No . 138 The Trusty Servant
Vox Senum
Rome Revisited
Prompted by James Bryson ’ s article ( TS 137 ) about taking the school play to Rome in 1979 , David Baldwin ( CoRo , 69-95 ) writes :
My thanks to James Bryson for his reminiscences of a trip to Rome with a Win Coll production of Macbeth . I may not have left much of an impact , but I too was part of the team , the stage manager no less , and had designed the set for the production in Theatre Workshop ( as QEII then was ). John Clark ( CoRo , 69-80 ) was a marvellous director and I had stage-managed other shows with him , most notably an impressive Death of a Salesman . My wife and I were travelling in Italy the previous autumn . We called in on the theatre to meet Frances Reilly and get an idea of what we would have to deal with . It was a bit alarming . The theatre lanterns were ancient and covered in dust , the electricity supply was dodgy , the lovely balcony was out of use as it was not strong enough to support an audience and there was a beautiful marble staircase , which led nowhere . Yet this baroque jewel was somehow functioning , kept alive as an Englishspeaking theatre against all the odds . Frances was the widow of an Italian resistance hero , whose deeds had never been recognised , so she had no pension . There were startling shouting matches between her and her son , whose volcanic temper was something to behold . We were planning to bring a synthesiser ( oh , happy bygone days ) and needed to have stereophonic effects , a concept which was beyond Frances , who suggested , when I explained we needed at least two speakers , that we saw her single very old speaker in half ! It was clear we would need to hire in some lights . It was going to be a challenge .
The day the company arrived at the theatre , the hired lights were delivered , but a new electricity supply had to be rigged to support them . A thick cable attached to a junction box hung dangerously down the stage left wall . All were forbidden to go anywhere near it . And so , the first night arrived , but the audience didn ’ t . Or rather , they dribbled in and continued to do so until well after our published curtain-up . We knew we were sold out , and we were assured they would all come , eventually , this being the Roman way . Eventually beginners were called , the witches set themselves and waited for a hush to descend . It didn ’ t . Nervous glances were directed my way in the wings until I signalled , they were to start and as loud as they could manage . Our audience finally fell silent .
The show was very well received , but the school matinées were quite a riot . All our publicity material was stripped from the notice boards ; the boy playing Lady Macbeth , an angular College man as I recall [ Rupert Tyler ( Coll , 75-79 ), Ed ], was mobbed after the show . To add to the drama , on one night there was a thunderstorm , most appropriately for the opening scene on the heath . All the lights dimmed alarmingly , and we were quite certain we would be plunged into darkness . But the electrics held : the gods of theatre were making their contribution to our show .
We returned to Rome many years later and found the theatre in the maze of streets in which it is hidden and , like James Bryson , managed to gain entry . It was sad to see an empty , unused space with no record or memory of what had been achieved there . But it was still , without doubt , that beautiful little theatre where we brought Macbeth to the Romans . A never-to-be-forgotten experience .
Simon and Jude
The stove in College Hall was the subject of an article in the Trust e-Servant in August . Two Collegemen take up the story , starting with Richard Middleton ( Coll , 51-55 ):
The stove burned coke or some other fuel that definitely combusted , but didn ’ t emit much heat ( possibly because the chimney initially headed downwards , through the floor , and there was never much draft ). The sole purpose of the stove , as far as I could see , was to torment small men who had to produce toast for their betters . That involved getting up early , rushing to get in line on Hall steps clutching a toasting fork (“ firk ”) made of twisted wire , and then , as soon as the doors opened , dashing to secure a place at one of the two openings . The coals were usually a dull grey , coated with ash , and gave off enough heat to dry the surface of the bread but not to brown it . The final product fell into one of two categories : a “ snare and delusion ”, which was toasted on one side but not on the other , and a “ burnt offering ”, which had been pushed too close to the coals and so was blackened and almost inedible
Christopher Daws ( Coll , 60-65 ) continues :
I came up to College in 1960 and found that one of the tasks of a first year man was to make toast for the members of his Chamber . We rose early to secure the best position at Simon and Jude . Then the Second Master decreed that we were to wait until the clock struck half past seven before ascending the thirty-two steps to Hall . Later this was revised to a quarter to eight . Little was lost as by then the coke had lit fully and the heat was spread over the full extent of the metal grids on both sides of Simon and Jude .
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