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Episode 6 When I left you last time it was late afternoon on Wednesday 28th September in Waterford, Ireland, scene of the famous annual Festival of Light Opera. Was the whole city pregnant with expectancy for the Nomads' Yeomen of the Guard to be performed that evening? Well there was little sign of it. In fact the box-office in the theatre foyer appeared to be a permanently customer-free zone, and one might be forgiven for wondering whether we'd have much of an audience at all. Furthermore the light rain of earlier on in the day was getting heavier, and by teatime had turned torrential. At lunchtime I had walked past a shop selling golfing equipment (golf and golfing holidays being one of County Waterford's growth industries) and noticed that the window-display contained distinctly more umbrellas than golf clubs, confirming my suspicions that we hadn't been unlucky in catching a wet spell: it was always like this. The show was due to start at a laid-back 8 p.m., and as other members of the cast drifted into the dressing rooms late on, and at a fairly leisurely pace, I reflected that after a mere 24 hours in Ireland we were already getting into the swing of the relaxed Irish way of doing things. There is nothing quite like being presented with new bits of costume shortly before you are due to appear on stage. In our case, 40 minutes before curtain-up, we yeomen were presented with particularly flamboyant over-the-top ruffs. Exhibits S and T show a selection of yeomen in these confections. One of the ladies of the chorus had obtained them a couple of days before (probably in revenge for the rough manner in which we herd them offstage after "Here's a man of jollity"), and claimed that Jim had given his approval, so we had no alternative but to wear them. "It's like wearing a bl...dy wedding cake round your neck" said one yeoman who, in case he wishes to remain anonymous, we'll call Ewert Bix. Many years ago I did my time as a choirboy, so well remember the difficulties of trying to look cool whilst attired in frilly neckwear, but my major gripe is that I spent much of Act 1 straining to hear myself, the orchestra, and my fellow performers, and consequently finding it very difficult to pitch and focus my voice properly, and it was only in Act 2 (when all of Second Yeomen's solo bits are over of course) that I realised just what a muffling effect the ruff around the ears, in conjunction with the floppy hat, was having, and started to come to terms with the odd acoustic effect. I neglected to secure a photo of myself wearing said item, but if anyone in the production did take one and would care to send it to me, I would rather like to add it to my costume catastrophies page. One-off performances at festivals are bound to be full of last-minute changes and fixes, but I just wish that when it comes to props and costumes, directors would consult the performers who are going to be affected, rather than just arbitrarily making possibly far-reaching last-minute decisions. Rant over. Thanks for listening. |
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Exhibit S: The Yeomen's dressing-room. In the foreground Savoynetter David Craig ponders the exotic neckwear that has just been foisted upon him. |
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Exhibit T: Yeoman Mark Burns about to collect his Choirboy-of-the-Year trophy. |
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8 p.m. arrived. Up a wooden staircase, at the very top of the theatre outside the chorus dressing rooms, a small speaker on the wall croaked into life, and we heard an almost sold-out house (phew!) go silent as the orchestra started playing the Irish national anthem, which brought a lump to my throat as other countries national anthems often do, the German and Russian ones in particular; but sadly not the U.K.'s dull old "God save...". When I am Prime Minister (surely only a matter of time) it will be the tune of "Hail Poetry" to patriotic words of my own devising which involve Nelson, Shakespeare, opera and the superiority of cricket over all other sports. The correct four-part harmony of this will be a compulsary subject at all schools. And then we were on stage doing our stuff: Stuart and I dutifully guarded The Thing, and did all the other business that Jim had worked out for us. Rather gratifyingly First and Second Yeoman (and whilst lots of forgetful parents must have longed to do this, don't you think that Mr. and Mrs. Yeoman could have thought of more imaginative christian names for their sons than First and Second?) were given special duties in every scene, arriving from a different entrance from the other yeomen, aiding Sergeant Meryll when the arquebus went off as well as escorting Fairfax when they go off to fetch the prisoner. Jim was very keen that conversation on stage, perhaps in a crowd scene, although inaudible, should look realistic and so should be made of real phrases and not just "rhubarbs". So it was that when John Savournin as the Lieutenant ordered "Leonard" and First and Second Yeomen to fetch Faifax from his cell, what he actually said to us was: "OK guys, go and fetch the dude with the beard." Alas several members of the cast had colds and were not on their best vocal form, in particular Phoebe (Emma Southorn), but on the plus-side David and Alison as Sergeant M. and Dame C. gave a much stronger "Rapture rapture" than on Sunday, and Adams Jack Point was once again charming and vulnerable - I hope that he gets to do this at Buxton soon - and Ian's Shadbolt was once more, in my opinion, the best thing of all. Point died, the performance ended, the audience were very appreciative - Waterford is known for this - and no one left their seats before Gillian Humphreys had adjudicated. We gathered in the wings in an attempt to hear what she had to say. Although I only caught fragments I gathered that she particularly liked Phoebe, Dame C., Meryll, Point, Shadbolt and First and Second Yeomen (Hooray!). She didn't like the ponderous dialogue, although I can't help thinking that this pace would have been far more to the taste of David Turner who had originally been scheduled as Adjudicator, but who had to withdraw due to a family illness. Given the fine cast I think that our eventual result, 10th out of 12 shows, was rather a disappointment, although we were only fractionally beaten by 9th place South Anglia's Mikado (which had come second in Buxton), with Derby's Sorcerer (first prize at Buxton) coming 4th. |
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Exhibit U: it's them again, Ian and Neil Smith (First and Second Citizens), squabbling over who gets to beat up Jack Point. |
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The press reviews, of which three have come my way, agree that musically it was superb, with high quality singing, but that movement was slow and dialogue somewhat laboured. They suggested that it was a mistake in having one person as both stage and music director, but given the handful of days in which the production had been put together and rehearsed (even less than a Savoynet production you'll remember) I don't think that seperate musical and stage directors would have worked - it was Jim's skill in being able to swiftly and expertly rehearse both aspects simultaneously that made this Yeomen possible, not to mention the massive amount of work that Ian and Neil Smith (see Exhibit U) put into organising cast, venues, props, scenery, flights etc. etc. Makeup was removed, costumes packed up, and the dressing rooms swept - Flaggy Lane Productions, the eventual winners with Singing in the Rain, who had the theatre on the previous night, had generously bequeathed us a magnificent Litter Exhibition arranged artistically all over the floors of the dressing rooms, which with a tinge of regret we had disposed of first-thing; we opted to leave a somewhat more minimalist installation for our successors - and packed the scenery and props into our van. |
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Exhibit V: in the bar of the Tower Hotel, John Savournin tirelessly accompanies the singing until the small hours - any tune you like, played in the key of C major. |
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Cast members gathered in the Tower Hotel bar, and at about 1 a.m. a piano was wheeled out and a sing-song began. Exhibits V,W and X give a (Guinness-tinged) flavour I hope. At 4 a.m. I retired to my bed, but apparently some hardy souls were still going when the cleaning staff arrived at 7 a.m.. Ask not who stayed up all night and hadn't quite sobered up, but I can reveal that as we all boarded the Dublin-bound coach at 10 a.m., a certain well- known bass-baritone launched into a robust rendering of Paddy McGinty's Goat, a glorious sound but not one universally welcomed by those whose hangovers were just kicking-in. Two hours later we were at Dublin airport. |
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Exhibit W: Ian Smith teaches the assembled company The Waterford Wiggle, a celebratory dance which he invented when The Savoyards' Patience won first prize in the Waterford Festival in 1977, and which subsequently took Ireland by storm. |
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Exhibit X: the Duffey Family. And friends. |
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It was sad to leave everyone - in 48 hours we had packed so much in and had made so many good friends; now, suddenly, it was over. Other airport-users tolerantly took detours to avoid the forty of us and our luggage, standing in the way in the the airport foyer, hugging and promising to keep in touch, and amid many "See you next year at Buxton!"s wandering off in groups to check in to various flights to various destinations. But Lizzie, Ian, Stuart and I were rather less sad than the others because we had a guilty secret - we had arranged to stay in Ireland for 24 more precious hours, and after bidding our sad farewells we pulled ourselves together and gleefully boarded the bus to central Dublin.... Watch this space: Episode 7 coming soon! |
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