Amy Rochelle

PANTOMIME AND PUBLICITY.

MELBOURNE. January, 1924.

The meaningless howlings of the cave-women, ranged round three sides of the forest clearing in a swaying semicircle, ceased abruptly as though one voice, suddenly and piercingly raised over all, but put them to rout:

“Aï, aï,” it said, as far as its words could be followed, “The goos-Mother!”

Thus heralded, the indescribable Ag, the widow-woman, propelled herself and her fur rags from Heaven knows what decent obscurity into their midst; a voluble dame whose chattering reduced the semi-circle to an appreciative silence. Rambling chatter it seemed, now of her lamented Ug (but lately the tit bit of some mastodonic meal), now of her conquests past, present, and to come; until, her garrulity swept aside by the march of progress, others of Nature's comedians took the ring, and the frequent “nap”; and Straightman, the son of Feeda, told Rednose the Baseborn how he was walking down the forest aisles when what should he see but—oojerthink? And Rednose’s reply sent such guffaws ricochetting through the green mansions that the imitative folk of the tree-tops took counsel the one with the other as to this thing of laughter, and thereupon, seeing that it was good, lifted it bodily to their hairy bosoms and called it thenceforth for their own. But all this by the way.

For Straightman and Rednose were now supplanted in their turn. The rude crowd, surfeited with laughter and looking for relief in any unlikely and unusual direction, easy through the branches Iglo, the son of Nugt, trapping moonbeams for little golden-headed Glitta to play with. Instantly guffaws gave place to sighs. Such a sentimentalising arose that the monkeys in their attics peered low with inquisitiveness and swung still lower, now clutching their brothers’ tails, now missing and falling with squeals of affrighted anger to the ground-floor; so that the watchers turned at last from Iglo and Glitta to this new interest, and by their laughter allowed that the simian acrobats had obtruded their speciality at the right moment. A noisy interlude, this, with the spectators joining in, drumming and stamping an insistent rhythm with their stoneheads on the rocks—louder, growing ever louder. Till the monkeys, suddenly scared, stopped and scuttled away to their forest fastnesses. Yet even louder, and the semi-circle itself broke up, marched down to face this thing bravely in twos, only to split before it to right and left . . . and away into oblivion, with Rednose and Straightman stumbling along behind. Louder, louder yet; and last of all came Iglo, the son of Nugt, with little golden-haired Glitta by his side, forgetful of all else, marching—marching—and the stamping and the drumming rose to a roar and a scream, as if to recall the lovers to the world they had forgotten. All in vain, of course. Hammer and shriek and scream as we may, the love interest still goes on …

“And that which we have just seen,” remarked Gloo-Gloo, the firstborn of Stickphast, to his affinity, linking his granite hammer beneath an aching arm and letting Affinity struggle into her plesiosaurus pelt unaided, “that is the origin of pantomime, you merit my words! When the ichthyosaurus ceases from troubling and the mammoth is at rest, that’s what our children and our children’s children are going to see and enjoy for all time. Selah!”

That’s what he meant: only, being prehistoric, of course he couldn’t express it so beautifully. He just made faces and strange hiccoughing noises. But Seecotina, trained by the movies, understood his every gurgle. “You do say such things, Gloo-Gloo,” she giggled. “What's the matter with mothers and fathers enjoying it, too, I’d like to know, huh?”

And, you know for yourselves, that is just how it has turned out. We’ve been conservative, we’ve kept out all improvements as far as possible, have we not? In this we are wise; the successful pantomimes are the prehistoric ones.

Amusement adverts

From The Herald (Melbourne), 11 February 1924

The Beaumont Smith film comedy Prehistoric Hayseeds (starring Hector St Clair) opened at the Melba Theatre in Bourke Street in February 1924

Children’s shows, first to last (and last to go.) I remember when I played Will Atkins at Hanley (I hate to boast, but I must make you realise who is talking) in the early days of the century (yes, this century) the applause-winning effects of “Robinson Crusoe” with the Potteries audience were precisely the applause-winning effects of “Mother Goose” in Melbourne, 1923–24—both pantomimes record successes. And these were identical with the a.-w.e., judging by my grandmother’s description, of a glorious pantomime-play she had been taken as a child to see in Drachtacachty (a few miles from Dingwall and the Vists, I believe) that snowy Christmastide of 1749. And l have no doubt she heard the same thing from her grandmother before her. So there we are. Let them wave the Red Flag of progress till they’re blue in the face, if I were putting on a pantomime I’d include a children’s ballet, and I’d bring the smallest child on to sing the principal girl’s and principal boy’s last chorus, and I’d have at least one “animal” in the show and plenty of slap-stick custard-pie comedy, and keep the old story well in evidence, and I’d edit the comedians’ gags, and I’d also have a couple of specialities to appeal to a different side of the children, and I’d make that fortune that we hear of. Anyway, if I didn’t I’d be completely nonplussed and absolutely in the jolly old quandary, wondering what the devil I’d left out.

Here in Melbourne, with the temperature round about 104 [°F], we play twice a day to myriads of screaming, shrieking, yelling, howling, crying children, festooned from gallery, circles, and boxes—young Australia at its noisiest—together with a sprinkling of listless parents, exhausted by long waiting in the sun for the doors to open. With such an audience broad effects are obviously asked for from the producer; and it is the pantomime that gives these most generously that wins out. And not only the pantomime, I think. To my mind Australia wants its dramatic fare generally to be on broad lines, as befits the wide sweeping continent it is. There is about its people a fine insouciance (so remarked in the late war) which perhaps blunts their sensibility to the subtler shades. You can trace this spirit in such everyday things as the contrast of blue serge tunic and khaki breeches of their mounted police, the corrugated iron roofings to “Theatres (Otherwise) Beautiful” and “Houses (Otherwise) Exquisite”; their black velour trilbied boyhood; their larrikins and hoodlums, whose barracking bursts so rudely upon the contemplative peace of their cricket matches; their unlubricated axles, as grindingly cacophonous as their aboriginal place-names. At present, in Melbourne at least, I am sure the tendency is for the spectacular and the sensational in its entertainment, and the best obtainable on these lines. But make no mistake, please, gentle readers (I am speaking to both of you). Australia is the most theatre-loving people in the world, and Australia wants the best we can give her, even if she appears at times content with something less than that.

But I wish they’d do something about this publicity business; I mean to say, they do rather go to extremes. Over–boosting  an artist, now. Not one artist in a thousand can hope to live up to the laid on-with-a-trowel stuff that greets them on their arrival. We may, in our own biased minds, be convinced of its truth; but, with the possible exception of our mothers, we are the only people who are; the majority (and what a majority!) hate the sight of us for it. To this, I am sure, may be ascribed much of the “non-clicking” of certain English favourites over here. They are too heavily handicapped—they carry too much weight; and if they don’t carry it they throw it about, which is worse. Things are altering now. Not the superlatives, they remain, unfortunately, but the credulity of those who read, or rather do not read, them. “Most astounding,” “epoch–making,” “world-beating,” “most wonderful” have had their day; it is merely meaningless padding in the public eye, and the newspaper advertisement manager is possibly the only member of that body pleased by it. As for myself, speaking quite personally, I have a definite grouch. By no means unused to triumphs at home as I am (even if I have to call you to Widnes to prove it), here I am, but “the celebrated,” “London’s famous,” “the flashing,” “the sparkling” (pooh, pooh! I might be a cheap Hock), “London’s idol,” “England’s foremost—” (Come, come, that’s better; but why this niggardly reticence? I can only suppose that they are holding themselves back for the real thing when it arrives. Seymour Hicks will be here in a week or so now, and daily we are expecting that rush of superlatives to the headlines.)

But give ear to the publicity gentleman, letting himself go on the subject of the theatre’s ventilation: “An unceasing supply of sweet air of dew-point coolness is wafted right through each theatre in vast volumes during hot afternoons and evenings, and every inhalation is as a breath of fragrance from some snow-clad mountain peak, Summer theatre-going is more than recreation: it is rejuvenation. Put it to the test!” Well, I mean to say! What do you know about that?

Australia is a young, vigorous, and progressive country. Her theatres are modern and well equipped, in some cases more so than many of ours. She wants the best in entertainment, and can, and will, pay for the best. Nothing too far advanced as yet; in fact, leaning at present a little heavily in the musical play direction. In the matter of native artists she has a long way off being self-supporting.

And there you are.

Why?

CHARLES HESLOP

THE STAGE,27 March 1924, p.15

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Charles Heslop interviewed

Comedian Who Creates

Sam Wells’ caricature for The HeraldCHARLES Heslop, the agile comedian who helps to make “Tons of Money,” may also appear in pantomime. Australians are certain to see him in original roles.

In England, this actor really creates his parts. He not only acts, but writes them. Until he appeared in “Tons of Money” for a week in London before leaving for Australia, Mr Heslop had not played a part that he had not created for a number of years. He writes sketches and appears in them in vaudeville and revue in London, and sometimes goes on tour with his own company. Mamie Watson was once with him, and Mr. Heslop is very gratified to hear of her popularity in Australia.

This actor has had a unique experience, but he will only put forward one claim to distinction. “I am about the only English actor who went on the stage straight from school,” he says. “At 18 I joined a musical comedy company which included George Graves. My humble duty was to come on as one of two powdered footmen in knee breeches. Very thin and tall, my resemblance to a billiard cue must have forcibly struck at least one member of our audience. On bowing low to announce ‘His Majesty, the King,’ my white wig fell into the footlights, and there came a delighted shout from the gallery, ‘Marker, the tip’s come off!’ “

After five years in the profession, Mr. Heslop says he was earning less than when he started from scratch, so he reluctantly agreed with his people that the theatre held no future for him. The young man was then articled to a solicitor, the family's friend, but soon realised that the prospects of succeeding in the law were more ominous.

This was the time of the limerick competition craze. Mr. Heslop won a prize of £57. With this he decided to try the stage again, this time as proprietor! Mr Heslop wrote and produced a vaudeville sketch, and played it at intervals for three years. Then he expanded it into a full evening’s entertainment, and except for incursions into drama, musical comedy, pantomime, and revue, has been his own manager ever since. His show was introduced into the West End just before the war, and he made a big hit with it at the Ambassador Theatre. After the war he revived the show, but was tempted into pantomime and revue, with most of his company supporting.

“I am anxious to play my own stuff before Australian audiences,” he says, “and hope some day to have the opportunity, though it would probably mean bringing some of my artists out from England. I formed a limited liability company just before leaving to carry on my work in England.”

Many amusing stories are told by Mr. Heslop. In his very young days he played a scene in a drama where he had to shoot himself. “I was very nervous,” he says, “and the stage manager provided me with a knife for stabbing purposes in case the pistol with which I was to shoot myself did not go off. ‘And if you can't find the knife,’ he added grimly, ‘knock yourself on the head with the butt end of the revolver.’ Of course, the pistol did not go off. I was very agitated, and groped for the knife. Then I stabbed myself with the pistol, knocked myself on the head with the knife, and expired. The audience were delighted with my thoroughness; but they shouted with joy when my faithful servant came in, discovered my body, and, not having heard any shot and over-estimating my resourcefulness, risked everything and exclaimed, ‘Poisoned!’

“People say I speak very rapidly on the stage. I got into that way through playing 25-mlnute sketches in 15 minutes on the music halls. If you weren’t finished, the curtain came down, so you had to be. A friend of mine suddenly took a fancy for this sort of work, and asked me to support him at his try-out. Our turn preceded some performing elephants, and when my friend dashed upon the stage after his first ‘lightning change’ he thought I'd grown a trunk!”

Sir John Martin Harvey and Mr. Heslop’s mother are cousins. “I called upon him once when he was playing ‘Hamlet’ at the Adelphi,” the comedian remarked, “and I was doing something very derogatory in pantomime. ‘Ah,’ he said to me, ‘how I wish I had had experience of the lighter stage. I could wish that I had played the dame in pantomime!’ This would bring a smile from anyone who knows the ineffable dignity of Sir John. I remember murmuring that the part would suit him, but cannot say whether he thought it was the right answer or not.”

Mr. Heslop laughed when he thought what the critics would say about Sir John as a dame. The comedian likes Melbourne audiences much better than its critics. “I should hate to have to play to a house full of these,” he says, “as much as they would hate to have to be there while I played.”

The Herald (Melbourne), Saturday, 3 November 1923, p.17, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243496526

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NEW COMEDY ROLE

Mr Heslop as Fitzrabbit

Though Charles Heslop, chief comedian in “Tons of Money,” is neither the Dame nor the Baron, he will provide plenty of fun in the “Mother Goose” pantomime. Mr. Heslop is playing a special part written to suit his particular type of comedy. This is Fitzrabbit, who makes his first appearance direct from winning the Davis Cup, the Gold Vase, Doggett’s Coat and Badge, the Marbles Handicap and other sporting trophies. Thus he is enabled to introduce his tennis and cricket scenes and golf sketch. Practically all the scenes which he does in the pantomime are his own property and of his own concoction. The golf sketch he played for two years and a half continuously in England and Scotland, but one does not need to know golf to enjoy it. 

This sketch has been the cause of episodes which were not allowed for in the original script. “On one occasion some revellers in the stage box were making themselves particularly objectionable,” Mr. Heslop recalled, “and I was casting about In my mind wildly for some means of retaliation when it struck me that I had to drive my ball—a soft one—in their direction. The ball struck one merrymaker full in the open mouth and silenced him effectually! The audience was delighted, and it is the only time I personally have ever enjoyed slicing my tee-shot.

“A nearly tragic episode occurred when the head of my driver flew off, whizzed past the manager of the theatre, who was leaning against the back of the dress-circle, and ‘plonked’ against the exit door. It was a terrible second or two while I realised that the club-head was careering away somewhere into the crowded house. Now I use a club that is guaranteed unbreakable.”

Mr. Heslop is looking forward to an Australian pantomime after a “very varied” experience with this class of work in England.

“I once put on a small pantomime myself,” remarked Mr. Heslop. “It was ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ but I had only some ‘Dick Whittington’ costumes. That did not matter. I thought out a big publicity scheme. By means of ‘clues’ artfully concealed in the pantomime dialogue children could discover the whereabouts of treasure believed to be hidden on Robinson’s Island. It seemed a great idea. I reckoned the most intelligent child would have to visit the pantomime 20 times at least, before getting on to the clues. I fear I overrated that child's intelligence!”

The Herald (Melbourne), Saturday, 1 December 1923, p.17, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243497189

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Ray Whiting caricatures for Smith’s Weekly (Sydney), 26 January 1924, p12

A Comedian with Refreshing Ideas

Charles Heslop Chats at Rehearsal

CHARLES Heslop believes in reserve, not exactly the British reserve of manner that one hears so much about, but a reserve towards indiscriminate pleasure and life for an actor. This fact is learned when, in a somewhat grotesque “make-up” as Fitzrabbit, “the adventurer” in “Mother Goose,” he is sitting in the stalls during an interval of rehearsing watching a ballet scene being tried. 

He is what the old wives used to call “serious minded,” in spite of being a comedian, and a humorous writer by deliberate choice, which, in other words, means that he holds opinion’s of his, own, and is not afraid to express them.

The reserve he advocates is with regard to the life of a stage favorite, and the opinion is called forth by some remark that has gone before. 

Mr. Heslop is not reserved in himself, and enjoys meeting his fellowmen, has made many good friends in Australia, and thoroughly enjoys their company. But he holds the opinion strongly that it is a mistake for an actor or actress to accept what may be described as promiscuous hospitality where they would, in a measure, be on show.

There is method in his madness, however, for he contends that the pubic see an actor—or actress—over the footlights and form a mental picture of their personality, then when they meet them out, in ordinary society, perhaps, having a cup of afternoon tea, they are disappointed because he or she does not come up to this mental idea, being just ordinary man or woman.

He has, however, a more serious and legitimate reason. If you accept hospitality freely and indiscriminately, you give out too much of the nerve force that you need for your work. You must have a certain amount of restful reserve, that is quietness and retirement, if you are to give your best in your work. A quiet afternoon at home with a book would do you infinitely more good.

Besides, people are so often disappointed with you when they meet you, for one cannot always simulate or be humorous, he declares—with, however, small justification as to his own powers, as Mr. Heslop is a creator of mirth, for, besides acting comedy, he writes it.

He not only pleads guilty to writing his own sketches, which might amount to genuine authorship or merely the gradual building up, bit by bit, of humorous ideas and piecing them together, but he has a much greater claim to authorship. He for some years contributed two columns weekly to one of the best-known comic papers that we have had—the inimitable “Ally Sloper.” This, compared with the comics of to-day, was quite a literary, high-class, witty publication, and to have been able to keep up two columns a week to its standard argues an overflowing fund of humor of a high grade. When “Ally Sloper” changed its style and tone, Mr. Heslop was asked to change his style in his column, but the new way did not appeal to him, so he gave up these literary labors, and never tried another paper. By this time he had made his niche in the theatrical world, and had his own show, for which he wrote his own sketches.

“The question arose whether any ideas one had were not worth more to use there,” nodding towards the stage, “than they would be to send to a paper, so I have grown into the habit of keeping them to myself, and grafting them into my work.”

Mr. Heslop gives the cynical reason why most men go on the stage—“because they have failed at two or three other things.”

But that this has not always held good in his experience is proved by his own case, for, when asked how he happened to drift on, he confesses to having been stage-struck at about eighteen—too early to have tried other careers; much less failed in them.

Having resolved to become an actor, he began by walking on. His fancy was always comedy, “to dash about and be funny,” he explains.

It is suggested that school performances may be responsible for turning a boy's thoughts towards the stage.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, “though I don’t know. I used to take part in them, but we used to do Shakespeare and serious things in ordinary dress, I once played Lydia Languish in Elton clothes, with a fan and a wig to give it atmosphere, and I think that kind of thing would rather kill any leaning towards the stage by its absurdity rather than foster it. It was so ludicrous, and one felt so foolish.”

From the walking-on stage Mr. Heslop progressed to parts in musical comedy, and, after a time, came in contact with a man named [Ernest] Crampton, who was gifted in a musical way.

“We became friends, and used to write things together—I doing the words, he the music. Then, as time went on, and I found myself still playing parts that offered but small scope, and with very little prospect of doing better, I began to think there was a good opportunity for a little show on rather different lines, I started to plan it out and write it, while Crampton composed the music, and that is how our little show started. We built it up, and improved it from time to time. It was an interesting experiment, and went well.

“Yes, I like pantomime, because I can use my own matter, and build the part up. Pretty well all that I do in ‘Mother Goose’ is my own stuff that I have previously given in England.

“I have done every class of work except the circus, I think. Not tragedy, that does not come my way; but every kind of comedy.”

Mr. Heslop has more the appearance of the matinee idol off the stage than any suggestion of the comedian. With his fine dark eyes, dark hair, and tall, slender form, allied to a certain grave, semi-confidential way, he, when conversing, seems to suggest far more the type of the romantic hero than the funny man. But a twinkle of the eye and a flash of quiet humor here and there, uttered in the most serious manner, soon dispels the illusion, and puts the new acquaintance on guard.

In private life, Mr. Heslop is something of a student of men, it would seem, and one who enjoys life from the looker-on's point of view. He is a home man, who is the proud father of a small son who promises to follow in his footsteps, though, like most fathers on the stage, he tries to keep him away from the theatre, as he has other ambitions for him.

“But he will come, and what can one do?” his father says, with all a fond father's pride in a son's persistence along his own lines.

Mrs. Heslop, who has just come from the stage for a short spell—she also is in the pantomime cast—smiles complacently. Obviously she is satisfied with her big boy and small boy also, while her husband greets her as “My girl.” They are evidently a happy little family group, who keep together following fortune around the world, and making home just wherever they happen to be.

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 27 December 1923, p.35, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146467434

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THE CASE FOR RESERVE.

Stated by Charles Heslop.

Charles Heslop, who makes Fitzrabbit a versatile individual in “Mother Goose” pantomime, describes himself as probably one of the most unsociable actors. Certainly he is not often to be met at those functions where stars of the dramatic Armament foregather and sparkle, more or less brightly, for the benefit of society. Yet he is a man of many friends. However, here is his theory set out by himself: —

“I possess a theory, so strongly held as to amount to an absolute conviction, that in nine cases out of ten it is a grievous mistake for a public man of whatever capacity to hobnob with the public which makes him. The tenth case is where the man's personality—that vague magnetism which we call personality, anyway—is stronger in private than in public life. This case is so rare in successful public men as to be almost negligible. What do we find? Your ‘comic fellow, clown of private life’ type placed behind the footlights is too often an uninspired mediocrity—his ‘genius’ evaporates amazingly, suddenly, completely. Most of the richest, humorists of the stage are apparently dull, serious-minded fellows in more domestic circles. The exceptions are your George Robeys, your Leslie Hensons, whose public performances are accentuations of their personal idiosyncracies. Most artists, however, have dual personalities—one for private, one for public use—and there should be a Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Artists to ensure that no one personality is overworked at the expense of the other. To ensure longevity for either personality, it stands to reason that that personality must be conserved—each personality must be drawn upon to as nearly as possible an equal extent. Thus two performances a day are a severe strain in themselves; add to these a lay tea party and a dance (where, in my experience, the artist is always expected to remain his stage self) and you are shortening your professional career, you are losing your mystery and you are exhausting (and probably disappointing) your public at one and the same time.

“As a stage-struck lad back in the good old days when artists were a race apart, when the world of the theatre was a terra happily incognita to all but the favored and understanding few, when the glamor of romance and mystery surrounded all the footlight favorites, I remember seeing the hero of my aesthetic dreams with a glass of beer in his hand (and a pink edged collar round-his neck) telling inhumorous stories to a crowd of sycophants in the trocadero long bar … I fled. With my castles in air crashing dismally round my ears, I fled, vainly trying to blot the horrid sight from my memory and failing miserably as I realised, perhaps for the first time, that idols, in this perplexing state called life, invariably have feet of clay, and those feet of clay had broken, buttoned boots...

“Well, times have changed. We know that. Nowadays we have illustrated interviews (showing Miss Violet Powder in her Rolls-Ford, in her bath, in her boudoir, in her peignoir, in her tantrums—not that, yet). Publicity in superlatives, night-clubs, movie-balls—everything conspires to make the actor—like our parks and museums—public property. At present the public is requested not to touch, but that will inevitably come. In the meantime, the public may comment, may talk ‘shop,’ and may become intimately familiar and familiarly impertinent. (I was asked recently by a quite new acquaintance at a private function whether I was getting as large a salary as Mr. —. I suppose, had I replied, we should have followed up by arguing as to which deserved the more, leading to the deduction that neither of us deserved as much!) Why do we do this?

Is business any better than it was? Are movie actors—necessarily remote—any less popular than actors of the speaking stage? I think, on the contrary, they have a very much greater appeal. In fact, I am sure of it. In any case, here is one who, from his love of his profession and from a true regard for his audiences (both English and Australian) prefers to remain as far as possible merged in the former and remote from the latter."

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday 3 January 1924, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146467488

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Mother Goose reviewed in the Melbourne Press

“QUACK, QUACK!”

Mother Goose Succeeds

HER GOLDEN EGG

Though even our creditors are mute, and our tailors mum, the jolly old Xmas season of cheery goodwill cannot be complete with only puddings and presents and carols.

There must he a pantomime—a pantomime with fairies, goblins, song and jest, and many skirtless calves in dextrous dance and elegant parade. It must be a pageant of beauty and fantasy centred around the blithesome romance of some sweet, shy maid and a bob-haired boy, who merrily marry in the nick of time before the orchestra. cruelly ends the pretty story with God Save the King.

And all such things, and heaps more, are packed most charmingly into Hugh J. Ward’s Mother Goose, which laid her gilded egg of pantomimic splendor for the first time on Saturday night at the New Palace Theatre.

The show seems certain of success for many nights to come.

Dorothy Brunton, Amy Rochelle, Charles Heslop and Joe Brennan—a rollicking, gay quartette—romped gleefully through scene after scene of changing charm and beauty.

And waddling close behind them came the immense Anastasia—the goose that laid the eggs of gold, and occasionally trod on the ladies’ trains. There surely was never a finer bird than the same Anastasia, even though the program candidly admitted that her “works” are human—William Hassan, in fact.

NAUGHTY BUT ADORABLE

Miss Brunton was prettily there with all her old-time piquancy and grace, as Silverbell—the naughty, adorable maid who rewards Jack with her hand when he recovers the abducted Anastasia from the very horrid Demon Vulture. By right of conquest, and by popular vote, Miss Brunton belongs properly to the musical stage, and she had no trouble in emphasising the fact.

As Jack, Amy Rochelle shines vivaciously, and uses a rich voice of astonishing power in various pretty numbers scattered throughout the piece.

And Joe Brennan seems right in his natural element as Mother Goose, in whose roomy shirts he dames drollishly with the practised art of a comedian who gets his laughs often and easily.

He shares most of the fun of the show with Charles Heslop, the exhibition of whose prowess as a champion athlete and effacer of lions gave him even better chances for farcical by-play than Tons of Money. His adventure with a golf stick was one of his best things in the show.

Ruth Bucknall made a fairy queen in conformity with accepted story-book ideals, and Mione Stewart, who did but little, did that little well. Ida Newton was, as the program truthfully said, “a likeable boy,” and Maidie Field went grimly about the business of keeping a gimlet, eye on Fitzrabbit (Charles Heslop).

ORNITHOLOGICAL FREAK

David Hoffman made an interesting ornithological freak in the role of the wicked, plotting Demon Vulture, while Douglas Calderwood lounged effectively about in various disguises as a foil for the wit of the funny men, as did also Compton Coutts beneath and behind the waving whiskers of Starts, the servant. 

All these people, and a whole host of others, were neatly marshalled into the general scheme of things by Frank Neil, to whose production of the panto, much of its success must be credited.

Signor Mirano—he likes an accent, on the “sig”—does thrilling things in apparent emulation of a stone in a catapult, while the orchestra beneath him wonders what would happen to them if — —.

Then there is some clever juggling by the Littlejohn Duo, and the quaint and imperturbable Fredos play violins in a manner unorthodox and clever. And won’t the kiddies love to watch, and afterwards strive to emulate, the feats of the tiny-tot tumblers, the Royal Wonders!

But if it comes to that, the kiddies will love every moment of it all, and Ma and Pa, be they ever so staid, will warm too to the charm, the fun, and the irresistible brightness of Mother Goose, as readily as did the first-nighters on Saturday.

The Sun News-Pictorial (Melbourne), Monday, 24 December 1923, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article274234824

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MOTHER GOOSE— GLIMPSES OF FAIRYLAND.

Spectacular scenes, novelties and an array of pretty girls remain in the memory of those who saw Mr. Hugh J. Ward’s Christmas pantomime Mother Goose, which was presented on Saturday night. From the tiniest fairy to the lanky Heath Robertson effects of Mr. Charles Heslop, the pantomime is essentially a children's pantomime. The humor is clean, if rather devoid of wit, the dialogue having a tendency to fall back on very ordinary vaudeville patter, but the children cannot fail to see the jokes, and they still delight at the gorgeous scenes, and hold their breath at one or two thrills. The fact that the story rather peters out after the first act will hardly be noticed in the novelties, and even old turns, such as tumbling and fiddling clowns, who, like old toys, are just as beloved by the children as any of the novelties.

The curtain rises on a nursery where some of the children are expressing their doubts as to the existence of fairies. Fairy Paradise (Miss Ruth Bucknell) then arrives, and, in order to prove that there are real fairies, unfolds the adventures of Mother Goose in fairyland. She next alights in a woodland retreat of the Demon Vulture (Mr. David Loffman), as he is persuading Squire Hardflint (Mr. Oliver Peacock), to steal she goose that lays the golden egg from Mother Goose, and war is then declared between these influences for good and evil. A delightful village scene reveals the home or Mother Goose, and marketers gathered in dainty rustic costumes, and the first real interest is awakened by the arrival of Mother Goose (Mr. Joe Brennan) and Anastacia the goose (Mr. William Hassan); the dame living up to all the traditions of her character. while Anastacia, otherwise “Sticky Beak,” standing fully 6 feet high, is the image of any goose waddling in a farm yard, and is intensely human to boot. The arrival of Fitzrabbit, the world’s champion athlete (Mr. Charles Heslop) in a freak make up. sent the house into roars of laughter, and his antics throughout never failed to keep the audience in a merry humor. Miss Dorothy Brunton, as Silver Bell, the daughter of Squire Hardflint, might have stepped out of one of Hans Andersen's fairy tales, with her pink and white coloring, fair hair and robust little figure. Jack, Mother Goose's son (Miss Amy Rochelle) had all the dash and adventure of a principal boy, and made a resplendent lover of Silver Bell. The first trick in the war between good and evil is won by the Demon Vulture, with the stealing of the goose by Fitz and his valet, Starts, who has every appearance of having escaped from a lunatic asylum. The unfolding of the story and the eventual triumph of Jack is concluded in the first act, the last act being chiefly a series of vaudeville turns, in which the principals appear in various roles, with the wedding of Silver Bell and Jack as the grand finale.

The music was attractive at times, particularly in a melodious strain “Bebe”, sung with sweetness by Miss Dorothy Brunton, who also scored with Miss Amy Rochelle in “Love Came When I First Met You”, a delightful combination with a chorus of little girls, “Sitting in a Corner”, Ivy Towe, a talented little Japanese, adding an effective note with a plaintive interpretation of her solo. Miss Amy Rochelle lent the vigor of her personality to the fulness of her voice in a number of solos, including “Out of the Shadows” and “Lovelight in Your Eyes”, while a distinct impression was made by Miss Ruth Bucknell in an operatic number, “Behold! Titania”, and Mr. David Loffnan’s fine baritone had full play in “A Vulcan Am I.”

One of the beautiful scenes introduced the Littlejohns in Jewel Land, the stage being a glitter of jewels, against royal blue velvet curtains. The Littlejohns, a mass of gems, performed juggling feats on large jewelled balls, while a seductive dance was also given by Miss Littlejohn, the whole being a vision of Eastern splendor. Some quaint scenery was displayed in a great bird cage, to which birds of every feather trooped in fantastic dances, an artistic exhibition, being finally given by the nimble feet of a Bird of Paradise (Ivy Towe), and the Dancing Vulture (Phyllis Small). A ballet of mother of pearl shells also formed a lovely setting to Silver Bell at the conclusion of the first act, while brides from the Elizabethan and Louis XVI. periods to the far future made an exquisite scene before the final curtain of the pantomime.  Among the vaudeville acts, a thrill was created with the aid of a horizontal bar on top of an eiffel tower, at one end of which was attached an aeroplane whizzing round at a great pace to the accompaniment of a noisy engine, and at the other a trapezist, who performed daring feats on long and short poles set at right angles.  Mr. Joe Brennan and Mr. Douglas Calderwood as a monocled “silly ass” created a diversion, the latter occupying a box during the dialogue. A “little game of golf,” played by Messrs. Heslop, Compton Coutts and Calderwood add Miss Maidie Field, caused some hearty laughter, proving one of the most humorous “stunts” of the night. Others who added to the merriment were Trueheart (Miss Ida Newton) and Joybell (Miss Mione Stewart). A group of children also took part in an athletic turn.

The pantomime was produced by Mr. Frank Neil, while the ballets, dances and ensembles were arranged by Miss Minnie Hooper, and the costumes carried out by Miss Ethel Moar. Mr. Harry Jacobs was musical director, the lyrics and music being the composition of the Australian, Mr. Hamilton Webber, Mus. Bac. At the conclusion, Mr. John Fuller announced there would be matinees and evening performances every day this week, and spoke in appreciative terms of the work of the company, Mr. Frank Neil briefly responding. Numerous floral tributes were received by the artists.

Evidently, from Mr. Fuller’s announcement, there will be two performances on Christmas day.

The Age (Melbourne), Monday, 24 December 1923, p.8, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article206240719

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“MOTHER GOOSE”

Ward–Fuller’s First Pantomime

Of the audience that filled every part of the Palace Theatre on Saturday, many, no doubt, were inspired with curiosity to se how the relatively young Ward–Fuller combination would quit itself in its first essay at pantomime. By their very presence, however, they showed their confidence that the firm would not fail in a different branch of the entrepreneur’s art. That confidence was not misplaced.

“Mother Goose” was the pantomime chosen by Mr. Hugh Ward. The plot he adopted did not seem to be strictly orthodox—if there is such a thing as orthodoxy in the nursery legends on which all good pantomimes are based. Squire Hardflint, whose name is an index to his nature, is urged by the Demon Vulture to steal Mother Goose’s pet goose Anastacia, the promise being given that in the Demon’s good time he would be told the magic word which impels the bird to lay an egg of gold instead of an ordinary one. With the assistance of his nephew, Fitzrabbit, who after all, does not seem such a bad fellow, the Squire steals the goose: but Mother Goose and her sailor son, Jack, rescue the precious bird. Held to a promise to grant his pretty daughter Silverbell any request, as a birthday gift, the Squire is compelled to recognise as her suitor young Jack, whom he hates, but the magic word that coaxes forth the golden egg has not yet been discovered, and he gives the suitor one year in which to discover it. Aided by the timely intervention of the Fairy Paradise, Jack accomplishes his task, and the pantomime, like all other pantomimes, ends with wedding bells.

Chief interest centred on Miss Dorothy Brunton, who, in the role of principal girl (Silverbell), was making her first appearance in pantomime. Miss Brunton’s work in musical comedy is too well known for her to be treated in any sense as a novice, however. Let it suffice to say that her winsome personality and sure touch won for her fresh triumphs, even in the relatively slight role of a pantomime principal girl. Her songs and duets with Jack were sweetly sung. As Jack, Miss Amy Rochelle made a dashing and vivacious principal boy, her powerful soprano voice making the most of the songs that fell to her lot.  She wore some striking costumes. The comedy was in the hands of Messrs. Charles Heslop (Fitzrabbit), Oliver Peacock (Squire Hardflint), Joe Brennan (Mother Goose), William Hassan (the Goose), and Compton Coutts (Fitzrabbit’s servant). Mr. Heslop’s quiet humour lifted many of the scenes above the level of ordinary pantomime, his tennis and golfing burlesques being especially amusing. Mr. Brennan had a quieter style than many pantomime dames, but it loses nothing in effectiveness. Mr. Hassan is a veteran animal impersonator, and although restricted by the limitations of his part, he made to goose an entertaining bird.  Mr. Peacock made the most of the part of a villian who has his softer moments, as the father of such a girl as Silverbell should have. Misses Ida Newton and Mione Stewart acceptably filled the parts of Trueheart (the second “boy”), and his sweetheart Joybell, and Miss Maidie Field did well in a small comedy part. As the Fairy Paradise, Miss Ruth Bucknall acted and sang with charm; and Mr. David Loffman made an impressive Demon. Mr. Douglas Calderwood has only a small part as a circus manager, but he also has the responsibilities of stage manager on his shoulders.  A word of praise is due, too, to the daintily dressed girls taking part in the various ballets and ensembles, with special mention of the children—some of them very tiny tots—whose work told a story of intelligence and careful training.

Of the specialty turns, the Littlejohns presented one that was strikingly beautiful. The Royal Wonders, a troupe consisting of nine girls—some almost babies—and two boys, contributed some clever ground tumbling and pyramid displays; while the Fredos, two men, showed how it is possible to do tumbling and balancing, and play the violin at the same time. Oscar Mirano presented the “Flying Torpedo,” in which he does acrobatic feats while whirling around on a ladder which spins on a tower, his weight being counterbalanced by a partner seated in a torpedo-shaped airship at the other end of the ladder.

At the end of the performance Mr. John Fuller briefly expressed his thanks to the public for their reception of the pantomime. He specially mentioned Mr. Frank Neil, the producer, and Miss Minnie Hooper, the ballet mistress, both of whom had to respond to the calls of the audience.

The Argus (Melbourne), Monday, 23 December 1923, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page427359

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AMUSING AND COLORFUL

“Mother Goose” at the Palace

Should a pantomime artist be able to act? At first glance that question appears to be ridiculous, but when you come to think about It, there is almost an air of novelty In the idea that pantomime characters should be living beings with definite individualities, and not merely pegs on which to hang the delightful hotch-potch of sentiment, popular song, stunts and topical allusion which comprises a modern pantomime.

In “Mother Goose,” which opened to a big house at the Palace on Saturday evening, Mr. Hugh J. Ward shows that artists who are able to act convincingly strengthen greatly a pantomime cast. In this one, not only does a thread of the story run through the whole performance, but most of the characters bear an air of verisimilitude. Miss Dorothy Brunton, as the principal girl, for Instance, makes her part a witty, vivacious little person with a mind of her own. Mr. Joe Brennan, as the dame, abandons discussions on gin and/or late husbands, to betray the characteristics of an elderly female fond of her goose and her son.  Miss Amy Rochelle is as principal boyish as is compatible with that incongruous creation. Mr. Charles Heslop, more at home, and consequently funnier in this show than his last, makes quite a person out of the eccentric Fitzrabbit.

As a production “Mother Goose” is colorful, happy, quick-moving and refreshingly clean. It contains not one dubious remark or situation. Possibly that is because the whole cast is strong enough to get its effects without adventitious aids. If the show has a fault, it lies in the opening. The play takes some twenty minutes to get under way, during which the action is stereotyped and unimportant.  In the third scene the principals make their traditional entrances—cheers from the villagers, dame falling out of cart, and that sort of thing—but from that moment everything goes well. A little cutting down will set matters right.

The singing strength is unusual. Strong, true, tuneful voices are abundant. In not many pantomimes can the principal boy, principal girl, two villains, fairy queen, dame and second boy and girl all contribute solos with success. Furthermore, they are assisted by an attractive, energetic and graceful chorus, which is a feature in Itself. Several songs will catch on, including the old-fashioned but likely “How’s Everything?” (sung by Miss Rochelle), “Love Came When I First Met You” (duet). “Running Wild” (sung by Miss Brunton), “Oh, You Son of a Gun” (sung by Miss Mione Stewart), and “Strut Miss Lizzie” (Miss Rochelle again).

Miss Rochelle adds to her laurels with yet another principal boy part (her sixth). Miss Brunton, of course, is our Dorothy. In the ungainly disguise of the goose, Mr. William Hassan is remarkably expressive. The regulation parts of Fairy Queen, Demon Vulture, Squire Hardflint, Trueheart (second boy), Joybell (second girl), and Starts, are most capably filled by Miss Ruth Bucknall, Mr. David Loffman, Mr. Oliver Peacock, Miss Ida Newton, Miss Mione Stewart, and Mr. Compton Coutts respectively.

There are four specialties, which is uncommon, and three of them—the Littlejohns, the Miranos, and the Royal Wonders—are particularly good.—

—N.S.

The Herald (Melbourne), Monday, 24 December 1923, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243502699

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“Mother Goose”

Crammed With Good Things

This year Mr. Hugh J. Ward has set out to show how much it is possible to get into a pantomime. Not content with a lot of gorgeousness, some new music and a selection of jokes from “The Puntomisist’s Vade Mecum,” he has gathered together a company of exceptional strength, put them under an energetic young producer, amassed a nearly new selection of songs, a wealth of humor, and quite a record number of funny sketches. Mixing these well together, he has added a chorus and ballet fit to compare with those round the corner at the Princess, a gorgeous production and a fine orchestra. The result is “Mother Goose,” which opened at the Palace on Saturday. The only thing he has excluded is suggestiveness.

This pantomime bids fair to be the most successful production put on in that particular theatre since the advent of the Ward management. The cream of the cast of “Tons of Money” appears in it, along with several pantomime specialists and four picked acts from the Fuller circuit.

Charles Heslop assumes the nondescript part of Fitzrabblt, in which he is much happier than he was in the straight farce. He gets in a number of the sketches which made him famous.  Dorothy Brunton is an exceptionally good principal girl, and Miss Amy Rochelle’s work needs no further praise than that her principal boy is even better than the other five she has played. As the Dame, Joe Brennan is excellent, and special praise must also be given to William Hassan for his incarnation of the goose. The remainder of the cast worthily follows in the steps of these leaders.

As a pantomime. “Mother Goose” combines the best features of old-fashioned productions, such as fidelity to plot and unity, with those modern tendencies, such as fine ensembles, wealth of color, and first-rate special acts. The hand of the master is in it all.

There is no necessity to compare or contrast the two pantomimes. The best advice to playgoers is to see both of them.

The Sporting Globe (Melbourne), Wednesday, 26 December 1923, p.9, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article184816056

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N.B. The competing pantomime was the J.C. Williamson Ltd. production of Aladdin staged at Her Majesty’s Theatre starring English comedienne Ada Reeve in the title role.

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PALACE THEATRE.

“Mother Goose.”

Surely “Mother Goose,” the panto which is filling the Palace Theatre, will go down to memory as the singing pantomime. Everybody in the cast seems to be able to sing so well that it is like a comic opera show rather than a pantomime. The choruses are excellent, and the bird chorus, with the wicked vulture at its head, makes such fine effect that it is next door to grand opera.

“Mother Goose” is bright and colorful throughout. From the first moment the curtain goes up to show the pyjama-clad kiddies with their bedtime story book, who are interrupted by the wicked vulture and the good fairy, it goes with a snap.

Mother Goose is a lively old lady, and her goose is a marvel; she does not know it is the goose that lays the golden eggs, but the vulture, who is the demon, tells the wicked Squire, and the Squire resolves to steal it. He wants Fitzrabbit to marry his daughter Silver Bell, and he gets him to help him steal the goose so that they will be rich.

There are many other people in the story. Ruth comes along and bullies Fitzrabbit. There is a lion tamer, and others come and go.

The scenery is good, the village scene in the first act being charming. There are others more gorgeous, but not more attractive.

The ballets will be a big feature, for they are excellent, the children’s ballet being very fine. The youthful ballerina and her partner are wonderful dancers and most graceful. The little girl, Ivy Towe, does some excellent toe work, while Phyllis Small, who takes the part of the boy, is a graceful and beautiful dancer, and the manner in which she catches and holds her partner in the flying movements of the dance would do credit to any one of the expert masculine dancers whom she impersonates. They are exquisite dancers.

The Royal Wonders, a team of child acrobats, will surely create a furore. Their work is astounding. A lip of a child, who looks a mere baby, wheels in somersaults across the stage so fast that arms and legs are blurred, and it seems just a flash of something white and gold—she is flaxen haired—that makes the onlookers blink with surprise.

Amy Rochelle is a dashing principal boy who would sing the heart out of any girl. Her methods have greatly improved and matured since she was last seen in Melbourne. Her work has gained in finish and refinement without losing any of its dash and effectiveness.

Dorothy Brunton is a fascinating principal girl, with real charm, and her acting and singing are charming. Joe Brennan is a splendid Mother Goose, with quick humorous methods, which are admirably free from any touch of vulgarity.

Oliver Peacock’s Squire is something out of the ordinary in pantomime, dignified, commanding, and wicked, while his singing is excellent. Fitzrabbit, who enters into vile plots with him, in Charles Heslop’s hands is a versatile individual with a quiet, dry turn of wit all his own. His episode with the lion tamer (Douglas Calderwood) and Ruth (Maidie Field) is most diverting, with an unexpected ending. Maidie Field’s comedy is always amusing.

The Goose of Wm. Hassan is a wonderful bird with infinite expression and an intelligence that is uncanny. The children just love it.

There is a second boy played by Ida Newton, who is dashing and most effective, and his sweetheart, played by Mione Stewart, is dainty and sings charmingly.

The good fairy, Ruth Bucknell, has a beautiful voice, which is heard to great advantage, and the vulture, Dave Loffman, who is the demon of the story, not only has a splendid voice, but his acting is really dramatic. Their duets together are exceptionally fine, and make a big hit. It is an unusually powerful cast, with an individuality which tells in every scene.

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 27 December 1923, p.34

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MOTHER GOOSE AGAIN.

THE CHILDREN'S TREAT.

In recent years the Messrs. Fuller have specialised in pantomimes with an appeal to youth. In the “Mother Goose” at the Palace they still make it the children's pantomime, with that extra polish which stands criticism from children of the larger growth. So it comes that Dorothy Brunton brings all the ease and experience of many musical comedy triumphs to such a comparatively simple part, as the pantomime girl has little to do, after all, but give pretty ear-pleasing songs something more than their musical value. But one star will not make a pantomime constellation, and a great many good bright ones have been massed for “Mother Goose,” perhaps the oldest, certainly next to "Cinderella" the most popular, of all pantomime tales. To be just, one should on a first night look only for the colour of a pantomime, leaving its comedy and personal character for later discovery. Though in personnel the ballets and chorus range from age to infancy, so the pony ballets and puny ballets predominate, and here the appeal to the children is definite and irresistible. Youth calls to youth across the footlights, and the entente is complete. The many extra features which have somehow been wedged in make the vaudeville side very prominent, and the Messrs. Fuller have very special facilities for equipping pantomime on this particular side. What could be more dazzling, for example, than the act of the Littlejohns, who while they balance on rolling globes go through clever juggling acts, while a thousand facets project with each movement fresh showers of glittering light. The Royal Wonders are a team of nine little girls and two boys, who, amongst other feats, are dexterous in building living pyramids. The Fredos are musical tumblers who play the violin in all sorts of strange attitudes, though why anybody should make a point of playing a violin under his leg or behind his back when there are so many better ways of doing it, still needs rational explanation. Dazzling and daring of aim is the flying torpedo act of Oscar Mirano, in which some effective properties are used.

“Mother Goose” the spectacle is happily reinforced on the personal side. There is the daintiness and the definite touch of Dorothy Brunton, paired with the breezy dash of Amy Rochelle. Both wear some very beautiful costumes, and wonderful head-dresses, which look like the forbidden plumes, but are only make-believe. As a second boy and girl Ida Newton and Mione Stewart play up judiciously to their principals, chief of whom on the comedy side is Mr. Heslop, much better placed in pantomime than comedy. There is just a suspicion that Mr. Heslop has had to collect his jokes in a hurry, but the new humour would hardly do for pantomime, and Mr. Heslop excels in such extravagances as burlesque tennis and golf. Mr. Joe Brennan is again a quiet, yet effective, dame. There will be more to say of the pantomime when we know more about it.

The Australasian (Melbourne), Saturday, 29 December 1923, p.27, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/140831943

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The lone voice of dissent amongst the critics was The Bulletin’s veteran Melbourne-based scribe, Edmund Fisher who was singularly unimpressed with the proceedings.

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SUNDRY SHOWS

The current procession of songs, circus acts and crosstalk turns miscalled “Mother Goose," at Melbourne Palace, is a modest donation to the merriment of Christmas. 

The hand of the managerial economist is visible in the sparsely populated ballets, and, barring a final tableau of strutting nymphs, the eye is rarely invited to loiter on the scenery. Moreover, a good deal of the programme recalls the turns of more or less recent vaudeville artists. Two clowns mournfully scraping fiddles in acrobatic postures, and a pair of average jugglers remarkable for their blinding wealth of rhine-stones, are among the more unexciting intruders. The whirling of a death-defying signor on a merry-go-round of his own devising is accepted as a breathless novelty, though his business on a trapeze over the orchestra chiefly excites speculation as to whether he would fall on the trombonist or the second fiddle if he lost his grip. Of the principals the most momentous in point of physique is the leading lady, Amy Rochelle, who now looks like a fugitive from a weight-lifting act. From this lady's sturdy torso issue various ballads, apparently written to exhibit the untutored lustiness of her upper register. Clemency is extended to Dorothy Brunton, who seems dwarfed by her meagre opportunities. Joe Brennan, as the Dame, is a doss-house for homeless jests. Also his croaky undertone isn’t overburdened with fun. Dressed as a nightmare of wayward girlhood he has some tedious chat with a monocled johnny in a box. Heslop’s whimsicality tends now and then to resemble the corybantics of a cat on hot bricks, but there are moments in his golf sketch and elsewhere which are genuinely diverting. Squire Hardflint is lost in the heavy personality of Oliver Peacock, David Loffman is a substantial Demon Vulture, and William Hassan’s goose is excellent and is almost the only evidence that the absent fairy-tale is hanging about waiting to make itself heard. It is a pity to see Mione Stewart tucked away among the also-rans. She is more appealing than Maidie Field, whose manner is productive of critical unrest. A group of infant tumblers and dancers are conspicuous, Ivy Towe among the latter doing some pretty solo work.

The Bulletin (Sydney), 27 December 1923, pp.34 & 36

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Tom Glover caricature for The Bulletin

Commercial broadcasting in Melbourne officially commenced in January 1924

From Farmers’ Advocate (Melbourne), 25 January 1924, p.4

Sydney, March 12.

The arrival of Seymour Hicks in Melbourne—much-heralded, much-boomed, much “receptioned,” civically and otherwise (did I not, in company with other distinguished citizens of Melbourne, drink the mayoral champagne in the Town Hall in the morning and dance one-steps on the Princess’s stage in his honour at night?) coinciding with the departure of Charlie Austin less a couple of Pounds from Sydney,¹ necessitated a premature removal of Mother Goose from the former and a hurried production of Tons of Money in the latter city. And I hope very much that sentence is quite clear to you, as it has cost me much thought and labour.

Thus it is that we move one parasang further, leaving Melbourne at 5 p.m. and arriving in the capital of New South Wales about 11.50 the following morning.

Sydney is all, and more than we hoped. After Melbourne the narrowness of its streets and its general cheerfulness and “cosiness” are its immediately striking qualities. Later on you appreciate its greater—“urbanity” I think is the word I want. And although, “skyscrapers” abound and cosmopolitanism is rampant, it is yet a much more English city to an Englishman than Melbourne. Or seems so. Moreover, there is, of course, our—wait a minute, if you don't mind. 

The Heslop’s residence in Sydney

Building (Sydney), 12 July 1920, p.62

Above our flat is a roof restaurant, and on the morning of our arrival whilst our trunks were being hauled and scraped into position (always be out whilst this goes on, if possible) we ascended to get a bird’s eye view of the city.² We gazed fascinated over many miles of green and grey, and then turned to see the other side. It was our first view—and what a view!—of our—we gasped, as the original Captain Cook, or whoever first discovered it, must have gasped. There is, you know, some sort of joke about Our ’Arbour. Sydney is rather chy-iked about Our ’Arbour. Don’t you worry, Syd. You’ve got something there that makes you unique amongst cities. Of course I needn’t tell you that. You know it. In fact, you told me.

Personally I cannot cope with the thing. I cannot see where it starts; where it leaves off—if it ever does leave off—the shape of it, or anything. I have been told that there are 700 miles of it—no, 70,000 is it? or may be 7,000. I forget exactly—but something astounding all the same. I only know when I was told this I said, in my best incredulous tones, “Coo!" or “Gor!” or words to that effect—and that the full meaning of it dawned upon me about ten minutes later, when my friend was touching lightly upon yet another aspect of King Charles’ head. Of course his figures (whatever they may be I do not for one moment doubt them) are supposing that you go poking about into all the fascinating little inlets and beaches; well you will certainly do that. For the inlets and beaches and its infinite variety generally are what “make” Sydney Harbour, as we say. There are lordly mansions and there are little summer bungalows gay and green to the water's edge—and sometimes wharves and docks and squalor and sometimes bleak rock or virgin forest. There is Garden Island, with its guns and figure-heads—the naval depot—and there are Sydney heads rising precipitously four hundred feet from old Ocean, looking ever so close together for all the great ships to steam through.

Oh, you won’t be bored with monotony if you go nosing round the edges! There is a little pier here (say that again; ah, I knew you were English!) and a beach and you are in Penarth! Round the corner there is Cromer as natural as the old Great Eastern Railway can keep it; take a tram, you’re in Workington or Whitstable; a ferry, and if that isn't the dead spit of Southsea, you'll eat your hat. All these, you must understand, are little bays, all so easily accessible—a few pence from the centre of the city, that’s all. Rose Bay, Elizabeth Bay. Watson's Bay, Mossman’s Bay . . . and on the ocean side, Manly, Coogee, Bondi Beaches, where you ride on the surf, unless, per-adventure, the surf rides on you.

That is the greatest amusement of Sydney. The beaches are choc a bloc with bronze mermen, copper-coloured mermaids who bathe and bask, bask and bathe all day, presumably from October to May or even longer. The Sydney sun shines down on shifting sands and surf (and Sydney sharks), and these amphibious ants bob and bask for about twenty-two hours out of the twenty-four! It’s a great life.

This surfing, now. You don't go out far. You just bob about until the big breaker is close upon you, when you turn your back rudely upon it and start swimming shorewards for dear life. If you do the thing properly, I gather, you find yourself a few seconds later deposited some twenty yards up the beach. If, on the other hand you don’t do the thing properly, you find yourself—well, may be, in that event, somebody else finds you.

Shooting the surf at Coogee—photo by Harold Cazneaux

The Home, 1 March 1929, p.30

Sunday on Coogee beach—photo by Harold Cazneaux

The Home, 1 March 1929, p.29

Reverting to the Harbour (it is difficult to get away from it in Sydney—literally as well as figuratively—even if one wants to, and nobody wants to), I must not forget the little ferry-boats, busily leaving the circular quay for ridiculously cheap trips in every direction. Illuminated at night, they look like fairy-boats more than ferry-boats—and that, of course, is the bromide thing to say. The circular quay is rather on the lines of the landing-stage at Liverpool—with the ferries to Seacombe, Egremont, and New Brighton—but —well, the similarity is rather nipped off at the landing stage! 

Circular Quay, from Milson’s Point—photo by Harold Cazneaux. The Home, 1 December 1924, p.47.

One more word about the Harbour and I will leave it for ever, I promise you. As I write, I hear that they are to build a bridge over the thing! What is more, I further hear that Norman Long has got the contract to do it!³ Amazing! Incredible! Great admirer as I am of my old friend, the piano entertainer’s talent, I cannot conceive how he or anybody else can for one moment contemplate erecting any structure over this colossal, this magnificent, this sublime—Why, let me tell you sir—

What’s that? Oh, I beg your pardon. It’s only a bit of the harbour that they propose bridging, is it? Oh, and it’s not Norman, but Dorman Long and Co. going to do it, eh!⁴ Well, that alters things, I suppose. Yes, of course it does. I know that as well as anybody. But I'd got some really good bits of irony and sarcasm all ready waiting. For instance, I was going to say—But, of course, it’s all wasted now. You might, perhaps, have interrupted me a little later on, that’s all. Oh, it's of no consequence. Well, well, let’s talk of something else.

Tons of Money has, for various reasons, been turned into a musical comedy for Sydney, and has, I am glad to say, met with instant success in its new form. It seems a wise move, for Australian audiences are (at present) mad on musical comedy, especially of the slick American type. Little Nellie Kelly is repeating the success of The O’Brien Girl and it seems that Tons of Money in its new guise will prove at least equally popular. Non-musical plays can hope for only a moderate run at best, whereas Sallyis in its second year, and the aforesaid O’Brien and Nellieare not far off, or won’t be.⁵ Musicalised by Willy Redstone, Tons of Money has been reduced to essentials as a farce; Louise has lost her French accent and gained a sister, rejoicing in the Australian name of “Phylluss,” herself in love with James Chesterman, the unexpected son of Solicitor Robert; we now see Aubrey’s garden in Act II., at well as his breakfast room, redecorated in accordance with the best musical comedy standards, in Act I. Aubrey himself goes the whole hog in his Mexican appearance, in the way of woolly “shaps” and spurs and six-shooters. Add a male voice octette and a chorus of sixteen dancers for the twenty-odd musical numbers, serve at breathless speed, and there you have if not Tons of Money as you know it, at any rate a bright entertainment with certainly more plot and comic situations than most of the same type.⁶

Harry Julius caricatures for The Bulletin

From the principal performers’ point of view, however, the thing works out not a little strenuously. Take the part of Aubrey, for instance—at least, don't take it, because I’d rather not give it up—always very exacting and lengthy, it has now in the musical version, equipped with dances, duets, songs, and concerted numbers, it has now, I say, as many words as there are in Yorkshire or acres in the Bible. Pooh! Abraham Lincoln and Hamletare mere sketches to it.⁷ It occupies a man’s entire waking life. He can but sleep, eat, and Aubreyise. Golf? His mashie rusts in the umbrella-stand, moths fatten on his plus fours! He has no time to write, no time even to think—

What's that? Yes, yes, yes. Of course. But in this case I think you might have interrupted me a little—say one sentence—earlier.

CHARLES HESLOP.—

THE STAGE—8 May 1924, p.7

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

1. A reference to Charles Austin’s co-stars in Rocketsand Pretty Peggy, the Australian comediennes, Lorna and Toots Pounds, who stayed on in Sydney to commence a tour on the Tivoli variety circuit. But since pounds is also a unit of weight in the avoirdupois system, as well as a unit of currency in Britain and (at the time) Australia, Heslop’s comment was not just a double entendre, but a triple entendre!

2. Charles Heslop and his wife stayed at Hampton Court, Darlinghurst, Sydney, as noted in Everyones for 27 February 1924, p.34. (Their son, Peter remained in Melbourne at boarding school in Toorak.)

3. Norman Long (1893–1951) was an English singer, pianist and comic entertainer, who was one of the earliest stars of BBC Radio. Born in Deal, Kent, he moved to London as a child and worked as a clerk before joining Charles Heslop's Brownies concert party troupe. After serving in the military in the First World War, he made his first stage appearance at the Lewisham Hippodrome in 1919, billed as “A song, a smile, and a piano” and subsequently made his first radio broadcast on 28 November 1922, from the London station 2LO set up by the newly-established British Broadcasting Company. His billing was soon changed to “A song, a joke, and a piano” when it was realised that a smile could not be conveyed over radio. With his “non-stop patter” as well as his skills as a singer and pianist, he remained a popular radio entertainer over the next 25 years. From 1922 he also made recordings of his own comic songs, mostly released on the Columbia label. His style was to gently mock officialdom and sing about contemporary times (the '20s) in his whimsical little songs at the piano. He retired after the Second World War to run a hotel in Salcombe, Devon. A selection of his recordings may be heard on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL75811723DA8637B9

4. John Bradfield had been appointed Chief Engineer of Sydney Harbour Bridge and Metropolitan Railway Construction in 1914. Although Bradfields’s initial plans were for a cantilever bridge, following his travels overseas in 1921, he decided that an arch design would also be suitable and together with officers of the NSW Department of Public Works he prepared a general design for a single-arch bridge based upon New York City's Hell Gate Bridge. In 1922 the NSW government passed the Sydney Harbour Bridge Act No. 28, specifying the construction of a high-level cantilever or arch bridge across the harbour between Dawes Point and Milsons Point, along with construction of necessary approaches and electric railway lines, and worldwide tenders were invited for the project. As a result of the tendering process, the government received twenty proposals from six companies, and on 24 March 1924 the contract was awarded to Dorman Long & Co of Middlesbrough, England for an arch bridge at a quoted price of AU£4,217,721 11s 10d (equivalent to $409,778,683.20 in today’s currency.) To the company’s advantage it already had two well-established structural steel fabricating workshops in Melbourne and Sydney constructing heavy steel work of the type that would be required for the spans, cross girders and decking of the bridge.

John Bradfield’s initial design for the bridge—The Australian Home Builder, 1 March 1924, p.26

5. The Australian premiere of Little Nellie Kelly (with book, music and lyrics by George M. Cohan) was presented by Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. at the Princess Theatre, Melbourne on 22 December 1923 where it ran for 4 months, concluding on 25 April 1924, followed by seasons in Adelaide, Newcastle, Sydney, Brisbane and New Zealand.

6. Tons of Money the “new Musical Comedy” with music by Willy Redstone and lyrics by Vaiben Louis [pseud. of V.L. Solomon] (plus additional interpolated numbers) premiered at the Grand Opera House, Sydney on 1 March 1924 featuring “Hugh J. Ward’s New Musical Farce Comedy Company.” Although the adaptation of the play into a musical comedy was uncredited at the time, it was the work of the musical’s producer (director in current parlance) Harry Hall in collaboration with the production supervisor, Hugh J. Ward, both experienced men of the theatre; which the following series of articles promoting the show in the Sydney Press indicate.

WEALTH FOR ALL

“TONS OF MONEY” SOON

When Sydney sees “Tons of Money,” “Dot” Brunton will plot suicide schemes with her stage husband, Charles Heslop, to a piquant accompaniment of lilting lyrics, dance numbers, and catchy scenes. For the diverting rapid-fire London farce is to be made over into a Hugh J. Ward musical comedy, and incidentally present Miss Brunton in the medium in which Australian theatregoers like her best. Trained for the musical stage by Mrs. Hugh J. Ward. Miss Brunton quickly achieved great success, and although her artistry and youth and charm made her a delightful exponent of farce comedy, her admirers always felt that they preferred her amid the fascinating embellishments of music and dancing.

It Is no “easy” task to transform a straight farce like “Tons of Money” Into a musical show, and It means a revision of both dialogue and action to permit of bringing on to the stage the lyrical features needed for a successful melody show.

In this branch of stagecraft, however, Mr. Hugh J. Ward is an adept. In the past he has often taken shows to pieces and reconstructed them on more attractive lines. This in effect was done with “The O'Brien Girl,” a fact which caused American visitors to the Grand Opera House who had seen the Broadway production of it, to take a second look at the programme to make sure that it was “The O'Brien Girl.” They were unanimous in the opinion that the new version presented by Mr. Ward was even more delectable than was the original production. His genius for staging musical comedy is unquestioned, and he is regarded by the theatrical profession as the G.M. Cohan of Australia.

Even “Little Nellie Kelly,” complete and effective as it was when produced in New York, and later in London, did not go on at the New Princess Theatre. Melbourne, without first undergoing revision in several details by him; and all to its advantage.

Associated with Mr. Ward in the transformation of “Tons of Money” are Harry Hall, his musical comedy producer, whose sense of stage values is both acute and astute, and Willy Redstone, musical director.

The Daily Telegraph (Sydney) Saturday, 9 February 1924, p.16

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dot Brunton arrives in Sydney with fellow cast members, Andrew Higginson, Charles Heslop and Amy Rochelle

* * * * * * * * * * *

DOROTHY BRUNTON.

RETURNS TO SYDNEY.

"TONS OF MONEY.”

Miss Dorothy Brunton arrived in Sydney yesterday, after an absence of 2½ years, with Mr. Charles Heslop, the English comedian and other artists of the Hugh J. Ward combination for the production of “Tons of Money.” This event will take place at the Grand Opera Houso on Saturday, March 1. Other newcomers recently from England will be Compton Coutts and Maidle Field, and the cast will include Andrew Higginson, Douglas Calderwood, John Kirby, Amy Rochelle, Millie Engler, and Elsie Parkes.

Miss Brunton, whose last season here was as Fainting Fanny in “Oh Lady, Lady,” with Alfred Frith, thereafter left for America to visit her elder brother, Mr. Robert Brunton. He had lived in Los Angeles for many years and the Brunton Film Studios were amongst the most important in the city. He had planned a holiday with his “little sister,” and together they visited Franco, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and other countries, in a leisurely way, and followed this by motoring in their own car all over England and Scotland. There was a sad ending to it all, for Mr. Brunton was suddenly seized with Illness and unexpectedly passed away.

“We were great pals together,” remarked Miss Brunton in the winter garden of the Australia yesterday, “and the shock of sorrow will never be forgotten. Mother and I will always miss him.”

“Of course, I did not do anything for a considerable time,” continued the actress-singer, “but at last I accepted an offer from my old friend, Mr. Hugh J. Ward, to revisit Australia in 'Tons of Money.’ The piece was running to crowded houses at the Aldwych Theatre, and before the end of the run it was arranged for Mr. Charles Heslop and myself to appear In the two leading characters, so as to secure the right atmosphere and make sure of giving a production on this side on the lines Mr. Ward desired. We opened in Melbourne at the New Palace Theatre last October, and played on until the Christmas season opened with 'Mother Goose.’ There were, however, several singers in the cast—Mr. Heslop, a cultivated artist in all that he does, Mr. Andrew Higginson, myself, and others—and, as Mr. Ward observed a general feeling amongst playgoers that music should be introduced, he decided to have the play staged in Sydney as a musical comedy.

The Sydney Morning Herald, Wednesday, 20 February 1924, p.13

* * * * * * * * * * *

COINERS!

Den Unearthed

Tons and Tons of Money

Steal into the Grand Opera House any day this week, and you will find the counterparts hard at work making—tons of money.

A blur of white collar and red cigar-tip in the distance, Mr. Hugh Ward muses quietly in the stalls, amongst a cloud of lazy smoke-puffs. Mr. Ward works as hard as the rest of the coining gang. He sits there at nearly every rehearsal, silent and critical, never speaking a word, but compressing his opinions into nerve-nuts for the stage-manager. 

The songs and musical numbers are tried over and over again. Some times Mr. Ward grunts. Sometimes he looks at the ceiling, and dreamily eats a bit of his cigar. The piano in the wings bangs away madly. The principals sway up and down the extinct footlights. The chorus and the ballet sit cross-legged at the back, or hop round earnestly with twirling legs. And all the time the producer is shouting things, with a break in his voice and a tear in his eye.

Mr. Ward is an expert at this sort of thing. The rehearsal comes to him with hundreds of ragged ends dangling from each scene. Mr. Ward watches it quietly, lights another enormous cigar, and ties all the broken strings together with the assurance of a master. Nothing is too small for him to bother about. Nothing is too big to frighten him. He watches and watches, and then, suddenly —

“I told Spencer about that wall there. It’s too bare. You can make it white stone, or you can cover it with creepers. But it will have, to be changed.”

It Is one entire side of the stage that is to be changed—the wall of a house. Mr. Ward’s eye has picked it out at once, as too bare and hard for the rest of the entrancing garden scene (orange spot-light).

And then again—just as suddenly—

“Those roses! Who ever saw roses growing to order like that? No, let him go ahead now. You can use those as a backing, but he'll have to spread more roses on top — and tell him to spread them unevenly. Roses don’t grow in straight patterns.”

The stage-hand goes on blissfully, draping roses in geometrical diagrams over the lattice-work.

AUSTRALIAN MUSIC

Meanwhile the rest of the coiners are hard at it.

The carpenters, for instance. The carpenters work with a superb disregard for everybody. The rest of the company are just so many unnecessary flies crawling about. A perpetual hammering and sawing goes on maddeningly all through the rehearsal. Now and then a carpenter steps out broodingly into the middle of a scene, knocks one or two principals into the orchestra, and bangs with a small hammer in the centre of the stage.

Nobody dares say anything. Not even Mr. Ward.

“Tons of Money” was originally a straight farce, without any music in it at all. But for its Sydney performances it will be embellished with all the syncopated graces of the musical comedies which have already made the Ward Company famous. And all of this extra music has been made in Australia. The result speaks volumes for local production.

“People don’t always realise the immense amount of work behind a production like this,” says Mr. Ward.

“Every note of music has its corresponding movement on the stage, and the whole thing has to run so smoothly that both music and action fit like gloves. That means a lot of work. The whole business is thought out months before in Melbourne. Then the principals rehearse it by themselves, and the chorus and ballet by themselves. Then they both do It together. Then I come over and tie up the loose ends.

“But as far as this production is concerned,” concluded Mr. Ward, “the thing has already been so well produced that there really isn’t much for me to do.”

Mr. Hall, the producer, blushed fiercely in the darkness.

DOT BRUNTON

And—

And—Dot Brunton.

The rehearsal ends with a plaintive wail from Dot Brunton.

“Oh, but Mr. Hall, it’s so hard!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brunton, but there you are. What about a cushion?”

Somebody puts a cushion in Charles Heslop’s lap.

A bundle of legs and arms and things comes shooting through the air, and plumps on top of it. There is a low, despairing scream.

“Ooh, Mr. Hall!”

Dot Brunton rubs herself bitterly.

She’s got to leap from one side of the stage, and land sitting down, on the couch where Heslop is sitting.

And it’s a hard couch. There is a note of passion in Miss Brunton’s cooing voice as she mentions it. So don’t be surprised if you see a mound of cushions there on Saturday night.

Even coiners don’t like sitting down on hard couches.

The Sun (Sydney) Thursday, 28 February 1924, p.12

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The Cast

Characters in Order of Appearance.

Sprules (Butler) …………………………………………......….……….. COMPTON COUTTS
Simpson (Maid) ………………………………………………....…...………… MAIDIE FIELD
Benita Mullet (Allington's Aunt) ……………………….....….….………. MILLIE ENGLER
Phyllis Brent (Sister of Louise) ……………….……….......…….…………. ELSIE PARKES
Louise Allington (Allington's Wife) …………………….....….…… DOROTHY BRUNTON
Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington (An Inventor) ……............……. CHARLES HESLOP
Giles (A Gardener) ………………………………………........….……. HERBERT FRAWLEY
Robert Chesterman (Solicitor) …………………….………...…....………….. JOHN KIRBY
James Chesterman (His Son) ……………………….….….....……… OLIVER McLENNAN
Jean Everard (Louise's Cousin) ……………………..….………...……… AMY ROCHELLE
Henry (Sprule’s Brother) ……………………………....………….. ANDREW HIGGINSON
George Maitland (Allington's Cousin) ……….......….…….. DOUGLAS CALDERWOOD
(Guests------Gardeners------Maids).

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Scenes

Scene Synopsis.

(Scenery by Reg. Robbins).
ACT I.—Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington's House at Maidenhead.
(Three weeks elapse between Acts I. and II.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACT II.—Garden of Allington's House (afternoon).
(One day elapses between Acts II. and III.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACT III.—The same as Act I (late afternoon).

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Score

Musical Numbers.

Orchestra under Direction of Hamilton Webber, Mus. Bach.

Act I.

1. "Love Thirty—Love Forty" ………....... ELSIE PARKES, Girls and CHARLES HESLOP

2. "Cocktails" ……………………………. DOROTHY BRUNTON, Boys and Girls

3. "Tons of Money" .………………...…… DOROTHY BRUNTON and CHARLES HE8LOP

4. "Oh Gee! Oh Gosh!" …………....…….. ELSIE PARKES & OLIVER McLENNAN
                                                     [An interpolated number by American songwriters Olson & Johnson (words) & Ernest Breuer (music)]

5. "Remember the Rose" .…….......……… DOROTHY BRUNTON, CHARLES HESLOP and Boys
                                                     [An interpolated number by American songwriters Sidney D. Mitchell & Seymour Simons]

6.   Finale …………………………….……. Full Company

Act II.

7a.   Opening: Chorus ……………....…….. Girls and Boys

7b. "A Bunch of Girls" …………..……… OLIVER McLENNAN and Girls

8. "Playing Polo" …………………...…… ELSIE PARKES, Girls and Boys

9. "Weeping Widows" …………...……… DOROTHY BRUNTON and AMY ROCHELLE

10. "Oh! Please Louise" …………....…… DOROTHY BRUNTON and Boys

11. "Dearest" ……………………...…….. AMY ROCHELLE and Boys
                                                   [An interpolated number by American songwriters Benny Davis & Harry Akst]

                 12. "Oh! Mexico" ……………………….. CHARLES HESLOP, ALMA HARDMAN, JOHN ROBERTSON and Girls

13.    Finale ……………………………..… Full Company

Act III.

14. "Rat – Tat" …………………..……… ELSIE PARKES, OLIVER McLENNAN and Girls

15. "Night May Have its Sadness" …....... DOROTHY BRUNTON and Boys
                 [An interpolated number by British songwriters Collie Knox & Ivor Novello originally written for the 1921 London musical revue A to Z.]

16. "Long, Long, Wail" ………………… CHARLES HESLOP and Company

17. "The Way They Kiss" ………......….. DOROTHY BRUNTON, CHARLES HESLOP and ANDREW HIGGINSON

18. "A Kiss in the Dark" ……….....…… AMY ROCHELLE

19. "Bogey! Bogey!'' ………………….... ANDREW HIGGINSON, ALMA HARDMAN, JOHN ROBERTSON and Company
                                                 [An interpolated number by British songwriter Joe Tunbridge]                                               

20.   Finale …………………………..…… Full Company

Special Dances by Alma Hardman, Elsie Parkes, John Robertson and Oliver McLennan.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Additional numbers added to the score during the Sydney run include "Charge it Up" and "I’m Out to Kill" in Act I; and "Them Were the Days" and "If it Doesn’t Rain" in Act II.

* * * * * * * * * * *

7. Abraham Lincoln was a drama based on the life of the 16th President of the United States by British playwright, John Drinkwater. It premiered on 12 October 1918 at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre, of which Drinkwater was the artistic director. Arnold Bennett and Nigel Playfair subsequently acquired the play and its company for a season at the suburban Hammersmith Playhouse, where it opened on 19 February 1919 with Irish actor William J. Rea in the title role and became a sensational success with London audiences running for 467 performances.

The Broadway production of Abraham Lincoln produced by William Harris Jr., and starring Frank McGlynn opened at the Cort Theatre on 15 December 1919 and ran for 193 performances.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Tons of Money reviewed in the Sydney Press

TONS OF MONEY

Dot Brunton Returns : Charles Heslop’s Success

A crowded house welcomed Hugh J. Ward’s farce-comedy at the Opera House on Saturday afternoon. The daring experiment of applying songs and ballet dances to pure farce was thoroughly justified. The show ran smoothly from beginning to end. The main feature of the production was the return of Miss Dorothy Brunton, combined with the first appearance of a brilliant comedian, namely, Charles Heslop. The success of the show rested on the shoulders of this handsome couple and applause at the final curtain proved conclusively that they had not failed in their task.

Tons of Money is highly entertaining. It is sheer fun and nonsense from beginning to end. Brilliant scenes and gorgeous costuming, allied to some of the catchiest melodies we have heard this season should make an instant appeal.

It is Aubrey Alllngton (brilliantly played by Charles Heslop) who causes all the trouble, and incidentally all the laughter. He is the rightful heir to a paltry 750,000 dollars (which dwindles to £1/4/1½ when the Mexican Government have finished with it), and It is only when the finds that his debts will completely swallow his fortune that he devises a scheme to fool his creditors and to die.

Numerous deaths on his part, and subsequent recoveries in a new disguise, give Charlie Heslop all the material he needs for a succession of screaming absurdities. Dot Brunton, who, as Louise, his wife, aids and abets him throughout, has never been seen to better advantage. She is a born comedienne who never emphasises the comedy. And always assists the comedian by her obvious sincerity.

Amy Rochelie, who appears to advantage as Louise's cousin, is heard at her vocal best in Dearest and A Kiss in the Dark, while Elsie Parkes, daintiest of soubrettes, dances at intervals with Oliver McLennan.

Minor roles are well played by Andrew Higginson, John Klrby, Maidie Field and Compton Coutts, while due credit must be given to on excellent ballet.

Galleryites who took their place at 10 o’clock in order to witness the performance, were given tea after the matinee by Mr. Hugh Ward.

The Sunday Times (Sydney), Sunday, 2 March 1924, p.7
[Also published in The Referee (Sydney), Wednesday, 5 March 1924, p.15]

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dorothy Brunton in Tons of Money

THE authors of “Tons of Money”, produced at the Grand Opera House by Hugh J. Ward last night with millinery embellishments, were wise in their generation. They sat back and thought up all the sure-fire bits that had done duty in farces, from “Charley’s Aunt” onward, and strung similar situations together to make what undoubtedly is a very laughable evening. Even if Mr. Ward, with his passion for pep and stage crowds of pretty girls, has interrupted what, in the original must have been a fast moving farce, “Tons of Money” still retains the ingredients of the true farcical comedy, with hints of Mexico, all sorts of mistaken Identities, and a climax which proves that all the fuss and complications have been over nothing at all.

Dorothy Brunton's return to Sydney was an event greater even than the first production of the play itself. As Louise Allington, wife of an inventor, she has a piquant role which she handled adroitly, more especially when the dialogue and situations demanded subtlety. Of course, on the song side she was easily on the right side, and in “Tons of Money” (with Chas. Heslop), “Remember the Rose”. “Oh. Please. Louise”, and “The Way You Kiss”, she was once more the Dorothy of “Oh. Lady! Lady!” and other delights. In fact, last night Dorothy Brunton was a charming mingling of the old— not so old— Dot and the new.

Charles Heslop is a comedian of parts. He broadens as the action develops, so you have your choice of him in various types of humour as he assumes various masquerades. Andrew Higginson is quite soulful, as expected, and in “The Way You Kiss”, with Miss Brunton and Mr. Heslop. and in “Bogey, Bogey”, on his own, he Danilo’d satisfactorily.*

Amy Rochelle made her debut in this class of production, and handled dialogue better than might have been expected by one who has heretofore dealt mostly with pantomime scripts and dramatic expressions like “Never fear, Cinderella; there is one who will save you”. Miss Rochelle’s wonderful voice is a tower of strength to the show, as reconstructed, although it is heard too little. Of the others, there are Compton Coutts as a delightfully impossible butler, Millie Engler as a typical farce-comedy aunt, and Elsie Parkes and Oliver McLennan as nobody in particular, but dancers in chief to the production.

“Tons of Money” has the true Ward touch in the matter of stage craft, and should be popular.

Truth(Sydney) Sunday, 2 March 1924, p.4

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* A reference to Higginson’s role as Prince Danilo, which he played in JC Williamson’s Australian premiere production of The Merry Widow in 1908. He also reprised the role for the JCW Royal Comic Opera Company revival in early 1924 starring Gladys Moncrieff and returned to it for further seasons with the company in 1925.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * *

TONS OF MONEY

Musical Dark Horse

SURPRISE AT OPERA HOUSE

“Tons of Money” landed with a syncopated jingle at the Grand Opera House yesterday afternoon—tons of money and tons of Dorothy, and tons of amazing situations dissolved in a whirl of music.

Originally played us a straight farce, both in London and Melbourne, the success of this new Ward show at the matinee yesterday came us a complete surprise.

Reckoning in managerial comparisons, it is not too much to say that it is as good as “The O’Brien Girl,” and certainly better than “Rockets.” The music, supplied locally, fermented the original wild comedy into a delightful affair of burlesque and unexpected beauty. Its success was immediate.

Much of this triumph was due to the return of Dorothy Brunton, and the first appearance of Charles Heslop the English comedian. Of the demure and golden-topped Dorothy there Is not much need for description. The audience welcomed her back with a great roar, and kept on welcoming her. Dorothy Brunton Is still Dorothy Brunton—an angel in silk stockings and a crinoline, with round eyes and whirls of yellow hair.

Charles Heslop was another surprise. He is probably the neatest and most interesting comedian to arrive here since George Gee. His dancing is a delight. His mannerisms are whimsical and grotesque, his actions always unexpected. He supplied nearly all the bubbles in Dorothy Brunton’s champagne.

As might have been expected from its original debut as a farce, “Tons of Money” contains a good deal more plot than is customary in musical comedies, and the situations themselves would carry the play to success.

From a rather placid opening, the comedy developed into a wild tangle of disguised husbands and bogus heirs. Indeed, the final curtain went down on a perfect inferno of foreign gentlemen, each claiming to be the genuine heir, and all looking exactly the same in pointed beards, rather like the poet Swinburne in old age.

The ballets were by Minnie Hooper. They were delightful especially the alluring dance which opened Act II. The male chorus, however, was badly dressed, and out of place. The rest of the company was strong. Elsie Parkes and Oliver McLennan supplied the customary pair of young things. Andrew Higginson was one of the gentlemen in long beards. Compton Coutts made a first appearance as the butler—amusing, but rather overdone.

Herbert Frawley was delicious as an aged gardener, and Amy Rochelle used a good voice as the wife who was kissed by three men in two days. Douglas Calderwood, Maidie Field, Millie Engler, and John Kirby, a perfect lawyer, completed a strong cast.

“Tons of Money” received tons of percussion from the house and at this early stage seems to be the dark horse of the year in musical comedy.

[Arthur Adams]

The Sun (Sydney), Sunday, 2 March 1924, p.5 - https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/224571118

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Playng Polo" featuring Elsie Parkes and Oliver McLennan with the female ballet

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"TONS OF MONEY."

NEW MUSICAL FARCE.

Will Evans and Arthur Valentine’s farcical comedy “Tons of Money,” which was running all last year at the Aldwych Theatre, was presented at the Grand Opera House on Saturday in a somewhat new form. Indeed, the uproarious medley of fun had been gaily adorned by Willy Redstone’s whirl of vocal music, sports ballets, and dances of all descriptions. The transformation had been dexterously done, and the welcome return of Dorothy Brunton and the absurdities of Charles Heslop enabled an immense audience to bear up buoyantly under the heat of a torrid evening that carried with it a surfeit of nonsensical happenings.

The original version was, perhaps, a trifle slow in development, a state of affairs which would readily account for the early predominance of song and dance in the new stage setting. The scene opened at the Maidenhead bungalow of the spendthrift Aubrey Allington and his wife Louise, where a troop of youthful visitors from the tennis courts burst into choral song with “Love Thirty-Love Forty.” This brought on Charles Heslop with a clever imitation of a particularly alert player smashing an invisible ball over an invisible net, or “taking” it in preternatural attitudes without for a moment pausing in a profusion of neatly executed steps. Mr. Heslop is something new in the long line of comedians. The essential gift of a humour that spontaneously colours every smart saying is absent. It is replaced, however, by comic gesticulation, restlessly unexpected movement, illustrative pantomime, and the outward forms of something so funny that the audience responds with uproarious laughter. On those lines the young actor made headway surprisingly at the point where he appeared as the Rev. Ebenezer Brown, the clerical caricature of a red-haired, bespectacled curate, whose song “The Long, Long Wait” was one of the hits of the evening. There were other situations in which the actor varied. His entrance, in the manner of the Polite Lunatic after the explosion, his clothes in tatters, and his face begrimed, was laughable, as was also his appearance after a supposed attempt at suicide in the river, when the substitution of bare flesh and of leopard-skin for modern clothes suggested a figure from a Biblical fresco. On the other hand, the more sustained characterisation as George Maitland, Spanish-American ranch owner, from Mexico, with a chin-beard, found Mr. Heslop sometimes in, and more often out, of the necessary atmosphere, and should be more consistently presented.

Dorothy Brunton proved captivating in an arduous role as Louise, the young wife, in a small shoulder cape and flounced skirt of white taffeta, edged with mauve ribbon. This was followed by frequent changes of alluring costume. The actress cheered the audience by her suggestion of youthful fun when in deep mourning for the supposed death of Aubrey, to whom she exclaims down the telephone with joyous giggles, “Just fancy, I’m all in black!” Miss Brunton pleased the audience with a whole series of new songs, of which the sentimental ones seemed especially in favour. There was the melodious “Remember the Rose,” tenderly scored, and with the support in harmony of a mate octet, during which the ever-busy Mr. Heslop accepted vegetables from the choir, and ceremoniously placed them in the embarrassed singers hands! The prettiest of Mr. Redstone's compositions was the duet “Weeping Widows,” piquantly rendered by Misses Brunton and Amy Rochelle, the latter subduing her voice so as to preserve an artistic balance. Another takingly scored song of sentiment for the principal was “Night May Have its Sadness;” while Miss Rochelle's central success was “Dearest,” with male chorus. “The Boys,” as they were termed on the programme sang well, but (when visible) their attire did not harmonise with the action of the scenes.

Generally the music was of the lightest character, suited to patternings and daintily planned ballets. The fun of the plot rests mainly upon the appearance of three claimants to the name of “George Maitland,” who (as in the older farce, “Tom, Dick, and Harry”) are mistaken for each other, as in “The Comedy of Errors.” The real Simon Pure was played by Douglas Calderwood, while Andrew Higginson ingeniously resembled him as the brother of Sprules the butler. Sprules was a minor role, capably taken by Compton Coutts, an artist of experience in other countries, who will doubtless have his chance later. Maidie Field also made her debut as Simpson the smart maid, and the efforts of these two conspirators to signal the wrong “Maitland” caused laughter. Millie Engler showed aplomb as a slightly deaf “Aunt Bertha;” and Elsie Parkes and Oliver McLennan were the juvenile lovers, who assisted In song and dance. Herbert Frawley, portraying decrepit old age as Giles, looked like one of the Seven Dwarfs. John Kirby (stage director) assumed the legal aspect and manner of the head of Chesterman, Ltd.

Mr. Hugh J. Ward acknowledged the applause at the end of the long evening (11.30p.m.) on behalf Sir Benjamin Fuller and Mr. John Fuller, and in a protracted speech of congratulation called forward the two principals, also Mr. Harry Hall (producer), Miss Minnie Hooper (ballet-mistress), and Mr. Hamilton Webber (conductor).

[Gerald Marr Thompson]

The Sydney Morning Herald, Monday, 3 March 1924, p.5

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Charles Heslop as Aubrey (disguised as the Rev. Ebenezer Brown) leads the company in "The Long, Long Wail."

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“TONS OF MONEY”

Dot Brunton’s Return

Dashing Musical Farce at Opera House

When Mr. Hugh Ward decided to turn the merry farce, “Tons of Money,” into a musical play, he was not placed inthe invidious position of making bricks without straw, for the foundations of a tolerable success were laid In the spoken play on which he laid hands. The introduction of several lilting songs, many dainty dances, and bewitching ballets, and much elaborate dressing makes the old farce—good as it was, and is—by comparison a tame production.

True to the Ward tradition the producer has resorted to the very old, and at the same time very sound, principle of pleasing the ear and eye simultaneously; and, though, because of the introduction of the musical numbers, the continuity of the dialogue is interrupted and a few points are likely to he missed in the re-arrangement, the development of the plot is quite easily followed and digested.

The idea of converting the ordinary play in this way is a novelty that the Australian theatre-lover will appreciate, and it may be assumed that, when Melbourne sees “Tons of Money” again, she will equally welcome the change of dress and manners. Not only has Mr. Ward modernised the “book,” but he has also put aside the heavy oak panellings of the rooms in which the action formerly took place, and replaced them with artistically-designed drapings that are good to look upon.

The modiste has achieved a triumph in her department. The opening of the second act reveals a remarkable sense of color harmonies, fluffy materials of rich tints dazzling the eye during an incidental dance. At the opening of the third act there is another charming and animated scene, the costuming of which is superb. Indeed, the attention to detail is noticeable throughout the entire production.

Of the play itself, little need be written. It is a flimsy absurdity, built up round a young, married couple who are hopelessly in debt, and an uncle—as the story develops, several uncles—from Mexico. The complications that arise in the distribution of the fortune left by a relative who was indecent enough to die so far away from his friends, can well be Imagined. The whole Alilngton household, from the head of the establishment to the butler and maid, begins a series of intrigues, which progresses till the climax is reached and none but the lawyers score, by which time the audience has so thoroughly enjoyed itself that no one cares who eventually annexes the fortune.

Dorothy Brunton will surely never forget the boisterous welcome that shook the theatre when she bounded on to the stage. For several minutes she stood, obviously much affected, till the storm of applause had spent itself, and the play was allowed to proceed. As Louise Allington, the young wife of a penniless man, whom she adores, she played with the abandon of youth, singing sweetly and acting vivaciously. Her first number, “Tons of Money,” in which she was joined by Charles Heslop (Aubrey), was less convincing than “Remember the Rose,” a composition helped immensely by a harmonised chorus of male voices. “Night May Have It’s Sadness” gave her one of her best opportunities—at least, the audience thought so, for it was redemanded till the calls grew tiresome. “Weeping Widows,” as a duet by Miss Brunton and Miss Rochelle was the vocal tit-bit of the evening; and will prove itself before the season is over.

The leading comedian. Charles Heslop. made his first appearance in Sydney under the happiest auspices. With a genius for the brand of fun-making essential to this class of production, he gave evidence of originality In his work, and made an undoubted success. A little restraint in the last act would be to his advantage, however. “The Long, Long Wait” will probably be whistled all over Sydney directly; and it will be Mr. Heslop's fault if that is so. Amy Rochelle. who has made remarkable progress of late, showed striking adaptability on her first entry into musical comedy. She played with perfect naturalness as Jean Everard, and sang her allotted numbers with consummate skill. “Dearest” gave her a fine opportunity for the display of a resonant voice of nice range and quality, which was appreciated to the full by her admirers. In “Weeping Widows,” with Miss Brunton, she made a capital impression.

Elsie Parkes. who dances gracefully, and Oliver M’Lennan contributed successfully to the gaiety of the evening. Herbert Frawley’s Giles was a smart characterisation; and John Kirby was a prosperous-looking James Chesterman. Millie Engler (Benita Mullet), who counselled all and sundry not to shout, as she was not deaf; Andrew Higginson (Henry), Douglas Calderwood (George Maltland), Compton Coutts (butler), and Maidie Fields (maid) were also well in the picture.

At the close of the performance Mr. Hugh Ward made a happy little speech, in which, while not forgetting patrons, he was able to say some extremely nice things about the spirit of hearty co-operation shown by all concerned in the production.

“Tons Money” is a pleasing mixture of melody and merriment, and should prove a good tonic for tired nerves.

— W. J. O'NEILL.

The Daily Telegraph (Sydney), Monday, 3 March 1924, p.2

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SUNDRY SHOWS

“Tons of Money,” the straight farce converted into a musical comedy, now running at Sydney Grand Opera House, looks like a winner and a money-spinner. Also it is a rib-tickler, the various roles assumed by Aubrey Allington—dandified and bard-up inventor, Spanish-American ranchman, bleating curate and two or three other things—-and the plot woven about a bunch of alleged heirs, who chase each other through the last act like a moving row of shadow shapes, being enough to make and keep any audience merry. Add to this that the costumes are dazzling, the ballets novel and dainty, the dancing full of grace and spirit, the songs and music alluring, and all the materials for a highly-successful run are to hand. “Tons of Money” impresses one as having been staged, too, with thoroughness and attention to detail; even the Thames discernible in the offing in the second act looks more like that venerable stream as it meanders past Maidenhead than anything the writer ever remembers to have seen hitherto on pasteboard.

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Dorothy Brunton, as Louise Allington, is winsome in crinoline and demurely roguish in anything. She was greeted on Saturday night with a roar, and her new songs went like small change. Charles Heslop, as the lady’s resourcefully adaptable husband pushed into one preposterous part after another, is quaint and whimsical. His flow of volubility in the first act is too rapid for effectiveness; later his facial abilities get fuller play. His best song is “The Long, Long Wait.” Amy Rochelle plays Jean Everard archly, and shows herself a singer of quality. Millie Engler is a capital Aunt Benita. Elsie Parkes and Oliver McLennan as dancing partners are delightful samples of glowing youth and vivacity, and John Kirby deserves a word as a deal truer to life than the average family lawyer of the stage. Herbert Frawley, the bent and gnarled old gardener; Compton Coutts, the butler; Maidie Field, the maid; and Andrew Higginson and George Maitland, both in the missing-heir line, complete an excellent cast.

The Bulletin (Sydney), 6 March 1924, p.34

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Harry Julius for The Bulletin

Syd Miller for Smith's Weekly

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Lavish Stage Dressing

“TONS OF MONEY,” produced at Sydney Grand Opera House on March 1, lacks sustained vim. Especially is this so in the first of the three acts. The fault by no means lies with the acting. It is in the play itself.

Dorothy Brunton (she might well be excused for being slightly unnerved by the reception she got) is very much the charming personality she was a few years ago— sweet- voiced, graceful and gliding, and with a sense of comedy extremely rare among members of her sex. For “Night May Have Its Sadness”—in which she is chaired by the chorus-boys—she is brought back again and again.

Charles Heslop is a performer who perfectly illustrates the difference between comedy and burlesque. Not a suspicion of the latter obtrudes itself for a moment. Further, his methods are along agile lines, without a suggestion that he is trying to force the pace. True artistry marks his work throughout. If you feel that you get a little too much of him as the cleric—the third of the characterisations in which he is seen—it is wholly because the part itself keeps him unduly before you.

A decided lift to the show is Amy Rochelle—in singing and acting.

Superbly dressed—with a blending of pretty ballets, attractive music, and laughter-raising lines and situations—“Tons of Money” should have all that is necessary to ensure it a successful season.

Smith’s Weekly (Sydney), 8 March 1924, p.12

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TONS OF MONEY

BRIGHT AND COLORFUL

Dorothy and Her Dimples

(By THE GALLERY GIRL.)

Once, some years ago. the permanent first-nighters were giving one of their Saturday afternoon parties to favorite members of the theatrical profession, at which the writer—though not a blood member of the clan—was present. She sat opposite to Dorothy Brunton, beside whom sat a small girl feasting her eyes on her own particular star, quite forgetful of food or anything else. The divinity talked to Lizette Parkes and Maurice Dudley, little guessing the thrills of that little lassie. I am sure the girl never ate a morsel the whole afternoon. For her the joy of basking in the smile of one so wonderful was sufficient heaven without anything so mundane as eating. it Is a little pathetic to think that the great ones are so unaware of the presence of ordinary mortals, even when they are ardent adorers.

And now our own Dorothy Brunton has returned to us after much absence, and no wonder her welcome was so warm and that her dainty figure and expressive face have so special a place in our affections. She flits as lightly and daintily and sings as sweetly as ever. She has not altered in the least since last we saw her.

Whirl of Color

As usual, Elsie Parkes dances beautifully. She looks her best In the polo costume, which is most becoming to her, and her dancing partner, Oliver McLennan, is in no way a blot upon the picture she creates.

The play is just a whirl of light and color with tuneful melodies threaded through it. It is a good story with the interest well sustained throughout, and the songs and ballets merely add to its attractiveness.

Charles Heslop, as the husband who obligingly allows himself to be killed off twice in the course of the evening, is a jolly comedian who keeps the laughter ringing out all the while he is on the stage. Just occasionally he is a little inclined to burlesque the part, especially when he masquerades as the Rev Ebenezer Brown. However, he dances well and makes heaps of fun, so, he is to be forgiven for this trifling fault.

A Versatile Actor

Another character, although a minor one, which stands out is that of Robert Chesterman, the solicitor, as played by John Kirby, who is also the [stage manager] of this piece. Mr. Kirby is a very versatile actor and a quick study. When Mr. Austin fell ill during the Rockets season Mr. Kirby had to take his place at a few hours’ notice, receiving the script, in fact, in the morning and appearing at the matinee knowing his lines. It is interesting to know that this gentleman was studying to become a solicitor in New Zealand and Sydney, but abandoned the law for the stage. Whether as a result of this professional preparation or not, it can be truly said of him that he has a knowledge of character, and that his interpretations are always good.

The old gardener, Giles, has an amusing habit of appearing at inopportune moments and interrupting with little remarks which upset the gravity of the audience. Although he says little, his presence is felt.

Good Character Study

Benita Mullet is a good character study of the deaf elderly aunt, who is continually asking what she said and then becoming irritated because the people questioned raise their voices in reply and explanation. Miss Engler’s “Well, you needn’t shout. I’m not deaf!” rings very true to Nature.

Sprules, the butler, and Simpson, the maid, two of the newcomers, give very good interpretations of their respective parts, and have some amusing and bright little scenes. Sprule's brother Henry, as played by Andrew Higginson, is very fine. He brings out his points well.

The Jean Everard of Amy Rochelle is sound. It is a pity that her voice occasionally becomes a little hard when she is singing. She claims to recognise her husband by the way he kisses, but is not quite such a connoisseur as she would have one believe, as she tells his two impersonators, as well as himself, that she would know them anywhere by the way they kiss. Are kisses really so much alike?

No wonder the real husband finds the situation trying, and thinks all the people around him are mad, especially when, to soothe him, Louise, the Rev. Ebenezer Brown, and Mr. Chesterman, standing in a line reply, “Yes, yes,” to everything he says.

Sunday Times (Sydney), Sunday, 16 March 1924, p.21 – http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article128137342

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“TONS OF MONEY”

GRAND OPERA HOUSE

It shouldn't be “Tons of Money” —
It really is Tons of Girls,
Wlth sweet, smiling faces,
And fanciful dresses,
And hair In bobs, ear-muffs or curls.

I may have computed them wrongly,
They swooped In such swishes and swlrls,
But of this I am certain,
Before the last curtain,
“I never seen nuffln,” but glrls.

Delightful, desirable dainty —
My brain in vacuity whirls!
What's money? It’s funny,
If one hasn't money
They tell me it’s hard to get girls.

THE sacred lamp of burlesque was but a guttering flame when “Pinafore” blew it out. The farce, frankly so designated—when not an adaptation from the French, with the French left out—was mostly a silly absurdity of the slap-stick order. Gilbert and Sullivan swept it off the stage and when their partnership was dissolved, musical comedy came along, and after it the Revue, which budded, bloomed, and withered, and now we have “Tons of Money” described as a musical farce.

Will Evans, recently showing at the Tivoli, and Arthur Valentine wrote the original book, but it was ten years before a few far-sighted, or daringly courageous ones thought that it would run true to title.

Seeing it as Fuller-Ward presents it, one marvels that its success was ever doubted. How much has been added or cut in the original book deponent knoweth not, but imagines a good deal. Our standard of humor varies considerably in ten years.

Whether the authors, or the producers, or the players are most responsible, is neither here nor there, though I can’t imagine it without Dorothy Brunton and Charles Heslop, and would hate to see Elsie Parkes set aside for anybody.

Why, the very title appeals: “Tons of Money”— who has got it? Nobody, apparently, though everybody wants it, for the curtain goes up on the morning after the night before, hence the late breakfast, getting on for eleven a.m.

The post is in, with tons of bills; the toast is on and sunshine spills on gardens gay. Louise is glad; last night could not have been too bad. No headache? No. Nor furry tongue; but then, you see, the girl is young, and in our twenties even we could revel with impunity.

But all the same, Auntie Mullet doesn’t approve of the goings on. As she is hard of hearing, she may have missed the point of some of the jokes, and that would annoy anybody.

Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington doesn't worry—why should he, with Dorothy Brunton, as Louise, to hold his hand in time of trouble? Writ and summons leave him cold, the fury of his most persistent creditor worries him not a whit, for Aubrey is an optimist and an inventor. Some bright idea of his—and he has several—is going to put them on Easy Street for the term of their natural. Which one he is not quite certain, but personally he favors a specially powerful blasting powder, which in the remodelling of the earth's surface ought to be in very particular demand.

Hello! one letter isn’t a writ.

“The postman must have delivered it by mistake,” says Louise.

Not a bit. It is from a perfectly respectable firm of solicitors announcing that somebody has died and left them “Tons of Money.”

It is a disastrous thing to marry a woman with ideals. They fairly bubble out of Louise. If she had had them seen too in her childhood, Aubrey would have been saved a lot of inconvenience, though “Tons of Money” would never have been written and many millions of perfectly good laughs would never have been laughed at all.

Heslop amuses us—surprises I had almost written—by his versatility. First an immaculate and newly-married man, with piercing black eyes and an eyeglass. Anon, a blasted wreck of his former self. Later, a mendaciously fire eating Mexican, and when costumed in a boat cushion and tiller he is the funniest thing ever exhibited, except, maybe, his parson in the last act. Cleverest in his tennis dance in the first act different in them all—even the eyeglass is discarded by the curate for a pair of horn-rimmed Harold Lloyds.*

He enjoys every minute he is on the stage. He plays—in the best sense of the word. That he gets paid for it is a detail. That his audience laughs at his antics inspires him to new comicalities. I have only seen him once, but I am certain his business, or his jests, are never really quite the same.

And Dorothy Brunton. A plumper Dorothy than the one that played with J.C.W., but I would lose no ounce of her comely proportions. I sat near enough to the stage to note the vaccination scars on her left arm and hereby declare her perfect.

Her acting has an air of reality that we seldom get on the humorously musical stage. Nellie Stewart twenty-five years ago gave us it, and now Dorothy Brunton.

The story?

Oh, Marie Irvine told you that a couple of weeks ago. Bring another ballet on, let the story go. Any score of pretty girls constitutes a show. Forty legs: and forty arms, forty flashing eyes, twenty pairs of pouting lips and criticism dies.

I think I told you that I was in the front row of the stalls, on the prompt side, right up against the nest of drums, but even they didn’t distract me.

I am quite sure the title ought to be, “Tons of Girls.”

Country Life Stock and Station Journal(Sydney), Friday, 4 April 1924, p.6

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* A reference to the pair of horn-rimmed spectacles that were the trademark of silent film comedian Harold Lloyd.

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Postscript

At a Dress Rehearsal

Putting the Final Touches on a Musical Comedy.

When I arrived at ten minutes to seven, most of the principals were assembled along the footlights, watching the stage-hands fix the massive setting for Act I. Bill Fox (Chief Mechanist) subsequently told me that this was the heaviest set that had ever been known at the Grand Opera House, or even during his twenty odd years' experience. It is composed mostly of wood, instead of the usual canvas flats. Harry Hall was there, all arrayed in white (I like this idea—it seems to give an atmosphere of happiness and I had met with it for the first time whilst watching the ballet rehearsing one dismal morning, when the girls wore only their black "ballet rompers") of course, on this occasion there were only a few stage hands present, in addition to the Producer, John Kirby, and DEAR Minnie Hooper. If I don't stress the "Dear” you can't get a good mental picture of her, for that is what all her pupils affectionately know her as. They worship her! Of course she was on this occasion directing the ballet in new steps. They were then rehearsing three times daily for three hours at a stretch.

Later, headed by Hugh Ward (whom Maidie Field—Mrs. Heslop—says resembles George Edwardes more than any other man, because he has the power of making people happy and comfortable in the theatre, and that immediate power of discernment, especially in matters pertaining to color) we all moved down to the stalls with the exception of Hamilton Webber, who remained by the piano in the prompt corner to direct the musical numbers—no orchestra this night.

The ballet were then lined up for inspection. It was their first appearance in their rich baronet satin costumes and if the designer (Ethel Moar) wasn't satisfied she must be very difficult to please. Each new costume was a dream—as all girls will readily admit who have seen the bright show.

This ended. Harry Hall, gripped a writing pad, and as he glances at a watch (simultaneously, Hamilton Webber, John Kirby, Hugh Ward, and John Fuller, who had now arrived, followed suit) he called, "All right, off stage everyone. Ready! Close those French windows!"

"All right, lets go."

Bunny Coutts started the ball rolling and, Ah, what a pleasant surprise—here's Millie Engler.

I've always admired her work, and derive much pleasure from watching her perfect deportment. No other Grand Dames can walk as stately as Millie. What's that she's saying to Elsie Parkes?

"Ah, yes! Tennis; love fifteen, love thirty, love forty, but, ah—” (and here there seems a sad note). “No love after that—“ (I wonder).

"Dot" Brunton, more cheerful than ever awaits behind the door for her entrance—something goes wrong in the dialogue just after she comes on. John Kirby rushes behind, out come all the watches with the exception of Harry Hall, who is absorbed in the agony of suspense—hurried consultation, "Two and a half minutes lost" cries Mr. Webber sadly, and they have to repeat it from Dot's entrance. Next time the girls are not ready for their "Cocktails" number, requiring more time to change—more delay, the addition of "business" by the actors on the stage to fill in the time, "Four minutes" again wails Mr. Webber, and on they go again. "Rum-ti-rum-ti-rum-tiddy" croons Mr. Webber as he directs the piano with one hand and the ballet with the other. I quite enjoyed this bit, he was the unconscious comedian of the evening. I know he'll forgive me for this, as he's a most affable soul.

"Come in girls, pick it up!" cries Mr. Hall, not harshly, but full of encouragement. This item is passed by the "heads'' almost without consultation and the play goes on. John Kirby is announced and his powerful tones quite clear the atmosphere. What a fine stage presence he has. He doesn't take long to tell us something about Aubrey (Chas. Heslop) being left a fortune, and is followed by Elsie Parkes and the ballet in grey. Of course the girls are late again (I suppose we mustn't be too hard on them); a looking glass has its attractions, and it was the first time they had seen their gay new frocks), but, unfortunately, it is Oliver McLennan who suffers because, following them he brings the wrath of those in front on his head.

"Speak up, speak up, man!" and the poor chap had to say to Elsie "You know I'm nervous!" I really felt sorry for him, but I suppose it is all in the game, anyhow I couldn't hear what he said at first.

Dot's song, "Remember the Rose" with the male chorus clears the tense atmosphere a deal, as no doubt it was admirably rendered. It pleased Hugh Ward evidently, for he saw me making notes and casually strolled across inquiring my business. When I explained to him, he seemed full of interest, and asked all sorts of kindly questions as to "my methods of going about it," and what I was going to call it," etc. He stayed about seven minutes until the curtain fell, when, of course, he joined the "deputation," consisting of the other "heads" at the orchestra rail. Here he, and Harry Hall pointed out the faults in the work of the principals, who were all lined up across the footlights for final admonitions. I couldn't hear what was said but it was mostly pleasant evidently, for afterwards all seemed very happy.

"Rush boys, only four minutes to go!" announces Harry Hall to the stage staff. "See what you can do!"

Furniture, properties, light brackets, and such articles vanish with lightning-like rapidity. Those huge flats are transported to the sides of the stage and placed against the wall in correct order. Then in the twinkling of an eye beautiful "cut-outs" supporting rich colored shrubs, blooms, etc., gradually fill up empty spaces, the large trellis is lowered from the flies and almost within the prescribed time Bill Fox and his gallant crew show the chief what can be done when prompted by encouragement and enthusiasm. Several members of the ballet wander on to the stage, but at the sound of Harry Hall's voice wander off much quicker than they entered, "Keep right off the stage, girls, PLEASE." How could you expect them to disregard such an earnest request?

Completed, the second act is undoubtedly one of the prettiest sets ever revealed to a Sydney audience—it is exquisite indeed. The succeeding acts proceed with much the same formula "watch calls" from Mr. Webber, who now seems to be enjoying himself during these little mishaps, frequent rushing behind of John Kirby to round up some stragglers and at the end of the act he calls across to Mr. Hall, "Do you want the principals?"

"No—er, yes, just a second."

There is little instructions this time, and after noting the time occupied in running the act they get ahead with Act III.

"All right, let's go," again says Harry Hall.

There is some fine business in the first number and dance by the messengers which called for general approval, from the large audience—we had grown by ones and twos to about eighteen now—and when the Rev. Ebenezer Bluff has taken round the hat and "sermonised" a few words about "here to-morrow and gone this afternoon" the end of the bright show is in sight. Millie Engler and John Kirby are evidently quite at home during their little flirtation on the settee. Husbands and wives are gradually sorted out—all weary with the mental strain, and yet to-morrow night the whole thing will go on again after another hard day to-morrow, but this time the audience will be a large and distinguished one, for the Hugh J Ward management make a point of inviting leading citizens, police and their wives, soldiers and sailors’ widows and orphans and similar bodies to these nights—truly an idea in keeping with the policy of this firm—Courtesy to the public and Kindness to those in their employ.

Stageland (Sydney), Number Four, March 1924, pp.29-30 

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Further Resources

Sheet music for the following numbers from the score of the Tons of Money musical comedy (both original and interpolated) may be viewed and downloaded from the National Library of Australia website using the following links:

• "Weeping Widows" (Willy Redstone & Vaiben Louis ) — https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-166526275/view?partId=nla.obj-166526288 

• "Oh! Please Louise"(Redstone & Louis) — https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-172826360/view?partId=nla.obj-172826371 

• "Dearest" (Benny Davis & Harry Akst) — https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-165810100/view?partId=nla.obj-165810113 

• "A Kiss in the Dark" (Redstone & Louis) — https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-170377794/view?partId=nla.obj-170377806 

• "Take Me" (an interpolated number by Sydney songwriter/singer—Jack Lumsdaine added for the Melbourne season in place of "A Kiss in the Dark" for Mary Gannon in the role of 'Jean Everard') — https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-167754004/view?partId=nla.obj-167754012

Sheet music for the following numbers are only (currently) available at the listed libraries:

• "Oh! Gee, Oh! Gosh, Oh! Golly I'm In Love" (Olson & Johnson—words & Ernest Breuer—music) — https://trove.nla.gov.au/work/5452776 

• "Remember the Rose" (Sidney D. Mitchell & Seymour Simons) — https://trove.nla.gov.au/work/11426178 . 

• "Oh! Mexico" (Redstone & Louis) — https://trove.nla.gov.au/work/10931212