Reminiscences of an Erstwhile Thespian
(C.A. 4-7-85)
Although not exactly a founder member of Carlow Little Theatre Society, I was hauled onto the committee within weeks of joining in 1947. From then on I took an active, if undistinguished, part in its activities for over twenty years. Like many other feeble beginnings, a chance remark by the late Martin O’Hanlon led me to tread the boards again after a lapse of many years. But, to begin at the beginning.
My first appearance in front of the footlights was when I stood before a more or less captive audience of local and doting parents, relatives and friends in my home town, Cobh, on St. Patrick’s Night concert in the early twenties. I attempted to sing, albeit with a modicum of success, an old-time favourite, “The Pride of Petravore” in an, as yet, unbroken falsetto and was duly and dutifully applauded.
This debut was followed by a number of walk-on parts in plays organised by the Young Men’s Society drama group, the most memorable part being that of an English soldier with a wooden gun in the “Coleen Ban” wherein I arrested Miles na gCopaleen for allegedly dumping Ellen O’Connor into one of Killarney’s lakes. This was followed by a number of other parts which involved violence of one kind or another, including hanging, until I suspect I was becoming typecast.
Gilbert and Sullivan next claimed my attention and I took part in a number of old favourites including “The Gondoliers”, “The Mikado”, “H.M.S. Pinafore”, etc. The ‘Cachuca’ was never ‘danced more wildly’ when I belted the boards and I’ve been filling the role of ‘Poo Baa’ under various guises ever since.
Martin (R.I.P.) who had the pleasure of kicking my pants when I was a small boy for annoying him at work, became a very good friend of mine when we met later in Carlow. His chance remark one day when we met in Dublin Street “would you play an auxie?” had me guessing until he explained that he merely wanted someone to play the part of a British Officer in the forthcoming production of O’Casey’s “Shadow of a Gunman”. Incidentally, the uniform which happened to be available whenever we played it in later years and in various venues, determined whether I was regular, an auxie or a black-and-tan.
I used to come on-stage by kicking the door open, brandishing a genuine Colt 45 which was provided by Billy Duggan — a former officer in the L.D.F., and demanding in an atrocious cockney accent “ooze ‘ere”, while the late Terry Moran and Leo Murphy cowered in their beds. I would dearly have liked to have had a few live rounds in the chamber to really put the wind up them — and the audience, as I did subsequently when I let off a maroon backstage during the production of “The Plough and the Stars”.
We brought “The Gunman” on tour and entered a few competitions with it. The late Miss Ria Mooney, who adjudicated in Limerick, found it hard to reconcile my normal Cork accent with my Bow Bells version of same. One night we were invited to perform in Huntington Castle and were treated like strolling players and entertained in the castle dungeon. We played in a stable on a one-foot high stage under the light of a 36 watt lamp supplied with current from a 12 volt windcharger. The atmosphere was dramatic to say the least. Terry brought down the house every time he turned in bed while vainly trying to keep his long-john draped backside covered with a flea-ridden horse blanket.
The audience consisted largely of guests from the castle ‘the shootin’, huntin’ and fishing’ types, who understood not a word of the dialogue with the possible exception of that of the cockney auxie. They were probably roped in by the Lady of the Castle, the late Mrs. Manning Robertson, who acted as sort of cheerleader, indicating where and when to laugh, cry or applaud.
Over the next few years many parts were offered to me and all with sinister or violent connotations. Some that come to mind readily enough — others are best forgotten — include the hangman in “Dark Brown”, ditto in “The Devil’s Disciple”, the murderer, John Dykes, in “The Valliant”, ditto, Peter Tansey in “The Rugged Path”, Sgt. Stoddart in “Juno and the Paycock”, etc., etc. Later, having drained the ‘violent cup’ I took to the backstage where I can say without undue modesty, I was far more successful.
The fire in the old Abbey Theatre was certainly a good example of the ‘ill wind’, etc., because it made available several most useful, if somewhat charred, lighting units. I purchased, on behalf of the Society, about £500 worth of floods, spots, dimmers, switches, etc., and we were also lucky enough to pick up over 100 almost perfect tip-up seats from the adjoining Peacock Theatre, for £1 apiece. We now had the wherewithal to light our productions in a more professional manner and I had the pleasure of telling a former lighting expert (?) what to do with his spots.
The search for a proper home for the Society went on for over forty years. We graduated from a room in the old school, College Street, where we huddled over a one-bar electric fire to a tenement in Brown Street where we luxuriated in comparative comfort. These premises were the scene of many happy functions and not a few wild parties, some of which started on Saturday afternoon and ended, more or less, on Monday morning. Being the only one available entitled to wear a P.T.A.A. pin, I was usually roped in as barman and can boast that I was often the only one present capable of maintaining a vertical pose for more than sixty seconds.
We organised parties, lectures, demonstrations, films and readings, rehearsals, etc., and it was an unusual week that we didn’t have some sort of function on the mat to entertain the members, throughout the winter. During the summer we organised outings and picnics like the one in Ballymoney where the late Eric Giddy put on “The Happy Journey” with six chairs as props and the Irish Sea for backdrop. Trips to shows in Dublin, Waterford, Cork, Limerick as well as to many local towns were undertaken to witness and compare notes on the local efforts at plays which we had already done or hoped to do. Other extra-curricular activities included acting a adjudicators (bless the mark) for several local drama groups. I once nearly ended up in the nearby river for daring to suggest that the major fault in a certain one-act play was the production. I was trying not to hurt the players feelings — the damned play stunk anyway — but how was I to know that the producer was a very popular young curate — and a good footballer to boot? On another occasion I gently suggested that a certain play would look better if something more elaborate than a 100 watt naked lamp, hanging from the ceiling, was used to light it. I also murmured something about a few 250 watt lamps in biscuit tins might help. I did the same play later and had to sit through the whole performance, totally blinded by six of the aforementioned which were strung across the stage FACING the audience. That taught me to keep my big mouth shut.
The lack of a theatre of our own was a big handicap. Props, flats, lights, costumes, etc., had to be transported from the roms in Brown Street to the hall in which we were to play, rigging up the set before the show, de-rigging afterwards and, worts of all, returning all the gear, often with little help, to the rooms again. When playing in a cinema we couldn’t more in until the last performance of the film, and had to have everything cleared before the next. This often precluded rehearsing on stage. It is significant that in those days we rarely had the same stage manager twice.
For many years our only producer was Martin O’Hanlon — no one else had the courage to try. We did, however, experiment with new blood in the production of one-act plays which were designed exclusively for private consumption. Some of the results were good, some were poor and others were hilarious. I put on “The Cruel Sea” — a sort of “Riders to the Sea” set in Cornwall — which fitted into the last named category. Suffice it to say that ‘Murphy’s Law’ prevailed. I also re-wrote a playlet entitled “It’ll be all right on the night” in Graiguecullen, which certainly didn’t live up to its title. It was a disaster to end all disasters.
At all events we tried our best but, quite honestly, we were at nothing until our first professional producer, Ria Mooney, took us in hand. Since then the Society never looked back and has gone from strength to strength, enjoying a prestige enjoyed by few other groups in the country.
Cast of “Home is the Hero” — 19152 Production
Hugh Doran (Manchester Monahan), Maureen Kelly (Josie), T. Moran (Dovetail), G. Maher (Bid), S. Treacy (Mrs. O’Reilly), W. Duggan (Paddo O’Reilly), Mary Foley (Mrs. Green), M. Glynn (Trapper), J. Flynn (Lily Green), L. Murphy (Willie), J. McSweeney (Producer)
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- © 2001 County Carlow Genealogy IGP