After travelling back from Wales on Friday, I had less than a day to recover before I was on the road once more, although this drive would be rather less arduous. I was due to return to The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre in Bedfordshire, to perform my double bill of The Signalman and Doctor Marigold, which meant carefully loading the car with the contents of the signal box, as well as the simple representation of a Victorian showman’s caravan.
The drive to Bedfordshire took a little under two hours, and I had left time to get to my hotel first, so that I could rest a little, still being quite tired from the long drives to and from Wales. When I first visited Sharnbrook, I stayed in a hotel right next door to the theatre, but that closed so on my second visit I stayed just five minutes up the road, and this year I discovered that that hotel had also closed, forcing me yet further away, to the Woodland Manor Hotel in Bedford, some 15 minutes drive from the theatre. I hope that when I return in the future I wont have been responsible for that one closing down too!
I arrived at around 3pm and as I checked in at reception I was momentarily taken way back into my past, when the receptionist asked ‘are you here for the murder mystery evening?’ I almost burst out laughing, for at around the time that I began performing Dickens, in the early ’90s, I was an actor in a murder mystery company, and went to many such hotels to perform. On one occasion I remember that we had a scenario set in a castle in deepest darkest Transylvania, and the plot hinged on whether the Count was really a vampire or not. So involved did the audience get that one lady got her make up mirror out to see if there actually was a reflection of the character. Fortunately for us the Count was indeed an imposter, so DID appear in her mirror, but it said a lot about how well we had created the scene that she believed that maybe we had cast a genuine vampire for the evening. Happy days!
At around five I set off for the theatre, which is built into an old water mill on the River Ouse. The auditorium is built onto the first floor (that translates as second floor in American) and the technical access to the stage is via a steep set of stairs, so I reversed the car as close as I could and unloaded all of the furniture at the bottom of the steps, before parking in the main car park, a short distance away.
Once in the theatre I was greeted by Brenda Stafford, who ‘found’ me three years ago and has been responsible for bringing me back to Sharnbrook, and she instantly mobilised various volunteers to assist me getting my furniture in, which we achieved quickly and efficiently. I was introduced to my teach team, Mark on sound and David on lights, and together we made sure that everything was in place for The Signalman, including a stage light packed with red gel to represent the danger light at the mouth of the tunnel. Soon the set was ready, and I took the opportunity to undertake a short rehearsal, getting the feel of the stage and auditorium, and I instantly felt completely at home.
With my rehearsal done I retired to the large dressing room behind the stage, which was prepared for the theatre’s forthcoming production of Little Women. Branda had very kindly made me a salmon salad, which was perfect, as well as leaving a gift bag for me containing a lovely looking box of chocolates, and an amaryllis bulb for our house – so very kind.
As 7 o’clock came around I got into my all black costume and paced around the dressing room going over my lines, until I received the call that the audience were in their seats and it was time to start. I walked onto the stage to be greeted with a very generous round of applause. I started by talking about Staplehurst, and the reason for Dickens’ writing his ghost story, and then began with ‘Halloa! Below there!’ The show was going well, and I was building up the atmosphere effectively, when I became aware of a disturbance in the audience. I couldn’t quite work out what was going on, not being able to much due to the theatre lights, so I continued but soon it was obvious that somebody had been taken ill, and needed to be tended by first aiders. As other audience members and theatre volunteers started moving to help, I announced that we needed to pause the performance for a short while. I simply stood quietly at the back of the stage as the poor lady was helped out of the auditorium. When the emergency had been dealt with I said a simple ‘thank you’ to the audience for their patience, moved back towards the danger light, and picked up the script from the line that I had stopped on.
The break could have broken my concentration and negatively effected my performance, but actually the opposite was true and I came back with even more intensity than before.
When the interval arrived, I changed into my Doctor Marigold costume and then returned to the stage to remove all of The Signalman furniture, and replace it with Marigold’s props. Most of the audience had gone to the bar, but a few were still in the auditorium and watched as I and Mark changed the set around. When our work was done, I returned to the dressing room and paced around between the rails where Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth’s costumes hung, and performed a few passages to slough the Signalman’s skin and get into that of the cheeky fairground salesman instead.
Ever since my first visit to The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre in 2020 I have wanted to perform Doctor Marigold there – the size and layout of the stage and auditorium could have designed for this particular show with a real sense of intimacy. I was certainly not disappointed by the experience, for everything worked perfectly. I performed well, and the audience were completely caught up in the adventures and experiences of one of my best literary friends. The best way to know how well Marigold has gone is the volume of the gasp at the end, and at Sharnbrook on Saturday evening that gasp was impressive to be sure. The applause at the end was truly heartening and I felt, as I always do after performing Doctor Marigold, very emotional.
Back in my dressing room I breathed deeply, drank water and slowly allowed myself to calm down, before making my way to the foyer where I signed copies of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ and chatted to audience members, many of whom were visibly as effected by the second half as I had been.
When the audience left I changed and with the help of Brenda and Gerry loaded up my car, before saying goodbye and thanks. I feel very much at home in The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre, and Brenda was pleading with me to bring A Christmas Carol back next year, so I will certainly have to see if I can find a date in the 2024 tour. The beautiful theatre is certainly a home from home for me.
For now, however, my 2023 tour continues, and my next show will be on Thursday afternoon….in Missouri.
On Wednesday morning I was due to drive to Ashford, in Kent, to perform at the Revelation Arts Centre – a favourite venue of mine, and one for which I am an ambassador. The whole process actually began on Tuesday, for the packing my car with furniture and props proved to be quite a complex puzzle. The problem was that on Thursday I was due to drive on to Bury St Edmunds, and the variety of shows that I had committed to over the two days would stretch my Renault Kadjar to the very limit.
in Ashford I was due to give a lunchtime talk about my 30 years of performing A Christmas Carol ( the original idea was for the session to be a literary talk, promoting my latest book: ‘Gerald Dickens: My Life on the Road With A Christmas Carol’, but unfortunately my publishers, Olympia, have not yet managed to get the volume to print, so I had nothing to sell). Of course the talk didn’t require any set, but in the evening I would be performing The Signalman (a two part clerk’s desk with a large box representing a railway signalling system, a stool, a chair, a table and a red signalling flag) and Doctor Marigold (bulky wooden steps, a small stool, a wooden box with a metal bucket, a teapot and a rolled up blanket), and along side all of that I had to pack the facsimile Charles Dickens reading desk, a frame to drape a red screen over and the large prop box containing various items necessary for all of the shows. This particular combination of shows represent a perfect storm for packing and I had to put our holiday roof box onto the car to give me the extra storage space that I needed.
During Tuesday afternoon I was aware of a slight cold coming on and as the evening progressed I felt my voice become more croaky, which was a worry to say the least.
On Wednesday morning I finished the packing, including all of my costumes, and set off at around 8.30. The drive south was calm, with no particular traffic issues or delays along the way and I arrived at St Mary The Virgin Church in plenty of time to set up for the lunchtime talk. Over the last few years I have performed in Ashford later in the season, between my two American tours, often just before I fly over for the Thanksgiving weekend, but this year our calendars refused to align, so my visit this year was much earlier, hence the performance of my Double Bill rather than The Carol.
The Revelation Arts Centre is an amazing venue, housed within the magnificent church which dates back to the 13th or 14th Century and which was extended in the 15th and again in the 19th. Revelation is an independent arts centre which is not managed by the church itself, but which shares the space. A low stage area is situated at the end of the nave, in front of the choir, and when performing is going on the towering stone arch is filled with a black drape, creating a perfect performance space that is well lit by a state of the art LED system.
As I arrived the venue was being converted into its theatrical guise, and as it was all very familiar to me I sorted myself out in the dressing room (the vestry) without bothering the team who were hauling curtains and lighting gantries. When the stage was prepared I could prepare for my presentation, and John the tech guy set up a laptop so that I could show various images from my career as I spoke.
The doors were due to open at 12.30, for a 1.00 start, and as the audience arrived I stood up in the sound and lighting booth with John, looking down on the auditorium.. It was lovely to see many familiar faces in the crowd, as well as a group of students from a local school. Just before 1 I went back down to the dressing room and waited to be given the go ahead from the front of house manager, and bang on time I walked onto the stage and introduced myself, before launching into an hour of my favourite anecdotes and memories from my lifetime on the stage. I didn’t work from a script, just a sheet of topics I wished to talk about, and even though I hadn’t really timed the talk, I was greatly relieved to discover that as I opened the floor to questions it was around 1.45 and I had paced things to perfection.
Talking (and writing) about my life and career is a very therapeutic thing, and it is amazing to reflect on how far I have come over the last three decades.
The most worrying thing about the talk was my voice, for it was husky and rather weak. Fortunately the acoustics at St Mary are very good, and the lunchtime audience was small, but I was aware that in the evening I would be doing the double bill to a much larger group, and I was quite concerned at the prospect.
After the audience had left, I returned to my car and drove the mile or so to my hotel, where I switched on the TV and relaxed for a couple of hours, even managing to get some sleep, which was good. At around 4.30 I had a shower to invigorate me, and I drove back to the theatre It was raining hard now, which was frustrating in that I had to unload all of my furniture for the two shows. I reversed the car into the small lane at the rear of the churchyard and unloaded as quickly as I could, getting very wet in the process.
Once I had everything inside the church, I drove my car to the small parking area, and then went back to set up. The first act was to be The Signalman, so I set up the clerk’s desk, the faux telegraph equipment, the table, chair and stool. All of this is over to the left of the stage and represents the signal box, while the right side is blank which represents the railway line and the mouth of the tunnel. The script calls for a red danger light and usually we make do with a stage light pointing out into the audience, but John had managed to procure a genuine railway light, which he had wired up to glow red as appropriate during the performance. It looked perfect.
There was plenty of time to spare before the audience would arrive, but the dressing room was not quite the relaxing oasis that it can be. There is a door that leads to the outside, but the lock had broken which meant that the building couldn’t be locked when the evening came to an end, so Debra, the manager, John, and photographer Phil were gathered around pondering the best course of action. Eventually Deb rushed off to the nearest DIY store and came back with a new lock, which John and Phil fitted, without the use of any suitable tools.
When the securing of the lock was complete it was time for me to get ready, and for John to get to the tech desk, as the audience were beginning to take their seats. Erstwhile locksmith Phil Hinton reverted to his role as Revelation’s resident show photographer, and we chatted for a while so that he knew where would be good places to shoot from, and decide if there were any particular poses that would be good. I took the opportunity to pop a Fisherman’s Friend lozenge into my mouth in the hope that it would help my evening along.
At 7.30 I walked onto the stage and introduced The Signalman. My fears about my voice were realised, as I was even more hoarse and croaky than at lunchtime. It was OK, and I was able to get through the show, but I had to become accustomed to the fact that I couldn’t give the performance I was used to: it sounded different, which for an audience who hadn’t heard it before was fine, but I was in danger of becoming distracted. I kept my concentration and arrived successfully at the end of the script. John had done an amazing job with the lights, as well as with the only sound effect in the show: an eerie recording of wind blowing through telegraph wires: when I talk to sound engineers I suggest that I don’t want the sound played so loudly that it becomes intrusive, but just so it makes the audience feel chilly and uncomfortable, without quite knowing why. John succeeded perfectly.
During the interval I changed into my Doctor Marigold costume, and then stood back stage telling John what needed to be removed (he had very kindly offered to be stage crew, as well as everything else), and then I took on the bits and pieces required for the second half, in the character of Marigold himself (although this fell a bit flat, as a member of the audience came up to me and shared the fact that he was a genuine signalman, and would be having nightmares from now on! Even though Marigold wouldn’t have had any idea why a man was telling him this fact, he gave a great big grin in reply anyway. It was actually a very kind and complimentary thing to say, and it made me feel very good about how the first half had gone).
I began Marigold and once more I had to get used to the fact that one of my favourite characters had a very different voice tonight, but the story delighted, shocked and astounded as it always does, and I took my bows to lovely applause.
Back in the dressing room I drank a lot of water and sucked on throat sweets, before going back to the auditorium where there was quite a queue of people waiting to purchase copies of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ (carefully and unsubtly plugged at the start of The Signalman), and pose for photos.
When the last of the audience members had left I changed back into my normal clothes, while John and the team converted theatre back to church. I retrieved my car and began the process of rebuilding the Tetris block that allowed all of the props to fit into the boot.
I said goodbye to all of the team, but especially John, who had done an amazing job for me during the day, and drove away from Revelation for another year. On the way back to my hotel I stopped at a Domino’s Pizza outlet (discovered on previous visits) and took a spicy meatball concoction back to my room, where I ate while I watched a film and then drifted away to sleep, hoping my voice would miraculously recover, as I had another day of performing on the next day.
On Wednesday I once again returned to the North West of England, which seems to have been a second home for me over that last few months. This time I was travelling to Preston, to perform for the City’s Historical Society which is celebrating a 75th anniversary this year. I have been to Preston a few times in the past, but had never really explored the city, my previous venue being the Playhouse Theatre, a short drive from the centre.
As is my routine, I loaded the car early, even earlier than usual due to the various traffic delays I had experienced on my last trips, and set off towards the ever more familiar M40/M6 route north. On this occasion the roads played ball, and I was not delayed at all. I had time to run through my scripts for the evening, and listen to some podcasts, as well as having a lovely chat with my brother Ian, who is currently glowing in the pride of having a new grandson.
I arrived at my hotel by 3pm, and having settled in decided to use my time to walk into the centre, to find out where my venue was, and also to try and track down the movements of Charles himself, who had visited Preston on three different occasions. Firstly I found the Central Methodist Church, my location for the evening, and only a 5 minute walk from the hotel, which was convenient.
Having found my bearings, I took my mind back to the 1800s when Preston was an industrial textile town, riven with discord and anger. Although I was to perform Mr Dickens is Coming, the society were keen for me to include some details of Charles’s visits into the script, so I had spent the last couple of weeks looking through the various biographies, pouring over his letters, and studying newspaper reports building a picture for myself of his impressions and movements.
The first visit was in January 1854 at the time of great industrial unrest in Preston. A great strike had been rumbling on for months between textile workers and the factory owners, over a pay reduction of 10%. The workers demanded that their wages be returned to the previous rate, but the bosses were not to be moved and eventually the factories were shut up in a stand-off known as the ‘great lock out’. Families were in severe poverty, and the city came out to support their own, opening subscription lists and taking collections to provide much needed funding for their comrades.
An article about the lock out had been published in Charles’ magazine Household Words, and he wanted to see the situation for himself, especially as he was working on his great Industrial Revolution novel Hard Times, which was set in a northern mill town, not dissimilar to Preston. The first installments of the novel were released a few months after Dickens’ visit, and it was assumed by many that what he had seen had provided him with the inspiration for the book, but he vehemently denied that. When a review in the London Illustrated News made that assumption he quickly wrote to the journalist involved, saying:
‘I don’t know where you may have found your information, but I can assure you that it is altogether wrong. The title was many weeks old, and chapters of the story were written, before I went to Preston or thought about the present Strike. The mischief of such a statement is twofold. First, it encourages the public to believe in the impossibility that books are produced in that very sudden and Cavalier manner, and Secondly in this instance it has this pernicious bearing: It localizes (so far as your readers are concerned) a story which has a direct purpose in reference to the working people all over England, and it will cause, as I know by former experience, characters to be fitted on to individuals whom I never saw or heard of in my life.’
There is no doubt however that he drew on his experiences to provide gritty colour to his writing, and the first description of Coketown is one of his finest passages (ranking alongside the brilliant opening to Bleak House(,, and certainly has Preston as its heart:
‘It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next’
Brilliant stuff.
Charles returned to Preston in 1867 to perform his readings (Doctor Marigold and The Trial), and was scheduled to visit again in 1869, bringing his new and powerful piece ‘Sikes and Nancy’, which was now the talk of the entire country, and the centerpiece of that year’s tour. On April 20th he had performed in Bolton, and had two days rest before his scheduled appearance at The Guild Hall in Preston. Throughout the tour, indeed ever since he had returned from the USA a year or so before, Charles Dickens had been complaining of poor health, which he blamed on the harsh American winter – his foot was swollen and giving him great pain, to the extent that he was in almost constant correspondence with his doctor in London, begging for ever stronger medication to get him through his travels. Installed at The Bull Hotel in Preston Dickens had once again written to Doctor Beard, who on this occasion decided to travel north to see his patient in person. It was on the day of the performance that the doctor arrived, and by then Dickens and his manager, George Dolby, had completed preparations at the hall for the evening’s event (which naturally was a sell-out), and had walked the short distance back to the hotel. Doctor Beard examined Charles and then quietly told him that on no account should he perform that night, or for the rest of the tour – his very survival depended on it. According to Dolby’s account, Charles was crying as preparations for cancelling the rest of the tour were put into place. The two men packed up their belongings, and took a coach to Liverpool, and from there to London.
Back in Preston the event organisers were in a quandary, for all of the ticket money had been banked, and at this time of night the banks were shut, meaning that there was no way that refunds could be offered to anyone who came to the Guild Hall (it was already 5pm and the show was due to start at 8). With a great sense of civic co-operation the landlord at The Bull offered to lend the money, whilst the police force started visiting the homes of as many audience members as they could get to, so as to alert them of the cancellation.
Exploring Preston last week, I walked up Fishergate, the main shopping street, until I stood outside the old Bull hotel, now a thriving, noisy pub called The Bull and Royal.
The paint on the old building was peeling, and various signs told inquisitive potential customers that there were big screens showing various sports, and that there was a pool room also. Also in the arch, which in 1869 would have seen the departure of Charles Dickens’ coach, was a large painted cut out of Mr Pickwick, arm outstretched (inspired by the illustration in The Pickwick Papers in which he is addressing members of The Pickwick Club at The George and Vulture Chop House in London), welcoming revellers in. I doubt if any of the drinkers now know what an important part this building had played in the performing career of Charles Dickens, but it was moving for me to stand there and recall that sad evening 154 years before.
From The Bull I walked back down Fishergate until I reached Guild Hall Street in which, it may be supposed, the old Guild Hall, where Dickens had been due to perform, would have stood, but there was no sign of it now. My respectful meanderings now over, I returned to my hotel where I rested and showered before making my way back to The Central Methodist Church to prepare for my show.
The church is situated on one of the main roads, with double yellow lines restricting parking and unloading to the front, but I had been told that there was a loading bay at the back, and following the route I had reconnoitered earlier I pulled up at the door at precisely 5.30pm, and found that Stewart Turner, my contact at the historical society, was anxiously waiting for me at the door. We unloaded my things, carried them up some narrow stairs, until he pushed open a door and we emerged into the absolutely glorious surroundings of the sanctuary. The church had been built in 1818, and appears to be in magnificent condition, in fact it very much reminded me of the Broad Street United Methodist Church in Burlington, New Jersey, which has been a regular venue on my American tours, with its large balcony, curling around three sides of the room, looking down upon the altar rail below.
Having unloaded the car, I had to find somewhere to park it, and after a short discussion it was decided that the best place was back at my hotel, which was only a 10 minute walk away, so I drove back once more, left the car and returned to start setting up for Mr Dickens is Coming. The space available to me was not huge, and we agreed to stop people sitting in the front row, or I would have been on top of them, but my red replica reading desk and the red fabric screen looked plush and at home in such sumptuous surroundings.
The audience started to arrive at around 6.30, for a 7pm start, so I withdrew into the rooms behind the altar, changed and waited for the off. Unfortunately there was heavy traffic and confusing roadworks in the city, and quite a few of the audience were caught up, meaning that we delayed the start time to 7.20ish. When everyone was gathered, Stewart welcomed them, and then passed proceedings over to a local be-chained councillor who began talking about Dickens’ visits to the city. I was in a slight state of panic at that moment, for I had inserted the passages that I have quoted in this post, into the script, and I was worried that the introduction would render them needless and repetitive when I got to them. However the councillor didn’t go into too much detail, and soon I was on the stage and starting the show.
The audience were lovely and laughed loudly, and listened intently to the various characters from Copperfield, Pickwick and others. Mr Dickens is Coming is one of my oldest scripts. but I had chosen two places to shoehorn the Preston connection in, and I was quite worried about remembering when and how I had decided to do it. It is one thing rehearsing at home, but when I was in the full flow of a very familiar script, I was worried that I would get confused. In the reality, although slightly clunky, the passages fitted in just fine, and in no time I was nearing the end of the first act, culminating in the descriptions of Dickens’ performance of Sikes and Nancy, his ill-health, the scene at The Bull and eventual retirement. Everything worked very well, and the applause as I left the stage was wonderful.
For my second act I had originally suggested that I would like to perform Doctor Marigold (as CD had done in the city). but the organisers were worried that it would be difficult to sell tickets for it, as I had performed it in Preston before, and it is not a well known piece, so instead I would be doing Nickleby, which is my regular show for this year. In hindsight it would have been good to read Sikes and Nancy, as Charles had planned to do on the 22 April, but NickNick would be more lively and entertaining, and I now knew that is what this audience would enjoy.
Changing from Mr Dickens to Nickleby requires a slight change of set, so once I had changed costume, I slipped back into the church to move things around. It was an interesting lesson in body language and performance skills, for I sidled onto the stage and avoided eye contact with anyone, as I furtively moved furniture around, whereas just minutes before, I had been open and bold, loud and brash, almost daring anyone to look anywhere but at me.
With all the changes made, I returned to my dressing room and waited until everyone had coffees, teas and biscuits as required (which took quite a long time). Eventually I got the nod from Stewart and walked confidently back to the stage, the centre of attention once more, and getting a big round of applause as I did so.
The second half was as well received as the first, and although we were running late due to the earlier traffic delays, everyone seemed very happy with the outcome of the performance, whilst for me I felt that I had somehow helped Charles to deliver the show in Preston that he had been unable to do himself.
As the audience left I changed and packed up my bags, and then started to put my props and costumes away. I walked back to the hotel where I retrieved the car at around 9.50 pm, then drove back to the church and loaded the furniture in before saying my goodbyes and thanks to Stewart and various other committee members and returning to the hotel once more. At the front desk I asked if they were still serving food, but the lady explained that the kitchens closed at 10. If only I had thought about ordering 15 minutes earlier, when I picked up the car, I could have had something waiting for my return taken it straight up to my room. As it was I resorted to a delivery app and waited for twenty minutes until a pizza appeared.
My day in Preston had been a strangely moving and emotional one. I had discovered a part of Charles’ life that I did not really know before, and I think it would be fun to try and create a show about April 22, 1869. Leave it with me, I shall let you know what occurs!
The month of June sees me travelling the country to perform at a wide range of events, including the annual, albeit re-branded, Rochester Summer Dickens Festival, a podcast appearance chatting about my book, a visit to a historic railway centre where I shall be performing The Signalman in the shadow of a real signal box and a steaming locomotive, and finally a journey back to Cheshire to perform Great Expectations again – very busy, very exciting.
My professional month started on June 2nd with a return visit to the magnificent Wentworth Woodhouse estate near Rotherham in Yorkshire, where I was to perform Nicholas Nickleby and Doctor Marigold at a fundraising dinner. I first visited this remarkable house, which dates back to 1725, a year ago and my performances had been received so well that I have been booked for two dates this year, the second being as part of my Christmas tour in November. On Friday morning I loaded the car with all of the props and costumes that I would need and set off at 12.pm, in order to give me plenty of time to break the journey for some lunch, and still arrive at my hotel early, so that I could shower and rest before heading to the house. As it happened, I needed all of the extra time because the M1 was heavy with traffic and at one point came to a complete standstill for about 20 minutes. Why? I don’t know, for when we did start moving again there seemed to be no sign of an accident or blockage on the carriageway – maybe an errant horse or swan had meandered onto the road bringing the country’s main North-South thoroughfare to a halt.
I had hoped to reach my hotel at around 3pm, thereby giving me almost two hours to rest, but as it was I arrived at 4.15 meaning I just had time for a refreshing shower (and it WAS refreshing, more on the shower later), before driving the fifteen minutes to the village of Wentworth. I turned into the driveway at exactly 5pm and marvelled once again at the new East front of the house. The original Jacobean-styled 1725 architecture facing West had not been widely admired and an alternative Palladian-inspired building was commissioned which now dominates the gently rolling parkland around.
As I pulled up I thought how lucky I am to perform in such wonderful venues. Of course Highclere Castle is now a regular stop at Christmas, but in the past I have also visited the magnificent, and slightly bonkers, Knebworth House, where Charles Dickens himself was a frequent visitor. My time at Knebworth came back to me this week, when I read an article on the BBC website about using the ancestral home of the Bulwer-Lytton family for filming purposes. The feature mentioned that Netflix had asked for permission to remove a certain window, a request that had been declined. The article quoted the current owner, Henry Lytton-Cobbold (or the 3rd Baron Cobbold) who said ‘The last time a window came out was for Charles Dickens in the 1860s so he could get an instrument in. But we couldn’t do it for Netflix.’ Well! this piqued my curiosity no end, and I instantly emailed Lord C to ask him about the circumstances of Dickens’ visit. He replied almost instantly, saying ‘For the 1850 theatricals at Knebworth to provide music for the performance Dickens hired a huge hybrid musical instrument called a ‘choremusicon’, which he assured would be ‘better than three musicians’ and could be hoisted in through the Banqueting Hall window’ I can see that incident being the basis of a new Netflix mini-series, although of course the production team would not be allowed to remove the window, so we are back to square one….
Back to my Yorkshire trip, and as soon as I arrived I was warmly welcomed and given help to unload the car. For all its grandeur Wentworth Woodhouse is in a bit of a state (as well as being in an estate), and is owned by the Wentoworth Woodhouse Preservation Trust, whose mission it is to restore and preserve the building. Much amazing work has already been done, but there is plenty yet to do, and peeling paint and cracked plaster are not hidden away, rather they act as a very visual reminder to the visitor of the monumental undertaking that lies before the dedicated staff.
I was to perform Nickleby in the Whistlejacket room, which is named in honour of the racehorse featured in a George Stubbs’ painting, a copy of which still dominates the room, although the original is the National Gallery in London.
I carried my furniture up the main staircase, overlooked by various marble statues and busts, and arranged it in front of the ten dining tables which were awaiting preparation for the guests, who would be sitting down to eat at 7.30. My performance space was beneath Whistlejacket (which would prove useful later that evening), but was quite limited, being very close to the front tables. Nickleby is a very theatrical show, with quite large scenes featuring a school-master’s cane being violently wielded, so I would have to be very careful not to inadvertently inflict wounds on my audience.
Last year I performed ‘Mr Dickens is Coming’ before dinner, and The Signalman after, and I had assumed that this year’s event would run along similar lines, but as I was preparing I was told that actually dinner would be served first, and then I would perform Nickleby, take a short interval and then go straight into Marigold, which meant a lot of work all squeezed together later in the evening. Fortunately my dressing room was in one of the mansion’s many bedrooms, and I was able to stretch out and nap, whilst final preparations were made and the guests began to arrive. My bedroom was situated off The Long Gallery, which is used to serve afternoon teas, and the sun poured in through a floor-to-ceiling bow window, casting a magnificent avenue of light onto the floor, and I took the opportunity to take a very atmospheric picture of my shadow cast onto the floor.
As the guests dined I was brought dinner too, and it was delicious – especially the dessert which was a small baked apple, filled with fruits and served with a small shortbread biscuit and a pool of custard. My mother used to make baked apple, and sitting in Victorian costume, I was swept back to happy childhood memories.
But now I had to bring myself back to the present moment and prepare to be an actor again. Mark Barthrop, who is in charge of fundraising and is my contact at WW, appeared to check that I was ready, and having received an affirmative answer went into the room to introduce me (having first thanked the chef and all of the volunteers who had made the evening possible.)
I managed to successfully squeeze the performance into the small space, without inflicting any injuries, but there was one aspect of the evening that made me very nervous (and had weighed heavily on my mind during the whole build up to the day), and that was the matter of my Yorkshire accent. Much of Nicholas Nickleby is set in the school kept by Mr Wackford Squeers and his family in North Yorkshire. ‘The Yorkshire Schools’ were a scandal at the time the book was written and Charles Dickens had taken on the cause with his usual campaigning vigour. The establishments in question took children, sometimes illegitimate, sometimes from a previous marriage, but usually an embarrassment to a respectable family, and in return for yearly fees made sure they were kept out of the way as far from London as possible. The boys were beaten, ill-treated and malnourished and many died and were buried in the school precincts.
So, here I was in Yorkshire, surrounded by Yorkshire folk, putting on my best (hopefully) Yorkshire accent and basically being very rude about the county! However fortunately the audience seemed to like the show and laughed and clapped along with me. In the scene when Mr Squeers is teaching a class he asks one boy ‘what is a horse?’ before instructing the poor child to go and see to the stables and clean the horses. As I got to the line I realised that behind me was the huge rearing image of Whistlejacket, and I was able to refer to the portrait as if it were a teaching aid in Dotheboys Hall: ‘An ‘orse is a quadruped, and quadruped is Latin for beast!’
The performance came to an end, and now I had a brief interval while everyone withdrew to a small drawing room downstairs, where chairs had been laid out in a theatrical style, meaning that the volunteers could clear the Whistlejacket room. I ran back to the Yellow Bedroom to change into my Doctor Marigold costume before getting the nod again from Mark, and starting on my favourite performance.
In a previous blog post I mentioned that Doctor Marigold is one of the scripts that I can almost do without much rehearsing, but as I had not performed it since last September, I had put a good few hours into rehearsal. The drawing room was perfect for the show, as it was much more intimate than upstairs, and the walls were lined with bookshelves, which ties in with the plot line. Regular readers will know how much I enjoy inhabiting the loving, caring, resilient character of Doctor Marigold, the fast-talking market cheapjack., and it was an honour to become him once again. As is so often the case, the audience were entranced by his story, and many gasped at the line towards the end of the show which, according to Dickens’ tour manager George Dolby, produced the same effect on Victorian audiences. I took my bows still in a highly emotional state as I always am when Marigold says farewell.
As the audience left many came up to shake me by the hand and to tell me how moved they had been, how beautiful the story was, and how they would definitely be back at Christmas to see me perform ‘The Carol’. When everyone had made their way into the night, I changed and when I got back to the entrance hall was delighted to find that all of my furniture and props had been brought to the door, meaning that the loading of the car was an easy and quick process. I said my goodbyes, and shook hands before driving away from the magnificent house. There was an almost full, and gloriously golden, moon out which accompanied me back to my hotel.
I didn’t sleep well that night, I rarely do after a performance, and as all of the rigours of this one had been late in the evening, the adrenaline was still in my veins, and my mind was buzzing but eventually sleep came.
Just a final word about my stay at the Rotherham-Sheffield Holiday Inn, and that is that it seemed to have been designed by someone who actually stays in hotel rooms. My suspicion is based on two facts, the first being that the controls for the shower are not under the shower head, behind the shower screen, but on the opposite wall, meaning that you don’t have to reach right in and get a very wet arm when turning it on. The second detail was the laying of the cutlery for breakfast (it is a Gerald Dickens blog post – you KNEW that there would be mention of breakfast sooner or later, didn’t you?) As is the way of things nowadays the breakfast was a buffet, and the tables were laid with a spoon, fork and two knives.
Why two knives? Well, you use one to cut into your bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, beans, mushrooms and whatever else you may have piled onto your plate, but what you don’t want is to use that same food-covered and flavoured knife to spread marmalade onto your toast or croissant – such a simple thing, but it made me smile and silently thank whoever had realised this and acted on it, to make a stay easier.
Next week I drive in the opposite direction, South to Kent where I will once again be performing Nicholas Nickleby at the Rochester Dickens Festival.
I woke up on Thursday morning with the happy knowledge that I didn’t have to be anywhere until 11.30, and that my venue, the Broad Street United Methodist Church, was only 10 minutes away, so I had plenty of time to drift into the day gently.
I had hung my costumes the night before, but I needed to retrieve my top hat, scarf and three white shirts from my large suitcase, and I unpacked them as gently as I could, so that I would be able to re-insert them with as little disruption to the rest of my packing as possible. The result of my efforts was a perfect top-hat-shaped void in my case. I made sure that I had all that I would need for two shows packed in my roller bag, or hung on hangers, and then went to breakfast.
In the small restaurant area next to the front desk of the hotel a buffet was laid out, and as I began to pile some fruit onto cereal, I heard the voice of who I assumed to be the hotel manager, talking to one of his staff: ‘Hey, would like to see a Charles Dickens show tonight? I have tickets here for the hotel staff – Charles Dickens, A Christmas Caro, you want to go?’ I didn’t hear the reply, but it was obviously in the negative, for the manager’s voice continued, ‘Ha! I shall take that as a no then – Bah! Humbug to you!’ I couldn’t help smiling, at which point the manager noticed me, ‘Wow, it’s him! Are you Mr Dickens? Hey great to see you!’ and he strode towards me, hand outstretched. He said that Laura, who runs the show in Burlington, had come to the hotel yesterday to make sure that all of the arrangements were in place and had offered free tickets to any hotel employee who wished to go. We spoke for a while and he asked me about the tour and where home was, mentioning that he had spent time in Surrey and loved our scenery and history.
After breakfast I went back to my room, and relaxed for a while, wrote some emails, and did a little sewing. A button had come off one of my waistcoats in Omaha, and this was the perfect opportunity to test my needlework skills. I have to say, I think that one of the greatest inventions by the human race is that little foil gadget with the thin wire loop that enables a fat-fingered person like me to effortlessly thread a needle!
With my repairs complete it was almost time to leave, for I wanted to stop at Wal-Mart on the way to buy a new USB stick for my sound effects, not because I had mislaid mine (although you would be justified in having come to that conclusion, knowing my track record), but because more and more venues were struggling to use a traditional USB, but had the smaller micro ports, meaning that on a few occasions the tech teams at various shows have been scrabbling around for adapters, or old laptops. In Walmart I found a double-ended USB stick with both traditional and micro heads to it, which seemed to solve my problem.
I continued the short drive and arrived at the Church on the stroke of 11.30. There was an air of familiarity about the arrival, in that I was here as recently as September when I performed The Signalman and Doctor Marigold, although on that occasion I had pulled up in the beautiful midnight blue Mustang.
I unloaded my costumes and after a bit of door knocking was admitted to the beautiful old building that was built in Dickens’s time, and one that has welcomed me on so many occasions that I feel completely relaxed and at home there. Having put my red cloth onto the stage, I went to the small office, where Laura and other volunteers were putting tickets into envelopes for collection, and where I could get out my laptop and transfer the sound cues onto the new USB. It was fun being part of the team, and just chatting as we worked.
The first show was due to start at 1, and audience members at Burlington have a habit of arriving very early, so Laura and I went up into the balcony to go through the various sound effects that she would be operating from her laptop. Neither of us are experts in the world of sound technology, but between us we managed to get the correct cables attached to the correct ports and there was music in the air – music followed by doleful bells tolling. I ran through the script telling Laura how each effect should be played and when they should be faded, and when she was happy with the procedure, so we did a microphone test and got the levels just right. It is an old building, with old electrics and wiring, and there is inevitably a bit of popping and banging, but on the whole it all works very well.
There was only one thing left to do, and that was to carry the large armchair for my set from the small lounge beneath the sanctuary, up a narrow and steep staircase and onto the stage, which we achieved without injury and accident.
Sure enough the audience were beginning to arrive now, so I retreated to my dressing room, the Sunday school classroom, and began to prepare. The room is not only used for classes but also as a large games room too, and prominent in it is a pool table. Having got into costume, I wiled away a few minutes by playing a few shots. I thought that this moment should be captured, so spent more time carefully arranging my camera on its self-timer mode, to capture me making a break.
As 1 o’clock came closer I left the table, wrapped my scarf around my neck, made all of the final checks and went to the back of the sanctuary ready to start. The audience was not a huge one, but were all grouped together at the front, rather being spread out throughout the spacious area. Laura went onto the stage and began her introduction my making a sincere apology to a lady who had called to book tickets. The call had come at a particularly busy time, and the area code was a Californian one, and Laura supposed that this was going to an unsolicited sales call. When she picked up the phone the voice on the other end said, ‘Oh hi, I didn’t expect you to answer….’, to which Laura impatiently said ‘OK, so why did you call then,’ and hung up! Apology made she went on to introduce me and asked the audience how many people had not seen my show before, and an amazing 2/3 of the audience raised their hands! It is always interesting performing for people who do not know the style of the event, and sometimes it can take a while for people to relax into it, so this would be an interesting afternoon.
It is such a lovely church to perform in, so warm and welcoming, and the ‘stage’ gives me lots of options to use different levels and areas. The auditorium could hold over 500 people and yet it retains a very intimate and cosy feel. Sure enough the newbies in the audience took a little while to warm up, but soon they were laughing and gasping and sobbing along with the seasoned regulars, of whom there were many. When I finished, they all stood and applauded and shouted, and I took my bows gratefully.
After I had left the stage I quickly walked down the steep staircase to the lounge beneath, made my way to another staircase and clambered up (I was going to ascended, but that term may be a trifle presumptuous in a church) another staircase to the Kindergarten classroom, where I changed into a fresh costume for the meet and greet session.
One rather sad thing has occurred over the recent days, and that is my lovely pocket watch has stopped working. After an event last week, I don’t recall which, I noticed that the minute hand had come off, so I took the glass from the face and carefully clicked it back on to the spindle, but unfortunately the mechanism must have taken a knock, or a spring had broken, or something, for the winder would not wind and so the hands remained stationary. I bought the watch a few years ago in Plymouth Massachusetts over a Thanksgiving weekend, and it has been a wonderful companion to me ever since. Although it is still a perfectly good prop, I miss being to actually tell the time with it, for when I am in costume and have no modern wristwatch or phone to consult, it is my only way of knowing when I should be somewhere. I hope that I can get it repaired when I return to England next week.
When I was freshened up I went into the large room where tables were laid out and audience members were eating cookies and cakes, drinking tea and enjoying good fellowship. I took my seat at the signing table and soon there was a line of people, some of whom wanted books signed, some to pose for pictures but the majority just to talk about the show and my tour. It is always a very relaxed session, as people tend to remain at their table until they notice I am not occupied, and then come to chat. In the meantime, I had a cup of tea and my own plate of goodies to keep me happy.
It is a long-held tradition at Burlington that between shows all of the volunteers go for dinner at a local Italian restaurant, and although the group was smaller this year, still we all had an enjoyable time, chatting and laughing and comparing stories.
Back at the church I retired to my classroom, where I stretched out on a sofa, having taken my shoes off first of course, and had a short nap, which was very welcome. When I rose again, I spent some time trying to find a watchmaker in England who could care for my injured timepiece, and then began to get into costume once more. Marcia, the member of the team who brings me tea in a china cup, and Rich Tea Biscuits, knocked on the door and delivered my pre-show tray, which included a bowl of fresh fruit and a glass of iced water.
The evening show began at 7pm, and the routine was as before, I stood at the back of the hall ready to make my entrance, while Laura made her introductory remarks. Again, the show went extremely well, although some of the sound effects didn’t come across as clearly as usual, and the volume didn’t seem to be consistent. As I continued with the script I wondered if I had downloaded the wrong files onto the new USB, and made a mental note to check them when I could – it is amazing what goes through your mind when you are in the middle of a scene.
The evening show was as enthusiastically received as the afternoon one had been, and the reception was as fun with lots of people wanting to chat and ask questions, most particularly an ex-journalist who was very kind, and somewhat apologetic for her constant queries, but still followed each and every one through with a tenacity honed through many years on the news desks.
My time with the good folk of The Broad Street United Methodist Church was coming to a close, and I changed back into my regular clothes, made sure that I had collected and packed everything, and then said goodbye to me dear friends. I drove back to the hotel and hung my costumes up to air, ready to be packed into my little roller case again to journey to the final venue of this leg of the tour – Minneapolis.
As I celebrate my 59th birthday so my week of fundraising began in earnest. Of course, the main event will be on the 16th October with my debut run in the Oxford Half Marathon, and I will return to that story later, but on Friday night I performed in my hometown of Abingdon-on-Thames for the first time in many years.
I had chosen a new venue for me, and that choice had come about through a curious circumstance. My youngest daughter had been invited to the birthday party of one of her classmates at school, and the event was held at the Abingdon Baptist Chapel, where the birthday girl’s parents and grandparents not only attend, but administer too. The chapel is set a little back from the road and is an impressive building, with Palladian columns giving it an Acropolis-esque look. It is one of those buildings that I have driven passed a thousand times and thought how elegant it looks but had never investigated further. On the day of the party, I went to collect our daughter, and on walking through the main door I could see straight away what an impressive hall it was – simple, surprisingly modern and well lit, although the effect was somewhat obscured by a large bouncy castle, complete with an illuminated glitter ball in the centre. I tucked the memory away, ready to be used when next I needed a space to perform in.
The idea to give a benefit performance in aid of Brain Tumour Research came after I had been accepted to run in the half marathon, and I thought it would be a nice opportunity to raise funds by doing what I do, in addition to the terrifying thing that I do NOT do. I approached the Baptist Church and having checked the diary they were able to offer me Friday 7th October, which I grabbed with both hands. There was a slight moment of concern in that the ancient and traditional Abingdon Fair takes place at the start of October and the whole main street is closed for two days and filled with noisy, whirling, garish rides, and stalls selling candyfloss, hot dogs, burgers and other unidentifiable foodstuffs, whilst the Oxfordshire night air is filled with the screams of flirting teenagers. The Baptist Chapel sits on the very road where the fair is held, so not only would my audience be unable to get to it, but the accompanying soundtrack would not have been conducive to Victorian literature. Fortunately, tradition (and law) dictates that the fair be held on the Monday and Tuesday before the 11th October, and it is not built until the Sunday before, so my Friday date was safe. As an aside, the Abingdon Michaelmas Fair dates back to the 14th Century when it was created as a gathering to hire labour in the aftermath of the Black Death.
The next issue was to publicise the show, which was not easy. As I was producing the event, on behalf of Brain Tumour Research, I didn’t have a large budget to play with, indeed I had no budget to play with, so other than printing some leaflets and posters, all I had was good old fashioned leg work, and modern social media.
I had planned to start my publicity assault when I was in America in September, but of course that coincided with the death of the Queen, meaning that not only was I not in a state of mind to shout and scream about my show, but also the country and potential audience would not be responsive anyway.
When the funeral was over and life slowly started to get back to normal, I began distributing leaflets, initially in my own neighbourhood, hoping that curiosity and a sense of neighbourly support would bring in a few sales. After that I picked areas of the town the I felt would house the demographic that usually attend my performances and spent many mornings walking up and down leafy roads, slipping A5 fliers through letterboxes. The art of leafleting is not as easy as once it was in that most houses have highly sprung and insulated letterboxes making it a real struggle to push a flimsy piece of paper through. I had no idea if these operations would bring forth results, I didn’t know if anybody would even read the leaflet but clung to the hope that somewhere in the hundreds of houses was someone who loved either local theatre, Dickens or preferably both. I was startled by barking dogs and avoided the angry glares from people sitting in their front rooms watching me trespass on their properties.
In the town centre many businesses were kind enough to display posters and take leaflets and little by little the word started to spread. I bombarded local Facebook pages with posts about the show, but ticket sales remained frustratingly slow. I emailed large businesses in the town attaching the flier and asked them to circulate the information among staff, and I did the same to all of the local schools.
As the week of the show arrived the sales were still not great, but I could satisfy myself that the show was only part of my greater fundraising efforts, so from that point of view anything that I made would be a success, but I did want the atmosphere in the Church to be good and the evening to be an enjoyable one.
The day of the show arrived, and it was a very odd feeling not to have to pack up the car early and get on the road to some venue far away. The programme for the evening was to be Mr Dickens is Coming! and Doctor Marigold and that combination means quite the car full and, on this occasion, I also had a large box containing various promotional materials from Brain Tumour Research along with two collection buckets.
Naturally as I pulled into the small car park outside the church rain started to fall meaning that I was a bit damp by the time everything was inside!
The space was perfect with a small ‘stage’ at one end, a balcony around the top and a high vaulted wooden ceiling above.
I busied myself setting up the stage for Mr Dickens is Coming, which involves recreating the set that Charles Dickens used for his readings. I erected my red screen (fabric over a simple frame which, although Dickens’ was solid), placing my copy of his red reading desk, complete with the cube for the performer to rest their hand on, a handkerchief, and a small glass carafe, which bears my great great grandfather’s crest, and which is the only item I own that actually belonged to him. Once everything was in place, I started to rehearse a bit of Doctor Marigold and could hear the words echoing back to me, so tried to tone down my volume as much as I could.
There were other preparations too, for I had to make sure that the ticket sales table was in place, complete with a cash float (which I had withdrawn from the bank earlier in the day), and laid out my various items of merchandise, which this year includes the DVD version of ‘A Christmas Carol’, as well as ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ and a DVD of Doctor Marigold. I also needed to lay another table out with all of the leaflets and publicity for Brain Tumour Research, and in the centre of all of that literature a large yellow bucket in case audience members who had already parted with their hard-earned money to attend the evening should feel disposed to donate further as they left.
When all of the preparations had been completed the audience started to arrive, so I dashed into my dressing room, quickly changed into my costume and then went out to meet and greet and mingle. As this was ‘my’ show I had decided to be present as the audience arrived, rather than theatrically hiding myself away – in this way I became actor, writer, producer, front of house manager and stage manager all in one, which didn’t allow me a lot of time to relax and prepare for the forthcoming performance.
The first arrivals were all from my own neighbourhood, and they gathered in the centre of the hall and chatted busily together, meaning that I could just as well have well given the performance in the middle of our street, and saved everyone the trouble of travelling. but soon others began to appear, and the small hall began to fill. It was by no means a full house, far from it indeed, but my efforts of the past few weeks produced a decent enough audience. Liz was there, with our two girls who have not seen me perform before and who would be staying for the first half, and there was a goodly sprinkling of friends and family, including Liz’s nephew Richard, a son of Sheila in whose memory these events are being held.
At 7.30 I made my way to the stage and began the show. Usually as I wait in the wings I listen as one of the organisers gets onto the stage and explains where the emergency exits are, as well as the toilet facilities, but being my own show, it fell to me to clumsily do that, before launching into the words of Charles Dickens, which begin the performance.
It was a fun half and the old script still got laughs where it always does. I felt slightly awkward writhing and squirming in the rather suggestive manner of Uriah Heep, and wondered what my daughters would make of daddy looking like that (and indeed when I was at home the next day they proudly told me that was their favourite part!), but gave the whole performance as much as I could.
The interval came and I rushed to change into Doctor Marigold’s costume, before returning to the stage to rearrange the furniture (thus adding stagehand to my growing job list!), and when I had completed the task I was able to give the girls a hug and say goodbye to them and Liz, before preparing to transform into Marigold.
The second half went well also, although the slightly boomy acoustics in the hall made some of the very fast paced dialogue difficult to hear, but the response to the ever-changing fortunes of the poor cheapjack was moving and generous as I took the applause at the end. Having taken my bows, I thanked the audience for their generosity once more and reminded them that in just a week’s time I would be running the Oxford Half Marathon for the same cause, thereby shamelessly encouraging them to part with yet more of their cash, and brought the evening to a close.
As the audience left, I stood at the door and thanked them for coming, and signed a few copies of my book, and one of my ‘A Christmas Carol’ DVDs, until the hall was empty with the exception of the staff and volunteers who had helped make the evening a success. As they began to rearrange the seating, I changed and started to pack up my belongings knowing that in the event of leaving something behind (a fairly common occurrence as regular readers will know), I wouldn’t have far to drive to retrieve it. I said my goodbyes and thanks, and set off into the night for my 5-minute drive home, where Liz was waiting for me.
The evening had been a success and added a few hundred pounds to my fundraising kitty. The audience had been incredibly generous and had donated an extra £78 into the Brain Tumor Research bucket. Now the focus will change as I prepare to line up at the start of The Oxford Half Marathon proudly bearing number 1391 and completing a challenge that began on April 16, 2022.
To become part of my fundraising efforts simply follow the link to:
Having returned from America last week, and having solemnly and proudly spending Monday watching the funeral of Queen Elizabeth (wearing a dark suit and black tie in respectful honour of my Monarch), it was time to turn my attentions to the two projects coming up in October.
The first is a performance of Mr Dickens is Coming and Doctor Marigold in my home town of Abingdon, to raise funds for Brain Tumour Research. My fundraising efforts began in April when Liz’s sister Sheila died from the condition and I decided to turn my hand to working on behalf of the charity. The main push to my efforts was entering the Oxford Half Marathon on October 16th, and much of my year has been spent pounding the Oxfordshire roads trying to get myself into shape to complete 13 miles. However I also decided to stage a benefit performance (which will require rather less effort than the Half), and that is due to be performed on 7th October, so my initial work was to put in place publicity for the show. I designed posters and had them printed and started sending press releases out to all and sundry. Ticket sales are looked after by Eventbrite and it was with a smile that the first email confirmations of bookings came into my inbox.
With publicity rolling, I also needed to get back to training. I had run a couple of times in America, but not with any great intensity, so I went out one afternoon to run the 6 mile ring road which surrounds Abingdon. Everything was going well and my breathing was good and the legs felt powerful….until the 3 mile mark when suddenly a searing pain came from my right calf. I immediately stopped (I had promised myself, and Liz, that if anything felt untoward I wouldn’t push on thereby risking further damage), and limped home. What I hoped might be a cramp lingered annoyingly into the evening and through the night, so I feared that I may have suffered my first running injury just as I should be in my final stages of preparations. The next day I called a sports physiotherapist, but he was unavailable, so I just went about my ordinary business without putting too much strain on my leg. The next day it felt better, and I tried a few little runs, just a few hundred yards at a time, and felt no adverse effects, so I was confident that I could get out for a proper training run again.
Today, 23 September, I dropped our children to school and then set off to do two laps of the ring road, which would mean a 12 mile run – the little loop back to home would mean that I would be completing around 13 miles, the very distance that I will need to achieve to complete the event in October. I knew that I had to prove to myself that I could complete 13 miles before arriving in Oxford, and it needed to be done sooner than later, for if I were still pounding out long distances in the week of the event I wouldn’t have any energy for the race itself, so today was the day (leg muscles allowing)
At 8.50 I started to run, and it felt good. I kept a steady pace, not wanting to go off too quickly, and soon was in the centre of the town. I passed the spot where my calf had gone a few days before and still everything was OK. On I ran, past the fire station and later the police station, then turning right opposite McDonalds and climbed gradually towards the point I’d started from.
For much of my training I have been listening to audiobooks to accompany me, but a good friend and keen runner had told me that actually he runs better with nothing playing in his ears, so today I tried this and it seemed to work. My mind, rather than concentrating on the unfolding story, just ambled around. I thought of my forthcoming show, I thought of the performances in the USA, I admired a motorcyclist’s crash helmet livery which was charmingly old fashioned, rather than the multi-coloured ones that are usually so popular. I listened to birds, looked at trees, read the names of haulage companies on the cabs of lorries, and the miles just slipped away under the soles of my feet
I still felt strong, so set off for a second 6 mile lap. I had a choice to make at this point, did I turn round and complete lap two in the reverse direction, which in hindsight would have been the sensible thing to do, or just plough on through familiar scenery? I decided to carry on. Of course it was getting harder, but I was soon in town again (where my 10 year old’s class was gathering to sing Status Quo’s ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’ in the market square for reasons I am not sure of), and on towards McDonalds again, which would be the ten mile mark. At this stage, I admit, I began to find the going tough and I slowed to a walk a few times during those final 3 miles, but I never stopped, I was moving forward the whole time, and when I reached home I checked my Strava app and saw that I had clocked up exactly 13 miles. I had done it! When I had thought about this run I reckoned I could do it in around 2 hours, 10 minutes (I run at an average pace of 9.30 minute miles, but I knew I wouldn’t keep that up over thirteen and had estimated an average of 10 minute miles), and my final time was 2 hours 9 minutes, despite the walking: I was very very proud of that!
So I am in a good place, I know that I can do it, and now can rein back the distances a little to leave me with plenty of energy for the big day – I even have a PB to aim for now, I would like to get to around 2 hours if I could on the day.
So, I think that deserves some more sponsorship donations! Thank you so much to all of those who have already contributed so generously, taking the fund up to nearly £1,000, but we need more! So please do check out the link and come with me on my 13 mile journey.
Wednesday had promised to be another relaxing day in the cabin, possibly doing some work on the script for A Child’s Journey With Dickens, until I had received a text the day before from Bob’s son George asking me if I would like to join him for a round of golf (I had mentioned to Bob that I had brought my golf shoes just in case there was time for a round, and he had passed the message on). I readily agreed and George arrived at the cabin to pick me up at 8.45 in readiness for a 9.40 tee off. The course that he had selected was Heron Glenn Golf Club near to the town of Flemington from where I would be collecting a rental car later in the day.
We arrived at the club in good time and sorted out a set of rental clubs for me, which would provide a perfect excuse for poor play in the early holes, and made our way to the first tee, where another two players introduced themselves as Bill and Michael and told us that they would be playing with us, which turned out to be a good thing as they were able to show us the way around and warn us of hidden areas of rough. They had broad New York accents and George and I tried to guess what they had been during their working lives: we came up with either police officers, or maybe in the newspaper industry. We never did find out.
We had a wonderful time, I wont go into it hole by hole, but we all played some very good shots and we all played some woeful shots. On the whole George played more good shots than the rest of us, and if we had been competing he would have vanquished us, but we weren’t and instead we all had fun
From the golf course I had to pick up a rental car which will be with me until I arrive at Logan airport on Saturday to fly home. We were to go to a Hertz dealership in Flemington, and it took a bit of finding. In our defence the venue didn’t look like a Hertz office. In fact it was a very small car repair shop, with scattered bits of wounded automobiles lying on the ground. The only clue that the office may be part of one of the world’s leading car rental concerns was a tiny sign on the wall outside the office. I walked in and said I was due to collect a car and that my name was Dickens. ‘Ah, yes.’ said the lady in the office, its the white Nissan Rogue, here are the keys. Its got 3/4 of a tank, just drop it off with the same wherever you’re leaving it.’ And that was it! No signatures, no driving licence check, no credit cards: nothing. Easy, but I was not entirely sure that Hertz head office knew that I had their car.
I said goodbye to George, although we’d be meeting up again for dinner, and drove back to the cabin, where I took the Mustang out for one final journey to fill it up with petrol (during my drive to Burlington I’d watched the fuel gauge go down as quickly as the speed went up!) When I returned, I sorrowfully guided it into the garage and said my goodbyes.
George had booked a table for dinner in the town of New Hope, 30 minutes away, in a very smart restaurant overlooking the river. Maura, George’s girlfriend was also there and it was a great pleasure to meet her. She is going to be working with Pam on the administrative side of my tour and she was keen to find out as much as possible as to how it all works. She will be a great asset to the team, I think. We all dined well, I had a spicy Asian trout dish which was absolutely delicious, and it was a very pleasant evening with good company.
I returned to the Cabin for my final night in the woods
THURSDAY
Although I had only one show on Thursday, in the evening, I did have a little extra work to do at Byers’ Choice, for David wanted to record a few promotional videos for the forthcoming Christmas tour. Firstly I sat at a large table and, looking into the camera, cheerily invited people to come and see A Christmas Carol at Byers’ Choice. Next I cheerily asked them to come and see A Christmas Carol at their local venue (this means that sponsors can put their own captions and booking details on the screen.) Then I told people that they may like to buy my book, and finally a piece about my DVD of A Christmas Carol (Yes! It is available this year). When all those short clips had been filmed Dave and I created a mini Byers’ Choice travel show as I walked through the visitor centre pointing out things of interest, especially relating to Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol.
When the filming was finished I said my final goodbyes to Dave, Bob and George (who returned my golf shoes that I’d left in his ca)r, and I set out on the road East, towards Long Island. The traffic wasn’t too bad until I reached the environs of New York City, at which time I inevitably hit long tailbacks – some because of accidents, some because of roadworks and some just due to heavy city congestion. I had plenty of time in hand, though, so it was not a concern.
To skirt around Manhattan my route took me across the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island to Brooklyn, and it has to be one of the world’s most truly impressive bridges to be sure, rivalling The Forth Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Sidney Harbour Bridge, and even its near neighbour, the Brooklyn Bridge. The heavy traffic continued onto the misnamed Long Island Expressways but I arrived at the Marriott Hotel in good time. I had stayed at the same venue last Christmas so everything was familiar to me.
I had an hour or so at the hotel before I was due at the East Meadow Library where I was to perform the double bill of The Signalman and Doctor Marigold that evening. The drive to the library was only a matter of minutes and in no time I was greeting my friends from December Jude and her husband Mark, who helped me to unload my costumes and props ready to set up in the small auditorium. The first job was to reconstruct the danger light for The Signalman, using the screws and screwdriver that Dave had sent along with me. Mark used to be involved in Broadway theatre in the tech, set and props fields and as we built the light he was commenting on the construction of it, with a certain sense of admiration, but also with the inevitable ‘Ah, if I’d made this I would have……’
Soon we had the set in place and Jude suggested that we all went to get some dinner before the show, so we piled into Marks huge RAM truck and headed to a lovely Italian restaurant, where we dined alfresco, beneath huge sunshades. I had a simple chicken dish in a white wine and lemon sauce, which was delicious, but I was aware that time was pushing on towards six pm and we were due to start at seven. Mark noticed my unease and offered to drive me back to the Library so that I could finish my preparations in as relaxed way as possible.
The priority was to do a sound check with Larry, who had looked after my performance in December and who I knew to be a safe pair of hands on the faders, because of that I had also given him the wind sound effect to play during the first half. With the sound check completed and the set checked once more I left the room, so that the audience could take their seats, and went downstairs where I changed in a small staff cafeteria room.
At seven o’clock Jude came down to say we were holding for 5 minutes as guests were still arriving, but soon everything was in place to begin. Jude opened the door to the auditorium (the seating was raked, and I would be performing on the floor level), and I slipped in behind her, which elicited a round of applause form the audience, to which Jude hissed back at me in a loud pantomime-style whisper ‘you were supposed to stay outside!’ It was all good fun banter, and Jude is a natural entertainer.
With the introductions completed I started the show. The audience weren’t as responsive during the two performances as some others, there was not the same laughter at Marigold for instance, but oh my they were appreciative and applauded long and loudly afterwards. I learned long ago that audiences respond in different ways and just because there isn’t an instant response, it doesn’t mean that they are not enjoying, or appreciating the performance, and the crowd at East Meadow were a case in point. After Marigold was finished (and, yes, they gasped at the correct moment), I opened the floor up to questions and we had an enjoyable session covering lots of ground, including how do I learn lines? What is my favourite film or TV adaptation of any Dickens novel? (David Lean’s Great Expectations, or the BBC’s Bleak House), and how did I feel about the Queen? which brought the emotions that have been there all week bubbling up to the surface again. Soon it was time to wrap up and I took another round of applause before leaving the room. I loitered outside as the audience left and the questions continued until the library emptied and it was time to pack up my belongings, say my goodbyes and head back to the Marriott where I set my alarm for 5.45, as I had a three hour drive ahead of me to Massachusetts.
On Tuesday it was back to work, with two more performances of the same double bill that I performed in Georgia and at Byers’ Choice, in Burlington, New Jersey.
The two down days were spent at Bob and Pam’s cabin and enabled me to relax, follow the continuing news coverage from home, and to prepare for forthcoming shows. On Sunday the rain fell from dawn till dusk, and as Bob and Pam were at the cabin too, we all had a very lazy day, watching sport, reading, and completing a jigsaw puzzle that featured scenes and characters from the works of, guess who? Charles Dickens if course.
On Sunday evening Bob and Pam said their goodbyes and drove back to their home in town ready for the working week, leaving me in the middle of the woods alone with just a cacophony of insects in the trees to keep me company.
On Monday morning I woke early and looking out over the Delaware River valley I saw that although it was misty, the rain had abated, so I decided to go out for a training run.
At the bottom of the hill there is a canal with a towpath that runs for miles in both directions, so I set off at 6.15 and spent just over an hour running out and back, at one time being accompanied by a family of deer who bounded and skipped alongside me for a while. Unfortunately my running app on the phone refused to pick up a GPS signal, so I have no idea how far or how fast I ran, but based on previous experience it must have been about 5 or 6 miles all told including the long slow trek back up the steep driveway.
After I had showered and cooled down a little I decided to drive out to a nearby general store to pick up a few things for breakfast, and the rest of my stay, and it was now that I was introduced to my transport for the next couple of days, and what a splendid beast it was! In the garage sat a magnificent midnight blue Ford Mustang Convertible. I got into the drivers seat (the car sort of swallows you up, you sit so deep within it that you become part of it) and turned the key which opened the stable for all those horses to be freed. I assume it is a V8, it certainly sounded like one. I carefully reversed it out of the garage, and then placed my foot on the gas pedal (somehow I have to use the American terminology for this car) to propel it forward up the cinder track, and such was the power that the rear wheels simply spun on the loose surface leaving two little marks in my wake. My second attempt was much more gentle and off I went with the roof down. The lanes and roads around the river are narrow and have speed limits no greater than 45 mules per hour, so I couldn’t exploit the sheer power deep within (which was probably just as well), but to slowly cruise was wonderful. I think I love that car and may pop it into my hand luggage when I leave and steal it!
After I had shopped I returned to my woodland retreat atop the hill, had some breakfast and then settled down to various bits of work. The main focus of my morning was to work on the script for ‘A Child’s Journey With Dickens’ which I am due to perform on Friday in Massachusetts. I have performed this little tale on many occasions and know the script very well, but this week’s performance is slightly out of the ordinary. During lockdown the Charles Dickens Museum in London asked me to perform an online version of the story, and I cooperated with my friend and fellow actor Jennifer Emerson, who is based in Massachusetts. Together we reworked the script, so that she took on the role of Kate Douglas Wiggin, the author of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, whilst I enhanced the narrative with the recital of letters from Dickens, giving accounts of the planning for his American tour, his journey and his observations during his stay. It is an interesting challenge to learn, or at least re-learn, lines which have to fit within a script featuring another character. I am used to learning large chunks of text for my shows, and I have become quite adept at that over the years, but returning to the fragmented nature of dialogue, and having to make sure that another performer gets the correct cues is a much more disciplined task, so I have been spending quite a lot of time just pacing around the cabin muttering to myself.
At 10 o’clock on Monday morning I had a Zoom call with Jennifer and we went through the script together, making a few changes and discussing how we would actually stage the performance (of course last time we did it we were in different countries, so it was very much a vocal performance rather than a physical one).
When the call was over I did some more work on the lines, and then prepared myself to drive back to Byers’ Choice where 200 copies of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash’ were waiting to be signed. Once more I settled myself deep within the Mustang and rumbled my way into Chalfont. The boxes of books were in the Conference Room, and I settled down to add my autograph to each copy, whilst listening to the BBC news coverage of events in Edinburgh as the Queen’s coffin was laid in state for the first time.
The signing didn’t take too long and when I had finished I went to find Bob to discuss another issue. The wonderful warning light that David had built for my performance of The Signalman was so impressive that I had suggested it would be great if I could take it to each of the forthcoming venues where I am due to perform the piece again. I will be driving to each, but the prop is over 6 feet tall and, especially in the case of Burlington, I would be driving in the Mustang which, for all its beauty, is not built to transport goods. I’d suggested that I keep the roof down and we had the light sticking up out of the top, maybe we could connect it to the brake pedal, so that it glowed ominously every time I slowed, but of course Dave and Bob had a more practical solution. I was taken to a workshop and witnessed the frame being sawn into two parts, with brackets to re-assemble it. Both parts would now fit in the Mustang and Dave had even installed a switch into the unit so that I could turn it off at the appropriate point of the show. I arranged to drop by in the morning, on my way to Burlington to pick up the finished article, before driving back to the cabin where I did a little more line learning, and then played myself at pool in the basement – and won!
Tuesday promised to be a busy day as I had two performances of my double bill, making it more like four performances. I gathered all of my costumes and props, loaded them into the Mustang and left the cabin at 9.15 and drove to Byers’ Choice to collect the light. As it would have to go into the back seat of the car, and as it had four metal plates to attach it again, Dave had also made some covers to avoid the metal edges damaging the upholstery, a very sensible precaution that I would never have thought about. I finished loading the car and then started the hour’s journey to Burlington, and the beautiful old United Methodist Church on Broad Street.
Burlington is one of my regular venues and I have been performing A Christmas Carol there for many years, so it was a pleasure to bring some more of my repertoire there this year. I pulled up outside the Church and went in, where I found Laura in the office preparing for the day’s events. Laura is our main contact at Broad Street and has been at the helm of the events since the very beginning, she is the centre of an active and deeply committed group of volunteers who put on amazing events. Laura told me that the audiences would be smaller than at Christmas, and we needed to decide where to stage the events. We could use the beautiful sanctuary, with its wrap around balcony and multi-level performing space, but a small audience may look rather lost in there, and also the day was hot and humid and there was no air conditioning in the hall.
The alternative was the basement room, also used for services, but much smaller and less beautiful, however it was cooler and the smaller space would suit the intimate nature of the double bill, whilst giving the impression of a larger crowd – the decision was an easy one in the end.
I unloaded the car, reconstructed the danger lamp, and then we all (me, Laura and the crew) worked on making the performance space look good. Lecterns and flags were removed, as well as large amounts of crucifixes and other religious iconology (I felt somewhat heretical, but as it was the members of the church community who were suggesting it, and doing the clearing I reckoned it was OK!). Laura asked if I wanted a large black cloth that is usually draped over the organ in the Sanctuary to be draped over the altar table, but an idea came into my head – was there any way we could hang it on the wall behind to create the great black void of the railway tunnel? Before I knew it people were clambering onto the altar, stretching up and trying to pin the cloth in place. In the end, the effect was perfect, but I am sure that I will be going to Hell for this.
The help continued as the team provided me with a very old book to represent the ‘official book’ that lies on the Signalman’s desk, and also a rather lovely miniature bell to stand on top of the signalling equipment. Both of these items looked superb on my set: along with the Mustang, my luggage promises to be bulging with nefariously purloined contraband when I leave on Saturday.
Even as we were setting up the first audience members began to arrive, so having checked that everything was in place, I retreated to my changing room, where the ever-attentive Marcia brought me my traditional pot of tea and biscuits – what a pre-show treat.
At 12.50 I made my way back downstairs in my Signalman costume, complete with black armband, and at 1 on the dot Laura welcomed the guests and handed the room to me. The audience were attentive and engaged, and the performance was intense and powerful, I enjoyed myself a great deal. The fact that I am continually performing the same repertoire on this trip means that it is becoming tighter and more effective with each show and I can relax much more. I finished the half, as I have done throughout this trip, by relating the anecdote of performing The Signalman on the Blaenau Ffestiniog railway in Wales##, where the audience had been brought up the mountain side, through the dark sombre slate hills, by train, and when I finished the show they all got back onto the (unlit) train and began the precipitous and precarious descent. Feeling that I should wave goodbye I had stood on a foot bridge across the line and waved in the manner of the spectre in the story, with one arm across my face. It is a good way to finish the act as it gets a bit of a laugh and just raises the spirits a little after the solemnity of the show itself.
At the interval I changed into my Marigold costume, with sleeves casually rolled up, thus displaying my war wounds from Jekyll, which have yet to heal fully and then returned to the room to change the set round in as anonymous a way as possible. When all was ready Laura called the room to order and Doctor M took over in his entertaining way. The audience laughed, were shocked, gasped and sobbed as the story toyed with their emotions and the applause at the end was wonderful – another group of people had become Marigold converts.
When the show was over and bows taken, we all made our way into another hall where tables are laid out, whilst tea, cakes, cookies and large slices of pumpkin pie are served. This is always a very nice informal way to conduct a meet and greet, autograph session, as everyone just watches until there is no line and ambles up to my desk to chat. On this occasion a very kind gentleman presented me with a large resin beer stein complete with characters from A Christmas Carol in relief – people are so generous. Throughout the session everyone offered sincere condolences for my country’s loss, there is a very genuine sense of grief and sorry here too.
The session drifted to its end and I returned to the hall to re-set for the evening’s performance of The Signalman, so that everything was ready. I changed and all of the Broad Street team walked to Francesco’s restaurant for a late lunch/early dinner. I enjoyed a salad with crispy chicken and honey mustard dressing, whilst the chat and banter was as entertaining as ever – these people are good people, kind people, generous and fun people.
Back to the church, and I had an hour or so to rest before the 7 o’clock show. My dressing room was in a large room used for Sunday school teaching, as well as for games and play. In the middle of the room was a pool table, so I had a few frames and once again I beat myself – I must be getting quite adept at the game as I keep winning.
Soon it was time to get back to business and I got back into costume ready for the 7 o’clock start. The evening audience was smaller, but just as attentive. My good friend Kevin from the New York branch of the Dickens Fellowship was there, which was great to see, but it meant I couldn’t get away with any incorrect facts as I spoke of Staplehurst (he knows his Dickens, does Kevin!), fortunately he was nodding a lot, which was a good sign.
Both shows went well again, although I was feeling the fatigue during Marigold, but the effect at the end was the same as in the afternoon and many a tear was surreptitiously wiped away.
At the reception I chatted with Kevin and his wife, and with many other regular fans, who have been coming to see A Christmas Carol for many years and who were delighted to see some of my other material. Soon, though, they drifted away and it was time to get changed and then start to dismantle the set, break down the light, and carefully pack everything into my mighty steed ready for an hour’s drive back to the cabin. I really felt very tired, but had the windows wide open as I drove. There were lots of deer along the way, but fortunately none ran into my path, which was a relief. At about 11pm I pulled the car into the parking space outside the house, locked it, and went inside.
Friday night wasn’t very long for me, but even so I managed to injure myself during it. I woke somewhere around 1am and made my way through the dark to the bathroom. It was as I returned to the bed that I tripped over my suitcase, let open ready to pack in the early hours. As I fell forward I was vaguely aware that the wooden bed was close and stuck my hands out to break my fall but in doing so I scraped my right wrist along the sharp edge of the case, leaving a nasty graze.
I got back to bed and fell asleep. The next thing I knew alarms were bleeping and chiming and it was time to get up. I made a cup of coffee and quickly showered before packing my wash bag and closing up my guillotine suitcase. I left the room at 3.30 and made my way along a series of wooden walkways and was amazed to see a couple sat at a table talking, they said a polite ‘good morning’, as if chatting to fellow guests at 3.30 in the morning was the most natural thing in the world.
The drive back to Jacksonville airport was just over an hour, so my phone’s navigation app told me, and I drove through the darkness and duly arrived at 4.30. I drove to the Hertz rental return and then walked into the terminal where I was amazed how busy it was. I joined a queue for the United airlines bag drop and then made my way through security and arrived at my gate with 15 minutes before boarding was due to commence. I grabbed a little pot of yoghurt, a bottle of orange juice and a cinnamon roll and had a very quick ‘breakfast’ before being called to board.
I also studied my injury which was looking quite livid and raw. The shape of the wound looked rather like a collection of islands in an Australasian archipelago, and was feeling a little sore, I could also feel a scrape on my shin, where first I tripped and also an ache on my upper lip, where I banged my face – not bad work for a 4-hour night!
The flight took off in darkness and I dozed a little, but when the coffee service came round I was awake for good, so opened the United Airlines app and watched Local Hero, which made me have thoughts of longing to be back in the Highlands of Scotland again.
The sun had risen during the flight and it felt as if it should be around 10 or 11 in the morning, in fact it was a little before 8am. As I waited at the carousel in baggage claim I was greeted by the cheery face and hug of Pam Byers who had driven out to pick me up. My home for the next few days would be the Byers’ cabin overlooking the Delaware river and having loaded my bags into her little white Golf GT we set off for the beautiful remote spot in the woods. We had a couple of hours during which I could just catch my breath a little, and I showered again to wake me up, before we had to set off to the Byers’ Choice headquarters where I was due to perform that afternoon. On the way Pam stopped at a WaWa petrol station and I grabbed a sandwich, some fruit and some crisps for a brief lunch, and then on to the building that is so familiar to me – my office in the USA. Whenever I come to Chalfont I feel so much apart of the Byers’ Choice team, it is a very special place to be.
As with all of the shows on this mini-tour the audience was going to be smaller than those for A Christmas Carol, so the team had taken the decision to build a more intimate theatre in the cafeteria space rather than in the cavernous manufacturing room. I said hello to David Daikeler, who looks after all of my technical requirements at Byers’ and then to Jeff and finally to Bob Byers. They had done a fantastic job in building the theatre, and the stage not only had the furniture for The Signalman’s hut, but also a magnificent red danger light built by Dave specifically for this occasion. At each side of the stage were a couple of antique carts which set the scene for Doctor Marigold. David had hung a series of theatre lights, and would be able to control the various lighting effects that I use in theatres at home.
We were also experimenting with something new – a sound effect. In The Signalman the narrative talks about the wind whistling through the deep railway cutting, indeed it almost becomes part of the haunting itself. For a few years I have thought about using sound, sparingly and subtly, and I had decided that the Byers’ Choice performance, with Dave at the rudder, would be the perfect time to try it out. Over the previous weeks I had spent many hours, becoming rather obsessed with the project, listening to various wind sound effects, some were too stormy, others too calm, some too sci-fi and others too artificial, but eventually I found one that fitted the bill. Now, it was my first chance to see how it sounded, and I began a run through of the script as Dave played around with sound levels. My suggestion had been that I wanted to audience to feel cold and uneasy without actually knowing why, so the effect should be very much used as an ambient sound, rather than being too intrusive. It sounded perfect.
Having finished our technical rehearsals I went to the large conference room that doubles as my dressing room on such occasions, and ate my lunch before signing 30 copies of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash’, which would be sold at the performance. Back in the theatre the audience were arriving and I changed into costume ready to start the show at 3 0’clock, twelve hours after I woke up.
There was a good audience in the room and once we were sure that nobody else was going to arrive, Bob turned off the lights and we made our way towards the stage. Bob is always superb at welcoming the audience to the shows, but on this occasion he completely caught me off guard, by sombrely offering his condolences to me and my country, before calling the audience to observe a moment’s silence in memory of and in tribute to The Queen. I stood with my head bowed and had to wipe away a tear or two before stepping up to the stage. I have been amazed and deeply touched by the response of America during these days, with all flags flying at half mast, and this in a week of such commemoration and sorry in their own country as they remember the horrors of 9-11.
On the stage I thanked the audience and then, as Marigold likes to say, had to ‘thoroughly shake myself together’ to get the show going. I talked about Staplehurst, remembering to shameless plug my book (by the way, it is available on Amazon), before I was ready to place my left arm over my face and cry out ‘Halloa! Below there!’ Oh it was intense and dark and wonderful. The sound effect worked very well, and certainly added a chill to the atmosphere, whilst the various lighting effects were expertly conducted by Dave at his tech console. When I finished the show and had taken my bows I left the room to quickly change costumes, and in my wake Bob, his son George and Dave reset the stage ready for Doctor Marigold.
I returned to the theatre and when everyone was in their seats I took to the stage once more and introduced the audience to Doctor Marigold. I was beginning to feel tired by now and there were a few fumbles in lines, but the story of the cheapjack was wonderfully received by the audience, and the gasp at the end of the performance (which Dickens’s manager George Dolby remarked on in his memoir of the reading tours) was as loud and heartfelt as ever with a few hands going up to a few tear-filled eyes. 157 years after Doctor Marigold first appeared, the effect is still the same.
The applause was long and I took a number of bows, before opening the floor to questions. At most Q&A sessions I can be fairly certain of the questions that will be asked, but the first one on Saturday was definitely a first, nobody has ever asked me this before: ‘Is it true that the actor who played Alfred in Batman is related to you?’ Yes! it is! In the 1960’s series featuring Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as Robin, the loyal butler Alfred was played by Alan Napier, an English actor who in 1944 married Aileen Hawksley a direct descendant of Charles Dickens through his son Henry, the same line as myself. I remember as a child looking at our family tree and being much more excited about having a relative (albeit through marriage) who was in Batman than I was about being related to a Victorian author!
Another question also moved me to silence but for a completely different reason, I was asked ‘how do you pack?’, the point of the question being do I travel with all of the props and furniture, and how on earth do I manage that. But in a moment of confusion I sort of thought that I was in Boston or New Hampshire and to my mind he was asking with a broad New England accent ‘how do you park?’ It seemed an odd question to ask and I floundered around for a while wondering how to answer. Eventually I realised my error and explained that individual venues provide the furniture and I travel as lightly as I could! I must blame my confusion on the 3 o’clock start to my day!
I kept on taking more questions and answering as fully as I could, until Bob came up onto the stage and rescued me from myself.
Back in the conference room I changed back into my regular clothes and when I had collected everything up Pam and Bob took me out for an early supper before heading back to the cabin where I was asleep by about 8.30 pm. It had been a long day, indeed.