Notes from the Stage Manager's Box (7 page)

It was just as well I was able to retain my crew. There were nineteen scene changes over the two a
cts. It was immense and the work
had to be done quick and silently. Such was the speed that was sometimes required
, one or two
of the crew stood behind the flats throughout one scene so as to be ready to strike them when the next scene had to be prepared.

This book is entitled
Memories from the Stage Manager’s Box because there is one, a box that is. It’s the best way to describe the small area in the wings, usually just behind the front curtain. From here the Stage Manager controls operations. The headphones and microphones to enable him to speak to the lighting box, the orchestra pit and anyone else are wired from here. I haven’t been in a modern theatre but would imagine the technical aspects are much more advanced with wi-fi, CCTV and more remote controlled devices.

Before each show I would make sure I had rolls of coloured tape. These are also part of the Stage Manager’
s kit. They are used to mark out
where each set of flats are to be fixed. A foot or two away from the line could cause flats to interfere with the stage furniture, entrance and exits points, lighting spots and confuse the cast.

Each main scene such as house interiors
in Fiddler had its own set of coloured tape so that the crew knew exactly where each flat had to be set. Most of the work had to be done in either blackout or with dulled lighti
ng behind
black cloths
attached to one of the battens
. Therefore it was prudent to use bold coloured tape and make sure it was quickly replaced if scuffed and hidden.

This was the first show in which I had been involved that was directed by John Hebden. He worked for Islington Council as
a therapist. He taught disabled
and disturbed
young children about dance,
movement and expression. He was not an imposing person physically. He was slight with glasses but could inspire people to do more that they thought they were capable of.

Over the next four or five years I got to know him well. He was an artistic director; he gave light where others might have stuck with sensible. He was great to work for; he asked for sets and props to be in a certain style and allowed me and the rest of the production team to get on with achieving it. You
just
would
not let John down.

I learned that he had directed South Pacific, just before I had joined. One night after a rehearsal he joined us for a drink. It wasn’t his normal routine but this
night he had a couple of gin and tonics
. John, Cris Beal and myself got the late train from Moorgate to Hertford North. John lived in Hornsey and Cris
(her name was Chris but she could only afford four letters for a neck chain so shortened her name to Cris)
changed
trains
at
Alexandra
Palace
.

Whilst sitting in the train we got to talking about auditions.
John started to recount the problems with casting a female for the part of Bloody Mary in South Pacific. At one time he stood up to give a better impression of what he was enduring and his performance went somewhere along these lines.

The first one was like a performance
in
a back street pub
that ha
s
a piano and a music evening
where a very fat, loud
woman
takes the microphone and shouts loud and long and grins at the pi
anist. The next one was
drunk
and mumbled violently; the next thought she would sing it like Paul Robeson
and her mate fell over
her own feet
trying to remember the word
s to Bali Ha’i. Most of them
couldn’t sing at all.

Many of the old time stand up comedians like Ken Dodd will tell you about doing a show at the Glasgow Empire where failure is met with the throwing of beer glasses and other objects. The train John, Cris and me were sitting on was the last one out of Moorgate and full of tired and emotional City workers who had drunk one too many after work lagers and were totally devoid of good manners.

When John Hebden had finished mimicking the antics of about ten Bloody Mary’s he got off at Hornsey and the whole carriage applauded. He was that sort of person.

I also got a new Assistant Stag
e Manager in the shape of Lesley
Carey. She was sharp, intelligent and completely organised and the best person I ever worked with. Cues were exact, cast and crew were in the right places
when they should be,
and everything went like clockwork.

She turned up that week in a series of black T-shirts advertising a different Chris de Burgh tour each evening. She was a big fan of his and converted me; and I used to treat her to a bag of dried pineapple rings from the Good Food Shop in Hertford.

We went out for less than a year
. On our first date we agreed to meet outside the Guildhall in the City. I was used to seeing her
in
Chris de Burgh T-shirts, black jeans and no make up. I saw this long legged, attractive blond walking towards me and almost ignored her. I moved in with her fo
r a while during one of the
British
Rail strikes
when the only way you could get to work was on one of the many coaches that the Bank hired.

Her flat was close to the City and her manager paid her taxi fares out of branch expenses because she was so important to him. We split up quite amicably
,
most probably because at bottom we were
two
quite different people.
She did a few more shows and I still bought her the dried pineapple rings. Some things just don’t change.

However there was not much Lesley or myself could do about a couple of
near disasters on opening night.

The stage of the
Golden Lane
had a steep rake. That is to say that the stage sloped from back to front at a high angle. This is why the middle stalls are always more expensive than the front stalls because the rake of the stage gives the impression that you are looking straight at the action. The view from the front stalls is close up but you are looking upwards which can give you a stiff neck, the orchestra is also a bit close so you get a lot of noise and if you are too close you are in danger of being drowned by the spit from over enthusiastic acting.

One of the scene changes in Fiddler involved no more than a lighting cue and Motel and Tevye’s
daughter entering the stage fro
m inside of Motel’s house.
This was a very cramped
four foot by four foot square wooden shape with a door. It had just enough room for the two actors to stand still until they hear their cue.

Lesley, Peter Davis, Jim North and myself were standing stage right. The two members of cast had shut themselves in the box during a previous scene change and the stage was quite dark on our side. I think it was Peter who nudged me and as quietly as he could said something along the lines that Motel’s house was moving. Not just moving but slowly gliding down stage towards the orchestra pit with two people inside.

This contraption did have wheels to move it around but also had brakes to secure it. The rake of the stage was so great that the brakes couldn’t hold the combined weight of the scenery and the cast.

This is why stage crew dress in black. Peter rushed out behind the scenery and held on to it. The following three nights he went out with the cast and held on grimly until that piece of scenery was no longer required and could be brought off stage.

At the close of the dress rehearsal John Hebden asked me how it was going and I said that all things considering it was going quite well. He flipped th
rough his notes and said that he
thought the graveyard scene could be bit more atmospheric and what did I think about adding a bit of smoke for effect.

I said it sounded a good idea but where were we going to get some smoke from. Do not panic he replied, I’ll pick one up tomorrow. They’re quite cheap to hire. I hoped they were because I hadn’t time to clear it with our Honorary Treasurer, Roy Follett.

As promised John turned up the next night with a smoke machine. It is simple to operate. You plug it in, pump it up about five minutes before you need it and on the cue, just turn it on. This was the first night, there was no time to try it out so we just put the thing on stage right and Lesley added a few more cues.

The graveyard scene is Tevye’s way of persuading his wife that he had a dream in which his mother rose from her grave to tell him that their daughter should not go ahead with the arranged marriage to the butcher Lazar Wolf but instead marry the man she loves, Motel.

As instructed I turned on the smoke machine, pumped it up and on Lesley’s cue turned it on. The
orchestra and
first five rows of the stalls were enveloped in a fog which
also completely masked the stage
from the rest of the audience.
However like true professionals
the band played on; and the cast continued singing

I turned the thing off. The next night I turned it on later and pumped it up a little less and the effect was as John thought it would be, quite stunning.

Never, ever use props in the actual production without trying them out first.

The part of Lazar Wolf was played by Brian Moran. He was also a large man with a powerful voice and commanded the stage. In another year, at another time he would have had the part made famous by Topol but as he and we all knew, Frank Squire was born for that.

I hardly got to know Brian during that run of Fiddler and always thought of him as the big brutish butcher Lazar Wolf. Almost after this show I was moved to
Cheapside
branch and about two years later as I was leaving Brian joined. He was the most charming, polite, conscientious man anyone would want as a close colleague. You should never judge people by their stage persona. Some people are just very good actors, as was Brian Moran.

A lot of the credit for the success of Fiddler and the other shows goes down to the backroom boys and girls who are never seen. We had a close knit and very friendly production team. It wasn’t called that, it just was.

By default it included Roy Follett but the mainstay of the Club were Elaine Dearnley and Janet Hough (pronounced How – although it took two years to find that out!). The girls worked in
Drapers
Garden
for one of the Administration Departments that abounded there. Elaine and Janet did the rehearsal timetables, booked the theatres, checked the comings and goings of cast, helped out with make up and costumes, sold programmes and a hundred and one other things that have to happen and
do happen because of the selfless spirit of Club members.

As ever after the show finished there was a Green Room party. It finished about midnight and as ever the stragglers included Elaine, Janet and myself. We got a taxi over to west
London
where we sat in the restaurant managed by Elaine’s boyfriend and had a few more drinks. At about two in the morning we ended back at Elaine’s flat and finished off a few more bottles on wine.

This is how it is in the entertainment business. Whilst everybody else is enjoying themselves you ar
e working. There is a role reversal
; actors, artists and those in the leisure industry have to get their pleasures when the rest of the world is working.

There was a scene in
the
UK
soap
Eastenders where Nadia Sawalha’s character
who runs a nightclub
says to Phil Mitchell something along the lines of: ‘You and me are different from the rest; we are creatures of the night’
.

It would be another couple of years before I really understood that and how it would affect me.

Fiddler on the Roof was also the first show where as stage manager I was truly aware of the need for team work, co-ordination and the magic of theatre.

When I turned up on the first Sunday morning the theatre was empty. Les
Field
and Sid were on stage just tidying up with Les as he so often did giving a student from one of the theatre workshops a piece of his mind about where one of the lamps should be hung.