El Escritor Inglés: April 2012

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Gang Show Guide

What makes children want to go on stage? Having watched my own brood going at it hammer and tongs in school plays and amateur dramatics, I have for years wondered what attracts them to the public gaze. Is it simply to have fun? Or stand out among their contemporaries? Or has the ‘self-consciousness gene’ yet to be expressed? Scottish singer-songwriter Gerry Rafferty (1947-2011), who hated the limelight, reckoned it was a subconscious plea for parental approval.

Whatever the motives, stage exhibitionism has never been my thing. Sure, I took part in school shows, but confined myself to the shadows, either twiddling knobs on a 30-watt amp with a dodgy earth connection, or perched atop a rickety scaffold tower, operating a spotlight with a red-hot metal casing. Personal safety, be damned; I cared only that the smouldering spotlight was pointing at someone else.

My teenage daughter is a somewhat different animal. Specifically, if there is a chance that some on-stage antics could raise a laugh, she signs up without a second thought. Last month was a case in point. Previously, I had never been to a ‘Gang Show’ (Figure 40.1). For the equally uninitiated, this is a theatrical performance given by Scouts, Guides and an army of dedicated volunteers. They comprise not only the stage cast, but also choreographers, backstage assistants and pit musicians.

Figure 40.1: Promoting the show to the public

The original concept was the brainchild of Ralph Reader, CBE (1903-82), a British theatre producer and Rover Scout. Each show consists of short sketches, songs and dances, most with an element of comedy. The first took place in London almost eighty years ago. Since then, Gang Shows have featured in three Royal Command Performances and have spread to other countries, including Ireland, USA, Australia and New Zealand.

In West Wirral, near to my birthplace, in the northwest of England, the 14th Gang Show took place a few weeks ago, at the Gladstone Theatre, Port Sunlight (Figure 40.2). Opened in 1891 by Prime Minister William Gladstone MP, it has served as a concert venue ever since. Now the responsibility of Port Sunlight Village Trust, it has become a real gem – charming, well-maintained, with an audience capacity of 470. There is no foyer, incidentally; the front entrance door opens directly into the stalls.

Figure 40.2: The impressive Gladstone Theatre is situated in the model village of Port Sunlight, created by William Hesketh Lever for his Sunlight soap factory workers in 1888.

Auditions took place last year, six months prior to the (four) performances. Hundreds of aspiring singers, dancers and thespians crammed into St Andrew’s Church Hall, Meols (pronounced ‘Mells’) on Sunday, October 9th, and my daughter managed to win over the judges. From December onward, she would attend a weekly rehearsal (Figure 40.3), every Sunday afternoon, armed with a huge plastic box containing her props and costumes.

Figure 40.3: A typical weekly rehearsal, led by directors Pete Ledson, Liam O’Malley and musical director Peter Carter

Then, after spending four months learning her lines (and perfecting an exaggerated Scottish accent), the show opened on March 29th (Figure 40.4). The whole event was delightful from start to finish. If I were to choose two favourites, they would have to be, firstly, a manic rendition of the 1987 chart-topping song Star Trekkin’ (Across the Universe), my daughter as Scotty, exclaiming, right on cue, ‘Ye cannae change the laws of physics ... laws of physics ... laws of physics!’

Figure 40.4: 2012 Gang Show programme front cover

The masterstroke, though, was a group mime called Order of the Hood. To the sound of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah, the cast, dressed in monks’ robes, faces hidden by their hoods, each held a large board bearing a different syllable of the chorus, and raised it whenever that syllable was sung. As the piece’s tempo is upbeat, boards were popping up and down at dizzying speed – but with perfect synchronicity. It brought the house down (Figures 40.5 and 40.6).

Figure 40.5: Only after the performance had ended did my daughter reveal that she was ‘HAL’.

Copyright unknown. Fair Dealing asserted.

Figure 40.6: West Wirral’s ‘Silent Monks’ rehearsing to the sound of Handel’s world-famous 1741 oratorio

Now, after so much commitment and hard work, the Gang Show is all over until 2014. In the eyes of my gloriously uninhibited daughter, life should be lived as if no one is looking. That’s ironic, my dear, given that hundreds of us were doing just that (Figure 40.7).

Beam yourself up, Scotty.

Figure 40.7: Worth every penny. Thanks and congratulations to everyone involved.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Hillsborough Revisited

A man’s desire for a son is born of a wish to duplicate himself, so that such a remarkable pattern may not be lost to the world. Thus wrote American humourist Helen Rowland (1875-1950). If she is right, then I must plead guilty to the ultimate conceit, particularly given that I have ‘duplicated’ more than once. It follows, then, that when a son inherits his father’s enthusiasm for a particular pastime, their relationship stands to flourish, and flourish for good. As a boy, I had no such luck, which has made me doubly determined to find a common thread with my own ‘duplicates’ and nurture it for all I am worth.

I am sure millions of fathers, all over the world, have cradled their baby sons and whispered: ‘One day, we’ll go to football matches together.’ As a route to male bonding, few influences are as powerful as the world’s most popular sport. One of my sons was bitten by the football bug while watching Spain win the 2010 World Cup. He had no immunity and has since become incurable. As well as playing in his local junior league on Saturday mornings, he watches, talks, reads, writes, draws, paints and practically breathes ‘the beautiful game’ (Figure 39.1). His favourite team is, unsurprisingly, Barcelona. Watching the Catalan maestros – Xavi, Iniesta, Fabregas et al. – inspires him especially, but he is happy accompanying his dad to any match at any club’s ground.

Figure 39.1: Barcelona’s midfield dynamo Andrés Iniesta has a lot to answer for.

This year, we spent Easter in Sheffield, England – just the two of us. Hillsborough, home of Sheffield Wednesday, is one of the most beautiful grounds in Europe (Figure 39.2). Unlike the clinical, contrived, characterless stadiums built within the past 20 years, this place has evolved gracefully for more than a century. Its architecture blends effortlessly with its surroundings and is capable of evoking memories of players and matches otherwise long forgotten.

Figure 39.2: View from Hillsborough’s resplendent North Stand. Opened in 1961, this was the first cantilever stand to run the entire length of a football pitch in the UK.

Mention the word ‘Hillsborough’ to anyone in England, though, and, sadly, an altogether different scene will be envisaged. It was here, almost 23 years ago to the day, where the country’s most tragic sporting disaster occurred. 96 Liverpool fans lost their lives (Figure 39.3). By some morbid coincidence, as the tragedy unfolded, I was watching another football match, just 30 miles away, at Valley Parade, Bradford (Figure 39.4), where, four years previously, 56 people had died as a result of a fire.

Figure 39.3: 95 lives were lost on the old West Stand terrace during an F.A. Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest. All were Liverpool fans, every one of them crushed to death. The 96th, Tony Bland, succumbed four years later. (In January 1990, as my first child was being born, this poor young man lay in a coma in the same building at Keighley’s Airedale Hospital.) Thousands of Liverpool fans, many born after 1989, are currently campaigning for the whole truth behind the tragedy to be disclosed. I suspect, though, that many others among them would prefer that it remained buried.

Figure 39.4: Bradford City 2-2 Ipswich Town. That day, no one cared about the score.

In good time for this Easter Monday’s lunchtime fixture against Oldham Athletic, my son and I strolled along Leppings Lane, until we reached the permanent memorial to the 1989 tragedy (Figure 39.5). I explained to him what it was for, and could see in his face that he appreciated the gravity of what it represented. He was, after all, born in Liverpool. The only negative was the sight of weeds growing between the brick mosaic, which I felt was a shame: memorials ought to be immaculate.

Figure 39.5: The memorial headstone in Owlerton, Sheffield 6

Outside the ground, we met Oldham’s Finland international striker Shefki Kuqi, formerly a Hillsborough favourite. I shook his hand and wished him well in Finnish – Onnea! – and he affectionately patted my son’s head.

Inside, we took our seats in the North Stand (Figure 39.6) and waited for the 12.45 p.m. kick-off. The match itself was as enjoyable as any. Despite Kuqi’s best efforts, the result was never in much doubt. Three headed goals – from Gary Madine, Miguel Llera (Figure 39.7) and substitute Ryan Lowe – settled matters to the delight of a bumper holiday crowd.

Figure 39.6: Sheffield Wednesday 3-0 Oldham Athletic. Attendance 22,230 plus 2

Figure 39.7: Miguel Llera (furthest left), Sheffield Wednesday’s 32-year-old Andalucían defender, heads their second goal in front of the Hillsborough Kop.

With ‘Mini-Me’ on my shoulders, we exited the ground amid a happy crowd and made our way to the car. He jumped inside, his appetite for football unsated. It was now 3 o’clock: time for the rest of the day’s matches to kick off. We began our extremely long journey, listening to the BBC’s live radio commentary from St James’s Park, Newcastle. ‘Dad, when did you first listen to football on the radio?’ he asked. I smiled peacefully: ‘When I was your age.’

At 5 o’clock, still rolling along the motorway, it was time for a summary of the day’s results and discussions on Sports Report. As the programme’s iconic signature tune began, we both started singing along, like a pair of tone-deaf idiots. ‘De-dum de-dum de-dum de-dum de-diddly-dum de-dum!’ It was hilarious, and our day’s bonding was complete. The tune, a brass military march called ‘Out of the Blue’ by Hubert Bath (1883-1945), has been used by the BBC since 1948, and it brings back more memories than I could ever find time to describe. British comedian, writer and actor Michael Palin, himself a Hillsborough devotee, lists it as one of his favourite pieces of music, probably for the same reason.

Last month, in Ride The Weekend Waves, I reflected on the fact that some weekends do not go to plan. Well, this one did. To a child, love is spelt T-I-M-E, and we had spent ours well (Figure 39.8).

Figure 39.8: Whatever happens, the game will eventually end – but you and I will forever be father and son.