Saturday, 23 December: the last day of this year’s tour. As has become a firm tradition I would be driving to the city of Leicester to perform in the ancient and beautiful Guildhall. During the days since Highclere my insurance company delivered a new rental car to the house, and my damaged car was finally returned to me meaning that I could use my own props once more.
Liz had set off to the shops to buy the Christmas dinner ingredients, and when she returned I got on the road at around 9.20. Now, I like to arrive at a venue on time, I rather pride myself on it, and on Saturday I seriously nailed it. I was due to arrive at The Guildhall at 11, and as I opened my car door the great Cathedral bell began to strike the hour – I was rather pleased with myself!.
I walked along the narrow alley to the front door of the Guildhall and was met by my old friend Ben, the manager at the venue. He helped me to unload the car and then I took the car to the nearby NCP car park, before walking back past the huge Ferris wheel and skating rink which are erected each Christmas season. The original oldest part of the Guildhall was built in 1390, and the wonderful timbers and crooked walls lend a perfect backdrop for the show. A fire had been lit in the grate and chairs were laid out for two sell-out performances, and I spent some time simply sitting in the empty room thinking about the shows to come.
By 12 the first of the audience were gathering, so I went upstairs to the Jury Room which doubles as my dressing room. There is a sort of wooden window in one of the walls which can be opened so that in days past jury members could look down into the main chamber below, meaning that I could hear the audience gather beneath me as I prepared my costumes.
They crowd sounded a festive bunch! I got into costume, and made sure that everything was in order before going to the back of the hall as the Cathedral bell struck 1. The show was to have a slightly complicated start to it, in that Ben would introduce me (heavily plugging my book as he did) and I would be responsible for playing the opening sound effect on a small CD player at the back of the room before commencing my walk to the stage through the middle of the audience. Meanwhile, Ben would be running around the outside of the hall to get back in to stop the CD before it launched into the second track – Mr Fezziwig’s fiddle player giving his ‘Sir Roger de Coverley’, which wouldn’t really be appropriate for the sombre, atmospheric scenes of the opening passages. I was relieved that even as I reached the stage I could see Ben opening the door at the back of the hall.
The audiences in Leicester are always great to perform for, not as lively and boisterous as their Liverpudlian counterparts, but they are so wrapped up in the performance, in the words, in the drama and in the various messages that the story delivers. At first the group was silent, which worried me slightly in that none of the usual chuckles were there (Bob Cratchit being ‘warmer than Scrooge’, the ‘blind men’s dogs’ seeing him coming down the street, and the question as to what is particularly dead about a door knocker always raise little laughs), until a very smartly dressed little girl in the front row (she must have been 8 or 9 maybe), giggled infectiously at some line or other: the purity of that laugh in the old hall was truly infectious and the flood gates were open. I could have hugged her.
Quite often my shows in Leicester are physically difficult coming, as they do, after the entire tour. I am often fatigued and my voice is often tired (last year was particularly difficult following on from my bout of Covid and the subsequent medical issues which debilitated me more than I was aware at the time), but this year I had enjoyed two days off since Highclere, and was feeling in very fine fettle. The first show played out superbly, and the audience applauded loudly as I returned to the small stage to take my bows. When I returned to the Mayor’s Parlour to sign my books there was a long line waiting for me. The comments were so nice, some saying they were regulars of many years, whilst others told me that this were their first experience of my show and would certainly be coming back!
When I had finished, I changed and then walked into the Christmassy streets of Leicester to do a little last-minute shopping. As in Liverpool, and to a certain extent Leeds, it was wonderful to be out among the festive shoppers, with superb decorations lighting the streets and enjoying a real sense of the season.
Shopping done, I went to my hotel to check in, and then relaxed on the bed watching my favourite Christmas Film, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’. I got as far as the scene in which George Bailey is being seduced by the awful Mr Potter, being bribed with unimaginable wealth and an endless supply of huge cigars, before I had to leave for the Guildhall again.
I had made sure that the stage was set ready for the opening of the show, but I checked again (as Santa Clause will attest to, it is always good to check things twice), and then went to get ready for the evening’s show, the 52nd time that I would perform A Christmas Carol this year. There was a slight concern about Ben’s ability to introduce me, as some food had stuck in his throat, almost choking him and for a while he was struggling badly. If he was incapacitated, I decided that I would open the show as I had done at Byers’ Choice, explaining to the audience that this was an important day (final show on my 30th anniversary tour), and would begin by reading the opening passages from my green book. In the Jury Room I went through the opening a few times, working out the best moment to move from reading to unscripted performance, but in the end Ben had recovered and we were able to go back to the original system.
The evening show was amazing. It was one of the strongest and most theatrically dramatic shows I have performed, it just felt good! The audience once again were wrapped up in the event, but had good reason to cheer loudly when, on the final performance of my thirtieth anniversary tour, the top hat landed perfectly on my head! Thank you Charles, or Jacob or Clarence, or whoever was watching over me at that precise moment.
The ovation at the end was superb, and I soaked up the applause taking bows to both sides of the hall as the Christmas revellers stood, stamped and shouted – what a way to end.
Once again there was a good queue for my books, with a lot of GCSE students who have been studying A Christmas Carol for their exams also wanting their school books signed. Many regular attendees told me that they believed this to be the strongest performance that they had seen me deliver, and it certainly had felt that way to me.
Soon it was time to pack up and I left the Guildhall for the last time.
In the hotel I ordered a pizza from the 24hr room service menu and I watched another Christmas movie, Die Hard (I know, controversial territory there, but I suppose the fact it was being shown on 23rd December, on the same channel that had shown ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ earlier, qualifies it). The adrenaline was still circulating and it took me a long time to finally get to sleep, but sure enough the 2023 tour had come to a close.
As always at this time, I would like to thank all of the event organisers who have given me such a fun time over the last few months, but most of all the audience members who come out to join me in the retelling of Charles Dickens’ ghostly little book. It is my honour and my pleasure to share it with you.
After three successful days in Liverpool, Monday would see me perform in the Yorkshire city of Leeds. The drive was only about an hour and a half, or to put it another way, the same length as my show, so I had plenty of time in hand. I had my standard Ibis breakfast of muesli, granola and yoghurt, followed by a croissant, then returned to my room to finish writing my blog posts, as well as catching up on a few admin details.
I delayed my check out until 11, and as I drove away from Liverpool made a stop at a certain store in order to buy a Christmas present for one of our daughters, and that duty completed (which involved me sending a good many messages and photos to Liz, as we made a decision as to what to purchase).
I then set off slightly to the North East towards Yorkshire. At one point the motorway rises up across a bleak and wild moor, and as I ascended towards the peak I drove into the thick cloud, which reduced the visibility dramatically.
Soon I saw the Leeds city skyline before me, and passing the Elland Road stadium, home to Leeds United Football Team, on my right, made my way into the city centre where I parked. It was only 1pm but I went to my hotel anyway to see if I could check in. Fortunately there was a room ready on the 7th floor. I had left my bags in the car (parked in a parking garage about 5 minutes walk away), and I would collect them after I had eaten some lunch. The City centre of Leeds is very compact and the first thing I did was walk to he Leeds Library, which was to be my venue that evening, just to refamiliarize myself with the location. In the past the unassuming frontage of the Library had been sandwiched between a branch of Cinnabon and a Paperchase store, selling beautiful notebooks, cards and pens. However, over the year the latter store had been taken over by the Ann Summers chain and the window that had once displayed stationery was now filled with mannequins, well ‘ladyquins’, dressed in skimpy Santa costumes.
I made my way into the busy, bustling shopping centre, and found somewhere to have lunch (a very nice Thai Duck Stir Fry), before returning to my hotel and relaxing for the afternoon. In England we have one channel, channel 5, that shows a succession of Christmas movies throughout the festive season. These films are not things like ‘Its a Wonderful Life’, ‘White Christmas’, ‘Elf’ or ‘Home Alone’, these are those over-lit, over-focussed, over-coloured (actually, they are all American, so it should be over-colored), Hallmark type films. There have been hundreds made, and they all share the same plot. When I am away and Liz has an afternoon at home, she takes solace in their mundanity, and recently I have done the same. On Monday in fact we were both watching the same one!
The afternoon drifted on and the beautiful young couple who seemed so unlikely to get together at the start of the film, eventually did (at a lavishly decorated Christmas party, naturally) , and I started to get ready for my evening show at the Library.
Tis would be my third visit to Leeds Library, and my second with A Christmas Carol. As I mentioned previously, the establishment’s frontage is unremarkable, just another door on a commercial street (actually, the address is on Commercial Street), but once you are inside and have walked up the curving staircase it is as if you have left the modern world behind you. It is a beautiful building, especially the ‘new’ extension to the rear, that was added in 1881, which doubles as my theatre. When I arrived I found Librarian Nimi setting out chairs in readiness for a full house, and we were soon joined by Ian Harker who is my main contact in Leeds. I joined them to help erect the stage and then ran through the sound effects with Ian, who was rather nervous at the prospect of looking after them! Fortunately the Ian had agreed to provide the furniture that I needed, so I hadn’t needed to carry all of my props through the city.
My dressing room was in the old office, which had once been the committee room, and still houses the secret ballot box in which white or black balls were inserted to support or decline a prospective member’s candidacy. The books in the room had titles such as ‘Protozoa Coelenterates Echinoderms Etc’ and some date back to the 1300s. I wouldn’t be passing the time with a little light reading!
At around 6.30 the audience started to arrive and soon the room was full, and Ian came back to tell me that we were ready to begin. I made my way through the floor to ceiling bookcases in another room and emerged at the back of the audience. Ian made a short introduction, then sat at his laptop computer to one side of the stage and played the opening sound effect. I walked slowly through the room and onto the stage, and began.
I have to say, I found it a difficult performance. Last time I performed The Carol in Leeds it had been right at the beginning of the ’22 tour, but this time I suffered from just having performed on a succession of large stages, and I found myself very constrained by the limited space available. The audience were very attentive, but they were not am energetic group, and I struggled a little to adapt to the surroundings effectively. The applause at the interval reassured me that things were going well, which was a relief, and of course the second act bursts into life with the arrival of The Ghost of Christmas Present (with his Yorkshire accent!). The intensity of my performance increased as we moved together into the future, and the whole story came to its wonderful conclusion.
Unfortunately, I had no merchandise to sell, but I stood at the library door, like a vicar after the Christmas Church service, and said goodbye to the audience as they left, gratefully taking their thanks and congratulations. I posed for some photographs and answered some questions (in hindsight, it would have been the perfect venue to do a Q&A session on the stage), before returning to the Committee room to change and to pack up.
Having started at 7, and with no formal signing session, it was only 9.15 when I left the Library, having offered my sincere thanks to Ian and Nimi. I returned my costume and bag to my car, and then tracked down a branch of TGI Fridays, which according to my phone was still open. I was the only customer, and I asm sure the staff wanted to go home, so I didn’t detain them long, just a late-night plate of Chicken tenders and fries, before walking back to the Park Plaza Hotel, taking the lift to the 7th floor, and into my bed.
The tour is entering its final days now, and on Tuesday and Wednesday I shall be in more sumptuous surroundings, for it is time to go to Highclere Castle, the home of Downton Abbey.
On Friday afternoon I set off to the North West of England for my annual visit to the bustling, exciting, lovely city of Liverpool, to perform in the magnificent Concert Room at St George’s Hall – always a highlight of my year.
The drive was a slow one with lots of traffic, but I had left plenty of time and was regaled along the way by the audiobook of Bill Bryson’s ‘Notes From a Big Country’. I arrived a little before 4 and drove straight to the cobble street that leads to the Walker Art Gallery on the left, and St George’s Hall on the right. In recent years the city has staged a huge Christmas market and fun fair, initially just in front of the hall, but now almost completely surrounding it. Of course this means that traffic is restricted to the site, making the unloading of my props difficult, but in the past I have gone to the security checkpoint, they have called the St George’s Hall staff who have bought a metal cage to load my things onto. I was then allowed through the barrier to drive a little way up, where I would meet the cage team. When the car was unloaded I would leave the area and park at my hotel. Having been in touch with Lynne Hamilton, the event promotor, I assumed that this would be the routine once again, but that assumption did not take into account the intransigence of the lady in the security box. Not only was there a security barrier blocking the way, but there was a row of traffic cones across the road too. I had to stop on the very busy roundabout that filters various streams of traffic towards the City Centre, the Cavern Quarter and to the Birkenhead Tunnel and move one cone so that I could get to the ‘checkpoint’. I stopped, moved the cone back into place again, walked up to the hut and explained why I was there. ’You are not on the list’ I was told. ’Yes, but I am performing at the hall tonight,and need to get my things in, then I shall leave.’ ’You are not on the list.’. ’Oh, I see, But we do this every year, and it always OK.’ ’You are not on the list. Everything has changed. NO cars are allowed on site.’ I looked at the various parked cars lined up on the cobbles and raised what I hoped was an inquisitive eyebrow, but it elicited no response. I asked if she could call the St George’s Hall staff and I could unload there. I was told that she couldn’t, as I was not on the list. It was obvious that this negotiation was leading nowhere, so I moved the cones from the entrance, turned my car around and drove off towards my hotel. Oh, I didn’t think that I could stop on the roundabout again, so left the cones for my nemesis to replace in my wake.
I drove towards the hotel, but accidentally found myself in the wrong lane and took an unexpected journey beneath the Mersey and back, before I pulled into an NCP car park and checked in at The Ibis Styles Hotel, situated in the Cavern Quarter of the city, named after the famous club where the Beatles first played. The hotel was stylishly appointed, with various art pieces scattered through the lobby including a wall-mounted sculpture made out of old record players, and table fashioned into the shape of a cassette.
There was no reception desk as such, and a young man who was working at a laptop (I assumed just availing himself of the WiFi), approached me and asked if I needed help. I was soon checked in and on my way to the 6th floor, which was named in honour of The Beatles’ famous Abbey Road album, (other floors had different Beatles connections, including Strawberry Fields, Long and Winding Road and Yesterday). My room was painted and carpeted in broad black and white stripes in honour of zebra crossing featured on the iconic album cover.
I sent a message to Lynne explaining the situation, and that I could not get in, and she replied to say that she was having the same issue and could not get any of her equipment to the hall either. She said to just relax and she would sort something out. About ten minutes later Lynne called me back, saying that the staff at St George’s Hall had managed to sort something out, and that I should drive around the road until I saw Lynne on the pavement waving at me, then turn into a tiny access road which led to a ‘secret’ tunnel beneath the hall, and which wasn’t under control of the draconian City Stasi.
I followed the directions, and was soon edging into the magnificent vaulted tunnel which, if it hasn’t been already, needs to be used in a Bond or a Mission Impossible movie. The great advantage of this arrangement is that I could leave my car there throughout the duration of the stay – it must have been the safest, most secure parking spot in Liverpool.
We unloaded my props into the cage and rolled it into a service lift and eventually navigated ourselves through a warren of unfamiliar corridors to the lobby, and then up to the level of my dressing room. Now I was in, I could return to some sort of routine, and I set the stage in the magnificent gilded surroundings of the Concert Room, where Charles Dickens himself performed in the 1860s, dubbing it ‘The most perfect room in the world’. As I moved in, so I was greeted by Taz, the technical guy that Lynne employs for the event, who has looked after me for the last three or four years and who I trust implicitly, for he is utterly professional. I had sent him the latest version of the script, complete with the new eerie wind effect, and he confirmed that he understood exactly what I was aiming for with it. We did a sound check, and then I went to the dressing room to relax.
Outside, the sound of the fair, with over-amplified Christmas music, raged on, as it would until around 10pm each day. A never-ending loop of music played, and it seemed that every time I came back into the dressing room the playlist reverted straight to Huey Lewis and the News singing ‘The Power of Love’. I looked down from my window on various tents and stalls selling ‘Dutch Pancakes’, ‘Mac n Cheese’, and ‘Hot Chimney Cakes’ (whatever they may be).
Down in the lobby Lynne had various boxes of my merchandise to sell – the old brochures that my brother and I had designed and produced a few years ago, my DVD version of my performance and a limited amount of my new book, Gerald Dickens: My Life on the Road With A Christmas Carol. To use my contactless card reader Lynne would need my phone, so I showed her how the whole system worked, told her how to unlock the phone, and was left with no electronic distraction or entertainment in my dressing room. Worst of all was that I couldn’t be in regular touch with Liz through the shows.
The audience arrived, as did the magnificent choir who open the show here, and soon the evening was underway. As always, I made my way up to the balcony level and quietly stood listening to the beautiful choral harmonies as they whirled and swirled around the circular hall. I also took the opportunity to look at the audience, to gauge the mood of the room. One thing I noticed is that it was incredibly warm in the hall, I could imagine a few nodding off during the show!
As the choir started their third carol I made my way down to the wings, put on my scarf and hat, gathered my cane and waited. As the 40 singers filed down the little flight of stairs and towards their dressing room I thanked and congratulated them, whilst on stage the great Steinway piano was rolled upstage, my furniture was replaced on the marks that Taz had laid down earlier, and I was ready to go.
The St George’s Hall audience is always a pleasure to play to, and Friday night was no exception. Suddenly all of the frustrations of over-zealous security guards and city council regulations were gone, as the ghostly little book, A Christmas Carol weaved its magic anew. I reached the interval and left the stage to loud applause, and in my dressing room found that ‘The Power of Love’ was playing once more.
The second half went as well as the first, my only issue being that somehow my lovely big scarf got hooked onto the microphone meaning that I couldn’t throw it onto the hatstand as Bob Cratchit rushes in to the office on Boxing Day, but if that were the extent of my woes, then I would accept it happily.
The ovation was a wonderfully, raucous, Liverpudlian one with shouts and loud stamping of feet on the old wooden floors (I wondered if they did the same for Charles, and if he heard the same as I heard as he took his bows).
I changed into a dry shirt and went to the lobby where there was a huge cue, no, not a cue, a crush, of people wanting books and brochures signed. Such was the surge that my signing table collapsed under the weight. When it was repaired, the line became more ordered and I could pose and chat with fans in safety.
It had been a long day, but thanks to the adrenaline sleep took a long time to come. I sat on my bed beneath the zebra crossing and watched a programme about television shows in the 1980s (the same decade that spawned The Power of Love), and eventually fell asleep around 12.30.
SATURDAY
I had two shows scheduled for Saturday, the first of which was at 2 pm, so I had a morning to myself. I slept in late, for me, and went to breakfast at 8.30. It was a buffet, but a good one. There was not much in the way of hot food (scrambled eggs and beans), but the continental offering was suburb. I piled a bowl with muesli and granola and grabbed a little pot of yoghurt topped with red fruits. There was also an impressive tray of remarkably plump looking blueberries, curiously situated next to a plate of guacamole. I took a large spoonful and was just about to tip them onto my cereal when I realised that they were not blueberries at all, but black olives!
During the morning I walked into the bustling L1 shopping centre, and as always got completely wrapped up in the Christmas spirit. There is something about Liverpool at Christmas that makes it a very festive place to be, and while I did a little bit of Christmas shopping I mostly enjoyed just being in the midst of the crowds.
I had a very light lunch, and then went to the hotel grabbed what I would need for the shows. and walked up to St George’s Hall, battling through the massive crowds enjoying the fun fair. I needed to get the remaining box of books from my car, and was taken through various passageways and down various staircases all lined with iron bars, making it feel as if I were being taken down having been found guilty of some heinous crime (the city’s court room used to be in St George’s). I grabbed the books and returned to my dressing room Taz appeared, checked my microphones (he always gives me two, the main one and a backup in case of emergency), and then went to the sound desk to prepare for the show. Lynne took my phone from me, and I felt like a teenager at school being forced to hand my mobile to the teacher. The choir on Saturday afternoon was much smaller, only numbering twelve, but as they warmed up in the dressing room next to mine I was treated to a beautiful private show.
When the audience were in, the choir went to the stage and I once again went up to the gallery. It was as I was looking down on the audience that sudden realization came to me: all of these people could have done anything on that Saturday afternoon – shopped, stayed at home, gone to a movie, visited friends, anything, and yet they had all chosen to spend their time and money in coming out to see me. A huge wave of emotion came over me, and I was almost in tears as I sat listening to the carols.
Again the show went really well (again my scarf got caught) and again the applause was cacophonous with the Liverpudlian foot stamping shaking the dust from the venerable old building.
After the crush of the night before, we had arranged the signing table more carefully, and the session was much more ordered. By the time the audience had left we only had 6 of my books left for the evening show.
I changed and walked back to the hotel, buying a Bratwurst from one of the stalls at the fair, and rested for an an hour or so, before returning for the 7.30 performance. Lynne took my phone, Tazz checked my mics and we all fell into our well-grooved routine. There was no choir for the evening show, so at precisely 7.30 I was on stage. The audience was maybe the most responsive (during the show) of the three, and I had great fun. The performance was topped off, quite, literally, by my hat landing squarely on my head as Scrooge got dressed ‘all in his best’, which received a loud round of applause, which was followed only a few minutes later by an even louder one.
Even though Lynne had now sold all of my books, there was still a long cue wanting autographs and photos, and I was happy to chat and pose with them.
And that was the end of my time at St George’s Hall for another year, As I changed, my furniture and props were loaded onto the cage and taken down to the Bond tunnel, and I loaded the car, before reversing out onto the streets of Liverpool, assisted by the ever-helpful members of the St George’s Hall staff. I parked in the NCP next to the hotel and returned to my Abbey Road room where a very busy and energetic day took its toll.
SUNDAY
Although my performances at St George’s Hall in Liverpool had ended, I had one more show to give in the region, and that was not to be until 4pm on Sunday afternoon, giving me plenty of time to mooch. A strange change of colour had come over the city during the night, although a few signs of it had been present the day before, but when I went to breakfast the entire hotel lobby was populated by individuals wearing red. Red shirts, red hats, red scarfs all bearing the stylised emblem of a Liver Bird standing atop three letters: LFC. Sunday 17 December would see Liverpool Football Club play host to their arch rivals Manchester United, who have been struggling of late. Maybe it was the opportunity to rub Manchester’s nose in the dirt, or the fact that a new tier of grandstand was being used for the first time, but the day’s match was to see the largest crowd at Anfield since the 1960s. This is presumably why Lynne had been unable to book me into a room at my usual hotel, the LFC-themed Shankly Hotel, named in honour of one of the club’s greatest managers.
After breakfast I went into town and there the red tide continued, whole families proudly showing off their allegiance. Of course Liverpool is a city divided when it comes to football, you are either a red (Liverpool) or a blue (Everton), but on this occasion the latter group subsided into the background and let the reds take the lead. The match was due to kick off at 4.30, and as my show was due to start at 4 I wasn’t expecting many football fans to attend.)
Having shopped the day before, my Sunday morning was given over to tourism. I walked towards the mighty River Mersey, passing the famous Liver Building on the way, and then took a photographs of the statue, or statues, commemorating The Beatles, before spending some time in the magnificent Museum of Liverpool.
From there I walked around the Albert Dock, and then to the Maritime Museum, which shares a building with the Slavery Museum. I was struck by the significance of one of the doors which had a huge chain and padlock holding it locked, just under a sign advertising the second of those attractions. I took a picture, carefully framed to show the chain and the sign reading SLAVERY MUSEUM above. This immediately got me into trouble, as one of the staff came out and quizzed me as to why I was taking a picture of their lock and security arrangements.
The reason that I wanted to visit the Maritime Museum in particular, was to see if there was any mention of the wreck of The Royal Charter, the ship that had sunk of the Island of Anglesey, that I had helped commemorate in October, but sadly there was nothing on display. There were fascinating exhibits about the Lusitania and Titanic, however, and I wiled a happy hour or so there, as did various members of the red brigade, passing the time until it was time to head to the stadium.
It was late morning as I left and walked back towards the hotel. I had a bite of lunch and before getting ready to drive to The Wirral. Everything that I needed was still in the car, so it was a question of grabbing my coat, remembering my hotel room key, and setting the sat nav. The show was to be in the town of West Kirby, at the Westbourne Community Centre. I had performed Mr Dickens is Coming in the same hall a few years ago, but never A Christmas Carol before.
The drive was only twenty minutes, through the Wallasey Tunnel, and across to the western side of the peninsular. The Westbourne Hall is a typical village hall, built in 1915, but that statement is by no means meant to be derogatory, for it is a very fine example of the genre. You enter into a modern foyer, with meeting rooms to the left (built onto the old hall), and in front of you is main space: The hall has a high ceiling with great beams supporting it, and at the far end is a proper high stage framed by a proscenium arch. Bars of stage lighting suggested an active and vibrant theatrical community in the town. Indeed, as I unloaded my car, a couple introduced themselves to me, and explained that they had come to give any technical advice that we might need. Lynne had booked Taz to join us again, and as I chatted in the car park he drove up, so I introduced the local crew to him, and continued my get in.
The stage, when I reached it, was raked (meaning it is higher at the back – hence ‘up stage’ than the front). This bought back a great memory of a musical I once performed in when I was in my teen years. The show was set in a piano shop, and the choreographer had the great idea of a big dance routine featuring members of the cast being wheeled around on piano stools. This was fine in a rehearsal room, but when we got onto the stage, which was heavily raked, all the stools ran down into the orchestra pit, leaving dancers sprawled where they had leapt for safety, and musicians scrambling out of the way so as not to be crushed. Ah, happy days!
Taz played about with the lights, which although plentiful were not perfectly focussed for our show, until he had an idea of what was achievable. He would be hampered by not being able to see the stage, being sat at a table in the wings, but he is now very familiar with the show, so could visualise what I was doing on stage.
Lynne arrived and began making preparations for the raffle, as well as for the final few items of my merchandise, and then the choir arrived, en mass. This was the same 40-strong choir who had sung at St George’s Hall on Friday night, and as they all came from West Kirby (actually they are members of the local rugby club and call themselves the ‘Off Pitch Singers’), this was a home gig for them.
They gathered in front of the stage, in rather dim light which made it difficult for them to read their music, and as soon as the doors were opened at 3.30 began to entertain the gathering audience. My dressing room was behind the stage, but I stood in the wings listening to the carols and the swelling crowd.
We had a full house – 150 +, and as the start time approached there was a rush to find extra chairs as the numbers continued to swell. At 4, the choir changed from their jolly welcoming carols (normally performed in the lobby at St G’s Hall), to their more formal repertoire (normally performed from the stage). On this occasion, of course, there was no change of location, but the audience seemed to get that the last three pieces were to be listened too, appreciated and not talked over. I was going to make my entrance from the back of the hall, so could fully enjoy the mini concert. When the choir finished, Lynne made various announcements, covering the time it took for 40 singers to leave, and a keyboard to be packed up, before welcoming me.
I loved performing on that hall stage, it reminded me of plays at school and in my early days of acting. Taz did a great job with the lighting, occasionally taking an opportunity to peer around the curtains to check if I was well lit, or not. Having only seen the show from the far end of St George’s Hall I think that he was surprised by the energetic physicality of the performance, and in the interval complained that I kept making his table shake!
The audience really enjoyed themselves, and, as with any ‘new’ group warmed into the style of the show as it progressed. My final ovation in the North West was every bit as enthusiastic and noisy as the others had been.
I changed quickly, and went to sign a few items, although with stocks running low, there wasn’t much to sign. And as the audience left so various people associated with the hall, mainly officers of the trust that administer it’s running and preservation, were helping to stack chairs and clear up. It was a lovely event, different to the grandeur of St George’s Hall of course, but very special, and I certainly hope that I can return in future years.
It was dark as I drove back to the city, and extravagant Christmas lights adorned many of the houses on the way. Once through the tunnel, the streets were lined with football supporters, shoulders slightly slumped, for the match had been a rather dull 0-0 draw, not the huge victory that the Liverpool fans had been hoping for.
I celebrated the end of my Liverpool foray with dinner out. Most of my shows see me leave the theatre at around 10.30, so I don’t often get the opportunity to dine of an evening. But on Sunday night I reserved a table at 8.15 in the Restaurant Bar & Grill, which turned out to be a rather grand and smart venue. I dined on a perfectly cooked Ribeye steak and toasted a very successful three days in the Liverpool region.
December 10, 2023. I woke in my room at the Hampton Inn, North Wales, with two reasons to celebrate. Firstly, it was my sister Nicky’s birthday and I sent her a message to wish her a brilliant day. Secondly, the day had come for me to celebrate 30 years of performing A Christmas Carol. It was back in 1993, the 150th anniversary of the original publication of the book, that I was asked to recreate one of Charles Dickens’ public readings. As I nervously stood on that night, book in hand, looking at the gathered audience and said ‘Marley was dead, to begin with’ I had no idea where it would lead me. I am not going into the entire history of my touring life here (there is a rather good book that covers that subject, available from Amazon), but it is quite an extraordinary thing to look back on – half my life, no less.
I went down to breakfast at about 8am, and it was the standard Hilton Garden Inn buffet. I made my choices and was just sitting down when a lady and gentleman sat at the next table rather shyly approached me, ‘Are you Mr Dickens?’ the husband asked, and on my answering that I was, they told me that they had been at the show the previous evening and had really, really enjoyed it! Well, that was a nice start to my day, and it was followed up by two more ladies (maybe buoyed by seeing the first couple talk to me, or just because they recognised me too), telling me that had been at the afternoon show, and how amazed they had been too! Selfies were taken, questions asked, answers given, and I went back to my waffle and bacon. I was rather enjoying breakfast on the 10th,
I checked out at 11 o’clock and drove the short distance to Byers’ Choice. I only had one show scheduled, and when I had finished I would be driving directly to Newark airport for my homeward flight, so I needed to take my suitcase to the dressing room in order to pack for the journey home later. I met up with David and Bob, and we chatted about the import of the day, and I how I planned to run the show that afternoon. Jeff Byers joined us, as did his son Jake with his girlfriend Andrea. Jake and Jeff were keen to get some images and video clips to promote next year’s events, so I quickly got into costume and went to the theatre. Before Jake could get his footage, I was photographed in a number of poses by another member of staff, Olivia who had watched the show on Saturday and had written short aides memoir for the shoot. From the darkness she called out random phrases, such as, ‘Mrs Fezziwig after dance’, ‘Tiny Tim holding cup’, ‘Ghost of Past hands up’ Once we had worked out exactly what the precise memories were, I ran the scene a few times while she ran around the room taking shots from different angles. We ended up by taking some dramatic shots using David’s new ‘grave’ light, and then wrapped. By this time the audience were clamouring to be let in, so Jake’s video soundbites would have to wait until later.
I returned to the dressing room, and for the next 45 minutes pondered on my years of performing, reading many messages of congratulations that were coming in on my phone. Somebody had also posted a quote from A Christmas Carol forum (nothing to do with my show), that I had put into my script last year, but had forgotten about this year – the line being ‘there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour’, so I spent some time repeating it, so that I could include it once more.
With ten minutes to go I walked to the back stage area to listen to the choir and the audience, as well as having plenty of time to pace around – I was getting myself into a bit of a nervous state, and had to remind myself that actually, when it came down to it, this was just another performance that needed concentrating on. My thoughts were briefly diverted by one of the saddest things I have ever seen at Byers’ choice: on one work bench was a figure of Tiny Tim, with a Post-It not attached, which read ‘Tina, could you fix this for me – Thanks, Melissa. Poor Tim had lost his left foot, as if he didn’t have enough troubles already!
It was now time to start, Bob and I greeted and thanked the carol singers and I made my way to the back of the hall to check the microphone with David. Bob went to the stage and announced that this was a particularly special day for me, and briefly explained the background to the celebrations, and then he welcomed me. Normally at this point the lights would go to a cold blue, the opening music track would start, and I would walk slowly up onto the stage, but on Sunday I simple walked on as myself. For this one performance I had decided to start the show by reading from exactly the same book that I had used at the very first reading. The room was hushed as I began, ‘A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. Stave 1: Marley’s Ghost. Marley was dead to begin with….’
I had arranged with David that I would read until I got to ‘The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the point from which I began: Marley was dead! This much must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come from the story I am about to relate.’ I would turn upstage (as I always do), David would bring the ‘Scrooge and Marley gobo up, I would put the book down and resume the show as normal. Of course I didn’t need the book, but it was my nod to the start of it all.
The rest of the show went very well, I was soon into the swing of it, and Mr Fezziwig got a round of applause, which is always a good indication as to how things are going. Unfortunately the Top Hat didn’t land on my head – I thought the spirits above may be looking after me on that afternoon, but sadly not!
At the end of the show I picked up the book again for the final few lines, and took my bows to a very very long ovation. Bob came onto the stage we did a few questions, before he announced a special surprise. After thanking me for all of the joy and entertainment that I have brought to audiences over the years, which produced a tear or two in my eyes and a lump in my throat, a huge cake on a trolley was wheeled in, and the audience were invited to come and mingle and chat.
It wasn’t officially a signing session, but many people had books with them, and of course I was happy to chat and scribble. One gentleman even had a copy of the reading edition of the Carol that I had used, his had previously been signed by my father’s cousin Cedric.
It was a lovely time, but soon the reality of being a performer returned. The past was gone and it was time to look to the future, as I still needed to record the video soundbites for Jake. He set a camera up on stage, and I sat in the large armchair and answered his questions for twenty minutes or so. He will take little snippets of my remarks and they can be used in email marketing next year.
And then my day was over. I returned to the conference room where I packed up all of my belongings in the large suitcase and the roller bag, and when I was ready I went to find Bob and Dave, to say goodbye and thank you.
It had been a special day and I was glad that I was flying home straight away, rather than driving off to another venue, which would have seemed rather anti-climactic, I think. It was raining heavily as I drove away from Byers’ Choice and made my slow way to Newark airport, and there I said my final goodbye to my trusty Mitsubishi Outlander that had been my constant companion since I landed at Boston on Thanksgiving weekend. It had a few quirks, the GPS was tricky, the interior lights didn’t work, but those issues just made it more of a friend rather than a rental car (being the same colour as my car at home helped, too)
And so I sat in the departure lounge waiting for my flight home.
The only last thing to do is to say thank you to Bob Byers for being such a good friend and for putting another successful tour together for me, to Maura for managing the day to day logistics and keeping me up to date with interviews and changes of plan. Thank you to all of the event organisers, and finally, to all of the audience members for your amazing enthusiasm and support.
I woke in The Rodney Hotel at the surprisingly late hour, for me, of 6.30. Beautiful though the hotel was, it didn’t a breakfast service, or a coffee machine in the room, so I needed to make other arrangements on Saturday morning.
With an 11.30 sound check at Byers’ Choice, I needed to be on the road fairly early, and a little research led to the discovery of The Lewes Diner which opened at 7, and was on my route out of town. I dressed wearing my Union Jack socks, which I thought was appropriate for a Brit leaving Lewes, and took my bags to the tiny lift (one of those older ones in which you have to open a gate to get to the door), checked out and went to the car. It was a bright crisp Saturday morning, and the streets were almost deserted as I drove away. On one street corner a lady stood, looking as if she were waiting for a ride to take her to work, but apart from that I saw nobody else.
The Lewes Diner was a mile or so out of town and the parking lot was empty as I pulled up. I walked in and as the only guest had the choice of any table I wanted, I chose a booth by the windows and ordered an orange juice and coffee to get me going. When the server returned with the drinks, I asked for 2 eggs, sunny side up, bacon and shredded potatoes, with wheat toast. As I sat, a few more people arrived, and the new day crawled into life.
Breakfast finished I paid the check and went back to my car, and saw that a Mini, decorated with Union Jack decals was parked close by. I said good morning to the driver and admired the car’s decorations, and then showed him my socks, as a sort of secret sign of solidarity!
At that hour the road to Dover and beyond remained quiet, and time was taken up with the continuing adventures of Bond, James Bond. As I got closer to Wilmington I noticed a huge bank of fog ahead of me, and soon the day went from clear and bright to impenetrable and murky, at one point I only realised that I was crossing a bridge when I was half way over and saw the huge cables stretching up into the clouds to the tower above.
Despite the foggy conditions I made good time and arrived in North Wales (it is always very strange to type that, Last time I was in North Wales I was on the island of Anglesey, a few thousand miles away ) with an hour to spare, so I found a McDonalds, ordered a coffee and spent time writing my blog post for the day before.
I didn’t quite finish recalling my day in Lewes, but it was time to pack up the laptop and drive on to the incredible headquarters of the Byers’ Choice company who have promoted and booked my tours for so many years. I drove up the driveway, past the bronze statues of children playing (wearing Santa hats at this time of year), and into the staff parking space near to the office building. I collected my costumes and roller bag and went to the door where I was met by Jeff Byers and David Daikeler, who looks after the technical side of my shows. They were hanging signs, directing audience members to the location of the performance, and I wondered why it was necessary this year as we have never had problems before. I took my things to the large conference room that becomes my dressing room, and then went with David to the ‘auditorium’ to check out the various sound and lighting effects. We walked along through the passages, past the various offices, and into the huge space in which I usually perform.
The area is actually where the Byers’ Choice carollers are made, from the simple coat hanger wire skeletons, right up to the fully dressed and painted finished products. When I come in to perform, the whole space is cleared of work benches, a stage is placed against the back wall, and Dave hangs batteries of theatrical lights from the ceiling. So it was with certain amount of surprise that I discovered that the room was still full of tables and boxes: ready for work to resume on Monday morning, and then I remembered that when I had visited in September, Bob Byers had suggested that they were thinking of moving the theatre into the packing department, on the other side of the wall.
As David and I made our way to the new theatre Bob joined us, and we hugged hello. In the ‘new’ room, the stage and chairs were laid out. The space was basically a mirror image of the workshop, but it felt a lot more intimate, even though we had as many chairs laid out as usual. To get into the room, audience members would be guided through the gift shop, and a carefully planned route had been created for them to return to the car parks after the show, hence the need for new signs to be hung. David and I got straight down to work, as he showed me some new ideas that he had come up with during the year. David loves to play with various lighting designs, and this year he had purchased a gobo projecting ‘Scrooge and Marley’ onto the back wall, as well as installing a very bright and terrifying light to shine up from Scrooge’s grave at the climax of his visit with the Ghost of the Future. We did a sound mic check, and although the room had a bit of an echo, it all sounded OK.
I went back to the conference room, and laid out my costumes, and then said hello to others as they made their preparations for welcoming the audience: to Pam, to Joyce, to George and Maura, to Jake.
I was getting changed when a message pinged onto my phone from Missy Grant Swartz, who was at that moment sat in the audience. Missy used to run my shows at The Country Cupboard store and restaurant in Lewisburg PA, before it was sold and closed down. I had such fun there, and it was so nice to think that Missy had come to see the show here. Another message from Missy, this with a photo attached, and I saw that she had travelled with KJ Reimensnyder-Wagner, the singer/songwriter who would entertain the Country Cupboard audiences prior to my show. Every year the three of us would pose for a photo on stage, and tagged it with the line from Macbeth’s witches, ‘when shall we three meet again.’ It was very nice to know that they would be in the crowd.
The next obstacle that I had to overcome, was how to get into the hall, relatively unnoticed. In the old room I could make my way around the back, through various warehouse spaces, and slip in to where David was operating the sound, meaning we could be absolutely sure that the microphone was on and ready. But by taking that old route I would come in through a door next to the stage, meaning that the entire audience would see me. The only way to get to David, was to enter via the gift shop, along with the gathering crowd, so that wouldn’t work either, I would be asked for photos and autographs etc, which would soon escalate, and the show would be delayed. For the time being I stood behind the door next to the stage and listened as a group of carollers from a local high school entertained the audience.
As show time approached, the choir came off stage and through the door where I was standing, and Bob arrived at the same time so that he and I could thank them. Bob asked the singers to follow him to the staff cafeteria, where he had gifts for them all, and this was my chance to go to the gift shop (the audience being in their seats now) and meet Dave at tech HQ. We checked the mic, and I cast an eye across the crowd and became aware of two waving hands – Missy and KJ had spotted me.
After a few more minutes Dave and I saw Bob appear by the stage, and he turned the bright glaring overhead lights off, leaving the stage bathed in red (that action alone earned a round of applause, and I reckoned we were in for a good show!) Bob welcomed everyone explained about the emergency procedures, if needed, and then started the show. The lights faded to an eerie blue, the music began and I walked onto the stage. As I had suspected, the audience were very active and fun. The new lighting effects worked extremely well, especially the grave light at the end. (well, I assume it did, I of course was on stage getting blinded by the thing, but it certainly felt dramatic). The final line of ‘God bless us, every one’ was completed by the audience, and they were standing before I had even left the stage. I returned and took my bows, until Bob came up onto the stage with his microphone to conduct a Q&A session. The audience had been encouraged to write questions at the back of a hall, a large poster suggesting that they Ask Gerald Anything (never has a poster looked more terrifying, than the one with those three words).
Questions ranged from how has the show developed over the years, what were CD’s influences in writing it, do I have anything that belonged to Charles, and what is it like performing at Highclere Castle and what were the differences to performing there and at Pigeon Forge, Tennessee – I knew exactly who had asked that question! The session was fun, and when Bob wrapped proceedings up I took another bow and left the stage.
As I entered the workshop, the door behind me opened and there was Lisa Porter hugging me. Lisa used to work for Byers’ Choice, and in the first years of my working with them she would co-ordinate the tours and be my main point of contact. If I a flight was cancelled or I missed a connection, it was Lisa who would book another one, if I let pieces of costumes, props, personal items in hotel rooms or at venues (as happened very often), it was Lisa who retrieved them. It was Lisa who delt with the venues and ensured that everything was prepared for a successful tour. She left Byers’ Choice a few years ago, but on this 30th anniversary tour it was wonderful to see her. She has had a difficult year, suffering a personal loss, but I was so grateful that she had come to the show, and so glad that she had come to find me afterwards. The tour would not be what it is without Lisa.
Back to my room, where I changed, and then I had a message from Missy and KJ, so I went to see them too, and we exchanged hugs, and talked about what has been going on since the Country Cupboard days. Missy asked if we could recreate our annual photo, so I took them through the backstage workshop areas, back to the stage, where we stood on stage in our traditional poses, me on Bob Cratchit’s stool, between the others.
I now had a little downtime before the evening show. Pam Byers had very kindly bought me a salad with some grilled chicken, and I ate some of it, although I didn’t feel that hungry strangely, despite the energy I had used during the show. When I had finished eating, I went back to my room and just rested until it was time to change again for the 5.pm performance.
Feeling more familiar with the ‘new’ routine now, I went to the workshop door and listened as a different choir sang. The applause was slightly more muted than the afternoon’s had been, and I wondered if this would be a quieter audience, which often happens. Once again Bob arrived as the choir came off the stage – this group was from CB West High School, and contained many of the group who I had chatted to the day before via Zoom. As Bob took them to the cafeteria, I went to the back of the hall and stood with Dave until it was time to begin.
I was right, the evening audience were quieter, less boisterous than the afternoon group, but that is by no means to say they were an inferior audience, just one that appreciated the performance in a different way. Such a response encourages me to perform in a different way too, concentrating more on the words, the text, the storytelling, than on the big brash bold moments of humour and drama. The evening crowd certainly enjoyed the show and their ovation was every bit as rousing as the afternoon’s had been.
However, as I left the stage, and Bob walked up to it, to host the Q&A, the large majority left! Our question and answer session was carried out to a very depleted crowd (we later found out that many audience members had dinner reservations, and knowing that restaurants tend to close early these days had rushed away to ensure that they got to their tables). From the stage, under the bright lights, Bob and I couldn’t really tell if anyone was there at all, but there were responses coming to my answers, so on we went. Of all the questions, the last was the best: ‘Do you have a proper job too?’ To which I very happily and gratefully answered ‘NO!’
After I had changed Bob appeared and asked me if I could meet a special guest of his, who was keen on taking my show to the Toronto area. We chatted for quite a while, and if timings and logistics can be worked out to suit everyone, this could be a very exciting prospect for the future. I performed in Canada many years ago, both in Toronto and Vancouver, and it would be exciting to return.
Saturday’s events were winding up now, and Bob told me that he had booked a table at a nearby restaurant that stayed open a little later than some others. He gave me the address and we agreed to meet there, along with Pam, George and Maura in a few minutes.
I tapped the address into the Mitsubishi’s GPS system and drove off into the night. It was after about 15 minutes that I realised that the car was taking me away from North Wales, and was telling me that my destination was still another 7 miles away. I really shouldn’t have trusted the system, having struggled with it over the past weeks. I stopped in the parking lot of a golf buggy store, set my Samsung phone’s map instead, and sure enough got directed back along the route I had just taken, and eventually I ended up at the Firebirds Wood Fired Grill, where the Byers clan were waiting.
It was a fabulous dinner, with good food and great company, the company of dear friends who just happen to be colleagues too. Bob, Pam and Maura mainly talked about the tour, which venues had been successful, which needed some work and thought. We discussed travel and days off, how to avoid those early morning departures and two shows in a day, and how we see the tour shaping up for 2024: nothing specific yet, of course, that happens in the new year, but just trying to get a sense of how things may develop.
When we had all finished I went back to the car and drove the short distance to my hotel for the night, a Hampton Inn (reassuringly familiar thanks to my stays in Kansas City and other stops along the way), and laid my head on an American pillow for the last time in 2023.
Friday would see me have a single evening performance in Lewes, Delaware which was only 90 minutes to the south of Winterthur, so I had plenty of time to myself before the 5 o’clock sound check.
I spent the morning writing, breakfasting and packing my case, as well as looking for various ideas for Christmas gifts online. I also looked for a replacement top hat, as mine is beginning to look very limp and misshapen. It will make it through to the end of the season, but being continually spun up into the air and bounce onto the floor is starting to take its toll. Maybe I will have a greater success rate with a new one.
I checked out at 11, and set off towards Lewes. The day was bright and sunny, and traffic was light, so it was an easy drive. I drove through Kent County (I was born in the county of Kent in England), and on into Sussex (where I also lived in England), to the outskirts of Lewes (which British counterpart is also situated in Sussex). I turned off the highway, noticing the brilliant name of an extermination company as I did so, ‘No Mo Squitos’, and in not time was in the centre of the beautiful town.
I have visited Lewes on three previous occasions, and have always stayed in the Inn at Canal Square, but for this trip I was being put up in the Hotel Rodney on Market Street. It was around 1.o’clock, and I rather hoped that I may be able to check in early, but unfortunately the room was not ready, so I found a parking spot and strolled around the town. On one of my past visits I remembered having lunch at a brilliant cafe, and after a few minute’s search I returned to Nectar’s Cafe and Juice Bar, where I enjoyed the most delicious fruit and nut salad, which contained greens, strawberries, blueberries and pecans all topped with a balsamic vinaigrette. I ordered some grilled chicken on it as well.
After lunch I continued my stroll, and visited one of the town’s Churches, St Peter’s. and spent time among the graves, reflecting on lives that had been lived in that very town two hundred years ago. Inside the Church was simple and peaceful.
My next stop was ‘The Cannonball House’, a small maritime museum. The house is so called because of a small cannonball which lodged into the foundations during the war of 1812. A British naval fleet, under the command of Captain Sir John Beresford launched a bombardment of cannon fire on Lewes, mainly in a fit of pique because the townsfolk wouldn’t service the fleet with provisions. Beresford had written what he believed to be a very reasonable letter offering to pay good money for food, Philadelphia prices no less, but on receiving a negative reply he rather threw his toys out of the pram and announced that he would destroy Lewes (echoes of the King George III’s song in Hamilton ‘….I shall kill your friends and family….’). The fusillade began and cannon ball rained down upon the wooden houses of Lewes. The locals apparently had no way of defending themselves, except for a few old British cannons that had been captured in previous encounters. Cannon they had, but little ammunition, until they realised that they were being provided with it, from the skies, as if manna from Heaven. The local militia collected up the British cannon balls, loaded them into their British cannons and fired them straight back at the ships! The whole thing petered out with nothing at all being achieved by the British.
In the maritime museum I was greeted by a lady at the front desk. I admitted that I was British, and hoped that I would be allowed in, and she replied that she thought it would be OK, and then she saw my GD A Christmas Carol logo on my jacket: ‘Are you him?’ she asked. I replied that I probably was. ‘Oh great! I am coming to see you perform tonight!’ and she kindly waived my $5 entry fee. The museum was fascinating, dwelling not only on the War of 1812, but also on the history of the lightships that have protected shipping in the waters at the mouth of the Delaware River where it flows into the Atlantic Ocean.
It was 2.40 now, and I needed to return to the hotel, as I had a Zoom call fast approaching (I admit I had rather forgotten it during my touristy trails). I parked in the lot behind the Hotel Rodney, took my bags in and thankfully was able to check in. I took the small lift up to the first floor (oh, this was confusing, for the hotel reverted to British floor numbering, with the first floor rooms being on the second level), and soon I was in a very beautifully decorated and appointed, but rather small room.
I checked my emails and already there was some rather panicky messages from the music teacher at the CB West High School in Chalfont, who had gathered the cast of her forthcoming production of A Christmas Carol to chat with me. I sent a message explaining that I had only just managed to get into my room, and immediately clicked the Zoom link which successfully connected me to a room filled with students.
We had a great conversation about A Christmas Carol, and I answered their questions as well as posing some of my own. I asked the actor playing Scrooge when he thought the realisation of a need to change actually began, and was delighted when he answered right at the beginning (indeed, he mentioned that he believed that Ebenezer’s conscience was actually first pricked with the visit of Fred – long before any ghosts had appeared. A very interesting thought, and one which I may ‘borrow’!) I was asked about my favourite characters to play, and why did I think that young Scrooge and Belle had broken up. All very interesting stuff. We chatted for about 20 minutes, before I wished them great good luck with their show (even though I would be meeting a few of the cast at Byers’ Choice on Saturday, for they would be signing carols to entertain the audience before one of my shows there).
I now had an hour or so to rest, before returning to the car and driving to the Cape Henlopen High school where I was due to perform to an audience of about 700. I had performed in the same auditorium a year before, my first show back after isolating with Covid, and at that time I had been very nervous as to whether I would even be able to get through an entire show. This year I was excited and energised by the prospect of standing on a stage with a full house watching. David White was in the hall and on the stage were a few pieces of furniture, looking rather lost in the huge space. Gary, who works at the school and who would be running my show from the technical booth, was also there and was anxious to go through the script with me. I put my costumes down, said my hellos, placed the furniture as I wanted, and then went up to the lighting and sound box, where together we discussed each cue until we were both satisfied that all would be well. Next I went back to the stage, put on one of my costume waistcoats and jackets to do a sound check (it must have been an odd sight, me on stage in chinos, sneakers, red polo shirt and Victorian outer ware). As I ran through the lines both Gary and David roamed around the auditorium before expressing their respective happiness with the sound levels.
Outside the theatre, in a huge space that seemed to double as a sport’s hall and an eating area, the local bookseller who works with Lewes Public Library, was setting up his stall. He had various copies of A Christmas Carol to sell, as well as copies of Dickens and Staplehurst left over from my last visit in September. But what made me more than happy was to see a pile of ‘Gerald Dickens: My Life on the Road With A Christmas Carol’. This was the first time I had seen and held copies of my latest book, and I was delighted that they were actually available for sale at an event. Almost symbolically, David purchased the first copy.
It was around 6 o’clock but the first of the audience were already arriving for the 7pm start, so I went to my dressing room and changed into my costume. Back stage at Cape Henlopen High School is a warren of school corridors, which completely suits my need to be on the move, to be pacing. All the classes were locked, of course, but each bore a teacher’s name and their subject. I was amazed to discover one room showing 5 teacher’s names, dedicated to ‘Driver’s Education’. The secondary schools in England do not have such facilities.
As the time to begin got closer I took my pacing to the large black void on stage, behind the curtains, and stood listening to the burble of excited conversation as the huge audience gathered. It is one of my favourite moment’s of a show, and I enter a very calm, almost meditative, state as I think about what I am about to do.
I was broken out of my reverie by the voice of David on stage starting his introduction, and then it was time to begin. I take such a huge amount of energy from such a large crowd, and I could feel myself overflowing with adrenaline as I used the entire width of stage. Actually, that surfeit of energy almost caught me out during Mr Fezziwig’s dance, for as I whirled and twirled I collided with the table at the back of the set. Fortunately, I didn’t come to any harm and tried to improvise the rest of the dance as if Mr F had indeed tripped over his own furniture.
The rest of the show passed without adventure, and before I knew it I was in the streets on Christmas morning wishing imaginary passers-by ‘A merry Christmas!’ and promising the charity collector a huge donation, including ‘a great many back payments’. I knocked at Fred’s house and joined him and the family for dinner, and pretended to berate Bob Cratchit for being late to the office the next morning (however, we know that Scrooge is not seriously angry by the fact that he addresses his clerk by name for the first time). And then it was the end: thunderous applause, cries of ‘BRAVO!’ and lots of cheering as I bowed happily and gratefully. When the ovation died down, I was called back to the stage to do a short Q&A session, which was well received also.
I had agreed to do a signing session after the show, so I returned to my dressing room, changed into a new shirt, waistcoat and jacket, and went to the lobby where it was particularly exciting to sign my new book for the first time (there is a perfect ‘Gerald Charles Dickens 2023’ sized space on the title page, and the paper used reacts with a fountain pen particularly well). One couple in line told me that they had moved to Lewes from Staten Island, and when they had been going through their things they had found an old newspaper, dating from 1997, which included a large feature on the 35-year old me, who had been performing in the Snug Harbor Arts Center that year. How young and slim I looked back then!
When I had signed all of the books, I changed and gathered up all my things and said goodbye to my very good friends representing the Lewes Public Library..
Most of the restaurants in Lewes close at around 9, and it was well after that as I drove away from the High School, but in September I had discovered an Irish restaurant/pub that is open until the early hours, so I headed for there and enjoyed a late dinner of crabcake and fries. A DJ was playing particularly loud music, mainly disco hits from the 70’s, but nobody was dancing, and the thought crossed my mind that in such a setting he should be playing Shane MacGowan and The Pogues, for his funeral had been held in Tipperary earlier that day.
Another highly successful and enjoyable day in Lewes came to an end as I returned to The Rodney Hotel to sleep. The next morning I would be leaving quite early to drive to my home from home, Byers’ Choice in Chalfont PA, and the last two days of my 2023 American tour.
My second day at Winterthur would be quite a busy one, with various other commitments alongside my two scheduled performances, but it got off to the usual gentle start, of coffee-drinking and writing. I was aware that my time in America was nearing its end, and it was time to book a cab to meet my flight at Heathrow airport on Monday morning, as well as confirming details for my shows at home.
I went down to breakfast at around 7, and found the room completely packed, which I am not used to. The Mendenhall Hotel caters for coach tours coming to The Brandywine Valley to visit both Winterthur and the incredible Longwood Gardens. On this particular day there were two coaches from the Peter Pan Bus Company, one due to leave that morning after their visit, one of which had just arrived the night before. I managed to find a seat at a corner table, and had my breakfast while the loud conversations went on all around me. I wondered if part of their package to Winterthur included tickets for my matinee, but I couldn’t hear anyone talking about it. When I had finished I walked back along the hotel’s corridors and noticed that suitcases had been put outside various rooms, presumably awaiting collection by the bus company, and it took me right back to my days performing on cruise ships, when all of the cases would have to be put out on the day of arrival back in Southampton.
Back in my room I tried to upgrade my seat home (not to anything grand like business or first, just to have a little extra legroom), but sadly I have not accrued enough miles with United to allow for that on a trans-Atlantic flight, and I wasn’t desperate enough to part with actual real money to stretch out a few inches more!
At 9.30 I needed to call a New York Radio station and talk to Warren Lawrence, a presenter on WKNY from the Hudson Valley. This chat has become a bit of a tradition over the years, and usually I am mid-drive, having to find a suitable parking space to talk. It was a luxury to actually be in a hotel room, without traffic rushing by. Warren is such a nice guy to talk to, and asks all sorts of questions about different aspects of my life and career. We talked about Charles Dickens himself, the enduring popularity of A Christmas Carol, my show, Staplehurst and, of course, the movie versions. On that last subject Warren asked a question that I wasn’t quite expecting, and one that I don’t think I’ve been asked before, and that was: ‘Do you know if in any of the film versions of A Christmas Carol the Ghost of the Future speaks?’ I wasn’t sure, I wondered if it did in Mr Magoo’s version, but if anyone knows for sure, I would be interested.
As I readied myself to drive back to Winterthur some light snow was falling outside, which was beautiful. It didn’t settle on the roads, but was laying on the boughs of trees and on grass, making the whole scene look very festive.
In the gallery at Winterthur, the erstwhile shop, a display had been set up by a local artist who had been at the show the day before, she specialised in handmade clay figures, in this case of characters from the works of Dickens. Of course, A Christmas Carol featured strongly, but there were also characters from Oliver Twist and David Copperfield (I particularly liked the figure of Uriah Heep writhing on his stool).
I went to the theatre and made sure everything was where it should be on the stage, before returning to my homely little office, where I unpacked my fresh shirts and made sure everything was ready. Having stelled in I decided to buy a cup of tea from the cafeteria, and then returned to relax. As I sat, the door opened and a colleague of Jennie’s came in and after a few pleasantries about the previous day’s performances and the large audiences due for Thursday, she then went on to say that the office would be needed for a meeting, and could I move out. I could use the disabled restroom as my dressing room that day, she would make sure it was private. There was no rush, of course, but if I could move my things out, she would be grateful. When was the meeting? I asked. 12. It was then 11.45, so I needed to get moving quickly. As there was only room for three people in the office, I did wonder if the meeting could have been held elsewhere, but it is their workplace, after all, so I could hardly complain.
In my early days of touring many was the time that I changed in American restrooms, sometimes rushing into a McDonalds near to a venue, getting into costume in the cramped surroundings, so that i could arrive ready. I rather thought that those days had gone, but here I was again. It was a very large restroom, with plenty of space to spread out and hang costumes, but a restroom it was, nonetheless.
I found a chair from somewhere and put it in front of the door, to stop people coming in, and then got ready for the first show at 1. Once dressed, I sat on the chair and listened as the audience poured into the hall.
Just before start time, Jennie arrived in a whirl, checked I was ready and went to the podium at the front of the hall, and gave her introduction. It was another great Winterthur audience, and I worked hard throughout the performance. It was obvious that many present had seen the show before, for the responses were immediate and sometimes pre-emptive!
At the end, having taken my bows, I once again ran up the aisle, to beat the audience out, and changed as quickly as I could into my dry costume before heading out for the book signing, but there was nobody there: no table with books, no staff selling, no table for me, no line. No nothing. I wondered if Jennie had set it up in the cafeteria (where we used to do it), but there was no one there either. Members of the audience were milling around and many told me how much they’d enjoyed the show, and some asked me to sign programmes, but an official signing session there was none.
I returned to change, and then went to sit on the chair on the stage, which was very comfortable. I pondered the next few days, thinking specifically about Sunday December 10th, which will be the 30th anniversary of my very first performance in Chiddingstone, Kent. On the 10th I will be at Byers’ Choice for my final performance, which will be at 1.30, and as I sat I realised, that with the 5 hour time difference I will be performing not only on the anniversary day, but also at the exact same time as that first show. I wondered how to mark this important event, and came up with an idea, which I shared via email with Bob, David (the Byers’ Choice tech guy who basically stage manages my shows), and Maura who has been looking after all of the logistics of this year’s tour. Almost immediately I heard back that they liked my idea and yes, we should do it.
As I sat on the stage another member of staff arrived, who was co ordinating a meet and greet session with some of the Winterthur members, a special extra bonus event for them prior to my evening show. She wanted to run through the timetable for the event. A buffet was being served in the cafeteria at 4, and at 4.30 I would arrive. I was to chat to the group for a while, before mingling and signing books etc. This is an event that I have done before, and it is great fun, although quite hard on the voice, as the acoustics in the cafe are not as impressive as those in the Copeland Hall., and the guests tenmd to spread out all around the room.
Just before 4.30 I was in costume again and ready to go. I talked about the first reading in ’93 (fresh in my mind, of course), and how the tour developed into what it is today, and then took questions from the floor. There were some very interesting ones, including what would I show Charles Dickens, and what would he want to see and be most amazed by, if time travel were possible and I could bring him forward to 2023.
Having answered the questions I then moved around the room, chatting to individual tables, posing for photos and signing various articles, including a huge and very impressive Steinbach nutcracker in the form of Ebenezer Scrooge.
At 5.30 I retired back to my restroom and relaxed as much as I could prior to the final performance at Winterthur. Jennie poked her head in, and said ‘Sorry, I didn’t manage to see you in time, but we didn’t have a book signing this afternoon, we ran out of books. There isn’t one tonight either, so when you are finished you can do your own thing!’ Whoosh, she was gone again: Jennie certainly lives life at top speed.
The evening show was a complete sell out, not a seat to be had. In the audience were some very special people, firstly there was Lois Stoehr and her family. Lois used to work at Winterthur, and indeed was in charge of my last visit there in ’21, but our real connection was adoption. Like Liz and I, Lois and her husband had decided to adopt a few years ago, and we had shared many conversations about the pros, cons, joys and difficulties of such a huge challenge. In 2021 I had spent a very happy evening with the family after one of my shows, and the invitation had been repeated this year too.
Also in the audience, and giving me a huge hug when she arrived, was Barbara who used to run the store, and whose office I made my own (no meetings in those days!) It was lovely to see her again, even though we were not surrounded by all of the books, gifts and cards that had once lined those walls.
It was a little after 6 when everyone was finally seated, and Jennie went up to introduce me once more. The routine had been perfected now, she came down from the stage, as I began my walk along the right hand aisle, and she disappeared into a small alcove, allowing me to make my way to the stage unhindered.
Looking out at the packed hall, right to the very back, I had to remind myself that I didn’t have to try to hard, to over-project, My ability to be heard had nothing to do with the amount of people in the room, or how much effort I put into the words, the Copeland Hall did all of the work for me. My voice was a little scratchy I have to say (the event in the cafeteria hadn’t done it any good, but it has been tired for a few days now), but the show was another strong one, and the reaction from the audience was superb again. I knew I was giving it everything and I knew that I was going to be completely wrung out by the end, but on I went nonetheless. I was rewarded by a wonderful ovation at the end.
After bowing, waving and calling ‘A Merry Christmas!’ to everyone, I returned to my room to change, hanging my costumes carefully, and packing the roller case. I returned to the auditorium, which was empty now, and collected the scarf, red cloth, the green copy of A Christmas Carol and my candlestick. At this venue I had also placed the two little toy mice behind the chair (these travel with me so that our daughters can always know that ‘they’ are with me. I used to put them on stage at every event, but I left them behind on so many occasions that now they simply stay in my bag. On this occasion, however, I had put them on stage because the girls had both been ill over the last few days.
So, when I went to collect my props I noticed that someone, and I don’t know who, presumably someone who reads my blog posts, had carefully retrieved the mice from their position on the floor, and put them on the chair, so that I wouldn’t forget them. What a kind act, and if you are reading, thank you.
I walked towards the main exit, and met Dennis, whom I thanked for all his work in the technical booth. He told me that there were a few people waiting, who had rather expected a signing session after the performance, as usual. I went up to them and duly signed their programmes, posed for photos and chatted for a while. I had wanted to say goodbye and thank you to Jennie, but there was no sign of her, so I left the visitor centre and made my way up the steep path to the car park. Goodness, after the rigours of the show, that path seemed hard work!
I now drove to Lois’s house, situated in a beautifully decorated neighbourhood, and was welcomed at the door by one of her sons wearing a black home-made top hat, in my honour! As in 2021, it was a happy, relaxing evening with an amazing family. The boys talked about their interests and school, and talked about their summer vacation which involved hiking around the base of Mont Blanc.
The evening ended with the boys giving me a private concert on their piano accordions, and they are certainly talented musicians. First one played, and then the other, and the evening finished with an energetic, lively and rousing duet. A very special way to end my 2023 trip to Winterthur!
I had to laugh when I woke up on Wednesday morning. Two days before, when describing the rather dated nature of the La Quinta hotel on Long Island, I wrote: ‘In short, it was the kind of room in which you expect a paper statement of account to be slipped under the door on check out day!’ Well, when I woke in the more luxurious surroundings of The Oyster Point Hotel, what should I find for the first time in many years, but a statement of account slipped under my door.
I was in two minds about Breakfast, for I had to be at my next venue by 11.30, and my phone told me that it would be a drive of 1 1/2 hours, but that was relatively early in the morning, and I knew that I would be flirting with both Philadelphia and Wilmington traffic. If I waited for the breakfast service to begin at 8, and then the service was a little slow, I may not be away until 9. I decided to pack and load my car, and then make a decision. I put the freshly laundered shirts and socks into my roller bag, ready for the afternoon’s performance, and then unwrapped the two monogrammed towels and put one of them in too. Usually I borrow a towel from my hotel room to use after the performance, but now I have my own.
The car was fully loaded by 7.30, so I though that rather than waiting for another thirty minutes I may as well get going. I checked out, said my thank yous, and set my destination for The Winterthur House and Gardens in Delaware. I had downloaded another Anthony Horowitz James Bond novel, and this one features Bond entering the world of Formula 1 racing in the late 1950’s, so satiates two of my passions in one hit.
I drove on and found myself passing signs to Mount Holly and Burlington, where this part of the tour began back on Black Friday. There were a few snow flurries in the air, not enough to settle, but enough to evoke the spirit of Christmas a little. After half an hour or so I stopped for breakfast, and filled up with fuel, before continuing on down the I 195. I passed a sign telling me that I was on the ‘Trooper Anthony A Raspa Memorial Highway’, and I made a note of his name, so that I could discover his story and honour his memory, as I like to do when I can. Trooper Raspa was killed whilst driving with his partner on that very stretch of road. It was in the early hours of May 30th 2015 that their car struck a deer and then collided with a tree. He was just 24 years old.
The journey continued well, and my fears of bad traffic were not realised. I saw the skyline of Philadelphia to my right, and then Wilmington to my left and by 10 o’clock I was in the vicinity of Winterthur. I drove to my hotel, although I had no great expectations of being able to check in at that time, and sure enough the lady at the desk told me, most apologetically, that they had been full the night before and there were no rooms available.
I returned to the car, and reclined the seat right back and rested for a while, before driving to The Winterthur estate, where I was to perform. Winterthur has been a firm fixture on my tours for many years, but sadly in 2022 it became one of the casualties of my bout of Covid and we had to cancel the shows, so it was great to be returning. I arrived in the car park, got all of my costumes and walked down the steep path that leads to the visitor center. I was met by Jennie Brown, who I have not worked with before, and together we went to the auditorium, the Copeland Hall, where we met Dennis who looks after my tech here.
The Copeland Hall is an extraordinary room, it holds 356 and from the stage the seats rise far into the distance, but such is the structure of the room that I can just talk at a normal level and I can be heard throughout the room – that hall was a masterclass of acoustic design.
In the old days of visiting Winterthur, one approached the Copeland Hall through a bustling, thriving, book and gift store, but after the pandemic the store shut, and when I was last here in ’21 the space was empty and bare. I was very glad to see that now, although there is still no shop, the space had been turned into a gallery displaying photographs of beautiful gardens in The Brandywine Valley.
My dressing room is in a small office, and back in the day it was filled with the paraphernalia of a busy retail operation, not to mention walls covered in funny cartoons, put there by the shop manager Barbara, but now, like the shop, it is a bit plain. However there were plenty of happy ghosts and memories in that room and I couldn’t help smiling at them.
My show was to begin at 1, and at 12 o’clock the first audience member arrived and stood outside the door to the theatre – they are a keen bunch in Delaware! I sat in the office, played a little backgammon, and then changed into my costume. As 1 o’clock approached I peeked my head out of the office’s louvred doors, and saw that Jennie and her colleagues were still busy checking people in. I slipped into the back of the auditorium and it looked as if we were in for a full house. As I came back out, a short moustachioed gentleman wearing a flat cap and sporting an immaculately tied bow tie bustled past me: David! David Keltz, my dear old friend, who portrays Edgar Allen Poe was here! We greeted one another, and hugged before he went to join his wife Teresa in the audience. David and Teresa have been dear friends for many years, and always try to come to one of my shows, in recent years here in at Winterthur. Usually they email me to tell me their plans, but this year I didn’t know that they were coming, so this was such a wonderful surprise, and I determined to do an extra good job for them that afternoon.
Jennie asked me if I were ready to go, and on receiving a positive reply she went to the podium on the stage, where she introduced herself to the audience, and told them what her official position is within the Winterthur organisation; I don’t recall the exact title (head of public engagement, or programming, or something like that), but she explained her role further by saying that she was basically in charge of fun stuff – that is a GOOD job title.
I love performing at Winterthur. As soon as I said the first lines I could hear them ringing throughout the hall and coming back to me, not in a muddled echoey way, just as crisp dialogue. I could use the space well, and the audience (a truly loyal bunch) engaged energetically. The time seemed to fly by and in no time I was bowing to a loud and wonderful standing ovation.
Exiting The Copeland Hall after a show requires me to be fast on my feet , for the only exit from the room is at the very back, and if I delay at all I get caught up among 356 people leaving, so as soon as I left the stage I jogged up the aisle, taking a few high fives on the way, and I was in my office before the bulk of the crowd came out. I towelled myself off with my monogrammed towel, put on a new shirt, waistcoat and frock coat, and then went into the former book shop to sign. There was quite a line, and many people told me how sorry they were not to have seen me last year, and how much they had enjoyed the show. Many commented on the changes I have made, of which I am not really aware, but of course it has undergone 2 complete Christmas seasons since I last performed here, so through the constant development that I allow to happen, I suppose there must be differences.
Waiting patiently, at the very back of the line, were David and Teresa along with Teresa’s cousin and husband. We all posed for photographs and I arranged to meet them later for dinner.
With two more shows on Thursday, I could leave all of my costumes in the office, and my props on the stage. I changed and drove the 10 minutes or so to The Mendenhall Hotel, where I would be staying. This would be a different hotel for me, for in the past I have always stayed at The Fairville Inn guest house, and as I drove past it, I had a wave of nostalgia. Before Liz and I adopted our daughters, she used to fly to America to join me for the last week of my tour, and the Winterthur gig was where she usually arrived. Often she would come from the airport either just before, or sometimes during a matinee show, and when I was finished we would go back to our lovely room at The Fairville Inn. So, The Mendenhall would be fine, I had no doubt, but the memories were at Fairville.
I checked in, slumped onto the bed. I switched the TV on and found that most channels were reporting a mass shooting from the university in Las Vegas. Just a day on from remembering the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, here was the same story again – the 38th ‘mass shooting’ of the year (there was conjecture on this point, for there have to be a certain amount of victims for a shooting to be categorised as a mass shooting, so statistically it couldn’t yet be added to the previous 37 in 2023). It is such a sad aspect of American life, and there seems to be no possible end to it.
At 5 o’clock I drove to Buckley’s Tavern in Centerville to have dinner with David and Teresa, and what a wonderful time it was. Being with dear friends, people with a shared passion for theatre and performance, was just the lift I needed after watching the TV news. We talked about our respective shows (both commented on the changes they had noticed in mine), and our lives. David and Teresa have taken up ballroom dancing, and showed me a wonderful video of a competition that they had taken part in. We talked about Liz and the girls, and life in England. We talked about my Covid scare last year, and David’s continually busy career. We talked about the ageing process and its effect on performance, and how the experience and wisdom of 30 plus years have really enhanced both of our shows. As to the physicality of performance, Teresa pointed out that I fell to my knees four times, and managed to bounce back up each time!
Buckley’s presents itself as an English roadside tavern, so I ordered a good old fashioned English favourite: bangers and mash, with peas. It was delicious. A wonderful evening.
We said our goodbyes in the cold of the parking lot, and drove back to our respective hotels (me to Mendenhall and they to The Fairville.).
It was an early night for me, but I watched some more TV (avoiding the news channels) and relaxed until it was time to sleep.
Tuesday was a day off. A whole day off – no travelling, no interviews, no nothing. Except laundry. Thanks to the recent lack of working washing machines the need to launder was getting rather desperate, with two bulging plastic bags filling my case. But, guess what? The Oyster Point Hotel doesn’t have a guest laundry either! They do, however send out dry cleaning for a same day return, but the thought of sending out so many shorts, pairs of socks, shirts etc was rather a bewildering (not to mention a potentially expensive) prospect. I did a quick online search and discovered that Red Bank has plenty of laundromats, so I could spend my morning watching clothes go round and round. The idea of sending the main components of my two costumes (trousers and frock coats) for dry cleaning was appealing, however, so at 7.30 I bundled them up into the bag, filled out the slip and took them down to reception in plenty of time for the 8 o’clock pick up. As I waited, there was another man at the front desk asking when the local bank would open, and having learned that the answer was 9am, he went into a long a very loud explanation as to why he had to be there (he was getting a large cheque, to pay for a car, that needed preparing, which would take 4 hours to do, and he had to call the dealership first thing). The man behind the desk who was having all of this explained to him looked very relieved when I appeared with my dry cleaning, meaning that he could absent himself from the verbose other.
I went back up to my room, and waited until 8, when the breakfast service started. There were three of us waiting at the podium to be seated. The other two gentlemen were in conversation, or at least one of them was: my loud friend from the front desk was repeating his whole car purchase story once again, in his grating voice, much to the annoyance of the the other guest, who eventually went to find someone to seat and serve us. We all three sat in front of the impressive large window, the loud guy to the left, me in the centre and the third man, who looked as if he was dressed for a day’s business, on the right. The server came out (the same lady who had served me coffee the day before) and asked business man what he would like? He ordered, and added “I am in a hurry this morning, so if it could be fast, thank you'”. She asked the loud man what he required, and he ordered, adding that he also was in a hurry, because he had to be at the bank to pick up a large cheque, because he was buying a new car…….etc.’ She asked me what I would like, and I ordered, without making any demands on her for speed of service. When our respective breakfasts arrived it amused me that mine came first, businessman second and loud gentleman third, which probably was OK, for he had been making a very important and, of course, a very loud call to the car dealer, telling them exactly when he was going to be there, what he needed them to do, and, yes he would have the cheque with him (he was going to the bank first thing). As far as I could tell he was being put on hold a lot, and passed around various different departments. I entered a sort of Zen state, absenting myself from the reality of this verbal barrage, and enjoyed my breakfast in front of a beautiful view.
Back in my room, I bundled all of the laundry up, wrote my blog, answered some emails, and went down to the restaurant again at 10, as my friend Laurel was popping in for another coffee. We sat and chatted at the same table I had occupied two hours before. When Laurel left, I grabbed my laundry, and set off for one of the many Red Bank launderettes, which was situated on The Shrewsbury Road. Why do I mention the name of the road? Well, for its connection to A Christmas Carol. The town of Shrewsbury in England is a beautiful old town with some fine, grand architecture, and it was selected to be the location for George C Scott’s film version of A Christmas Carol. The producers asked St Chad’s church if they could put a fake tombstone among the other graves, complete with EBENEZER SCROOGE engraved on it. The minister had an entrepreneurial mind, for he agreed, on the proviso that it was left there after the production was completed. That stone is now one of the most visited sites in Shrewsbury!
I had a huge amount of quarters at the ready for my morning’s activities and loaded two machines, one with white costume shirts on a hot wash, and one with darks and coloured clothing on a medium wash. Soon both machines were churning around.
I am sure that there is a James Bond novel in which Ian Fleming lovingly describes the sounds of a busy casino: the quiet incantations of the croupiers, the rattle of the ball in a roulette wheel, the occasional gasp of celebration at an unexpected win, and, although this last one was not in the novel, the clatter of coins cascading out of a one-armed bandit machine. As I sat in the laundrette, I felt the same: there was the constant hum of the machines, the electronic beeps as a programme finished, the clunk as doors were opened or closed, and the clatter of coins, as someone fed a $10 bill into the change machine, and the quarters cascaded out. It all had an unchanging and reassuring rhythm to it. After about an hour the clothes were ready, and I carefully folded them all, before slipping them back into the bags and leaving the casino – sorry, laundrette.
Now what to do with my day? I had taken a look at the map earlier that morning, and noticed that there was an impressive looking coastline not far away, along with some parks and trails, so I decided to go and explore there. I set the map and drove along the banks of the river passing some very large and desirable waterside properties. Some were obviously older and elegant houses, respectfully remodelled and extended, whilst others were new, built to show off wealth rather than taste.
My first visit was to the historic twin lighthouses in the town of Highlands, NJ. The site is on a hill overlooking the ocean below, and has two remarkable octagonal towers, originally built in 1841which protected shipping making its way into New York Harbour.
As I stood in front of the building, I had a clear view of the Manhattan skyline in the distance. Below me I noticed a long spit of sand, and saw that there was a road running along it, so I decided that I would next go and see what that was all about.
The sand spit is in fact called Sandy Hook and is 6 miles long. This is not, I should say, the Sandy Hook where the terrible mass shooting of school children took place in 2012.
I drove onto the hook, and found that the whole area was owned and preserved by the National Parks Service, the beaches along the way are wide and, of course, sandy, with grassy dunes behind them – they rather reminded me of the beaches featured in the early scenes of Jaws.
I walked on a beach for a while, and then got back onto the car and drove further up, towards the end. Much of the area is given over to wildlife and deer roamed across the road and grazed on the verges. At one time a beautiful russet-coloured fox ambled out in front of me, stopped, looked at me as if inquiring why I was in his road, and then continued on his way. On I drove, passing deserted car carks which I imagined would be overflowing with cars during the summer. I was glad that it was December, and that I almost had the park to myself.
As I got near to the end there were suddenly buildings. To my left there was what appeared to be a ghost town of large wooden houses, obviously historic, obviously once grand, but now collapsing in disrepair with great gashes in their roofs and decks under porches collapsed. To my right were even starker buildings, great concrete gun emplacements, again collapsing and decaying.
This area was Fort Hancock, an area that had been used for the defence of New York since the days of the Revolutionary War, and on through the Second World War. In the 1950s defence missiles were stationed on Sandy Hook, and a few are still there in remembrance of those times.
I drove to the furthermost carpark, and started to walk through the dunes, leaving the scars of war behind me, and simply enjoying the nature and the fresh air. I walked and walked until I came upon a flat beach, and there before me was New York City. In the foreground, well, actually the forewater, were two buoys, green and red, with their bells tolling mournfully as they rose and fell with the waves.
As I looked towards Manhattan, and those bells tolled, I had all sorts of confusing emotions about the horror of 9-11 as well as memories of the events at Sandy Hook, Connecticut. A few years ago I was privileged enough to attend a rehearsal of a production of A Christmas Carol, that was being staged as a benefit and memorial to the survivors of the massacre, and actually met parents of some of the students involved. It was one of the most moving days of my life.
I walked back through the dunes to my car, and made my way along the hook and back to the mainland, back to Red Bank, back to the Oyster Point Hotel. It had been an amazing day, and I had loved the nature and beauty of the coast, and been surprised at my reaction to what I saw.
In the hotel I returned to the mundane, unpacking the laundry and putting it into my suitcase for the rest of my tour. I watched the movie The Majestic (inspired by my visit to The Cinema Arts Centre the previous weekend), and at 7.30 I went to the restaurant where I treated myself to a delicious dinner of glazed salmon, served with chestnuts, and rice, followed by an apple bread pudding. A lovely way to bring the day to a close.
On Wednesday I am on the road again, heading further south, to Winterthur.
After the rain and mist of Sunday, Monday dawned bright and clear over Long Island, which was a relief for I would be driving through the morning. I had a fairly basic breakfast in the lobby of the La Quinta hotel, then packed my bags, filled my water bottled and checked out. There was team of leaf blowers slowly making their way through the parking lot, looking like the Ghostbusters with large packs on their backs. Such was the collective noise of four leaf blowers in close proximity, that it felt like I was in the middle of a bee hive.
My destination on Monday morning was the New Jersey town of Red Bank, and I needed to be there for a 12.30 sound check. The drive itself was showing as being around 1 1/2 hours, but knowing from experience what the traffic heading from Long Island towards New York could be like, I set off good an early. I had finished my James Bond audiobook by now, so for the first time on this trip I put on my Christmas playlist, and drove on in the company of Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, Perry Como and the rest of them. Weather wise this tour has not been in the least bit Christmassy, but driving through some of the Long Island neighbourhoods on Saturday night, with their extravagant light shows, brough the first warm seasonal glow to me.
I was fortunate with the traffic, and made good progress through Queens and Brooklyn, heading towards the Verrazzano Bridge. As I was passing the Ferris wheels and roller coasters of Coney Island I witnessed, and was nearly caught up in, the most aggressive driving that I have ever seen in America. The traffic was heavy, but moving well in all lanes. In my mirror I saw a car coming up very fast behind me, but I couldn’t change lanes to let him through. He came right up to the rear bumper – RIGHT up – filling the mirror, and was jerking the steering left and right violently. Gradually a space opened up to the right, and he put his car into it, immediately getting caught behind more traffic, and another car got the treatment that he had given me, right up behind, and now I could see how his violent steering was unsettling the car completely, causing it to skid one way then the other, on the very edge of control. It was at this point that I began to suspect that he was under the influence of something, drink or drugs, for there was nothing rational about his driving. I slowed a little, giving him space if he wanted to overtake the other car, but he was oblivious to what was happening, now he had decided to take out his wrath on the poor woman who was blocking him, he pulled along side, swerved at her, screaming at her, pulled in front of her, braked hard, then shot off, weaving in and out of the traffic as if it were a video game. I was mightily glad that he had disappeared, but felt sorry for whoever incurred his anger further up to the road, and half wondered if I would come upon a steaming, smoking wreck.
My journey settled down after that, and soon I was in the state of New Jersey. As I continued my way I realised that my knowledge of the geography of how New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania fit together is woefully inadequate, and decided to study the map when I could. In my mind New Jersey is to New York what Essex is to London and Kent, ie sitting to the north of the river, but of course it is actually to the west of Manhattan, stretching south.
I arrived in Red Bank at around 10.30, a full two hours before my appointment. My GPS was set for The Count Basie Theater, where I was due to perform, and I drove around it (the complex fills an entire block), noticing a loading dock at the back, where I assumed I could park later. For the time being I found a car park in the centre of town, and strolled around, walking to the water’s edge (Red Bank is on the Navesink River, leading towards the Atlantic Ocean.) Although it was too early to check into my hotel, I decided to walk up to it anyway, just so I understood the geography for later in the day. The Oyster Point Hotel was built on a small peninsula offering stunning views down the river. I asked if I could have a coffee in the restaurant, and sat at a table by the huge picture window gazing out across the water.
I savoured the coffee, not because it was particularly delicious, but simply to pass the time. When I had finished I walked back into town, collected my car and drove to the back of The Count Basie Theatre, named in honour of the jazz legend who was born in Red Bank. Also parked in the dock was a HUGE tour bus with a trailer, which made my Outlander look rather insignificant. (The theatre has two houses, the original being a huge space where the big productions play, and the Vogel studio space, where I would be). A small flight of stairs led to an open door, which I went through and I found myself walking straight onto the stage, where there was a chair, a table, a hatstand and a fireplace – I surmised that I was in the right place. I introduced myself to the various crew members who were on the stage, but was soon enveloped by the force of Jersey nature that was Daryl O’Connell, the organiser of my event.
I was to be performing on behalf of the The Historic Village of Allaire, a living history attraction, and Daryl is the programming director there. She had seen me perform at Byers’ Choice last year and had been beating Bob’s door down to get me to New Jersey. This day was to be the culmination of a year’s work, and it is fair to say that she was quite excited.
I think that most venues that I work with will tell you that I am not a difficult person to deal with, I don’t have many quirks or foibles in my contracts, and tend to make the best of, and adapt to, any situation. One thing I do like, if possible (and it is not a game changer) is to be able to check into a hotel after a drive, to freshen up before going to a venue, In Red Bank, although I had walked up to the hotel, I hadn’t been able to check in. Daryl, aware of this, had made sure that my dressing room at the theatre had a TV, a couch that I could lay on and a shower. And as soon as she had greeted me, she took me to the room, and proudly showed me what arrangements she had made. There was a large gift basket with every imaginable snack, as well as toiletries, medicines, cold remedies and lozenges, but the pièce de résistance was a bundle of towels with a GCD monogram embroidered onto them! I may just become a little more diva-ish after this. The bar had just been raised a few notches.
Back on the stage I connected with Emily, who was running the lighting, and then with her two colleagues on the sound board, whose names I didn’t get, despite asking twice (I can remember 90 minutes of Dickens prose, but tell me a name and it goes in one ear, out the other and never comes back). We ran through all of the cues and lights were set and focussed accordingly. The Vogel Theater is a flexible space can be used for stage shows, music concerts or formal events with tables. It was a lovely open black stage, with an intimate but good-sized auditorium on two levels. I could feel that I was going to have fun on that stage.
When all of the on-stage preparations were done it was time to sign books. 200 books. The Allaire Village were giving audience members in the first two rows a copy of A Christmas Carol, and the others would be sold later on. In my dressing room we worked out a production line in which Daryl handed me an open copy of the book, I signed it, and it was taken by Kara to be re-boxed. We made swift progress, and the whole stack were signed in good time.
I now had time to relax, so turned on the TV and lay on the couch, until I needed to get into costume and prepare myself for the matinee at 3. Daryl knocked at the door and introduced me to Hance Sitkus, the Executive Director of The Historic Village, who would be introducing me.
The Vogel team ran proceedings with the utmost professionalism, everything being co-ordinated by Emily in the lighting/sound booth. One of the sound guys (I am fairly sure his name was Nick….) was back stage to check that everything was as it should be, and communications were via walkie-talkies over which we could hear questions and responses. Some of the audience were apparently finding it difficult to park, so the decision was taken to slightly delay the start, and the message from Emily was as if it came from Mission Control during the Apollo years: ‘We are holding for five, holding for Five.’ answers from all areas of the theatre came in, ‘Copy, Holding for five’. And when the countdown to launch was resumed, so the same protocol was observed: ‘We are good to start in two. Start in two’. ‘Copy, start in two’. Nick fetched Hance from the Allaire green room (I was already pacing around back stage as I like to do), and he walked up to a podium and began to speak. As soon as he had finished, two of the tech team removed the podium, the lights faded, the music started and I walked into ‘my office’.
It was a lovely stage to perform on, I really enjoyed the theatre. The audience were quite quiet at first, as is often the way with ‘first timers’ but soon warmed up and became more and more involved (particularly after my ‘Do you know, we have Black Friday in England now?’ ad-lib, which seemed to relax them a bit), and by the end they were as enthusiastic and as vocal as any other audience on the tour. I would go as far to say that this was probably my best performance yet, this year.
Having taken my bows, and returned to my dressing room, I changed into my normal clothes,and after a while went back to the stage to reset things ready for the evening, but as soon as I appeared Daryl grabbed me, to go and pose for some photographs with the Allaire board members in the foyer. The whole occasion was quite an ambitious operation for The Historic Village of Allaire, as they had never done a fundraising event, indeed any event, off-site before, and there had been some opposition to Daryl’s plans, but now the first show had been a huge success, and everyone was happy.
In the lobby, waiting for me to finish was Laurel, a long time friend, who had originally come to see me perform at another theatre in NJ a few years ago. The Count Basie Theater is local to her, so she had come to the show and invited me to join her for a coffee, as she had a small gift that she wished to give me. We walked around the corner to an Italian restaurant, where we sat at the bar. As we were talking a gentleman came up, slapped me on the back, shook me me by the hand and said how much he had enjoyed the show, and whatever Laurel and I ordered would be on him! As I had a hot black tea and Laurel had a cappuccino, his outlay wasn’t a large one, but it was an incredibly generous offer.
We talked about the tour, and the schedule, and the girls at home, but I did not have long before needing to be back at the theatre again, so Laurel gave me her Christmas gift – a beautiful pair of cufflinks fashioned into the shape of geranium petals, with a pearl at the centre.
The geranium was Charles Dickens’ favourite flower, and from my blog posts Laurel knew that I always wear Dickens Fellowship geranium cufflinks for my shows, and had found these special ones on line. They are far too precious to wear during a performance (all that leaping up and down often leads to breakages), but I will certainly wear them at a special event in the future, maybe at the awards ceremony of the Isle of Wight Festival story writing competition in February, when I shall be reading the winning entries. It was a very generous and thoughtful present, and I couldn’t even thank her by buying the coffee!
In no time I had to be back at the theatre, where I joined the staff and board members for some dinner, I chose a non-cheesy pasta dish, and then went back to my dressing room to relax for a little, for I was beginning to feel quite tired.
Although the evening show would begin at 7, there was a ceremony to be conducted at 6, and that was for The Historic Village of Allaire to publicly honour the Township Commissioners who had recently bestowed a grant of half a million dollars to the village, as part of a Covid recovery fund. This grant was a lifesaver for the organisation, and it was very important to ensure that the commissioners were properly thanked. Local politics isn’t my thing, but I posed on the stage with the commissioners and thanked them, every one, after all, without the grant I may well not have had the opportunity to perform at The Vogel.
The audience were arriving by now, so I went back to the dressing room and lay on the couch once more, maybe even napped for a short while, until Nick knocked on the door to check that my microphone was OK, and the countdown to launch started once more.
The evening audience was larger and louder, and although i could tell that my voice was sounding a little tired, the show went really well once more. The ovation and applause was amazing, and I stood in my pool of light looking out into the darkness bowing in all directions, feeling like a Broadway star. It was strange that I should have thought of that, for we had a Q&A session afterwards and one gentleman thanked me profusely and told me that he had seen Sir Patrick Stewart on Broadway, and he though that my show was far superior! That is the second time in less than a week that someone has said that to me, and even if a Broadway career has passed me by, it makes me feel very good about myself.
When the hullabaloo had died down and the audience had left, I quietly packed up my things, ready to finally check in at the hotel. I said my good byes and thank yous to all of the crew, who had looked after the technical side of the show so well, and to Daryl and the staff from Allaire, for whom this day had been the culmination of so much work, and drove the short distance to the Oyster Point hotel, where the desk clerk said ‘Mr Dickens! You have been performing this evening? I hope that it went well?’
In my room I lay on the bed, very satisfied with the days performances. I hope that this can become an annual event, as they are a great group of people, and it is a lovely town with a beautiful theatre. I realised that I hadn’t eaten very much during the day, apart from the small plate of pasta between shows, so I tucked into to the various snacks that came with my gift basket which I had brought up to my room. Not the most healthy of ways to finish a day, but it was a nice way to bring things to a close.