay on the bed and watched television until it was time to get ready for the evening show.

When I arrived at The Guildhall, there were already audience members waiting for the door to be opened, and soon a steady stream were making their way in reserving their seats, before availing themselves of mulled wine.

Once again it was almost a full house and once again the audience seemed in great spirits, boding well for a fine send off to the ’21 tour. But, this wasn’t going to be an easy show by any stretch of the imagination.

I was not far in when the bell ringers in the cathedral began their weekly practice, and spent time perfecting their loudest and most complex peals. Every scene was accompanied, indeed almost drowned out, by the constant noise, making it difficult to concentrate. Every so often a particular peal would end, and you could almost feel the sigh of relief in the hall, which turned to disappointment as the next one began. The Leicester Cathedral bell ringers are a dedicated bunch, I will give them that! The interval arrived and still the bells rang and crashed. Ben apologised, although there is nothing he could have done to prevent it, and said that they would probably finish within about twenty minutes of the second half beginning. That SHOULD just about have been OK for Bob Cratchit returning home without Tim on his shoulder – the narrator says that it ‘was quiet. Very quiet’, and it is one of my favourite moments in the show, for I can feel the emotion and tension of an entire audience in that moment – crashing bells wouldn’t be appropriate.

I started act two and sure enough eventually the Cathedral Tinnitus ended, allowing me my moment of peace. The Cratchit scene passed and the atmosphere that builds through the final quarter seemed to be well established, until unbelievably a nearby security alarm went off and the rest of the show was accompanied by a loud, screeching ‘whoop whoop whoop whoop’ which didn’t end until the very final sentence of the story. I at least made was able to make an adlib, which broke the ice somewhat, by saying ‘Yes, the bedpost was his own, the bed was his own, the room was his own, the alarm was his own…..’ which was greeted by a loud cheer and even a cry of ‘Brilliant!’ That was rather overstating it, but it proved that we had all been battling the same intrusions into our fantasy world, together.

The show came to an end and the the hall erupted into applause and I earned a standing ovation which was a very fitting end to a wonderful season of performances – it has been apparent that audiences in both the UK and America have needed entertainment after such a difficult two years (I remember the same phenomenon in 2001, post 9-11) and have come out in good numbers to see the show, but have remained respectful of the wishes of others, whether that has meant wearing a mask throughout the show, or distancing in an auditorium.

My decision not to undertake long formal signing sessions has allowed me to conduct the question and answer sessions after the shows which have proved very popular.

What does 2022 hold for me? Of course we cannot tell, but there are a couple of new books in the pipeline, one of which is all about the history of my tours and the development of the show (I may even include the script…), and if everything works well that will be available for sale when I tour next year.

I will also get back to my running, which I have rather let lapse during the 2nd half of this year, with the aim of completing a half marathon before the year is out.

In the meantime, thank you to all of the audience members who have joined me for the ride this year and to the many people who have allowed me to perform in their venues, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy New Year.

The British Return to Lewes

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Antique shopping, Byers'Choice, Charles Dickens, Delaware, Ebenezer Scrooge, Jaws, Lewes, Lewes Public Library, Peter Benchley, Uber Eats, War of 1812

And still I woke early – 3.15 this time, and frustratingly I couldn’t get back to sleep properly. As I sat in bed, watching to the coverage of practice from the Abu Dhabi Grand prix, I realised that having been at Winterthur all the previous day, I had failed to let the owners of The Fairville know what time I wanted breakfast. As I would need to be on the road by 9am, and the breakfast service would start at 8.30, I needed to get in there early, so I decided to go over at around 8.15, hoping to get my order in right at the start.

I packed all of my cases, so I would be ready to go, and when I felt I could reasonably do so, went to the main house, where I was cheerfully greeted by Willie, the young owner. He brushed off my apologies for not letting him know about my breakfast needs and said that of course I could sit down right then, and he would make me my pancakes, and so I was well into my meal when the other guests began to arrive.

With my breakfast finished I was able to get the car loaded up and I was on the road by 9 o’clock. Friday was a strange day, in that I only had one performance scheduled at 7pm, and the drive to Lewes, Delaware, would take a little under three hours, but I had a duo of commitments first thing in the morning: at 9.30 I was due to speak to Warren Lawrence at the WKNY radio station in the Hudson Valley, and straight after that chat I was booked to take my Covid test. I had decided to drive to the branch of CVS where my test was scheduled, and do the interview from the parking lot, so that I was in the correct place to insert a swab up my nose. Unfortunately, there was a traffic issue and I had to pull off the road and park up in a parking space outside some small businesses and called into the radio station. I have spoken to Warren on many occasions, and it he always conducts a really good interview, feeding the questions and allowing me to elucidate my answers at whatever length I feel necessary. There is none of the time pressure of some media interviews. On Friday morning we talked about the character of Charles Dickens, the creation of A Christmas Carol, my adaptation and performance of it, as well as my book, ‘Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash’. Warren even mentioned that the book is available via Amazon in the USA…..

The interview finished at 9.50, and I was able to get back on the road and arrive at CVS by ten, where I drove through the Drive-Thru, and self-administered the test sat in my car as if I were about to handed a Big Mac Meal. The nice thing in America is that you only have to swab your nostrils, whereas in the UK we have to get samples from our tonsils as well, meaning we end up gagging with watering eyes. Having completed the test, I dropped it in the little metal box provided and offered a silent prayer for a negative result, that would be delivered swiftly, so that I can complete all of the official documents that are now needed to fly.

And now I could drive on towards Lewes, which is situated in the south of Delaware. The drive seemed to take forever, and the early start meant that I was feeling very tired. I drank a lot of water, and listened to the radio, or more specifically more podcasts, as I skirted the city of Wilmington, and on. As with my drives around Massachusetts, many of the place names were familiar to me, and I drove through Kent County (I was born in the County of Kent), passed Dover and on towards Sussex County, in which Lewes is situated, as indeed is the town of Lewes in England. Some names were less ‘English’, however and I am not sure that I want to sunbathe on Slaughter Beach any time soon

This would be my first visit to Lewes and it is always lovely to visit a new city. I pulled up in the parking lot of The Inn at Canal Square, which is situated on the water’s edge of a wide inlet, lined with wooden docks and boats of varying sizes and shapes.

The buildings are mostly wooden clad, painted in bright colours, and it is an extremely pretty town. I checked in to the hotel, although my room was not ready, but it meant that I could leave the car in the lot without fear of it being towed and started to stroll around Lewes. Instantly I was greeted by a variety of boards describing the history of the town, and the first one was entitled ‘The War of 1812’. Oh dear, Lewes and the British obviously had previous form.

I read the information and discovered that the British Navy had attempted to blockade the town in 1813, and demanded that the locals provide food to fettle the warships. The residents of Lewes unsurprisingly refused to comply with the British request, and the invaders decided that the best thing to do was therefore to bombard the little town. For almost two days canon ball and rocket rained down on Lewes with absolutely no effect at all, other than breaking the leg of one pig and killing one chicken. The Americans returned fire and managed to set ‘one gunboat aflame’ but there were no casualties among the British forces either. Eventually the ships withdrew from the bay and peace fell in Lewes once more. There is one relic of the violence in the town, for a British canon ball is lodged deep in the foundations of what is now a maritime museum.

I walked out towards the lovely sandy beach, where the only revellers were sea gulls. Actually, the whole place reminded me of the little town of Amity in Peter Benchley’s Jaws, and I imagine that when the tourists flock, as they do in the novel, the atmosphere must be amazing. The beach was lined by grassy dunes, which during the summer months must surely be the scene of late-night teenage campfires, and even a few midnight swims….Durrrr Dum….Durrrr Dum Durdum durdum durdum durdum Diddle deeeee!

I walked back into town and ambled around an antique store where I found the perfect Victorian Hall Stand for my set. It was made of iron and would be far too heavy to carry around, but it would make a magnificent gothic, and menacing addition to Scrooge’s furniture.

I hadn’t stopped for food during the drive, so was feeling a little peckish so I found a brilliant cafe where I had a sandwich, before going to the hotel to rest before the evening’s show. As I lay on the bed I had a message from Barbara, who had used to manage the bookstore, so sadly deserted, at Winterthur, saying that she had felt emotional reading my words, but reassuring me that she had kept all of her ‘goofy stuff’ from the walls of the office and was going to recreate that wall in her home office, the collection being just as carefully curated, as the main Dupont exhibit in the great house itself! I had been booked to perform at the public library and had arranged to arrive there at 5pm to prepare for the 7 o’clock show. Darkness had fallen as I got into the car and the Christmas lights around the city were spectacular – it looked so beautiful. The library was on the outskirts of the town, and was housed in a modern building, similar to those that I have already visited in Kansas City and on Long Island during this tour. I was greeted by the team putting on the show, led by David White, who is a theatre man through and through. David had seen me perform at Winterthur a few years ago and had very much wanted to bring me to Lewes, but various problems, not least the pandemic, had meant that the plans had never quite worked until now. We spent time arranging the stage and working out how best to work the sound cues, which could be run from a laptop, but mostly we simply talked about theatre. Although we were gathered in a modern meeting room in a library it was as if we were in a Victorian auditorium preparing for a show, because we were all theatre folk allowing our mutual experiences to be shared.

The audience started to gather at 6, and I retired to a small kitchen, which had been designated as my Green Room, and began to get ready. The microphone that I was to use was the sort that hooks over one ear, and I knew from previous experience that it would come loose and fall off during the show, but I managed to find a desk in the library offices with a roll of sellotape on it and stuck the unit to my cheek as best I could. I knew it wouldn’t last but thought that it may give me a little bit of time.

David continually poked his head around the door to give me the ‘half’, the twenty, the ten and the five, before it was show time. The room was packed but everyone was masked, and I made my entrance through the centre of the audience. Unfortunately, the little speaker that was supposed to amplify the opening music had disconnected from the laptop, so we could only hear the effect through the computer’s built-in speaker, and during the opening scenes, Jesse, David’s daughter (following the family business in theatre, but more on the tech side), crawled along the front of the stage to try and re-connect it. We wouldnt know if she had been succesful until Old Fezziwig stood out to dance.

The show was great fun, and I gave it my all. It was one of those days during which I had felt fatigued and lacking in energy, but A Christmas Carol cast its magic spell over me and brought me back to life, and Mr Fezziwig DID have music at his dance.

The audience were fully engaged, and at the end gave me a very noisy and enthusiastic ovation. As usual having taken my bows I remained on stage to conduct the Q&A session, and soon the questions were coming in from all quarters. I was asked about my family lineage and took the opportunity to include my new-found knowledge about my host town with a little affectionate and gentle teasing: when I spoke about my grandfather, Gerald, I mentioned that he had been an Admiral in the Royal Navy, and then added: ‘I know how fond you are of the British Navy in this town. I have seen the canon ball, and I have actually been sent by the Admiralty to retrieve it, they would like it back!’ I got a huge laugh and a round of applause and one audience member called out ‘He is OK!’

We finished up and I went back to my dressing room, where the pair of braces (suspenders) that I had been wearing broke, the rigours of the tour are beginning to tell. I will have to order a replacement pair when I get back to England, but for my final three shows I have another set.

The audience had departed when I re-emerged, and I gathered up my things and said goodbye to the whole team. Hopefully I can return and perform some of my other shows in this remarkable community.

It was getting on towards 9.30 when I got back to the hotel and all of the restaurants in town were closed, but I logged on to Uber Eats once more and arranged for a late-night dinner to be delivered to me.

On Saturday morning I will drive back into Pennsylvania and to Byers’ Choice, where the 2021 American tour will conclude with three final shows.

The Thin Blue Line

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Courtyard by Marriott, Ebenezer Scrooge, Marriott Hotels, The Berkshires, Ventfort Hall Mansion

I woke up in my Comfort Inn in Manchester not at 3am, or 4am, but I actually made it to 6 for the first time on the trip! I had been woken to the sound of a car alarm sounding in the parking lot, and I vaguely had a memory of hearing a similar alarm at a previous hotel which rather worryingly suggested that it might have been my car.

Saturday morning would be taken up with driving to The Berkshires, the beautiful mountain region in western Massachusetts, and it looked as if it were going to be another amazing day to drive, with clear skies and a light frost on the ground. Before leaving I had time to watch some more practice from the Grand Prix and as soon as the session was over, I checked out and got on the road.

For audio accompaniment on this trip, I listened to a series of podcasts about the forthcoming Ashes cricket series. I hope that my English readers will forgive me for a moment, while I explain about The Ashes. The greatest rivalry within the international cricket calendar is that between the Australian team and the English team, which dates back to 1882 when the Aussies first beat England on British soil. On the next day an obituary to English cricket was published in The Times newspaper and the wooden bails (part of the equipment used during the match) were burned and the ashes placed in a tiny ceramic urn. Ever since that little urn has been the trophy that the two nations have played for. An Ashes series only comes around once every few years, alternating between England and Australia, and in the winter of ’21, ’22 the series is being played in the Southern hemisphere, where England have only won once in the last 34 years. The podcast was made by the BBC cricket correspondent and delved into all of the preparations inherent in sending a team to the land down under and was a very interesting listen.

My route took me back towards Boston and then skirting to the west of the city I drove straight back through Worcester where I was just a week before, and once again admired the beautiful old railroad station with its twin white towers making it look like the old Wembly football stadium in London.

Worcester Railroad Station

The Old Wembly Stadium, London

The views as I progressed west became ever more spectacular, with dark lakes shimmering with a thin skim of ice on the surface. The traffic became less, and the mountains appeared on the horizon. After two and a half hours of driving I left the freeway and took the route signposted for ‘The Berkshires’ and soon was driving through the pretty town of Lee and on towards Lenox. By this time the final qualifying session for the Formula 1 Grand Prix was starting, and I was able to listen to the radio coverage, via the F1 App on my phone connected to the car’s audio system: it is amazing what we take for granted now and how technology has advanced during my years of touring (remembering the old days of trying to connect a large heavy laptop to a modem, and enduring the whining, beeping and screeching of the dial-up connection). On the final miles of my drive, I listened to the first two thirds of the action until I pulled up outside The Courtyard by Marriott in Lenox.

As I unloaded my bags, I suddenly realised how much I have relied on Marriott during this tour. Not only have I stayed in hotels run by the company in Long Island, Nashua and now here in Lenox, but also my PCR Covid test was conducted in a Courtyard hotel in Oxford, before I left England.

I checked in as quickly as I could and then rushed up to the room to catch the final moments of qualifying on the TV, and I wasn’t to be disappointed as it came to a thrilling climax, with one of the two drivers still fighting for the World Championship crashing out at the very final corner of the very final lap.

I didn’t have much time in the hotel as it was now 1pm and I had to be at my next venue at 1.30. I quickly ate a chicken salad (which Joe had bought for me before the show in Manchester, but which I had not eaten, and it had remained well refrigerated in the car overnight), gathered my belongings and hurried out, not forgetting to take the little carboard sleeve that my room keys were held in, for I have reached that time of the trip where I struggle to remember not only the number of my room, but even the floor I am on!

My venue in Lenox is Ventfort Hall, a beautiful mansion built at the end of the 19th Century for Sarah Morgan, who was the sister of J Pierpont Morgan, which is an interesting connection in itself, in that the original handwritten manuscript of A Christmas Carol was purchased by Morgan and is annualy displayed in the library bearing his name in New York City. I have performed at Ventfort on two previous occasions, and it is a great venue, with the ambience of the small and elegant room really adding something to the storytelling – actually, it is very simmilar to the General Crook House in Omaha. In previous years we have seated an audience of 80 in the little parlour, packed hard in with not an inch of space left. But this year, due to Covid, the audience numbers had been reduced and the seats spaced out. I was greeted by Haley who looks after the running of the house and who has a background in theatrical stage managegement, and she ran through the precautions with me. The audience would all be masked and would all be required to show their vaccination certificate before admission. On the stage, or at least, on the floor at the end of the room where I was performing, she had stuck a line of blue tape, which marked 6 feet from the front row, and that was my ‘acting line’. I placed the props, having changed a very elegant and obviously antique chair for one that I could stand on. When the stage was ready, I introduced to Chris who would be operating my sound cues. Chris had also supplied the wooden stool for the set, from his own home, so I asked him if it was ok to knock on it with my wooden cane, for that tends to leave little indentations, and he said he would be delighted and honoured to have such a souvenir of the show in his house!

The view from the blue line, with Chris’s stool in the foreground.

It was getting towards 2.15 now and some of the first guests were beginning to arrive, so I retired to my ‘dressing room’, which is in fact the room where Sarah Morgan dressed. I had a chaise longue at my disposal, and a table laid with a bottle of champagne and a plate of strawberries (all fake, unfortunately!)

I changed into my costume and waited for the 3pm start time, and when Hayley gave me the word, I went into the great hall ready to walk through the audience and to begin.

It was strange experience to be in a room of fully masked people without wearing one myself, and I half wondered if I should have done the show masked, but there is no way that could have worked. I made sure that I remained behind my blue line as much as I could (which led to a somewhat linear performance).

The audience were a little quiet at first, maybe sharing my uncertainties about being in this confined space together, but soon the atmosphere began to lighten, and laughter filled the little parlour, and at the end as I took my bows the 50 strong audience stood and cheered.

We had a short Q&A session and then the audience left the room to have an elegant tea at tables spread throughout the house. Usually I would join them, but this year I returned to my changing room, where I noticed a plate of cakes, sandwiches and fancies had been left for me – they were on the table next to the champagne and strawberries, so I had to check that they were, in fact, real; and they were, deliciously real.

I changed back into my normal clothes and slipped out of the house in as inconspicuous manner as I could manage considering I was wearing a bright red Christmas sweater, and drove back to my hotel admiring the Christmas lights which decorated the town of Lenox.

I was due to be taken out to dinner in the evening and Hayley had offered to pick me up at 7 o’clock. There was light snow flurrying in the air and my beanie hat and gloves were still in the car, which sat glowing richly in the winter night.

Fully wrapped up against the chill of the evening I waited for Hayley who arrived bang on time, and we drove to the nearby town of Great Barrington where we joined Alice, Patrick and Stephen in ’10’, a restaurant specialising in steaks. We have all met and dined together before and it was great to get together once more and pick up where we left off, two or three years ago. The food was as fine as the company, and we shared a convivial evening with plenty of laughter, although perhaps inevitably the conversation continually returned to Covid issues.

After the last of the desserts had been finished, we left 10 and said our various goodbyes. Patrick and Stephen would be driving me back to Lenox, as Hayley lives in Great Barrington, and as we drove we talked about the power of American Equity, the actors’ union, as well as the benefits and frailties of the British National Health Service – not bad for a thirty-minute drive!

Back at The Courtyard I checked my little cardboard sleeve to confirm where my room was and retired for the night.

What Should a Brit do in Philadelphia?

Tags

Barnes Foundation, Cezanne, Chestnut Street, Declaration of Independence, Museum of American Revolution, Renoir, Van Gough, William Penn

When I woke on Monday, after of course having a cup of coffee and writing my blog post, I left the apartment to go and do a little shopping so that I would have a few things in the pantry for my stay. I found a Target store close by and was soon back ‘home’ where I had a breakfast of orange juice, granola and blueberries, followed by a plate of scrambled eggs. In past years I have awarded an imaginary prize for ‘Best Breakfast on the Tour’ – fortunately I don’t think that my attempts will be at the top of the table when the December comes around, (I would have to disqualify myself for insider dealing), but it was a pretty good effort I have to say.

The next job was to decide what to do with my day, and as I was right there, in the middle of Philly, it made sense to stay in the city and see what it had to offer. I have stayed here before in previous years and have visited the Art Museum, the Free Library and The Eastern State Penitentiary before, so I decided to try something else this year and the answer I came up with was a trip to The Museum of the American Revolution – a strange choice for a Brit in the very seat of American liberty, but it was a subject that has fascinated me ever since I become a little bit obsessed with the musical Hamilton during lockdown. I booked a ticket for 11am (thereby saving myself $2 over purchasing one at the museum itself), and set off to walk. It was a beautiful warm day and the light through the trees and sparkling on the fountains made for a very happy and relaxing stroll.

One of the main thoroughfares in Philadelphia is Chestnut Street, and as I made my way along it it was fascinating to feel myself walking back in time. At first the skyline was dominated with tall glass skyscrapers and it was similar to being a modern city such as Minneapolis, but nestling among them were older buildings, Victorian warehouses and houses, and occasionally a wonderful painted sign from long deceased trader or business, hinting at how Chestnut may have been 150 years ago or so.

On and past the City Hall with the statue of William Penn standing proudly atop it. The Hall was completed in 1894 and for a long time dominated the skyline as a City ordinance was passed stating that no building could rise higher than the level of Penn’s bronze hat.

Eventually in 1986 the need and greed of big business overcame the statute and the statue as 1 Liberty Place soared up and beyond, opening the doors for other developers to build their own towers. Soon William Penn was hidden, but he exacted his revenge by cursing the city’s sports teams, suddenly results dried up. It was only when it was decided to put another statue of Penn at the very top of the Comcast Centre building in 2017, that the curse seemed to be lifted for The Eagles won the Superbowl of that year. Further along Chestnut and the buildings changed again. The Gothic excesses of the Victorian age were replaced with simpler, sparser houses and homes, less akin to Minneapolis and more akin to Williamsburg, and for good reason for I was now walking through the age of Revolution – 1776 and all that. If I had been a British soldier standing on that very spot in the 1770’s I may not have been quite as welcome, for it was there that the Declaration of Independence was drafted, approved and signed at the Second Continental Congress on July 4th 1776.

I arrived at the museum in perfect time and checked in at the front desk, quipping ‘I am from Britain, be gentle…!’ I was aware that a phone call may be coming in for an interview, so checked that I would be able to leave the museum and return if necessary, and then made my way into the small movie theater where I would watch an introductory film about the war.

The whole morning was fascinating and I learned so much. I was able to add facts to battle names that I had heard of but knew nothing about: Kipps Bay, Concord Bridge, Bunker Hill and others. The most surprising revelation to me was to discover that The Battle of Brandywine was fought at Chadds Ford on the Pennsylvania-Delaware state line. Chadd’s Ford is where I stay when I perform at Winterthur, and is one of the most gentle, beautiful places that I visit.

Another exhibit that the museum is very proud of is Washington’s Tent. In another movie theater visitors watch a history of the tent that General Washington used in the field, for he wanted to be among his soldiers, rather than being a remote commander. After Washington’s death the tent was kept by Martha at Mount Vernon before eventually becoming the property of her grand daughter Mary Anna who married Robert E Lee. During the Civil War Lee’s house at Arlington (where the tent was kept) was ransacked and the tent became the property of the Federal Government. It saw a lot of action, that tent. Now it is carefully preserved and shown for a few moments once an hour under restricted lighting conditions to preserve the canvas (and to build the mystique for the visitors). Our guide grandly announced that the Museum would preserve the tent for as long as America was an independent country – ‘And how long will that be?’ he asked a guest, ‘Forever!’ was the patriotic reply. Although apparently in the last crowd the answer had been ‘Three years and two months……’ Our genial host admitted he hadn’t asked any follow up questions to that rather alarming assertion.

Much as I enjoyed the museum, I was now ready for a change of pace and walked out into the sunshine again and forwards in time once more. Somewhere along Chestnut I bought a salad and sat in the open air outside the City Hall (under the watchful gaze of William Penn). My next stop was an art gallery recommended by Bob the evening before – The Barnes Foundation. Dr Barnes was a collector of art and most especially impressionists, post impressionists and early-modern. He had a particular passion for Renoir, Cezanne, Matisse, Picasso and Van Gogh, but his great interest was how the art was viewed, so rather than displaying his collection in rooms dedicated to a certain artist or a certain time, he would mix and match, seeking links through colour or form or structure or subject.

The collection is housed in a modern building with a tranquil reflecting pool alongside. This was a gallery for serious art lovers and throughout little groups stood together stroking their mask-covered chins, nodding wisely and pointing out some detail on either a painting or a collection, that astounded them. I am was in that league, but I did enjoy the art! To be honest there was too much Renoir and after a while the rather highly coloured, swirly, out of focus nature of a lot of his art began to make my eyes go a bit strange. For a while Liz and I were were chatting via WhatsApp (which was very nice, it was as if we were in the gallery together) and she admitted not to being a great fan of Renoir either: ‘It feels like eating too much sugar’!

The Cezannes and Van Gogh’s were amazing however and it was very nice way to spend an afternoon.

As I left the Barnes Collection I realised I was feeling tired, so made my way back to the apartment block where I had a little nap before getting up to cook dinner – Meatballs in tomato sauce with spaghetti.

It had been a most enjoyable day and yet a contrary one – a Brit visiting the Museum of the American Revolution and a man not very keen on Renoir visiting one of the largest collections of his work! But I had had fun – I had pursued happiness and I had found it.