Well, That Was Quite A Birthday! Part 2: Sharnbrook Mill Theatre

Tags

Artemis, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Great Expectations, P&O Cruises, Stress Dreams, The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre

Sharnbrook Mill Theatre. Saturday 5 February

The next event in my busy week of Charles Dickens birthday celebrations saw me back to being the centre of attention as I was due to perform Great Expectations at The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre in Bedfordshire.

I had visited the theatre for the first time in 2020, when we were extremely fortunate to be able to present A Christmas Carol to a small, mask-wearing audience, widely distanced throughout the auditorium. It had been a wonderful experience and at the time wrote that I couldn’t wait to return, and now I was able to fulfil that ambition.

I was due to perform Great Expectations and for some unknown reason I had got myself into a right old state about it. Great Ex is one of my newer shows, so the lines are not as deeply ingrained as others, but I have been doing it for a few years now, so there should be no reason for me to struggle with it, but struggle I did! For weeks I had the script open on the table and found myself going over passages at all times of the day and night. I was even having stress dreams about the show, not uncommon before big events. In one I dreamed that I was on a stage performing and a member of the audience left, then another, then more until I was left on the stage alone, at which point I just stopped and gave up. Another night I dreamed that I was at an open air theatre, and was watching a cast perform a play. I was due to take the stage after their show and so I left to change into costume, but couldn’t find the dressing room, or my clothes, and then couldn’t remember how to get get back to the stage, meaning that when I did arrive all of the audience had given up and gone home. Dreams such as this don’t necessarily mean that I am under-prepared, but do confirm that I am anxious and maybe need to make sure that all of the small details are in place. With that in mind I decided to get the car loaded up with all of my props and costumes on Friday afternoon, so that everything was in place for my Saturday departure. During that day I rehearsed both acts of the show a couple of times, and at last was confident that I was ready.

Saturday dawned and in the morning I was taking my eldest daughter to a football match in which she was playing. During the drive to the fixture, which was an ‘away’ match, a warning light came on in the car and the message said ‘STOP! DANGER OF ENGINE FAILURE’ That didn’t sound good.

I dropped my daughter at her match (with horrible echoes of my second stress dream, we couldn’t find the ground, and were running all over the place before managing to get there just as the starting whistle was blowing), and took the car to a nearby petrol station, where I checked the water and oil levels and hopelessly prodded at sundry leads and pipes, all of which seemed to be connected as they should be. On restarting the car the warning message still flashed up, and it became apparent that there was no way I could risk driving all the way to Bedfordshire with complete engine failure imminent. I picked up my daughter from the match and crept back home putting as little strain through the engine as I could. So much for packing the car with all of my costumes and props in plenty of time.

Once at home Liz and I started making plans. I remembered from my previous visit to Sharnbrook that they have a wonderful prop store under the stage, so I would be able to borrow the large pieces of furniture that I required, The rest of my props: cloths, candlesticks, and even a collapsible hat stand, as well as my costumes, would fit into Liz’s car which is a tiny Mini!

I set off after lunch and after around 90 minutes I pulled up outside The Sharnbrook Hotel, which was apparently deserted – the car park was empty. I was relieved when the automatic doors opened to admit me, but the reception area was as as quiet as the outside view had suggested it may be. I was gratified to see, however, that there was a goodly supply of fliers on the counter proclaiming that Gerald Dickens would be performing Great Expectations at The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre that evening.

There was a striking bell on the desk, so I rang it and a smiling lady eventually appeared to check me in. Although the hotel seemed empty, my room was located in the farthest flung reaches of the building meaning a long walk, but I dropped my bags, and then returned to the car for the short drive to the theatre.

I was welcomed at the front door by Brenda Stafford, who has been responsible for my appearances, and having exchanged greetings and pleasantries, she disappeared to open the stage door so that I could load my belongings onto the stage. As soon as that was done Gerry (stage manager and Brenda’s husband) appeared to take me into the furniture store, from where I could chose the pieces I needed to complete my set. I found a grand chair, upholstered in red velvet, and a small table, and together we returned to the stage where I commenced putting everything in place.

The set of Great Expectations features the ever present figure of Miss Havisham on the stage, and this is constructed over a slender hat stand, painted white, with fabrics draped over it to give the appearance of a human figure. Preparing Miss H is always an uncertain moment, for there is no science to the creation, just a drape here, a pin there, a flick somewhere else until my hat stand seems to stand proud with a sleeve and veil.

The next job was to sort out the technical side of the show. I have scripted Great Expectations with quite a few lighting changes, using different colours to represent cold, eerie scenes or warm, cosy ones. My lighting man, sat in a sort of crow’s nest high in the eves of the old mill building which forms the theatre’s auditorium, was Ron. I had sent my script a couple of weeks before the event and Ron’s son Ricky had carefully programmed all of the cues into the lighting console. Ron would be running the show and we spent a good amount of time going from cue to cue. We had one slight issue, where the lighting effect for Miss Havisham bursting into flames had been focussed on the wrong side of the stage (my fault, as I had not been specific enough in my script), but Ron said that he would try to sort something out, and sure enough when I was walking through the theatre a little later. the semi-strobe effect flared up around Miss Havisham. Theatre techies are definitely ‘can do’ folk.

In contrast to the lighting, the sound for the show is quite simple, using just two sound cues which start each act. Unfortunately, though, the theatre’s sound man had been taken ill, so a willing volunteer in the shape of Peter Laughton was found. With the help of Gerry we downloaded my two cues onto a laptop and Peter practiced playing them to order.

And now it was time to relax. Usually at this time I retreat to my dressing room and maybe will eat a salad or some fruit, but at Sharnbrook I was treated to a proper dinner prepared by Richard West – chicken breast, rolled in bacon, served with mashed potato and broccoli. We all sat around one of the tables in the front of house space and we chatted and laughed and exchanged stories as we ate. Gary Villiers, the most dapperly dressed front of house manager, mentioned that he is an avid collector of old cigarette cards and dug out of his pocket a little bundle depicting Dickens characters dating back to 1923. He told me that he had come across them that afternoon and wanted me to have them – it was such a generous gesture.

Dinner plates were cleared away and replaced with bowls of summer fruits with cream for those who wanted it and a fruit coulis for others. I avoid any dairy on the day of a performance, not because of any allergy but because it tends to thicken the lining of the throat thereby causing an actor to strain his voice. For many years I regarded performers who followed this regime as rather faddy, but since I started a number of years ago I have had many fewer problems with my voice than before.

With supper over I retreated to my dressing room, where I called an old friend of mine, Les Evans. Les used to be a pilot on Concorde and I first met him on a cruise liner in Athens on which both he and I were booked as guest lecturers. We were joining the P&O ship Artemis which was entering the last leg of a world cruise. It was to be a very important trip for me because, apart from Les and his wife Jill, there was also a classical pianist joining the ship – her name was Liz….

Along with a young magician called Oliver, we all hit it off and had one of the most enjoyable fortnights you can imagine.

Back at The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre I prepared for the show, got into my Magwitch costume, and waited for Gerry to confirm that the audience were in place, that Ron and Peter were ready and that he, as stage manager, had control. The house lights dimmed, my recorded voice filled the theatre and on cue I burst onto the stage: ‘Hold your noise!’

It was lovely to be in a full theatre, feeling and hearing the responses of the audience as I introduced them to Joe and Mrs Joe Gargery, Uncle Pumblechook, Miss Havisham and Estella, Herbert Pocket, Wemmick, Jaggers and the rest. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and thankfully the audience did not leave one by one until I was alone.

When I had performed A Christmas Carol in 2020 I had come back to the stage and conducted a Q&A session which had been so popular that Brenda had requested that I repeat the exercise this time, so having taken my bows Ron brought the house lights up and I spent twenty minutes or so answering a good variety of questions, which I have come to enjoy doing more and more. Fortunately somebody asked me if I had written anything myself, which gave me a good opportunity to plug ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ which happened to be on sale in the foyer, and after I had left the stage I signed a few copies and chatted with some of the audience.

Finally it was time to relax, and Gerry brought me a glass of wine and I sat with the various volunteers and committee members at the theatre, until it was time to close up shop and pack away.

I feel particularly at home in The Sharnbrook Mill Theatre, surrounded by such keen and generous theatrical folk. They care about their theatre and go to huge efforts to ensure its success, and as I said at the end of my previous Sharnbrook blog post I very much look forward to returning!

North by North East

Tags

Dickens and Staplehurst, Gateshead Little Theatre, P&O Cruises, South Shields, Staplehurst, The Signalman, The Word, York

On Sunday morning, Hallowe’en, the winter tour continued to pick up pace as I was due to perform in the far North East of England. The booking marked a return to the magnificent ‘The Word – The National Centre for the Written Word’, and it was a poignant visit as my proposed performance of Great Expectations at the venue was the first show lost to the pandemic back in May 2020. The Word is set in the heart of South Shields, on the banks of the Tyne River and required a drive of around 5 hours to get there. As the show was an afternoon one, with the audience due to arrive at 1.30, it meant an early start.

I had loaded the car the pervious day and my alarm was set at 5.15am (allowing for the fact that the clocks had fallen back an hour over night). As the rest of the house slept I had some breakfast, showered and prepared to leave ready to drive through a rainy, windy, squally morning. A goodbye to Liz and it was time to hit the road. Having set the SatNav I was relieved to notice that the journey time was considerably less than it had intimated the day before, so I would have plenty of time to stop for coffee breaks on the way. I decided to run through the script of The Signalman as I was driving, and as I turned onto the A34 I began: ‘Halloa! Below there!’ But I was interrupted, my flow was destroyed by a very strange sound: ‘slap slap slap slap’. At first I thought it was coming from the props in the back, maybe something was badly stowed and was rattling, but no, it definitely was coming from the front wheel, although the steering felt fine and no warning lights were showing, it was very odd. I continued to drive and got back to the script, but the slap slap slap continued and it was very obvious that something was wrong. I pulled into a petrol station and in the pelting rain investigated the front right tyre of my car. Sure enough part of the tread on the inside shoulder of the tyre had failed, sort of peeled away, exposing the metal bands that form the construction of a tyre. The strip of rubber hadn’t actually come off but was whipping the car body with every revolution of the wheel. The tyre was close to complete and catastrophic failure, and if it happened when I was driving at 70 miles per hour through the driving rain the consequences were too awful to think of. There was nothing for it but to change wheels. A Renault Kadjar only has a space saver wheel, which is much narrower than a standard one, and can only be driven at relatively low speeds, but it would have to do as there would be no tyre centres open at that hour. The other issue was that the spare is stowed under the floor of the boot space, meaning that I had to unload all of my props before being able to get to it.

In the dark and the rain I performed a reasonably fast tyre stop (OK, not quite the 1.9 seconds that the Formula One teams manage, but pretty good nonetheless), loaded up the car again, and set off once more towards South Shields. In one way it was fortunate that the weather was so awful because it kept my speed down which, with the space saver tyre, was necessary. Really the skinny wheel isn’t designed to undertake such a long journey, but on Sunday I had no choice.

The traffic was light and I passed the time by continuing my rehearsal, as well as listening to various podcasts, including a couple of episodes of ‘You’re Dead To Me’, which is a light-hearted look at various historical figures and events. It is hosted by Greg Jenner, one of the team behind the brilliant Horrible Histories series, and each episode runs to a carefully formulated and regulated plan. Two guests, one an expert historian and the other a comedian, banter with Greg over the topic selected. One episode which accompanied me was based on the history of Ivan the Terrible who certainly did justify his terrifying moniker, for some of the details of his later activities were quite eye-watering. At one point during the episode the comedian for Olga Koch, who originates from Russia, was making a gag that involved the use of a passport and it suddenly flashed upon me the literal meaning of the word. It is not a document to travel, but a document to allow you into a foreign country: to allow you to pass through the port. A simple revelation, I know, but one that I rather liked that and I will remember it as I arrive in America next week.

The journey continued and I still had some time in hand to allow a coffee stop, and chance to send a message home to Liz to let her know that all was well.

The weather was getting worse again as morning became day and traffic increased the visibility became less and less, It was not a nice drive at all. Somewhere in Derbyshire or Yorkshire, I am not quite certain where, the traffic ahead of me suddenly slowed, with cars putting on their hazard warning lights to alert drivers behind that there was a hold up. Looking ahead it became apparent that there was some sort of blockage in the left and centre lanes of the motorway as vehicles were moving across, and then I saw what had happened. Skid marks scribed a terrible slew to the left where the metal barrier had been bowed in and flat, creating a sort of launch pad, the two inside lines were covered with dirt and metal and plastic, and laying on its side in the middle of the road was the remains of a small blue car, the front end was smashed (presumably where it had hit the barrier) and the glass in the windows was crazed (although not shattered). The modern airbag system had deployed, meaning that the interior of the car was fortunately shrouded from view. A few other cars had pulled to the hard shoulder and the occupants stood shocked, chatting. No one was tending to the crashed car and I hoped, even maybe prayed, that one of those people was the very very fortunate driver of the blue car who had emerged unscathed from the horror ride. It was obvious that the crash had only just happened, probably the blue car had overtaken me just minutes maybe seconds before. There were no emergency crews on the scene yet and the rest of the traffic filed slowly by, before tentatively speeding up and continuing their journeys. For me the scene was particularly frightening as it brought to mind what could have happened if my tyre had failed at high speed, but I drove on, cautiously and thankfully.

Eventually, after one more rest stop, I arrived at South Shields where the heavy rain continued to batter down, moored on the northern banks of the Tyne was an old friend, the P&O cruise ship Arcadia, on which Liz and I enjoyed happy holidays and on which we both performed. Seeing Arcadia was a lovely welcome to the town. I pulled up outside The Word, at a little loading bay, and called my contact at the venue Pauline Martin who appeared and helped me unload all of the furniture ready to be taken up in a lift to the third floor where I would be performing.

The room in which I perform at The Word is not a theatre space as such, but it is a beautiful circular space with views across the river (dominated by Arcadia). A temporary stage was erected at one end, and chairs were laid out ready for the arrival of the audience. I was due to give a talk about the Staplehurst rail crash in the first half of the programme and then perform The Signalman in the second, so Pauline and I connected a laptop to the projector so that I could show the inevitable PowerPoint slides to accompany the lecture.

The original idea was to use this event as a sort of launch for my new, indeed my first, book: ‘Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash’, but unfortunately the publishers hadn’t manage to send me any copies, so the merchandise table stood empty at the doorway. However, book or no book, the story is a fascinating one and a good tale to tell before the Signlaman.

When we were set up Pauline disappeared to grab some lunch and I got changed into my all black costume, and then sat down to a sandwich, It was 1 o’clock so I had plenty of time to eat before the audience were due to arrive in 30 minutes time. But as I embarked upon my tuna and sweetcorn feast the door opened and a lady ran in, she stopped with an air of great surprise, ‘where is everyone? I hope that more people than this come. It is raining and wild, I suppose, but still!’ and she sat down ready for the show – she certainly wanted to bag a good seat! We chatted a little, and I made a few notes on my script, and then it occurred to me what had happened, the lady had forgotten to put her clocks back that morning, and was convinced that it was showtime and that she would be the only audience member. Fortunately Pauline returned at that moment and politely pointed out that the audience were not going to be admitted until 1.30, at which point the mistake was realised!

When the correct hour arrived the room was filled with a capacity crowd, and many came to say hello (I was hovering at the back of the room), to say they had seen me previously at other venues, and were so excited to see me again, which is always very gratifying. On the stroke of 2 Pauline introduced me and I stepped up to a lectern to begin the talk. I am not altogether at home giving a lecture, but I have presented this one on a few occasions, so I know that it works. The talk follows the plot of the book, although without the biographical aspects of Dickens’ early life, concentrating on the train journey and the building works at Staplehurst, and the aftermath of the crash. Everything went well and bang on time I brought the first half to a close. The audience had a few minutes to stretch their legs, whilst I prepared the stage for The Signalman. When the set was complete, we encouraged everyone back into the room and I began. Naturally the introduction to the show was much shorter (most of it having been given in the first half), so in no time I was launching in to ‘Halloa! Below there!’

The passion and the mystery of the story worked well and I felt quite exhausted and elated as I brought the piece to its end. Having taken my bows, I opened the floor up to questions and the first was ‘what happened to Ellen?’ Ellen Ternan was Charles Dickens’ mistress and was travelling on the train with him. While he assisted with the rescue effort for 2 or 3 hours, Ellen and her mother Frances are conspicuous by their absence from any accounts. The press were ravenous and collected names of all of the passengers involved, but the Ternan name was absent from every one of those reports. Maybe a clue lies in a letter that Dickens wrote a few days after the crash. He described looking out of the carriage window and seeing two guards running beside the wreck, he called to them ‘Look at me. Do stop for an instant and look at me, and tell me whether you don’t know me.’ One of them answered, ‘we know you very well, Mr Dickens’. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘my good fellow, for God’s sake give me your key and send one of those labourers here and I ‘ll empty this carriage’….Charles Dickens ensured he had a few moments to get Ellen out of the train and away before he clambered down into the wreck and very visibly assisted in the rescue effort. In my book I suggest that although that his very public actionss were certainly not a cynical ploy to divert attention from his travelling companions, it was certainly a fortuitous opportunity to perform a sleight of hand as befitted a talented conjurer!

Some of the wounded were looked after in the village of Staplehurst itself whilst others were taken back to London on specially commissioned trains. I imagine that Dickens ensured that the Ternan’s were onboard one of the first trains to leave the scene.

Ellen appeared in London a few days later, for Dickens visited her there and wrote a letter to his manservant asking him to take her a fresh basket of foods and treats every day, so that she may be comfortable. He also wrote to the station master at Charing Cross station asking if a quantity of gold jewellery, engraved with the name Ellen, had been found, as his travelling companion had lost it during the crash. It was at this moment that the mystery of Ellen Ternan began to emerge.

Another question was in response to a comment I had made during my introduction to The Signalman about the fact that although Charles had prepared the story as a reading, he never actually performed it in public. I surmised that his reluctance to perform the piece may have been due to the mental trauma he suffered post Staplehurst, or the fact that being a relatively short reading it would only fit into the ‘comedy slot’ which typically came after a longer, more dramatic reading. The Signalman wouldn’t send an audience home with a cheery skip to their step.

Next came the Q&A ‘market place’: the local branch of The Dickens Fellowship promoted their meetings (I performed at their conference held in Durham a few years ago and they are a vibrant and enthusiastic bunch, indeed) and that was followed up by The Gateshead Little Theatre plugging their own performance of The Signalman which is due to open in a week’s time. I was very happy to give both groups the opportunity to ‘sell their wares’.

I then joined in the general commercial break by not only mentioning my book once more (Dickens & Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash. Published by Olympia Publishing), but also my return visit to The Word in December to perform A Christmas Carol, and then it was time for the audience to leave and for me to pack up my things.

Once the car was loaded I said my goodbyes and tentatively headed south as far as York, where I was due to stay overnight, thus breaking the long journey home.

I was staying in an elegant hotel called the Elmbank Lodge, although I had booked a ‘courtyard room’ rather than one of the more expensive rooms in the main building. Unfortunately I discovered that the restaurant would not be open to me, as they only had one chef on duty so the only guests who could dine were those who had booked a ‘dinner and breakfast’ package, However the young man at the front desk recommended Valentinos, an Italian restaurant just a 5 minute walk away, which took me past some beautiful Georgian town houses. I also walked past a branch of KwikFit tyre repairers which would be very uselful come the morning.

Dinner was superb, the restaurant was busy and vibrant, with one of the waiters breaking out into snatches of song with a fine baritone voice. I overheard him telling a neighbouring table that he came from Calabria, his house in the shadow of Stromboli. He certainly played the role of opera-singing Italian waiter to a tee, but I rather uncharitably wondered if in fact he came from Barnsley or somewhere similar! When I had finished my Sea Bass and was sipping a strong coffee he came to chat, noticing that I had been reading Motorsport Magazine: ‘Ahh! Motorsport, Ferrari – Ascari, Alboretto, Rossi!’ Yup, he was a genuine Italian!

I returned to the hotel and after a very long day retired early.

Postcript

On waking on Monday morning and watching the television news I saw the story of a train crash that had taken place on Sunday night, on Hallowe’en. A train had struck some debris on the line and derailed, knocking out the signalling equipment as it did so, therefore there was no warning to a following train which ploughed into the wreck. Fortunately there were no fatalities but seventeen were wounded. The news footage focussed on the scene of accident – the two entwined trains at the mouth of a dark, dismal tunnel deep down in a cutting……..