The New Theatre Barnstaple 7.00 pm what would it be like?
The North Devon Technical college is spread out over quite a large area, and comprises of several different buildings. It was then, and probably still is now, very well organised. Each room had a designation starting with a letter to tell you which block it was in, followed by a number to tell you which floor level it was on, and then two more numbers telling which room it was. This level of organisation was very novel to a person coming from a public school in the middle of Exmoor.
The New Theatre was as the name suggests, new, it was on the first floor above the foyer, and an art gallery. I found my way there easily by climbing the stairs from another block, crossing via a high bridge, and following the signs to The New Theatre. Although I did not know it at the time, this method of entry did not just save me an outside trip in the rain, it also allowed me exclusive early access. Members of the adult theatre group could not gain access via the theatre’s foyer until the Director, Chester Lovering should arrive and unlock the front doors. I was to learn very quickly that I could have the place to myself for the best part of two hours by entering this way.
I had in fact visited the theatre twice the previous year, both with my school, and with my father, to see Shakespeare’s Henry the Fifth.
The theatre was another of those 1970’s architectural anachronisms. Why would anyone build a theatre on the first floor? It had sets of bleachers on three sides. So the auditorium could be configured in such ways that the actors could play to the audience head on, to a corner, or to a three sided square. Each bank of seats held around 50 people. Set into the wall with no seats, at the back, on either side of the stage, doors led to the scene dock. (An area of the stage for the use of storing scenery not in use during the performance.) These doors also doubled up as entrance doors to the stage during a show. Two dressing rooms, for Actors and Actresses were to the left of the stage when facing the audience, (stage left). The floor of the stage was a terrible shiny green linoleum . The lighting and sound control room,(lighting box), had been painted white.(any light in the lighting box would shine on stage, that is why they are always painted black!) Above the stage were fixed bars with integral 5 amp sockets, to hang the stage lights on. There never was, and of course never could be the flying of any scenery.(Flying is the action of raising or lowering scenery or lighting).
At the time of my arrival I knew nothing of these design problems, I knew nothing of theatre at all. I had never been in anything, or done anything, or wanted to do anything! I was the proverbial blank canvas! I didn’t even know anything about canvas, or flats, sets, lights, calls, or scripts.
After standing by the entrance doors for a few minutes, the time was by then about 6:55 P.M . I decided to try the door. The door was not locked, I edged it open only find that behind it was just darkness, not chink of light from anywhere! I decided to wait outside the doors. A few minutes later, the doors below me opened, and lights went on in the area which I should soon get to know as “The Foyer“.
A gentleman had now climbed the stairs, he was dressed in a light brown sports jacket, light brown corduroy trousers, old brown shoes and one of those green wool ties with square cut ends which were very popular at that time, this was residing on top of a pink shirt. He regarded me with a pleasant, jovial, rather flushed face. I said that I had come to join the New Theatre Workshop. He smiled, and said. “Good good”. When he nodded, the white tuffs of curly hair on either side of his bald head bobbed up and down as well. He looked rather like everyone’s idea of what an artistic professor should look like, which of course was exactly what he was.
He opened the door, reached along the wall, clicked some hidden switches and banks of fluorescent tubes flickered into life, and suddenly the whole place was lit with a starkness that only fluorescent lighting can provide. Little was I to know at the time what a hideous idea this was. Over 40 years, and a dozen theatres later, I still can’t believe that an architect could design a theatre so badly. It also had a metal corrugated roof! I think I can still hear the noise from that roof in a rainstorm. I can still see the lights that could not be dimmed that lit both the stage, and the auditorium. Only, oddly enough, at the New Theatre on Drury Lane in London, should I learn many years later also suffered exactly the same fate of fluorescent lighting design.
Chester bid me to take a seat while ” he got organised”. Sitting there in what was the closest thing I had encountered, to an empty auditorium for the first time. I sat and wondered what would happen next.
I had not long to wait before an attractive woman of around 40 wandered through the door and asked if I had seen Chester. Dressed in a brown Suede skirt, and rolled necked jumper, calf length boots, she looked quite arty and sophisticated from my point of view. I replied that he had gone to get organised. Oh I’ll go and give him a hand she replied. I was later to discover her name was Patricia and she was Chester’s wife. Also leading lady, assistant Director, stage manager, press, publicity, and generally everything else that was not “too technical”, she would describe herself as.
I was beginning to wonder if I should leave, when Chester reappeared through the door opposite carrying a few chairs stacked on top of one another, as well as some books that would turn out to be the scripts for the next play.
After he had deposited them on the stage area, he walked over and sat down next to me. He told me that they would “Be doing, The House of Bernarda Alba next”! It sounded a bit like a strange riddle to me at the time, but I tried to smile and sound confident with a, ” Really that’s nice.” statement. Chester went on to explain that they were very short of actors and so that was why he had chosen this play, and that the cast was made up entirely of women. “Ah,” I replied. He then went on to apologise to me, saying that “he was sure he could find me a part in the next production.” “Oh gosh” I replied.” Before saying .”That the reason I had come was that I really wanted to do technical stuff in the workshop that had been advertised in the college prospectus.” He replied “Really, but that was splendid.” They did have one theatre technician but he only worked day times for the college, so I would be a real bonus.” I was in, in what I did not know yet, but in I was.
This was to be the format for one evening a week for the next few weeks to come. I would arrive early, turn the lights on, sweep up if needed. set out the chairs and turn on the Dimmers and have a play with the lighting desk. The lights and the desk were the perfect example of a council purchase. Quite a few of the lights along with the dimmers and desk were made by a company called Furse. A very old and noble English company, but now rather outdated.
(Admittedly their equivalent of the Strand pattern 23 profile lantern was better but that was about the only edge they still had.)
The 12 way 2 preset desk was worked by levers with cams onto rotary pots. Any fast movement could cause this gearing to slip leaving the light slightly on, or not at full brightness. It was enormous and could not be moved. It would be increased to 18 ways but would still remain inadequate for even such a small job. A switch could activate a slave panel on stage but control then was even more rudimentary.
I had signed up to the science club, also one evening a week, but I soon realised that I much preferred the New Theatre workshop. They were now meeting twice a week, and so I left the science club. I am not quite certain when I first found out why all rehearsals always ended before 9.45 pm. But they always did. I asked my new friend Tony, He was the one actor they had and was not in this production. He had explained to me that he was an “old thespian darling”. I was already having to become bilingual, one for the New Theatre, and one for the rest of the College and home. His answer was another question, had I ever been to the Stag in Bear St? I replied that I had not, without mentioning that I was only 16 years old. He just nodded and asked what time I normally got home after rehearsals. I replied about 10.30 as I normally walked back from the Theatre. I should point out to the reader that neither of my parents drank much. At the coffee break Tony pointed out to Chester that perhaps they could finish early that night as he had a lot to do the following day.
At 9.15 Chester said they would wrap it up and head home. Tony grabbed me by the arm and said, come on Pat’s (Patricia) is going to lock up tonight and Chester will give us a lift home. This seemed odd as I already knew Chester lived only a few minutes walk from the College.
In the back of the Chester’s very nice Ford Granada He drove us to the Stag public house in Bear St…..
The next hour, or so, was, in my new lingo, lush! Beer, brought by Tony and Chester. Cigarettes, and crisps. Sitting at a small round table between the window and the fireplace, I became a devotee, a worshipper, a convert, this was the life for me, could anything be finer?
9:45, 10pm, 10:15, all came and went, at 10:20. I said my good nights, I was told I would be fine until 2am darling. After all, I was one of the gang now. It was Tony that had informed me of this elevation in status, between stories, pulling alternatively on a pint, and his pipe. I fled, running all the way home, and slipping in through the shop, and to bed as soon as possible. If anyone noticed a rather heady smell of beer fumes, and tobacco they said nothing. Lucky for me Mother had already gone to bed, and Dad was smoking his own pipe and watching the snooker.
I was out early the following morning making sure I was gone before I could be asked anything about the previous evening.
Only today, and one other, and it would be Thursday. Theatre, Pub beer, I couldn’t wait..
Life continued very pleasantly, theatre twice a week, a bunk off on Wednesday afternoons to avoid three whole periods of mathematics. The Tutor was superb, Akers was his name, and he knew his trade very well, he taught the best, and the worst, of the mathematical students. Thursday morning was a test morning, and I never failed. This was just simple mathematics, not the modern rubbish, that was not to catch up with me for another decade or so. Every Wednesday afternoon I bunked off. Every Thursday I had to tell the class what, and where I had been, and every Thursday Morning I got 100%. I was an example, and a gambler. If I ever got less than 100% my afternoons off would stop. If ever anyone else got 100% they would get my afternoon off the following week. It could not last, I slipped up and then I had to beg. I had made a mistake, the lessons were becoming more difficult, and I was tired, and I needed that Thursday afternoon off! The following week was the first night of ‘The House of Bernarda Alba. ” Gerry was rigging the lights that Wednesday afternoon ready for the first Technical Rehearsal. I was trapped, I had no way out. If I did not go I would never get another chance. Drama students might take my place. But the previous week I had only got 85% And so I had to beg, I could not just go, I knew serious consequences would be the order of the day. No more theatre, Gerry, and possibly Chester would be in trouble as would I. It was time to own up. No more afternoon cinema, no more drinks in the commodore hotel in Instow. I cut my final deal, one last afternoon away at the theatre and then no more.
Holding (footing) the ladder, while Gerry rigged the lights was worth it. Chester walked past and said I was doing it all wrong. After he had gone and I was feeling a little crestfallen, Gerry said what I was doing was right and “Chester was just another wound up director!” I felt king of my very lowly castle again. Gerry would sometimes hold onto the lighting truss, and send me off on a mission. I thought Gerry was very brave, my technical hero. Sadly he was to lose his job in one of the following summer terms. A rumour came to me that he had been caught with his pants down, literally, with a female student in the theatre scene dock. A lecture was going on, on stage, by the principal of the College at the time . Poor Gerry, he taught me so much, and was in a way one of my first true friends. I don’t know if the rumour was true or not. If so, he would have enjoyed it, the reputation I mean, and if not, then I can only apologise for believing, and repeating a rumour. Either way it is a great story, of the first theatre technician I knew, and hopefully a befitting one.
The Technical (rehearsal) ran from my point of view without a hitch, Gerry let me operate the desk, beer later down the Stag, still king of my little Castle.
The three nights that the show ran were a success. The last two nights I operated the lighting desk by myself. Gerry popped in and saw the show up but that was all. There was a small short party last night and a bit longer time in the stag. I had told my parents that the last night party was going to last longer than it of course did. I suppose it was the first, and almost the last, last night party I would go to. In commercial theatre its get out, get in, fit up, and a new show for the crew.
Christmas came and went, no one remembered the House of Bernarda Alba much, apart from me. They say you always remember your first, and I guess you do. The only thing that sticks in my memory about Christmas 1976 was how much better it was than 1975. I had escaped Stalag Luft Buckland. I was free from both dictatorial masters, and bullying school boys. I had found company, and something that I was good at. I might perhaps even get a job at it! I do remember the last day of college term, the afternoon was spent in the Three Tuns public house in the back room with a load of other students. It was enjoyable, fun, noisy and never to be repeated. They were already seeming to be a bit childish. By this time the following year I would have moved onto ,”The Victoria Palace”. But that Christmas I had never even heard of what was going to be my new home. We drank, we sang, and the future was just that.
One afternoon, many months in the future, I would wander into the Three Tuns down stairs, walk through the bar at the front, and see some of the same faces. They had graduated to the front bar now. Age had not changed them beyond the ability to sit in the bar legally. They had beyond that, not moved on at all, I don’t think they ever would. Another day far into the future, The Three Tuns, the oldest public house in the oldest borough in the country, would close its doors for the last time. When they opened again, the only thing on the menu would be Pizza.
Gerry then got me my first cash paid job. He introduced me to Tom. He was a “BillBoard man”. He had a business advertising the local traders in Barnstaple high Street. He wanted an assistant Billboard boy. Ten pounds a day, plus coffee, and beer, and lunch. I was rich, far richer than I would be for many years to come, “best paid job ever”, I would be heard to say, and in truth it was. It ended when the boards got smashed up one afternoon when we were in the pub. Not long afterwards, the council offered Tom a full time paid job in the tourist office. But for about 6 months, every Saturday, and Friday out of term, or theatre time, you could find me walking up and down Barnstaple high Street advertising one of the supermarkets, or chemist shops. A bit tricky that one, as my dad owned a chemist shop just out of the town, luckily I don’t think he ever found out!
The Easter term, a new show to rehearse, I turned up dutifully twice a week although for quite a long time there was little for me to do. I was there more for the beer at the end of the evening, than anything I could contribute during the rehearsals.
Tony Massey, the only truly professional actor in the company, and at times as camp as the proverbial, was to play the lead. He had yet to learn his lines properly, they should have been “off book” two weeks previously, and now with only two days to go until the first night he still kept drying, and clicking his fingers for a prompt. A blazing row erupted between him and the director. I had never witnessed anything quite like it. And would not until Marlene at the Lyric Theatre twenty five years later. I was both fascinated and almost frightened. They were both going at it hammer and tongue, Chester stormed off leaving Tony and the Black and White Queens rehearsing by themselves. Patricia drove us to the pub that evening and low and behold everyone was chums again.
The show was a success, Tony was word perfect, he captured the audience as if by magic. Best of all I, me, little me, was in print. In the program. “lighting and sound operation, by John Stenton. For the first time ever apart from just being on the school register, people could read my name. It would not be until I became a Chief Electrician 10 years later that it would happen again, and by then I don’t think anyone cared, least of all me. Unless of course my name should be missing, or misspelt, but that’s the way of the world.
Exit the King ends with the Black and white Queens leaving the stage in turn, each time one of the queens left their side of the stage, the lights on that side would fade to black. Then as the king died, the lights on the throne would fade out, to leave just the golden crown, lit by just a single lamp from above. Because the crown was placed on a black pedestal it would appear to be floating in space. It is one of the very best effects that I have ever seen. It was simple, and perfect. Forty years later, with all of the super technology that we now have available, I have yet to have seen that simple effect beaten.
The success of these two shows gave the Workshop a little capital and they spent some of it on hardboard and black paint. Slowly rectifying the appearance of the New Theatre into the appearance of a proper theatre.
Next up was a student production, odd the students were producing one show to the workshops Three! The drama students had all the time in the world and they came up with, “Who’s Afroid of Adolf ” it was I think intended to be, a musical with a message. It had one semi decent tune, “floating on my golden star beam.” This required a follow spot, but we did not have one, nor did we have an iris, so a pattern 764 was used, shuttered square and operated by me, in between sound cues. Gerry did the lighting this time and I did the sound. The followspot cue was very important and would lead to my first trouble in theatre when the show was taken to the Northcott some months later. There was no program, and I did not even get a mention. My portfolio was slipping!
Next and lastly for the workshop that year, and for me personally would be “Oh what a lovely war”. It would be done in the summer term but before that I would get the chance to go to the Northcott Theatre in Exeter. Those two weeks are covered in the next chapter as they are a piece of my life that was out of time and should be treated as such.
Oh What a lovely war was the most ambitious show to date, Music, lots of sound effects and lots of Lighting cues. The Music lecturer did the sound and he was not happy about it as he did sound all day long and wanted to do the lighting. Chester insisted that it was this way around and I was grateful. It would help with my forthcoming interview for the ABTT.
All past off well Gerry had done a great job lighting it and nothing went wrong from the show point of view. At the interval the Music professor offered me a drink, without thinking I said a bottle of larger, I intended to say shandy. He brought the larger but again he was not happy. He did not report me but it was a close run thing. Dad picked me up after the first night, I can’t now remember why, but he did, and he smelt the fumes of Larger, and again, I was for a ticking off.
From a careers advice point of view it had been suggested by the physics master at school that I should joint the Royal Navy as a wireless operator. But then he gave advice to everyone to Join the Navy to do one thing or another.
Now it was suggested that I should study for a proper job and just do theatre as a hobby. Don’t turn a thing you enjoy into a job you will get tired of. This advice coming from someone who hated their job, but loved and had always wanted to play music professionally. In the end though I suspect it was him out of my parents that allowed me to go into the theatre, although should I have failed, it would have been back at the educational grind stone.
Gerry came to my rescue again. If I were to fail my O’ levels again I was for it big time, no more theatre, no more fun no more beer…… And I was going to fail big time. But Gerry, my hero saved me yet again. I could apply to do a City and Guilds Theatre Electricians course number 181. With the Association of British Theatre Technicians (ABTT) I would have to go to London for an interview with a portfolio of shows that I had done the lighting on. Now I understood why Chester had insisted that I should do the lighting on a musical.
The National Theatre London. I travelled up by train, complete with a guide to the London visitors Map. This would be the very first and oddly the very last interview I should ever have in my life. The National had not long been finished in 1977. I wore my best togs and took my scrap book of shows. It contained also a Strand lighting catalogue that Gerry had pinched of the Northcott. I pinched it off him. I still have it today. It says Maurice Marshal Stage Electrics the Northcott Exeter on it. It also has some of Gerry’s doodling on it and some prices, I wonder what he was going to buy. This catalogue seemed to interest the people far more than my shows.
In the National’s foyer were some books on lighting. I could not afford Richard Pilbrow’s. So I brought Francis Reids. A few months later I did buy Pilbrow’s. I never read either of them much. If I had known I would be working with Pilbrow only a few months later I would probably not have saved up and brought it.
I travelled home reading my new book, smoking and wondering.
I had met a lad there who will come into the story later. and he had seemed very pleasant. I worried what I would do if I was not offered a place. Weeks later when I met the rest of the students I realised that perhaps my fears were groundless. There were 20 places and only 18 applicants.
Midsummer Night’s Dream at Arlington Court. Gerry had come through again. This was the summer of 1977. I had still yet to hear about the course in London, The Northcott had come and gone, the King had Exited, my O’ level results had not yet arrived, and there was the chance of a fit up, and an overnight get out at Arlington Court, I took it! It was stage work not electrics as such. Just humping gateleg rostra out of the truck and building the set, but it was work, it was theatre and it was paid. £10 for a long day, and £15 for the night’s get out. Power was supplied via a mains cable running across a field from the main buildings. During the very last part of the get out a generator was used once the mains cable was removed. I was to learn a couple of things not quite perhaps on the official syllabus, but interesting nonetheless. At the end of the get out, it was found that the crew had forgotten to leave space to pack the generator into the back of the truck! The carpenters just swore, 4 of them grabbed it, swung it back and forth a few times, then one of them shouted one two three and they all just let go! End over end it spun, sailing into the back of the truck, over part of the set and landed with a crash. The Carpenter in charge just said F…. Ing Electrics and that was the end of the night. So there could be friction between theatre departments!
I got a lift back with Gerry in one of the vans, he was to leave it in a car park by the river where he had left his car, and the lorry would be picked up the following day.
Over the back of the tailgate he went telling me to wait and catch anything he chucked out…. I was scared half to death. This was theft plane and simple as I saw it! I expected blue lights, sirens and handcuffs. A few cables, plugs, lamps, rolls of tape and some steel wire later, all of which made it into the boot of Gerry’s car, and my life of crime had begun. All techies do it, not for themselves that would be stealing. They do it for the theatres they work for. If your theatre is smaller or poorer then a bit of redistribution of kit is always on the cards. My initiation into the world of technical theatre was complete. Or so I thought.
A week later the precious letter arrived, I had a place, I was to be at Paddington Technical college at 9am on Friday the 9th of September. I travelled up on Thursday the 8th, with Mother, she wanted to visit some of the museums so we stayed at the Rembrandt Hotel in Kensington. Friday I had to go to the College in the morning, and then I would be free for the rest of the day and also Saturday. I went to the college to discover by comparison with North Devon Tech it was a Dump. And I had yet to visit Saltram Crescent, the engineering part of the college. They were a couple of miles apart and the latter was an even bigger dump.
I met the rest of the students, signed the registry, got a lecture on being safe. And got my Theatre placement. “The Victoria Palace Theatre Victoria London SW1.”
I spent Friday Evening and Saturday with Mother and museums and Galleries. Then with a bump I was in a hostel in Notting Hill Gate. Sharing a room with three others. At least Justin, the guy I had met at the interviews, was also there. Tomorrow was indeed another day.