Tears before Bedtime

Tonight I was swept by great waves of emotion and the tears flowed. I was watching 'Let's Dance' for Comic Relief and two characters from 'The Bill' - which I don't watch, did it for me with 'River Dance'. Am I going barmy?

Manon

Aside

It’s the same old story: beautiful girl – no better than she should be with a brother as a pimp, falls in love with a penniless student and - motivated by greed, becomes a rich man’s mistress. We know it will all end in tears and it does. The student is persuaded to cheat at cards, is denounced by the rich man who shoots the brother and discards Manon. As an illegal prostitute she is deported to New Orleans, is raped by the Gaoler and, overcome by the heat, anxiety and the journey, dies in a Louisianan swamp in the arms of her lover.

I had always imagined Manon as an experienced courtesan so was flummoxed when she first appeared as a pure, innocent young girl. Still - within a trice she was in bed with the student and before you could say sugar daddy she was seduced by a fur coat and jewels and had swanned off with the rich man.

In act 2 there is a very funny pas de deux with the brother Lescaut who is drunk as a skunk, and then poor Manon suffered a costume malfunction. Her dress of many layered gauzy skirts dropped one, which trailed interminably round her exquisite feet. It was so moving to see her handed from one powdered, bewigged male to another, with such gentleness and care, to protect her from tripping over the dread trailing skirt - I didn’t breathe until she slipped into the wings and returned almost instantly minus the offending layer. One imagines heads will roll in the costume department.

The ballet is by the late Kenneth Macmillan and the haunting music by Massenet. It was a very large orchestra – seats had been taken from the auditorium to make space and they were superb.

The sets were simple but effective; in the second act there was a fug effect suggesting cigar and cigarette smoke so real you could almost smell it. It seemed to be done with lighting. The swamp mist in the third made me wonder if dry ice had been used. Whatever – it worked. The English National Ballet is a bit of a misnomer as only one member of the cast had an English name but then the great Alicia Markova was really Lillian Alicia Marks and the divine Margot Fonteyn was Peggy Hookham.

The ballet was at the Bristol Hippodrome and we found a coffee place close by, to tackle the cross word until it was time for lunch in an Italian restaurant near the theatre. We didn’t want long trails in the uncertain weather. The restaurant was full of children (half term?) and students and we couldn’t believe the amount of times some of them went up for seconds – which they were allowed - MTL noticed with awe that one boy took hi plate up seven times. It was a most popular place.

The amazing photographs are uncredited – I couldn’t find any names.

Programme designers please note small print on red paper is virtually unreadable

The sun rises bright in France.

Story contd.

Julia, my friend and mentor, decided she would do a public production of ‘Sweeney Todd.’ And as her productions were always events, most of us were eager to take part. The town was twinned with Le Puy en Velay and the committee decided that we would take the production over to France, provided the play was a success. I had read for the younger female lead – which was really just a pretty face so was excited when Julia asked me to read for the young boy apprentice – Tobias. She explained that I would have to de- glam: wear scruffy clothes, a dark, sprutty wig and a dirt- smudged face, which made a pleasant change.

Somehow we had to get over the language barrier so the French would appreciate the full horror of this Victorian melodrama - about a barber who murdered his customers with a cut- throat razor (straight razor in US) and the victims would be made into pies by Sweeney’s neighbour, Mrs Lovett. Tobias was ’a rather dim boy’ – taken in by Mrs Lovett after Sweeney had murdered his previous guardian. We needn’t have worried; we acted our hearts out and one of the cast - an undergrad with excellent French, came on stage before each act, like an ancient town crier. He thumped a heavy staff on the ground to signal silence and then gave the audience a précis of what was going to happen. The French really got it and entered into the spirit of the play. It was great to hear them murmur:

‘Oh la pauvre!’ every time I was mistreated.

We were billeted in the hotel and were all deeply interested in what rooms we would have and with whom we would be sharing. I was with two teenage girls and I was never quite sure who was chaperoning who. The French were very welcoming; each morning, as we were having breakfast the mayor would appear and, whilst drinking, what looked suspiciously like vin rouge would regale us with tales which would be translated for us. One morning there was a roar of laughter and everyone seemed to be staring at me. Monsieur le Mayor had said that when he saw me as Tobias on stage, he thought about becoming homosexual. He really was an outrageous scallywag.

I made friends with the boy who was playing the other apprentice. We were usually waiting in the wings together and it became a ritual for him to make my face dirty and smudgy. We had perfect weather – neither of us liked crowds so we went for walks and climbed up the rock of Chapelle St Michel d’Auguille. We longed to explore the beautiful countryside and one day, when the alternative was a coach trip we explored the area between Le Puy and Clermont Ferrand. We had a picnic of bread and goat’s cheese with only the sound of bees buzzing; it was the start of a love affair with France.

On the way home a few of us stopped off in Paris and we visited all the places associated with Hemingway, Gertrude Stein et al - being especially captivated by Pere Lachaise cemetery and the beautiful museum Jeu de Paume which I think no longer exists. The whole trip was one of those experiences one relishes for ever. One day after my return, I was listening to Desert Island discs and heard music which immediately transported me to that French countryside. I wrote to the presenter – the original who devised the programme: Roy Plomley, and asked him what the music was. He very sweetly sent a handwritten post card telling me it was ‘Chants d’Auvergne’. The Auvergne is the area that includes Le Puy. Do listen if you have time.