Today, I was mostly working out which drawer went back into which filing cabinet. Below are before and after shots of the lock-up. The table and plant pot holder on top of the cabinets are not actually mine- they have been bequeathed to the Theatre Museum (part of the Victoria & Albert) and originate from the 1907 Sunderland Empire, somewhere Mervyn worked in the 1970s and rescued from the skip along with some carver type chairs.

(If you are wondering why there is a wine rack, it was used for storing rolled up plans).

I was sad to hear that Councillor Bradley has passed away, the first Member of Morley Town Council to die whilst in office. Derek was a character and an eccentric, Morley is a duller place with his passing.

I had a rummage through my old files in order to remember a bit more about him. Looking at the photos, I recalled that whilst Town Mayor, he carried himself with dignity at all times and represented the Town admirably. I have uploaded many of the files to the bottom as thumbnails, click for a bigger picture.

Here is his Councillor page text from the Town Council Website pre-2007.

Member of Morley Town Council since inception, Town Mayor 2004/5

Cllr Bradley is known informally as “Brad”, a nickname from his days in the R.A.F.
His motto is a quote from Burke- “all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing”

His interests include photography and F. D. C. Militaria. He is a vociferous campaigner for Britain to “keep the pound” and leave the EU.
He has been active within the Club & Institute movement for many years and has been Morley Delegate to Leeds Branch (covering 7 Morley W.M. Clubs) since 1984. He has been a Committee member at Cross Church Street W.M.C. for over 24 years, currently as Treasurer.
He is a member of “The Canal Zoners” covering 2 years National Service at the RAF 3 squadron fighter station at the mouth of the Bitter Lakes (Suez Canal Zone). Flew out and “booked” into a tent Christmas Eve 1951!
After 50 years all Canal Zone veterans finally got a medal for “active service”!
He is an admirer of all things connected with Ghurkas; this being his favourite charity viz “The Ghurkha Welfare Trust”.
He also points out that he lives in Morley, not Leeds!

Karen knew Chris from her days as an audience member of the Oxford Road Show and later with her involvement at Radio HBS (Hospital Radio at North Manchester General). She persuaded both the Freshies and Graham Fellows (Jilted John,  now John Shuttleworth) to swap the BBC studios for the hospital ones, if only for an afternoon.

Here are pictures of a youthful Karen with Frank and Chris in the radio studios in 1985.

They charted with this one and later had to replace “Virgin” with “a certain Manchester superstore” to keep Beardy happy.

R.I.P. Chris, you were one of Karen’s heroes a quarter of a Century ago…

This will be the fifth vehicle I’ve bought from the Czech upstart, although their prices are much higher now and the main benefit these days is value for money compared to other cars in the VW/Passat stable. The brand name still has a small stigma, although pointing out who made the bearing for the London Eye often surprises.

Every car tells a story and I’ve jogged down a list of recollections for each one.

Betsy #1- Ford Cortina Mark 1 Saloon – Sky blue with matching rust

My dad Neil bought me my first car for my 17^th birthday back in 1975. It was a banger and had more filler than metal in the wings and Cills. I only went out in it a couple of times (with Neil supervising) because it was somewhat unreliable and we rapidly found out that we were not a good match for instructor/pupil. Wanting his garage back, Neil eventually quietly disposed of it when he realised I didn’t have a passion for learning to drive. I only really have one memory of this car- a longish drive in the Country where I was Ok with the controls but well aware that my awareness needed a lot of practice. A pheasant jumped out at me from a hedgerow and as I started to brake, Neil told me to accelerate, as he knew a man in a Pub who would gut it for him…

In 1976/77, having moved to Coventry, I learned to drive properly with a draughtsman called Stan Smith from the GEC, failed my first test and lost interest until meeting Stan again in 1979, resuming my lessons. This prompted Neil to give me…

Betsy #2- Morris Marina Van – Light green

Another pseudo-banger, I went out for a practice drive with my mate Les and the clutch packed in three streets away from home. Fortunately, we were able to return and crash change back as it was up a slight hill. The clutch itself was fine, but an actuating arm with dog teeth had lost its locating clip and replacing it involved a lot of swearing. In the meantime, I failed test #2 but undeterred went for test #3, struggled to read the numberplate and was given the option by the DOT examiner to get the tape measure out or put it down to bad light and get a retest. Stan said take the retest, she is giving you the benefit of the doubt and it will save you £20! On my fourth test, she gave me the coveted green slip and lectured me on ways of improving my technique. Stan could tell I had passed as he had obviously been instructing for many years and spent a lot of time in the waiting room observing what went on. He also observed that “she” used to be a “he” and caused a lot of consternation when he turned up for work as a she, back in the days when transsexuals were almost unknown.

 Going for a celebratory drive on the Motorway the evening of passing my test, Betsy decided to retaliate by the exhaust falling off at the manifold end, so I limped home from the Warwick bypass with my banger living up to its name, sounding like a demolition derby stock car.

 (Betsy #3- Saudi Arabian “Yank tank” Saloon – Vomit brown)

This car was assigned to me for most of my contract in Saudi back in 1982. I don’t recall what brand it was but it had DH1277 stencilled onto the sides, was automatic and had (essential) air conditioning. Fortunately Gasoline was free from the Aramco filling station, and only 10p a gallon if caught short elsewhere. One day, on returning from lunch, whilst carefully backing up near a greyhound bus, I inadvertently dented the wing due to a sign pole not being vertical but severely bentdue to a fracas with a bus earlier. This is what happens when you let passengers get out and wave you back. (Something similar happened one day at GEC, where I was blocked in on a site due to an asbestos removal van and the helpful builder waved me into a skip, gesturing me to stop AFTER the crunch came from the sticky-outy bit they put the chains on squashed my wing. Fortunately I didn’t get a bollocking as someone from marketing had written off the other departmental pool car and the Boss’s ire was reserved for him.)

Betsy #4 Renault 5 hatchback – Pillar box red

In 1984 (or thereabouts) this was the first car I bought from new, influenced by convenience as I walked past the Renault dealer regularly and noticed the car launch. The slogan was “What’s yours called?” to which the answer was Betsy, at first, anyway.

Driving to visit friends in Coventry on day, I hit a diesel slick on a bend, wobbled, skidded and sideswiped the kerb. Unfortunately, this broke the casting on the steering rack which cost me £180 to replace. Had I bought a Metro, the part would have cost me £40. From this point onwards, Betsy was henceforth known as “Twat”.

Betsy #5 Hyundai Stellar Saloon – White

I bought this on the advice of Neil, who said he would buy it off me in a year or two as he was a taxi driver by then and his new Sierra was round the clock. It was large and comfortable, if a smidge basic. Shortly after buying it I got promoted and entitled to a Company Car, namely-

Betsy #6 Rover 216 Saloon – Red

This was a temporary allocation that I had for six months or so. It smelt of leather and is the only car that I have known someone in the biblical sense in. On steaming up one morning many months after having “done the nasty” I was amused to see two distinct footprints appear on the windscreen, quite wide apart…

Betsy #7 Austin Cavalier GLSi Hatchback – Blue

This was known as the Pinkmobile as it had briefly been assigned to a Manager with the Surname Pink. The GLSi was the full spec one, whereas the more boy racer ones went for the SRi model in order to sacrifice trim for horsepower.

 Eventually I got fed up with the Corporate life and went to work for a small Company, where I was assigned…

Betsy #8 Austin Cavalier Hatchback – White

Nothing too much to say about CCT Betsy, apart from my burning out the (automatic) gearbox within 3 months (a fault, not a reflection on my driving!). I had it stolen one evening from a Hotel car park in St. Helens and the scratters managed to crash it on the motorway, writing it off. The Police caught them with the helicopter though.

Betsy #9 Ford Sierra Estate – Light brown

Alternatively known as “Fishy Fishy” due to an unfortunate incident with a thermos full of stale Urine, this was a car CCT had knocking about to tide me over until my replacement. It actually took another year or so, as the Company went into administrative receivership in the meantime. When we came out of the other side after facing the abyss, I was given a brand new, shiny…

Betsy #10 Ford Mondeo Hatchback – White

I then decided to get Married and get a proper job again, so reluctantly returned Betsy in order to rejoin CCT and be allocated a…

 Betsy #11 Vauxhall Cavalier Hatchback – Off white

This car suffered my first moderately serious accident in Morley, (returning from a weight watchers weigh in) although no-one was hurt, other than my department’s budget.

I had the Nortel car for 12 months, eventually returning it when I resigned and went freelance. I then hired cars as required, typically the novelty Nissan Micra from Morley Van Hire. Eventually my contract work could justify owning a car again, so scouring the compact market, I discovered the new range of Skodas that were well built and well priced. This led me to purchase…

Betsy #12 Skoda Felicia Hatchback – Steel blue

Small but perfectly formed, I eventually replaced this with the slightly bigger…

Betsy #13 Skoda Felicia Estate – Russet red

 My first diesel car, eventually replaced with…

Betsy #14 Skoda Octavia Hatchback – Racing green

This was Skoda’s top of the range car at the time, a turbo diesel 125 BHP and had been earmarked by Dougal, the MD of the dealership. Indeed it had starred at the launch party, driven on-stage  by his brother Angus with two dolly birds waving out of the windows. Dougal was willing to relinquish his new Company car for a few weeks with the prospect of a sale though, as they say cashflow is king. Technically this was a Company car, as it was bought by Delicolor Ltd, MD & sole shareholder Mr. Ian M Grey Esq. 

Eventually, Betsy had gone round the clock and was facing some expensive bills. By now, I had returned to normal employment and bought the car off Delicolor Ltd (for a fair price) when it was dissolved. I couldn’t really justify a large shiny new car at that stage, so bought a second hand…

Betsy #15 Ford Fiesta Hatchback – Deep Purple

Apart from the colour and an occasional tendency to not want to turn the heater off, this gave stalwart service. Karen started using this when her Astra got a bit long in the tooth and eventually traded it in for a Skoda Fabia. Meanwhile, I moved on to…

Betsy #16 Skoda Octavia Estate – Deep Blue

This is my current Betsy and was a much lower spec than my original Octavia, although still 101 HP (Petrol), electric windows, Air Con, 6 CD changer so not exactly basic.

Betsy #16 has also given stalwart service but is also on the fringes of starting to get expensive . A couple of years back I managed to damage the nearside cill in the Morley library car park, forgetting I had parked next to a nearly demolished wall. I also scraped the nearside front wheel arch on my garage door retaining strips at one point. The cumulative effect of the damage was reflected in what I regarded as a rather derisory trade in offer price of £750 having calculated a book value of £2000 in the What car? Guide. Buying the Parkers guide though put the trade in price at a more realistic £1305 and the salesman was happy enough to show the trade figure which was close to this. He also pointed out that the £500 or so he had knocked off for the repairs was his internal cost and it would cost me more, from a main dealer, anyway.

I am now waiting patiently for the formalities to be sorted for…

Betsy #17 Skoda Octavia Estate – Cappuccino metallic

What is “Cappuccino metallic”, I hear you ask? It is a sort of beige that looks with a hint of golden brown in a certain light. It sounded horrible in description & on photos but is perfectly acceptable in the flesh, if somewhat bland.

Moving from a nearly 7 year old high mileage car to a four year old car with just over 30,000 miles is a sensible refresh without breaking the bank. The car is a higher model so has some additional goodies like cruise control and reversing sensors, as well as a number of minor improvements due to the evolution of the design. The decent legroom in the back takes our growing David into account and the vast boot space attends to travelling with all of the stuff that Gizmo needs when we take him with us on holiday. It is a diesel with similar horsepower but more torque and the increased MPG will help contain fuel costs as we head back into our double-dip recession.

I did study other large family cars at length and eventually concluded that the Skodas remain good value for what I was looking for. I would have liked a Skoda Superb and I particularly like the generous rear space and vast boot with the very clever trunk/hatchback design. However, now is not the time to be getting into hock with finance companies and as an asset, a large car depreciates faster than an MP caught fiddling his expenses…

In case why you are wondering why I call my cars Betsy, this was influenced by an installer from the GEC called Terry Heath who drove a rather tempramental flaky car he called Betsy when sweet-talking to it. He explained that all cars were obviously female because they were frequently irrational.and he had to cajole them into being nice to him back. There was another installer called Steve Edge who carried this feminism to another level and completely lined the interior of his car with fur but I never felt the urge to go that far, mainly because it required money and effort. (Also, we all thought he was a bit of a dickhead for doing it!)

Sedgy came and worked for me at Nortel many years later, he assured me that he no longer had a fur fetish…

(*- By Girls, I mean Betsys, of course.)

Growing up in the west end of Newcastle, our local cinema was an early casualty to bingo so the kid’s clubs pretty much passed me by, although I did go once with my cousins who lived in Byker. This was an interesting morning as the place was packed and there was a Compere, an Uncle Ernie who looked like the sort of creepy relative that your parents warned you not to be alone with. (The “Uncles” were generally on the management team or occasionally one of the projectionists). Uncle Ernie cajoled us into singing the ABC Minors song (Which the kids did very boisterously, apart from myself who didn’t really know the now familiar “Blaze away” tune even if I could follow the bouncing ball). He called out the birthday boys and girls to get goodie bags, threw out lollies into the audience (causing mayhem as kids scrambled and scrabbled to get them) and a good time was had by all.

Now Byker is a little on the rough side but it all felt very good natured and not anything approaching out of control. Contrast this with my Dad telling me he got thrown out (literally on his ear) of his local fleapit for getting caught shooting the indians with his slug gun…

Now I can remember two Saturday morning shows held in Newcastle that both sprung up  about the same time. The first was at the Odeon and was quite good, if a little low key (although my friends from the band Applecore with Stu and Toota managed to blag a Saturday morning appearance for which which I ended up as lighting designer,  naturally enough. (We weren’t paid but we were given some Comps for Dionne Warwicke instead)).

The other show was at the Tatler Cinema (possibly renamed the Classic by then) and was advertised as being (a remarkable) four hours in length, 10am to 2pm. The Tatler was a Dirty Mac Cinema and I didn’t quite know what to expect but inside it was perfectly normal, a news- theatre type building with pretty festoon curtains. The show was a bit of a let-down though, as it was a continuous performance of about 70 minutes with an interval (to sell hot dogs) then the entire show was repeated again, presumably twice. (I stayed for the cartoons the second time then went!)

These memories came back to me from an e- conversation with our local Morley Historian Ronnie after noticing that in the Elsie photos in the last blog, the Bingo hall was still advertising Saturday Children’s shows and it looked as if the screen frame was still in situ-on stage (flown out, with the electric number board tied to it below). Ronnie recalls that they did keep on running the shows for a time after it stopped being a Cinema and thinks it was a Morley tradition to have the show in the afternoon. Back in the 1930s when he first started going it was always known as the “Tuppenny Rushes”

Contrast that with the Wakefield Cine-world saturday shows where kids were £1, adults free, but there were three on at once and if you were unlucky you had to wait ten (or twenty) minutes for two of the staff with a charisma bypass  to come in, play some lame half-hearted “boys are better than girls” type shouty games then eventually roll the flick. I can’t see kids getting nostalgic for that in the (20)40s.

The funeral was well attended and there were flowers from the regulars at his watering hole, The Swan in the Rushes (arguably the best pub in Loughborough).

One of the Regulars has posted his thoughts on the service here- http://soundsandtexts.blogspot.com/2009/11/mervyn-gould-rip.html

Regrettably I couldn’t stay for the Wake (held in the Swan, of course) as I had to get back to Leeds, then onward to Manchester. Delays on the M1 North meant me diverting over the Snake Pass near Sheffieldand Karen & David heading to Manchester separately.

I arrived at Piccadilly by 7:50 (for an 8pm start) but then got stuck in Gridlock in the middle of Manchester which is absolute motoring chaos at the moment. (I only missed a couple of songs, fortunately).

Hazel’s Rebecca is a song for anyone missing a cherished friend, so this is for Mervyn.

I was asked to write this Obituary which might possibly appear in The Stage next week.

I knew him for more than twenty years and admired him without knowing him for nearly as long before that from his widely published writings on technical theatre.

Mervyn Stockbridge Gould (14/12/1946 – 29/10/2009)

Having  been fascinated in technical theatre from his early teens, Mervyn landed his first paid backstage job  aged 17 in 1963 as A.S.M. (& Props) for a two week run of Babes in the Wood at Boston Regal, touring into Crewe, Buxton and Leek. He remained a casual showman at the venue (and #2 Lime Boy) until moving to London in 1965 to study History at Marjons in Chelsea. Having had the foresight to join NATTKE he was able to get work in numerous West End theatres although it impacted on his Degree, just scraping through the Finals. After several years of touring, residences & even walking Schnorbitz (A period he described as “the painful death throes of Variety”), he spent three seasons at Sunderland Empire as CD Operator then a year as Deputy Chief Engineer at The Palace Theatre during the run of Jesus Christ Superstar.

He joined Loughborough University English & Drama Department in 1979 as technical tutor which gave him the opportunity to gain an M.A. and still work occasional summer seasons or Pantos. He remained there for seventeen years before taking early retirement due to ill health.

Mervyn was a Historian, researcher and avid collector of backstage ephemera; his doorbell was a house telephone and his dining chairs were former Box seats.

He was very active in the SMA whilst still working and in retirement became heavily involved in the Mercia Cinema Society.

As an author, he wrote four books on cinema history as well as numerous articles for the theatrical Press including Tabs, The Stage, Cue & Cueline.

In 2007, he was interviewed for the Theatre Archive Project and his colourful memories are online at http://www.bl.uk/projects/theatrearchive/gouldm.html

He died peacefully at home in Loughborough, aged 62.

Ian Grey, November 2009

Mervyn was a real character and I can’t believe how much I miss him despite only seeing him 2-3 times a year. I hope to expand this 300 word distillation into a longer blogpost worthy of his memory when I feel ready.

My original blog was fairly cursory (as I talked a lot more about the Theatre Royal than the City Hall & the Planet of the Apes, which after all was to my mind just a bit of a novelty act in a circus show). Anyway, Neil (the researcher) coaxed a few memories out of me and they are now up on the Wikia Planet of the Apes page. (My thoughts, such as they are, can be found on the December 22 1975 entry).

Neil has also kindly let me use this handbill image below.

As Max Boyce used to say, I WAS THERE!

However, I got to hear about two people who I knew slightly having recently died.

The first is Mrs. Margaret Beatrice Millican, who died in March. I only met her for fifteen minutes but she made a big impression. I was involved doing technical stuff in a weekend conference in the Pavilion Gardens complex(The Octagon Room and the Paxton Suite) circa 1995 and noticed on Friday evening that the friends of the Buxton Opera House met every Saturday morning for coffee mornings with guided tours of the theatre. Sadly, that particular Saturday, they were short of volunteers and weren’t in a position to do any tours. Anyway, Karen and I chatted happily with her about the Trust, the Theatre and frank Matcham. Recognising a kindred spirit, she offered to give us a whistle-stop sneak into the Dress Circle which we gratefully accepted. (I was able to have a much more thorough visit last year). Googling her, it seems she was a pillar of the community, having been Mayoress of High Peaks in the 1970s, an MBE and eventually becoming one of the Theatre’s Patrons. I found out today when my copy of the Frank Matcham Society newsletter arrived.

A lot closer to home was a man known to most people as Kenny the Caretaker, the custodian of the building across the road from our Head Office where we lease some of the floors.  He was a small man, quiet, unassuming and of uncertain age but he did his work reliably and conscientiously. Once he felt comfortable with me he was happy to open up and chat but from what I could piece together it seemed that he lived a somewhat solitary life in a Council flat and his main companion was the Wireless.

He died at home whilst we were on holiday in America and I’m told that he was found in the bathroom, having filled a bath but then collapsing. He has died intestate and no relatives have been found yet. Apparently he will be buried in a pauper’s grave after twelve months and his estate (if any) will go to the State. The circumstances of his death are rather sad because he was a very dignified man in life.

I don’t want him to pass on unremembered so this a very small, probably ill informed tribute. Kenny, you were very trusting and helpful to me with access and keys when we did projects in the building over the years. I’ll miss you saying hello whilst sweeping the stairs, I’ll regret not being able to knock on the door of your “office” (the cupboard under the stairs with the gas meter in) and finding you inside. I’ll miss waving to you picking up litter if you saw me when walking or driving past.

Kenny, you may be gone, but you are not forgotten. I hope that the celestial Council have done a better job on your heavenly kitchen than yours did in real life. Hopefully the angelic buses are more reliable for you in the afterlife as well.
Whenever I hear this song, I’ll think of you.

The reason for her call was that their old High School was celebrating it’s 80th birthday and they were inviting as many former pupils as possible.

Now Karen’s old school is surprisingly famous. No, it isn’t Eton, or Harrow, or even Rodean. It is Levenshume High School, otherwise known as Weatherfield Comp as it is regularly used by Granada TV for filming as part of Britain’s longest running Soap opera, Coronation Street. (Karen comments that the Wikipedia entry is spherically, plurally, incorrect, although the other school mentioned may have been the case some time back).

Karen keenly follows Corry and as I generally surf with a laptop on my lap in the lounge (or more accurately with a laptop on my belly) I am peripherally exposed to the Soap. Being a Mancunian by upbringing, she would regularly point out any OB scene that she recognised. The shots of the school intregued me as it looked somewhat like a grand old 19th century Arts and Crafts Country House.

Anyway, David and I came along to keep her company. She had told us a bit about the school- how it was an E shaped building with classrooms in the wings and the hall in the central strut along with Gyms beyond. She told us it had a posh entrance down the end of a long driveway that the pupils weren’t allowed to use. She recounted her three years there in the 3rd, 4th and 5th forms, pranks that had gone on and punishments, including her class being banished to a corridor for form registration for the entire 5th year. There had been a lower school in another building further down the road, now long gone.

On arrival at the school, marshalls directed us down the elegant tree lined drive and along the front of the building, past the dining hall onto the tennis courts. (“Hah! These were the netball courts”, interjected Karen.) The school is indeed still “E” shaped, but with much tweaking and extending so that there are various lumps and bumps on the structure, including some low grade 50s buildings and a brand new energy efficient community use sports facility called the Energy Box. (I christened it the sweat box).

When we arrived, we went into the main hall, where there were various displays about the school history and the future. There were extensive archive photographs as well as some old documents through the ages. (Apparently most of this was pulled together for the 75th anniversary celebrations five years ago so it was comparatively easy to restage).

Now a school that has no direct memories for me is relatively academic for interest so I was more attentive to the spatial arrangements and how it had evolved over the years. It turned out that this school had been built in 1928, officially opening in 1929. It had always been a Girls school and indeed had been a selective Grammar school until such time as the Trotskyists in the LEA abolished such elitism in the pursuit of mediocracy.

The building was light and spacious (apart from the basement), but not overly disabled friendly, being on three main levels (with a lift) and a few rooms on landings due to some of the quirky extensions built over the years. The original Gym block looked as though it had been built in the 60s with exposed concrete columns and window walls whilst the main building style was not too far removed from Victorian. The dining hall also looked like it dated from the 60s with exposed ceiling zig zag steel trusses and weetabix ceilings, all now painted shocking shades of green and yellow.

The main entrance area near the hall was smartly painted with extensive wall and floor tiling, although most other areas were rather utilitarian, with the original staircase blocks looking like their brickwork had been simply glossed over. I didn’t even see any of that local authority surface mainstay, speckled texture paint.

One striking thing in the main hall was the light fittings- very large and deep circular shades with translucent infills and sides in school green. Smaller matching shades were also found in the entrance hall and vestibule, whilst everywhere else florry lights (or CFL fittings) were the norm. The hall also had some additional decorative lighting- aircraft-like PAR fittings lit the bases of the ceiling beams as well with some wall up/downlighters on the stage proscenium. A neat little lighting controller at the back of the hall integrated the tungsten and discharge lighting for assembly and performance use.

Looking at the older photographs, they had quite a few whole-school panorama shots, some outside, some inside. The indoor ones were in the hall and I noticed that the original lighting fittings were large open bottomed circular frosted glass shades, one of which was missing, exposing the 500 Watt GES (Goliath Edison Screw)  GLS (General Lighting Service) clear lamp to view. A later photo showed that the original open bottom shades had been replaced with large spherical shades and yet again there was one missing. (My own school had flying saucer shades and two were missing in the main hall, an occupational hazard of either allowing sports in the hall, or possibly the precarious practice of relamping on large wobbly wooden ladders by the caretakers).

Whilst Karen enjoyed looking around, she felt that the event had not been as successful as my recent school trip, mainly because we were left to ourselves and there wasn’t any obvious programme. However, we were excellently fed with a huge buffet in the dining hall and many of the pupils acting as ambassadors kept bringing  trays into the main building.   There may have been speeches towards the end but we only stayed for the first couple of hours. The children were putting on various forms of entertainment on the stage but nobody was introduced or anything like that.

As for the uniform, we assumed it was still bottle green but most of the kids had a white T shirt on with some form of stylised picture, possibly of the school. We did see an old lady with a school scarf though, impressive that she saved it for forty years or so since she attended. (I still have my school prefect tie but I retained it more for fancy dress purposes, it has to be said).

One other comment Karen had (and her sister also made on seeing the pictures)- the buildings looked rather run down and tired. A new build is on the horizon though and a large set of complex plans were also on display, although I struggled to get a chance to study them, as ambassadors kept offering me sandwiches, vol-au-vents and samosas.

It was also reassuring to see that Karen’s memory is just as fallible as mine. She showed us three successive classroom doors that she recalls had been booby-trapped with a bucket to trick the teacher, each successive door she changed her mind and assured us it was this one. The last was a cupboard!

In 1996, when the Galway Festival was on, I bought a ticket to see The Dubliners, knowing not too much about them apart from them having performed with The Pogues doing the Wild Rover. They had a new singer called Paddy Reilly and as soon as he started singing, I realised that he was a man with a big voice. It turned out that he was already a balladeer of much repute and he had made the song “Dirty old town” his own. The Dubliners made a great backing band for him!

The band were incredibly warm, relaxed and talented, indeed I went out into the town and bought several of their back catalogue the following day. Their most haunting song was the fields of Athenry and when I hear it it still gives me goose bumps. (It is one of Paddy’s from 1982).

They also performed a new song loosely based on the old washerwoman brought up to date which they called Miss Zanussi! Here is the original.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

The Blackpool Winter Gardens is a Victorian pleasure park on a massive scale but its remoteness from the Golden Mile (250 yards from the Prom) has made it a bit of a white elephant at times. Had it been more successful, however, it is doubtful whether much of it would exist today as it would have been redeveloped. Despite being much hacked around in places, it is a unique survivor in both scale and complexity. It houses two theatres, a huge ballroom bigger than the Tower Ballroom, several function rooms and an exhibition hall, not forgetting bars, Cafes and slot machines! It is advertised as having twelve amazing venues and a click-through shows a pretty sectional pictogram of this.

The dullest part of the complex is the Olympia Hall, being an L shaped rather plain part of the building that is so uninteresting to look at that the owners have put in a tent-like structure which although bland is probably hiding some guilty secrets. (When it opened it was themed as a Moorish Village but that has all long gone). Until next Sunday, though, it is housing a fascinating free event called the Circus of Wonders. This is an exhibition of fairground, circus and seaside side shows but with a twist- five of the side shows are actually recreated for your delectation at the weekends. A troupe of actors take the part of seaside spielers (and Freak show freaks), drawing us in to watch (and without relieving us of our hard earned sixpence!)

The five recreations all date from the Fifties and feature the original frontages, with some colour photographs to show how they would have looked in-situ. Of course, back in the 50′s the spielers lured the paying visitors into the tent inside, whilst three of these shows were viewable through the entrance in order to make use of the space.

The first sideshow was the headless lady and the spieler donned a white coat for the occasion, using a pointer to clarify the items within. A recorded announcement talked through the story whilst the spieler enhanced it with due gravitas. When the curtains opened, we were greeted with the sight of what looked to be a dummy sat on a high chair. The dummy wore a diaphonous sleeved top and didn’t have a head, instead having a metal grommet with several rubber pipes emerging. These pipes went off to various pieces of apparatus that supposedly kept her alive. After a while it became apparent that the legs were real and with the demonstration of removing a pair of gloves that the arms were real as well. (Which is more than can be said for the chest). There was no sign of the scooter that featured on the facade, perhaps that was round the back…

The second sideshow was the living half lady. The spieler donned a brown warehouse overall and explained to us how Gloria had suffered a terrible accident but that medical science had been able to save half of her. When Gloria was revealed she was sat (or is that placed?) on a plinth mounted on a table. We could see that there was nothing on the table under the plinth or below the table either. Gloria gave the spieler quite a bit of lip before the show was over, demonstrating that they may well have saved the wrong half…

The third sideshow was Lotty, the girl in a goldfish bowl. The spieler was dressed in bright waistcoat and top hat, forewarning us that Lotty wore only a bikini because she lived in a goldfish bowl. When Lotty was revealed, he proved she was real by asking David to choose a number from one to five and her raising the requisite number of fingers.

The fourth show was Lady Electra who demonstrated some tricks with a Van de Graaf generator, including making her hair stand on end and causing a heap of foil pie trays to fly out of her hand. For this sideshow, we were then invited inside, which was about the size of a small gazebo tent. (In fact it was a small gazebo tent). Here Madame Electra stood on an electrified platform and performed, lighting up fluorescent tubes, offering the keys to her house (which were of course electrified) and finally lighting a juggler’s flaming torch with her softest pink most delicate parts- no sir, I was referring to her tongue…

The fifth show was the most dramatic and called The Mummy. Here the spieler invited us in to the Egyptian mausoleum and explained the process of mummification in striking and shocking detail. He explained how we would see the beautiful Egyptian Princess age before our very eyes then become beautiful once more. He unlocked the tomb doorway and the princess appeared (who had a striking resemblance to lady Electra, as it happens).  The Princess transformed into the hideous Mummy which became incandescent with rage and rushed the tomb door. The spieler slammed and locked the door and asked us to leave at it was no longer safe. Suddenly the Mummy smashed its hand through the door, broke the lock and chased us all out, giggling and screaming!

There was another attraction in the hall that wasn’t strictly part of the Circus of Wonders but was greatly enhanced by the presence of the exhibit. The show was called Carnesky’s Ghost train and it is a strange mix of live theatre and side show. It has a story of eastern European refugee women who disappeared on a night train to nowhere and are reputed to haunt the line still. (It is hoped that this ride will have a permanent home in Blackpool).

Now I’d prepared David for this ride by watching the two online videos (here and here) but the reality was much more intense as the whole idea is to spook you and ghostly hands occasionally reached out to touch.  The  train driver wore a plain white mask and that can be decidedly unsettling when you suddenly find it underlit inches from your face. The train track wasn’t overly long but there were triple hairpins between the two straight sections which were exciting in the dark at high speed and there were different things to look at each time we went round (which must have been five or six times, I wasn’t actually counting). Even the departure platform was a scene in itself, with action taking place there and the lighting effects changing each time round. Quite a few of the things in the Video weren’t there though, or perhaps I was looking the wrong way. Definitely worth a re-ride, but David wasn’t having any of it…

It seems that the Carnesky’s Ghost Train has been a bit of a flop in Blackpool before now, being stuck in the corner of a large hall off the beaten track. It was originally a much smaller ride and was designed more as an art installation &/or a piece of theatre rather than something populist. The Council has spent huge sums of money buying it and getting the Illuminations team to light it. but attendance has been poor so far. It is very early days and it seemed to be doing well yesterday though, helped by the footfall to the exhibition. It seems its home is just rented, maybe they should look at putting it outside the Sandcastle later in the season. However, the ride is rather quirky and I can’t really see it appealing to drunken Chavs very much, Blackpool’s bread and butter. They much prefer the terrifying tour of the Pleasure Beach Casino basement, now that is scary.

We also got to see the Lord Mayor of blackpool talk about her days as a sideshow girl in her youth, she used to spend much of her day entombed in a block of ice for £7 a week (which was £3 more than a typical retail job, which was why she did it, times were poor). She also played an Eastern(correction) Mauri Princess for a while which was rather unlikely as she was blonde and fair skinned, but she explained that the punters would believe anything in those days.  She pilloried the current Blackpool Golden Mile as a concrete jungle and reminisced over things long gone such as Fairyland and its big dragon. She said that there was a lot of camerarderie amongst the shomen but there were some spivs around, including one that used to saw up a broom handle, paint it red, wrap it up and sell it as Blackpool Rock from a suitcase before scarpering. The audience brought forward a few memories of sideshows, including one that featured malnourished newlyweds, sometimes called the starving brides. Inside a couple of emaciated looking young girls wore scabby wedding dresses, very odd. The Mayor told us that all the sideshows were good clean fun apart from one which had a French theme and nudes inside. The beautiful french women within promised by the spieler were anything but and they were supposed to keep still but often they’d been drinking…

I don’t recall any sideshows at Blackpool as I didn’t visit there until 1970 but I do remember the bizarre medical exhibits in Louis Tussauds in a special gallery with lots of warnings to discourage the easily disturbed and in the process hype up the experience. (This tradition continues to this day, anyone with a heart condition wanting to ride the Revolution at the Pleasure Beach supposedly must bring a nurse).  The Newcastle Hoppings also had quite a selection of freak shows, including goats with clip-on extra legs, pickled siamese twins and bizarre papier mache’ fake models in murkily lit exhibits. One sideshow was quite popular with us teens and it was quite a simple one. It was a Gorilla in a cage and we used to taunt it until it finally had enough when would pull the rubber bars apart and chase us out!

(There is a good review of the exhibit online from the Blackpool Herald which contains the text of the blog title)

Photo montage to follow…

17th – 22nd November – The Grand Theatre and Opera House Leeds Exhibition

Grand Theatre and Opera House, Leeds

Open 10am to 4pm and an hour before performances

The Grand Theatre will be hosting an exhibition featuring the collections of WYAS. This exhibition will be interactive and feature oral history recordings, costumes, plans and documents amongst the vast array on display.

(Unfortunately, the advance publicity in the Theatre Brochure didn’t mention the hour before performances bit, otherwise I could have saved myself one of the two trips!)

On approaching the Grand Theatre, I was delighted to see all of the scaffolding gone and the exterior pretty much complete. The exhibit was in the Grand Hall, a large lofty rectangular space above the foyer of which the five arched windows admit light to it.

Inside, I was first struck as to how much the room had been transformed. I knew it was going to become the lobby area for the newly reconstructed Assembly Room with a bar built under the balcony staircase but I wasn’t expecting black mahogany lined with mirrors and satin pink bands on near white wallpaper above, nor the two enormous crystal chandeliers. The light fittings may well be original to the room but it was very much Indian restaurant before, red flock wallpaper, red velvet drapes, red patterned carpet. Now, it is stunningly light and bright, a surprising contrast to the tiled & marbled sombre stairwells that lead to it.

The exibition itself wasn’t overly extensive and I was a little disappointed on my first quick walk round. On reading the display panels, however, I became much more engrossed. Here was the original Director’s register from the 1860s before the building was even built. An inventory of all the building assets showed arcane records such as four wire gas globe guards in a room under the stage and there were photos of the Queen gracing the Royal Box. (I was much more interested in the Front of House stage lighting enclosure above which appeared to contain Strand Pageants or possibly Furse Frencas). If you donned a pair of white gloves, it was possible to examine a selection of very old programmes as well as the archives of the Leeds Amateur Operatic Society. There were also photos and plans, including the proposals from the 60s to demolish the place and replace it with a huge mixed development (which fortunately never happened!)

An unexpected historical object was the 1980s lighting desk, a Strand Gemini (I noticed it had a White Light asset tag on it, perhaps it was on loan). It was powered up but the monitor was off and as there weren’t any lights connected to it I resisted the temptation to do a few cross-fades.

On my way back out again, I wandered to the old Assembly Room/Plaza Cinema entrance. The new area was modern and stark but some tiling from the original staircase had been preserved. I suspect this might become the new Stage Door entrance as this is now underneath the stage end of the Assembly Room, the interior having been reversed.

One very welcome improvement is the removal of the Carbuncle from the roofline. Contrast this view with my exterior photo from January last year!

We returned that evening to see LAOS’ production of Oliver! It was really good and there was little to fault. I felt they overlit some scenes and used way too much smoke, but that is just my opinion, being a bit of a Prince of Darkness when it comes to atmospheric stage lighting.

LAOS join MOAS on our must see list, we are looking forward to The Producers in May.

(Update- it is the Grand hall, not the Royal hall, text corrected. In fact, it is called the Emerald Grand Hall, presumably a sponsor as the main house is called the Yorkshire Bank Auditorium).

As I rounded the corner on the road leading to our office, I was relieved to see that our headquarters building looked intact. Looking out of our office windows though, the devastation was apparent. Where once stood a proud if somewhat jaded mill building, there was now a silhouette of walls with bits missing and stubbled tops, like an ancient cathedral ruin in the mist. The site was surrounded by fire tenders with their telescopic ladders hosing water, a real ten pumper. There were no longer flames visible, but the wreckage was belching toxic fumes into the sky.

The story can be found here and here.

This building was, surprisingly enough, still a working woollen mill. Bradford made its fortune on wool, but now one more of the remaining traders has bitten the dust.

The Police are treating the fire as suspicious: it was possibly started by a burnt out stolen car. The business was a going concern and the owners had rebutted offers from developers to sell their site in what is otherwise a declining area but ripe for demolition and redevelopment. Having a fire like this is convenient fore somebody. Quack quack?

During the day of the fire, we would occasionally peep out of the window, to see what was going on. By hometime, the smoke had abated somewhat but there were still tenders pumping into the wreckage.

On Friday, the demolition Contractors arrived to make the site safe, pushing down the remains with big articulated arms, but still the site smouldered and two hoses remained.

Today, the site is just a large pile of rubble with the recoverable metalwork being seperated off for scrap. As you can imagine, a Victorian Mill has a lot of cast iron columns and girders to recycle but they will probably have to be smelted first.

Reading about this after the event, the Fire Brigade said that it burnt so ferociously because there were 3,000 bales of wool stored in the factory and the flooring was heavily impregnated with Lanolin, otherwise known as wool wax or wool grease. Whilst both wool and lanolin are considered fire resistant in normal use, in an inferno they will burn ferociously.

Reading this, I recall my early days at GEC Coventry where we were based at an old pre-war factory in Spon Street. This was the 2nd biggest fire risk in the City Centre as it had been the original Rudge Whitworth motorbike Factory and all of the floors were impregnated with engine oil. It then became the biggest fire risk after the previous number one risk burnt down!

It was a rather ugly factory, being constructed of early concrete columns and brick cladding/Rittal industrial windows with what could best be described as a large shed on the roof of the main six story block (the Canteen). However, it was listed as being of special architectural interest because of its post-iron column design. It survived the blitz (despite all around being bombed) but eventually succombed to the developer’s wrecking ball when the site became a large retail development and Coventry skydome arena.

Coventry had some very strict byelaws about inflammable materials within the city centre core, presumably based on the carpet bombings of the fateful night in 1941 when much of the City Centre was destroyed. I can remember needing some meths for a Mamod steam engine once and was bemused to find that boots only sold it in metal containers, not the normal glass ones. (I was even more surprised that if you wanted it in Norway, you had to go to the State off-license to buy it, “Rødspirit”). I once went and stood on the highest point I could access in the City Centre and tried to imagine what it could have been like during the blitz. Despite how many war films or shocking photos you have seen, the reality cannot really sink in. I did the same in Bradford last week, seeking a high viewpoint and wondering how one solitary fire could bring the tinge of destruction to such a large area. Every fire tender in the area was in attendance and they were calling in other fire response teams from elsewhere in west Yorkshire. How would the emergency response teams cope in a major calamity if there had been ten fires, or a hundred? The answer is of course that they couldn’t.

Let us hope that they never have to.

This was based on the traditional role models of pre-war UK working class society where the man learned a skilled trade and the woman stayed at home. I’m sure it is much less rigid than that these days!

My first experience of metalwork was with “Metalwork Johnson”, so called because there was another teacher called Johnson, “Geogga Johnson”. This was in the lower school craft room which covered both woodwork and metalwork skills. This was a fairly large room with rows of benches, a vice at each position. Around the room were various kinds of machinery and a number of large red buttons which activated the emergency tsop system, cutting off power to all the machines. As we stood there with our overalls (there were no seats in the workshop) he explained that everything we made at Kenton we would be able to take home, apart from our first project which was for the benefit of everyone that year. The project was to make Vice Grips, pieces of folded tin used to protect whatever you put in the vice from damage. We started off with two rectangular pieces of tin and we had to do safety folds (using pliers and hammers) so that the edges weren’t sharp. We then used the big folding machine to put a right angle bend in so that they would rest in the vice accordingly.

I can’t say that I remember much else we made at school over the years (other than a fish slice) as when I was Eighteen GEC had a substantial training school where we re-learned machine room skills on full size machines, not the scaled down toy ones the school used. I can recall making a chain wrench which included shrink-wrap on the handle (the chain was supplied!) but that could have been at either site. The GEC work was more precision than practical though, often designed for the intention of showing ability and understanding.

Woodwork remains nebulous in my memory, I can remember doing lots of stuff but not much of the outcomes. Understanding the different types of wood and join techniques was important of course, as well as grasping working with and against the grain. I made a pencil box and a crocodile (which my mum still has, it isn’t very good but she is proud of it!) Mr. Martin, the woodwork teacher had a catch-prhase- “Wood is tree-mendously strong” which was made funny because of his slight lisp that made it sound like “Wood is twee-mendously stwong”. He was very active in the school in my day, doing Judo lessons and playing trumpet in the Brass Band. He is still involved with the school even into his retirement, I was delighted to recognise him in the Saturday show singing in the choir and disappointed not to have a chance to say hello at the end (the show overran considerably, it was very late, we had a two hour drive home and David was tired).

I gave up the crafts in favour of the more academic studies when we were able to choose our subjects, possibly in the fourth form. Others that carried on with them made quite interesting stuff then, I remember one lad making furniture,

When I reviewed my photos, I realised that I had a number of shots that roughly equated to “then” & “now” although I was a bit too distracted on the Saturday to consciously frame them so that they were similar angles. However here is a shot of the west block metalwork forge area and how it looks today.

The lower school craft room was a big surprise- it was now a music room and full of piano keyboards (& computer keyboards as well). It was a fair bit smaller as the far end of the room had been partitioned off for two smaller rooms and I puzzled over a raised area which was now the teacher’s snug; it eventually dawned, this was where the forge was, along with the anvil. Another recollection popped up- us all crowding into the cupboard where metalwork Johnson had an old fashioned Epidiascope that looked like a magic lantern. It had a big handle that lowered a platter, where he would put pictures from magazines that projected onto a white bit of wall. He used this to discuss aesthetics of shape, form and style, whilst we stood in the dark poking each other & sniggering.

I never visited the cookery rooms during my school career, although I often saw the outcomes in class. I worked out which room the 1961 shot was from and snapped it for comparison. (There were two other rooms, although the contents were similar).

On one occasion we had to have a lesson in the typewriter room, or commerce & office skills, as I think it was known as. I don’t think this is actually the same classroom as the 1961 photo, but this is the room I remember it as being in my time. It is now the pottery room within the art department and david is playing at being teacher.

I did have one trip back to the metalwork room during my fifth form days, when one of the handles snapped on the school switchboard. The dimmers had never been lubricated on their moving parts and one of them stiffened up, shearing at the pivot point one day when being strained too much. My friend Paddy was well in with the metalwork staff so we took down the two pieces of bar and made a replacement. the original was alloy and this was steel rectangular bar slightly thinner than the original (as it was all they had) but after being assured that this was not an electrical component (it wasn’t) we were able to sort it out. It required a white bakelite golf ball type knob on the end and I discovered the joys of forming threads without the use of a lathe- we filed it down to a circular shape then used a die to thread it. This was the first time I had seen a tap & die set and I had no concept of how threads were made before then.

PE was probably the least interesting subject I did at school, as I wasn’t any good at it. As Mr. Blyth, Head of Boys PE wrote on my 1LN end of year report:-

“Grade: D Ian has no aptitude for sport, but he tries hard.

Our very first lesson, we didn’t actually do anything physical, we were just talked to. Then at the end of it, we were told that after every lesson we would be taking a communual shower so as we had all brought our towels, we may as well do it today as a practice so we all traipsed into the big shower (which had about twenty shower heads). Oh, and by the way boys, the valve is faulty so I’m afraid we can only have a cold shower this time!

We did all sorts of sport although I recall rugby, cross-country runs (across Cowgate moor in the snow, we had to break the ice on the horse trough to have a drink), athletics, vaulting trampoline and cricket. The one thing that struck me though when I walked into the Gym was Pirates, the annual near-Christmas game where all the kit was put out and we had to take ourselves around the Gym, not touching the floor, whilst being chased by whoever was “it”. When we were tagged (or fouled) then we went up on to the balcony to cheer the others on.

One year, climbing to the top of the ropes then crawling along the RSJ Girders was declared out of bounds. (With good reason!)

Three other memories surfaced from there, not entirely pleasant. The first one was what a freak show some of us boys were naked in the changing rooms, with odd deformities, unexpected dints, hair in strange places and webbed toes. The second one was being slippered by one of the teachers whilst I was tying my lace, presenting my bum in the direction of the staff room. The teacher immediately apologised, saying he just couldn’t resist it. The third memory was pumping and following through during a fairly energetic game of 5 a side. I went and hid in the toilets until everyone had left…

The boys gym looked pretty much the same, other than florry lights replacing the original tungsten ones and the cork floor being replaced with a more regular semi-polished timber one.

The Girls Gym was always lighter and this is still the case. The only time I ever came in here was for dancing lessons before our Christmas parties, which we all pretended to hate but liked really. Here we learned how to do the March of the Mods, the Dashing White Sergeant and various Dosi Dohs.

Notice that the safety elf has been visiting, cutting off the ropes in the process.

One aspect that I did enjoy was swimming lessons. We had our own six lane pool that was heavily used, including for canoe lessons and the like. (Not that I did any of that.) It was looked after by a little gadgie who tended to the boilers and was very broad Geordie. I don’t recall his name now, but he was known as 84, because whenever you asked him how warm the pool was he always said “atey-Forwer” (& we asked him a lot just to hear him say it).

Our first swimming lesson was fairly unremarkable, except that we got the hygiene talk. No verrucas, no open sores, no elastoplasts, no infectious skin conditions otherwise no swimming. He also didn’t want anyone to leave anything in the pool, especially that substance with chemical formula “Ess aitch one Tee”. On a subsequent occasion I can also remember him commenting that he didn’t want us to do submarine impressions whilst doing the backstroke. When we looked at him blankly, he said “you know, up periscope”. (We were adolescent boys, of course…)

The pool wasn’t open for the inspection, although I did take a snapshot out of the window. The lower block with the roof domes is the changing room block, boys to the left, girls to the right. The plant room was at the far end and the caretaker cottages are by the trees.

Talking of caretakers, I bumped into the site manager and asked him about Mr. Earnshaw. He was called Cliff (I had forgotten that) and went on long term sick in ’75, dying a year later. I asked him about the “Chicken Knocker” rumour and was advised that it was indeed true.

As they say in Yorkshire, Nowt so queer as folk…

The evening performance was also very good, but it didn’t flow as well as it could due to overlong breaks between some of the numbers whilst the stage management happened. In the interval there was wine and strawberries & the VI Formers were selling off old school ties for £1 each. I still have my own VI form one at home (which has a red Prefect stripe) but David was happy to wear one loosely.

Lots more to come…

I’ve been reliving a lot of school memories over the last year or so and whilst many blog about their teachers, specific lessons achievements and humiliations- I’m going to Blog about… caretakers.

Kenton school was a big one even then, with 1,500 children on the roll, currently 2013. (The school called them Pupils, the Bus Company called them Scholars). With a roll that size, there were typically twelve classes in a year group and we were streamed according to ability.

The caretakers were a benign presence in the building, brown lab-coated middle-aged men who magically appeared with numerous mop buckets whenever it rained heavily. (Kenton’s flat roofed corridors were somewhat prone to leaks although the main buildings were generally OK). Their duties were numerous but mainly cleaning, housekeeping and minor repairs. They have grander titles these days (Building management teams, Facilities supervisors and the like) and they don’t have to stoke boilers any more but the challenges are the same- keeping one step ahead of the scratter kids and dealing with petty vandalism.

At Kenton, the head Caretaker was Mr. Earnshaw but he was widely known as “Chicken Knocker” by all of us kids as he had allegedly been caught stealing a frozen chicken from the local Fine Fare, he had stuck it up his jumper. Now I don’t actually know if this is true or not, he had supposedly been given the mother of all bollockings by Mrs. Innes, the Head Mistress. (If I see her this weekend I’ll ask!) He lived in a small bungalow on site and I have no recollection if he was a family man or not. He had a high, reedy, strident voice that was very distinctive and he didn’t seem to like Pupils very much as they were the cause of all his extra work.

He lived in the caretaker’s cupboard near the main hall that everyone knew as the cubby hole. It was a fairly large space, but full of the sort of gear caretakers needed; floor polishers, consumables, toilet rolls & light bulbs. (I later found the serious light bulb stash under the stage, all the unusual sizes  like 500 Watt GLS and fluorescent tubes. That was handy for relamping the stage lighting battens between shows. To get in we had to lever up a large trapdoor (with a manky mattress beneath) and negotiate all the abandoned feminine hygiene machines to get into the actual cupboards)

Now in my early days of doing the lights I had to borrow the wooden stepladders which were seriously unsafe but eventually the caretakers acquired a self assembly scaffold tower which made a great follow-spot platform as well as making the front of house focussing so much easier, despite the effort required to assemble and dismantle it.

Later, the school bought a Public Address system for the main hall. This consisted of a microphone, a stand, a cable and a valve amplifier (a 30Watt Selmer one) which connected to column speakers either side of the stage. The gear lived in the cubby-hole but I ended up on the sound crew. This meant that I could sit backstage during assemblies rather than have to listen out front. (One of the caretakers would unlock the pass door for me, which was just inside the Girl’s gym lobby area). The amp had a built in spring line reverb which made a horrible noise if you bumped it! Certain days, the school band played, so I would work the Amp from the side lighting platform, where the handle was to open the curtains. (I’d bring the lights up as well, the standing joke from Mr. Martin the woodwork teacher & trumpet player was that he wanted a spotlight on him and eventually I was able to oblige after I’d manged to fix one and scrounge a lamp for it).

For one show, i came in for a dress rehearsal and was disappointed to find that the scaff tower was not available- Mr. Earnshaw said that it was in the lower school hall and it was all alarmed. He could tell how disappointed I was and he walked away, stopped, turned back and gave me a set of instructions I had to follow to the letter. Across the green bridge, along the ground floor corridor, up the back stairs, turn right on the first floor landing and into the hall. Do not deviate from that route or all hell will break loose. When finished, leave it here.

I persuaded a cast member to give me a hand and manhandled it down two staircases and several intervening stairs on the route. It must have taken us ages of backbreaking work and my helper got into trouble on his return as he had missed his scene. I didn’t set the alarm off and Mr. Earnshaw noticably warmed to me after that.

I then went on to do school discos, at first mid-week ones with others, then the biggie- the Christmas year Discos. (I was paid £30 for this, the Company that did it the previous year charged £30 a disco so I was happy and the school was happy as well). I was allocated some storage space for my gear in a little used cupboard and with it came the ultimate accoladde- a Master key. It was the West Master (for the boy’s school) but it opened quite a few East doors as well. Truth be known, all teachers had an East &/or West Master key so that they could open and lock many of the classrooms but I was probably unique in having one as a Pupil. Mr. earnshaw said as much when he peeled it off a big bunch  and he made a little speech about responsibility in a very pompous voice but I noticed that the other caretakers were grinning and winking at me at the time!