Charles Heslop

R.M.S. “Orsova,” October.

Strictly speaking, the quotation should be “A Chiel Amang Ye” (I believe?), but I have deliberately spared you that, and in any case the original conclusion, “takkin’ fishers,” is so inappropriate to the present circumstances that I prefer to leave it abbreviated and intelligible, if it is all the same to you. [1]

Who that has once heard them can ever forget those words of old Geoff. Chaucer’s—those words of old—just a minute—here they are:

“When y-wis klepe dan Moder brae . . .”

and so on? And are they not singularly applicable to the present case, I ask you? That is to say, there is nobody who engages in foreign travel who does not at some time or another—sooner or later—later or sooner—yearn to write home about it to the more fortunate stay-at-homes. When Nim, the son of Shur, left the tent of his fathers for the dug-out of his in-laws way back in B.C. let-me-see, hieroglyphics hastily scribbled with chisel and hammer on granite tablets carried the glad tidings to the world. When Hetty the Hen adventured o’er the road the darkest races of Ethiopia bade their minstrels fashion from her journey a conundrum in vogue to this day. And so the good work goes on, e.g., “America Through the Eyes of a Tortoise,” “Seeing India with a Bandmann,” [2] and other imperishable volumes. These few notes are about Australia—Australia from the theatrical point of view, as it strikes the ordinary average touring English actor (fresh from Sunday night arrivals in Rochdale or Tunbridge Wells and Monday morning meetings at Jonas' corner and other characteristic spots.) With not one reference to the Back Blocks and entirely free from Beating about the Bush. And, first of all, we have to get there.

This is usually done by boat, in my case the “Orsova.” [3] This boat will go down to history as that unit of the Orient fleet which carried Charlie Austin and the Misses Pounds, to say nothing of George Tully and others, to their triumphs "down under.” Many are the anecdotes of these famous folk, related to me by the chief officer, by the purser, and by the skipper himself. This voyage must be very tame by comparison, I'm afraid. That universal look of high expectancy which used to greet me as I entered the smoking-room has now, I notice, died down to a mere glazed recognition. Entertainment is sought in other quarters, notably from the tall slim figure with the thin, keen face of an ascetic enthusiast, and withal a boyish, boisterous sense of fun, regarded, I imagine, with something of suspicion by the staider members of the ship’s company. In great demand, he is equally ready to referee the boxing, to auction the figures of the day's run, to present the prizes to the third-class, to voice the complaints of the passengers, to recite to me, privately, from Browning and Kipling in support of some political tenet, to emerge victorious from the final of the bolster-fighting championship, to rehearse with me a five-scene problem drama he has projected for one of our two distinguished actor-managers, interspersed with tales of touring days in England and South Africa, with Sass and Nelson. A varied and vivid personality. In sum, Mr. Pemberton-Billing. [4]

Colour lithograph by Charles Dixon

Australian National Maritime Museum

British polymath Noel Pemberton Billing

National Portrait Gallery, London

There is that about these sea voyages. One has regular meals and one has the opportunity—so painfully lacking at No. —, Railway Cottages, Chester-le-Street—of mixing with the Nobility, Clergy, and Gentry. That again is not to everybody’s taste. For instance, it didn't suit my friend Alfred, the Shy Comedian. That was not his bill-matter, it was his misfortune. He travelled to Melbourne on board a vessel which had the honour of conveying, in addition to Alf., a Very Great Personage, indeed. I think he was a Viceroy or a Governor-General or perhaps a Potentate. In any case, he was poor Alfred’s downfall. When he and this Magnifico met face to face on a lone expanse, of deck (as they frequently did in spite of all Alfred’s scheming) it taxed the comedian’s resource to the utmost to devise new methods of unconscious avoidance of the august eye. Paroxysms of sneezing and coughing gave way to the good old Refractory Bootlace. The Young Man suddenly arrested by Thrilling Sight Five Hundred Miles out at Sea stunt was much overworked. It was getting poor Alf down, which probably accounts for his entering for the Gents’ Doubles in the Deck Quoits competition, without reckoning up possible consequences. Realisation came later. The Very Great Personage, in genial mood had entered also. Supposing—cold shivers attacked the Shy Comedian's spine at the very thought. The imminence of the draws found Alfred a nervous wreck; to a lady “Committeeman” his repeated inquiries as to whether she had yet made them presented itself as the worst kind of joke shamelessly persisted in. And then, of course, it happened. Alfred and the Duke were drawn together. To be played off at 2.30 and any competitor failing to arrive losing the game. Alfred did not tell me how the episode ended, but I like to picture a grimy comedian emerging at midnight from the stokehold, happy and disqualified.

We go ashore at Toulon. The dramatic possibilities of Toulon appear to be undeveloped. At any rate, judging by the display of bills which recall the theatrical priming of, say, Chislehurst in the sixties. Why should the taste of Toulon be so far behind Paris? Toulon may be the Portsmouth of France, but Mr. Peter Davey would not like the parallel to be extended to its theatrical catering. Naples—where we next stopped—seemed in a worse plight. That is, unless the printing was very, very misleading. We in England are perhaps a little too much influenced by “the poster on the walls.”

The ship is very full, and I think 75 per cent, of its first-class passengers are Australians and New Zealanders returning from holiday at “home.” They appear, most of them, to have spent the bulk of this holiday in London—in West-End theatres. They criticise us very candidly and very intelligently. London acting is more polished than Australian, they tell me—and I thank them most politely, but where are our singers, they ask? They heard very little singing worth calling singing in our revues and musical comedies. In this direction Australia will astonish me (they assure me). I had to explain that our revues and musical comedies are breathless affairs. There is no time for singing in the best of them. Dear souls; I wonder whether the theatre will hold one half of the people who have so eagerly promised to attend our first night. Bless them! and it makes no difference at all that so many of them don't know or won't remember even our names.

We are fortunate in having Dorothy Brunton with us. She is a great favourite “down under”; the demeanour of our fellow-passengers made the telling unnecessary. [5]

Dorothy Brunton. Photo by Bertram Park.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Colombo. Here is the East, with a Maidenhead and musical comedy setting. My “rickshaw-driver” (I don't suppose this is what they call him) stays his servile trot to pluck the sahib a scarlet flower from the hedgerow. My taxi-driver never did so much for me on the heights of Haverstock Hill. Extending this pretty idea (duly charged for, I suppose, but I got in such a muddle with cents and rupees that I don’t know whether I set him up for life or cast him down to death), would it not add to the amenities of travel if George, taking advantage of a stoppage in the traffic, were to hop off his driver’s seat into a near-by “Lyons,” and bear forth, all steaming, a fragrant cup of tea for his sahib? Even, with the traffic problem growing acuter still, a luncheon at Ludgate, with dinner to follow outside Liverpool Street? Inside a Cingalese interior (into which I shamelessly rubber-necked) I beheld framed upon the wall two highly coloured chromo-lithos of good King Edward in Coronation robes and George Robey in full regalia as the Mayor of Muckemdyke. No doubt the loyal coolie reverently and impartially removes his shoes before daring to contemplate either. The Sahib’s roving eye furthermore noted that in the Public Hall for one week only “Daisy Harcourt, the original singer of ‘Blighty,’ would be supported by those famous all-English artists, the Dandies.” Henry J. Corner, please note.

Edward VII

Heritage images

British comedian, George Robey

National Portrait Gallery, London

Colombo— with its officers’ mess of the Ceylon Police, its Galle Face Hotel, its Prince’s Club—was a particularly green oasis in a rather arid voyage, and we started on our ten days’ run to Fremantle with real regret. 

October 18.—A low-lying dark blur on the port—or is it the starboard bow? The elegantly gowned ladies of the haut monde around me murmur excitedly. A hum of patriotism swelling as the dark blur on the horizon swells, and made articulate at length by the fashion-plate beside me:

“Orstrylia!"

I believe it is.

THE STAGE (London), 29 November 1923, p.19

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

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

[1] The quotation comes from Scots poet, Robert Burns’ 1789 verse On The Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations Thro’ Scotland(Collecting The Antiquities of That Kingdom) and occurs in the opening stanza:

Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;-

If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,

I rede you tent it:

A chield’s amang you takin notes,

And, faith, he’ll prent it:

(Ref:http://www.robertburns.org/works/275.shtml )

[2] A pun on the surname of New York-born theatrical impresario, Maurice E. Bandmann (1872–1922) who toured English musical comedy and dramatic companies throughout India and the Far East between 1905 and 1922 from his home-base in Calcutta.  Following his death his companies continued to operate and it was not until the late 1930s that the Bandmann Eastern Circuit and its attendant companies finally closed down. (Ref:https://gthj.ub.uni-muenchen.de/gthj/article/download/5019/4312/6264 )

[3] The Orient liner, RMS Orsova departed from London on 15 September 1923, and arrived in Toulon on 21 September and Naples on 23 September en route to Australia via the Suez Canal.

From The Illustrated London News, 8 September 1923, p.1

A pictorial video of the Orsova and its luxurious on-board appointments may be viewed on YouTube athttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SpGVWRqwWU

[4] Noel Pemberton Billing (1881–1948) was a British aviator, inventor, publisher and politician. He emigrated to Australia in 1923 to establish an acoustic recording studio and record production plant in Melbourne, but ultimately returned to Britain after the failure of the business in 1926, when the new electrical recording systems had supplanted the now out-moded acoustic system.

It was in Australia that he patented a recording system intended to produce laterally-cut disc records with ten times the capacity of existing systems. Billing’s “World Record Controller” fitted onto a standard springwound gramophone, using a progressive gearing system to initially slow the turntable speed from 78 rpm to 33 rpm and then gradually increase rotational speed of the record as it played, so that the linear speed at which the recorded groove passed the needle remained constant. That allowed over ten minutes playing time per 12-inch side of the records, but the high cost of the long-playing discs (10 shillings apiece), the fact that the speed varied, and the complexity of the playback attachment, prevented popular acceptance.

In 1923, Billing set up a disc recording plant under the name World Record (Australia) Limited. The plant was in Bay Street in the Melbourne suburb of Brighton, from where he produced his 78 rpm to 33 rpm discs.

The plant was also the base for radio station 3PB, which he established in August 1925, for the purpose of broadcasting the company’s recordings. It was a limited “manufacturers’ licence”, a type which was only available during the first few years of wireless broadcasting in Australia. 3PB was only on the air for four months.

The first recording made by World Record (Australia) was released in July 1925, and featured Bert Ralton’s Havana Band, then performing at the Esplanade Hotel in the Melbourne suburb of St Kilda.

(Ref: Ralph Powell, Magician or Mountebank—The Mecurial Noel Pemberton Billing—Pioneer of Commercially recorded Sound in Australia; Vjazz, issue 67, August 2015, pp.14–15 [Australian Jazz Museum, Wantirna, Victoria]: https://www.ajm.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/VJAZZ-67-web.pdf )

[5] Melbourne-born actress, Dorothy Brunton (1890–1977) was returning to Australia after an absence of almost two years. She had made her London debut in 1918 appearing as ‘Fan Tan’ in Shanghaiat Drury Lane, and in December, took over the female lead in Soldier Boy at the Apollo Theatre, followed by lead roles in The Bantam, V.C. and Baby Buntingin 1919–20. Dot then returned to Australia to star for J.C. Williamson Ltd. in the local premieres of the musical comedies Yes, Uncle! (in June 1920) Baby Bunting (in December 1920) and Oh, Lady! Lady!!(in June 1921), as well as revivals of her earlier successes High Jinks and So Long Letty, plus Going Up and Irene.

Field Fisher, Dorothy Brunton, William Greene and Alfred Frith in a scene from Baby Bunting (1920). Photo by Monte Luke–Falk studios.

At the conclusion of her Australian tour, Dot left with her mother in early November 1921 to return to London via America, where they visited her brother, Jack in Los Angeles, who was working as a manager at their stepbrother, Robert Brunton’s Studios in Hollywood. 

Robert Brunton was a son of their Scottish father John Brunton’s first marriage in Edinburgh, who had initially followed his father’s profession as a scenic artist in London for some years before being sent to New York with an English theatrical company around 1914. When his engagement was completed he did not return to London, and later found scope for his ability in moving picture studios. His real opportunity came when a coterie of investors financed a film-making venture known as Paralta Plays Inc. and built a studio at Los Angeles, California in 1917. Robert Brunton was appointed manager of it, but due chiefly to a spirit of mutual distrust that developed among the partners, the company did not make a success of the venture. Eventually it was decided to put the plant up at auction in 1918, and Brunton made an offer to buy it at a price in excess of what it was likely to fetch under the hammer, for a small cash payment, and bills for the remainder of the purchase money. This was accepted, and in a few months he turned the proposition into a profitable concern. Brunton did at times interest himself in the production of pictures, but his chief business was to accommodate independent companies and hire out anything necessary to make their films. (Mary Pickford was amongst the Hollywood stars who made films at the Brunton Studios.) In January 1922, Robert Brunton disposed of the business to a syndicate which included T.J. Selznick and Joseph Schenck (the studios later became the site of Paramount Pictures) and left for England with Dorothy intending to establish a similar plant there.

Robert Brunton

IMDB

A glass-walled studio of the silent film era, which allowed for filming in natural sunlight

Wikipmapia

Dot had intended returning to the London stage, but was persuaded by Robert to take a rest with him on the Continent. They set off from Paris, and toured by car from one country to another taking in Amsterdam, Rotterdam and then down to Italy, where Dot revelled in the beautiful theatres in Rome, and saw musical comedy in Venice. The period of rest and comradeship came to an end, however, with the sudden death of her stepbrother in London on 7 March 1923 and, grief-stricken, Dot turned her back on Europe and found refuge for a time in Florida with her brother, Jack (who now managed the Miami Studios built by the Curtiss Airplane Co.), where she was eventually persuaded to return to the stage again. She thus played for a time in Tons of Money in London, where she was subsequently engaged by Hugh J. Ward for his Australian production.

Although Dot had previously appeared under Hugh J. Ward’s auspices during his tenure as joint Managing Director for JCW from 1911, Tons of Money marked her first appearance for Ward after his resignation from The Firm (following its take over by the Tait Brothers in 1920) to form Hugh J. Ward Theatres Ltd. in partnership with Sir Ben and John Fuller in 1922. 

(Refs.: Australian Dictionary of Biography—https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/brunton-christine-dorothy-dot-9608 ; AusStage—https://www.ausstage.edu.au/pages/contributor/235609 ; Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 15 September 1921, p.41—http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146317421 ; The Herald (Melbourne) Saturday, 7 January 1922, p.16—http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243632442 ; Wikimapia—http://wikimapia.org/7351995/Former-Paralta-Studios-Robert-Brunton-Studios-United-Studios-Historical-site & The Age (Melbourne), Tuesday, 23 October 1923, p.9—http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243632442)

To be continued

If Fremantle is Australia then the Paris confection was right, but I think it has been called the Back Door of the Continent, and certainly no great country has a less imposing gateway. Perth, eight miles inland, may be a more representative town. It may be. I own freely that my outlook is soured. It was this way. I had got up at six; hurriedly, because my cabin steward told me the doctor and the passport official were waiting for me. I queued up for both before breakfast. We meant to have a few hours ashore before sailing, but there came a knock at the door and Mr. Carlisle stood before me. Mr. Carlisle is Mr. Hugh J. Ward’s representative in the West. Arrangements altered—production put forward—must leave boat, travel overland by trans-continental train and save two days. All arrangements made. Reception in Perth arranged for Dot Brunton, wife, and self. Car waiting. Ready now? Good heavens, no! All right, how long?

Great Scott, how long? Packing—farewells—tickets endorsed—PACKING—tips—re-dress for four days in train—and nights—PACKING—how long? Oh, about a fortnight at the present rate of exchange. Where's Peter? (Peter’s the child.) Peter emerges black from games with the stokers, apparently. Packed the soap. Go on without me. We’ll catch you up! Must get those tickets endorsed. Yes, the tickets are packed. Where's the purser? Don't say we've packed the purser! Knock at door. Come in, steward!  Not steward—two gentlemen of the Press. Welcome to Australia—your past life, please—your opinion of Australia? —no, better not—photograph? Ah, yes. Packed in prop basket. Prop-basket? Ah, yes. In hold. Reminds me, must get things from hold. Steward!!

Telegrams of welcome awaited at Fremantle, making us feel a little less like strangers in a strange land. One from Mamie Watson, at present in Sydney with the Melbourne record-breaking “O'Brien Girl.” [1]Mamie figures in my Brownie souvenir book, so that we are naturally delighted at her success. We are hoping to pop over to—there we go again. Or, rather, there we do not go. It's these distances. Melbourne to Sydney on my map looks like a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll; whereas pass me my calipers, my compass, and my ready-reckoner and lo! it is nearly 600 miles!

The Savoy Hotel (and Barton’s Ltd., drapers) Hay St., Perth—Savoy Hotel dining room c.1920. State Library of Western Australia, Perth.

Perth seems a Woolworth sort of town (but, as I said, my outlook is soured at present.) We dined at the Savoy Hotel, and there met—with great pleasure Walter George and Georgie Martin, still running the Smart Set Entertainers (much elaborated), [2] who were so well known in England at about the same time that I was starting my Brownies. [3] They open for a six months’ summer season on October 27 at Perth Olympia—an al-fresco theatre, I understand. The company, twenty strong, and including our old friends Kennedy Allen and Georgie de Lara, had arrived shortly before from Wellington, N.Z. The transport (I mention this to give pause to those record-breakers of your Concert Party pages) cost Mr. George round about £500. [4] Almost a whole fortnight’s C.P. profits in England gone bang! One is apt to over-look the distances out here. And once I travelled from Ayr to Ilfracombe and felt hard done by!

A locomotive on the Trans-Australian Railway, Western Australia, c.1924. Photo by Michael Terry & poster. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

We boarded the train in a jovial spirit at 9 p.m. on Thursday, and with only just enough time to change trains at Kalgoorlie, Port Augusta, and Adelaide, emerged in a chastened spirit at Melbourne mid-day the following Monday. Ayr to Ilfracombe, indeed! Thousands of miles with nothing to look at but sunshine and scrub, goats, aboriginals (one came along and obliged us with a boomerang performance, but I don’t think he was in the Aboriginal First XI.), desert sand pervading everything—chiefly one’s eyes—a monotony of corrugated-iron shacks (the “stations”). No wonder we thought wistfully at times of the comfort of the boat—in spite of the Bight, which may not be so bad as the Bark, but which I am assured is frequently worse than the Bay. Still, here we are, speeding along and saving two days. Time is Money. Let’s hope Time is Tons of Money.

Immarna Halt and a track-side shack on the Trans-Australian Railway line, 1924. Photos by Herbert Fishwick. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

The man who had the job of christening those twenty-nine “stations” between Kalgoorlie and Port Augusta had a pretty formidable task. You see, like crows, they all look alike to me. There's the corrugated-iron affair in duplicate—even in triplicate—there’s a dog or two, a goat (with its back to the shack), and a black-eyed Susan or Sam, revelling in “sin, sand, and sunshine” in the foreground. Sand, of course. Don’t let’s forget the sand. We never did, I must say. Well, then, to call these places something characteristic was a super-man’s job. He started off gaily with Cook and Deakin and Fisher and Hunter—so far, so good, and no doubt a neat way of scoring off political opponents—then Hughes, Haig, and Forrest came fairly easily. After that he wobbled, Rawlinna and Loongana were his last gasp. When the next corrugated-iron outburst in the desert came along, he called it “632 Miles” and passed away.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

It is on a long stretch like this—for 300 miles the railway is one level straight line without bridge, embankment, or culvert, can you picture that?—that one realises the value of trifles. A blue-shirted stockrider galloping on the horizon Tom Mix-like lasted us as a topic of conversation for nearly fifty miles. He was displaced by a sun-set effect which reduced most of us to silence. Yes, it is the little things that tell. If Julius Caesar hadn’t been ordered a change of climate and recommended to try Hastings—if Napoleon hadn’t indulged in a surfeit of lampreys or lampoons or something on the eve of Waterloo—and so on. I myself broke a tooth three days out from Colombo, and realised the same moment that my dentist lives in Adelaide Road, N.W.—not Adelaide, S.A. Who knows what great effects—ah, well! It’s a sore point in any case.

It is claimed for the trans-continental that it is the finest train in the world. I can well believe it. There are a library, a restaurant, a lounge, and shower-baths aboard. And there is a music-room, complete with piano. Most of the trip there was a young woman heavily involved therein with “The Battle of Prague” (or some such masterpiece of our forefathers), so we’ll say, in the words of Sir Herbert Tree, “BUT a music-room.” Still, it is a wonderful train, although I am not prepared to admit that it is quite the finest in the world. [5]Personally, I much prefer the Hampstead and Highgate, although I have to admit a lack of shower baths on the Highgate branch. In spite of these luxuries time passed slowly. I compute that in the course of this journey across the desert I read twelve novels and the Encyclopaedia Britannica, as well as Peter’s “Jester” and “Merry and Bright” from cover to cover, I ate dozens of meals, had twenty-five shower-baths, two shaves, and a sleep or two. I have discussed with several Australian gentlemen sheep, the Suez Canal, the Gordon Riots, Ned Kelly, and back to sheep. And it’s eight o’clock. No, it’s 8.45. We must put on our clocks three-quarters of an hour each night to make up the difference between Perth and Adelaide time. A pity we can’t put our clocks on the two days that we are here to save!

National Library of Australia, Canberra

I find people get very confused over this difference in time business. Almost each night during the latter half of the sea voyage we pushed our watch-hands on for niggardly amounts. The explanation is, of course, simplicity itself, and if you would like me to show you, I will. You see, it is spring in Australia at present and we left England at our summer’s end. So our watches have to make up six months between Tilbury and Melbourne, the little beggars. Well, then, if your watch says “September 15” at Tilbury—or, put it another way. Say the sun goes down in Dixie a shade more quickly than it does in Brixton. It stands to reason that when your poor mutt of a Waterbury points to sunset, our richly inlaid Ingersoll says 12.30 a.m. or 4.30 or 5.30 or—or even 5.15, as the case may be. It depends chiefly on whether we remembered to wind it up the night before. That once granted, the rest is simple, as Mr. Drage himself. I would explain it to you in two ticks, but unfortunately my watch has stopped.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Between Port Augusta and Adelaide—a Sabbath day’s journey—we occupy wicker basket-chairs in a train which seems to me an infringement of the Swansea-Mumbles Railway copyright. The guard comes along inquiring, not tickets, but whether we prefer beef or mutton. This seems cryptic until at some “halt” (I forget its name) all the passengers make a dash for the doors. We do the same (we are now in the sheep district), and find ourselves sitting down in a farm-like building confronted by three plates of soup—the beef—or mutton—to follow. Twenty minutes heavy work, the bell rings, and we are all fed and smiling and jogging along in the train again. The scenery here is very pastoral, and the long range of low, green hills which accompanies us for miles reminds me irresistibly of golf on the Eastbourne Downs. Five-thirty and out we dash to find the plates of soup waiting for us again. Excellent meals, if rough, and I can't help thinking I am back at one of the “Harvest Hawkies” of my youth, and wondering why the red-faced agriculturist opposite me doesn't burst into “Two Little Girls in Blue, Lads,” or “Goodbye, Dolly Gray,” entirely unaccompanied except by his own confusion. But I expect he’s a millionaire squatter if one only knew the truth, and gets his music out of a gramophone.

A panoramic view of Spencer Street Station, Melbourne, 1923. State Library of South Australia, Adelaide.

Melbourne! I put on my last remaining clean collar, and there is Mr. Hugh J. Ward on the platform, and cameras and notebooks are snapping and deputations are advancing (I told you Dorothy Brunton is with us, and she's “Our Dot” here, you know!), and reputations are receding and hands and knees are shaking, and it’s Monday, October 22, and we're there!

Then up speaks Harry Hall, “Say, now: no excuse! Eleven o'clock to-morrow, please. Saturday, we PRODUCE!”

That will be five weeks since we left London. Some hustle, bo!⁶

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

[1]The American musical comedy The O’Brien Girl (music by Louis Hirsch, book and lyrics by Otto Harbach and Frank Mandel) was the inaugural production staged by Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. and received its Australian premiere on 26 December 1922 at the newly-remodelled Princess Theatre, Melbourne, where it enjoyed a highly successful run of 202 performances over the following 5½ months. The title role of ‘Alice O’Brien’ was played by English musical comedy star, Mamie Watson, who made her Australian debut in the show and subsequently played the female lead of ‘Shirley Dalton’ in Hugh J. Ward’s premiere production of Tangerine (music by Carlo-Sanders, lyrics by Howard Johnson, book adapted by Guy Bolton from a play by Philip Bartholomae and Lawrence Langner) at the Princess from 9 June to 5 September 1923 (closing on the night of its 100th performance.) Ward’s musical comedy company then travelled to Sydney, where it opened in The O’Brien Girl at the Grand Opera House on 15 September and played through to 15 December 1923. The company then returned to Melbourne for the Australian premiere of George M. Cohan’s Little Nellie Kellyat the Princess from 22 December 1923, with Mamie Watson in the title role.

[2]Walter George’s concert party was billed as the “Sunshine Players” during their Australian and New Zealand tour and the company members included Miss Linda Dale (soprano). Miss Eileen Daglish (soubrette), Miss Kitty Crawford (soubrette), Miss Diana Tabers (solo dancer), Miss Georgia de Lara (dramatic and comedy actress), Miss Georgie Martin (comedienne), Mr. Kennedy Allen (comedian), Mr. Gus. Dawson (dancer), Mr. Fred Moore (bass). Mr. Tubby Stevens (vest-pocket comedian), Yorke Gray (baritone), Robert Raymond (tenor), William Butler (musical director). Tom Belsey (mechanist), and Mr. Walter George (producer). (Ref.: Everyones(Sydney) Vol.4, No.190, 24 October 1923, p.31)

Newspaper advertisement for the commencement of the concert party’s 1923 Perth season. The Call (Perth, WA), 26 October 1923, p.3

[3]The Brownies concert party was co-founded by Charles Heslop and Ernest Crampton and commenced performing in England in May 1908 at the Castle, Richmond (followed by other British seaside resorts, including Yarmouth and Norwich) with Miss Dorothy Webb at the piano and vocalists, Miss Maud Gardener, Miss Maidie Field, Ernest Crampton (aka Crampton Bryant) and vocalist/comedian, Charles Heslop (joined variously throughout the year by Arthur Longley and Victor Kerr Davidson).

The Oriental Room, Bridlington, c.July 1908—(l to r) Dorothy Webb, Maude Gardener, Ernest Crampton, Maidie Field & Charles Heslop

The Brownies continued to play the British seaside resorts in succeeding years, with various changes of personnel (other than Heslop and Field) and made their London debut in A Yuletide Revel at the Ambassadors’ Theatre for a matinee season from 21 December 1916 to 6 January 1917, after which the company disbanded for the remaining duration of the war when Heslop joined the R.F.A. (Royal Field Artillery.)

The concert party was revived by Heslop post-war following his return from army service and made sporadic appearances throughout the early 1920s whenever Heslop and Field were otherwise free of engagements in the ‘legitimate theatre’.

In 1923, Heslop published a “Brownies’ Souvenir”, which included a brief history of the concert party and listed the various performers who had been members of the company down through the years.

(Ref: The Stage: assorted articles and adverts from 1908 to 1923. With thanks to Tony Liddington of the British Music Hall Society for additional information.)

[4]Heslop’s quotation of around £500 (British) spent on transportation costs from Wellington, New Zealand to Perth, W.A. in late 1923 would be of equivalent value to £24,388 in today’s currency, or $45,782 (Australian.) (Ref: https://www.bankofengland.co.uk/monetary-policy/inflation/inflation-calculator )

[5]The following facts and figures were reported in a newspaper article published in late 1923.

The Trans-Australian Railway

The Trans-Australian Railway, which was opened for through traffic on 17th October, 1917, runs for a distance of 1051 miles across Australia connecting the East with the West. The length of the line is practically the same as that of the combined railways from Sydney to Adelaide, and it is the only railway in Australia the plate-laying of which was carried out by machinery, “Roberts” tracklayers being used for the purpose. Being essentially an Australian railway, it is appropriate that the first rails manufactured in Australia should have been used in its construction. Of these rails-of which 140,000 tons were absorbed—16,000 tons were made by J. & C. Hoskins Limited at Eskbank. The Broken Hill Proprietary Limited also supplied from its Newcastle works 42,000 tons. The fish-plates, spikes, bolts and nuts, crossings, etc., were all of Australian manufacture, and two and a half million sleepers were the product of Australian forests …

The Trans-Australan “through” passenger trains make three trips each way per week, and a very high standard of comfort and speed is maintained. World-wide travellers are not sparing in words of praise, and of the hundreds of expressions of appreciation the following may be taken as typical:—

The Prince of Wales, in writing of the Trans-Australian railway, said: “The railway struck me as being extremely well managed and equipped, and the journey interested me very much.”

Edward, Prince of Wales (centre) on-board in 1920. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

General Birdwood said: “I do not think I could have been more comfortable. The trip was full of interest.”

Another traveller said: “I have travelled in many parts of the world, and I do not know in any service more careful attention to the travelling public, or more efficient working.”

Another: “I have travelled in most of the famous European expresses, and this year crossed North America by the N.Y. Central and C.P.R. Your cars exceed anything I experienced in America in comfort.”

The trains are electrically lighted throughout, and first-class sleeping cars have a special reading lamp at the head of every berth, and there is also an electric fan in each compartment. The first class sleeping cars have two berths in the compartment, and the second class four berths. There is a shower bath on each train for the use of first class passengers free of charge. Undoubtedly a feature of the train is the beautiful lounge car with smoking and non-smoking saloons, each fitted with writing and card tables, stationery, etc. Every day a telegraphed summary of important news is made available in the lounge car at certain stations. A piano with music and songs is provided in each of the lounge cars, and the convenience is much appreciated by the passengers. This is a unique provision not only in Australia but in the rest of the world; and a famous pianist who journeyed across the railway recently wrote:-- “I have played in many extraordinary places, but never in a train before.”

The design of the train permits of passengers moving about freely, and it is not long before all are on good terms with each other. There is a commodious dining car on each train, where first class meals throughout the journey are provided at reasonable rates. After dinner, coffee is served in the lounge. Early morning tea is brought to each first class sleeping car compartment, and afternoon tea is provided for first class passengers in the lounge car. Mail steamers from the United Kingdom arrive at Fremantle fortnightly. Passengers may leave by rail on the same day for the Eastern States, arriving in, say, Melbourne it least 48 hours earlier than by continuing the journey by steamer. Passengers for the United Kingdom may leave Sydney on Sunday, arriving at Fremantle on Friday in good time to connect with the steamer. The Sydney passenger thus saves three days by travelling on the railway.

In journeying from Brisbane to Perth the disadvantages and the expense involved in the break of gauge are brought home forcibly to the travellers. The Trans-Australian railway provides an illustration of what would be possible if the lines were all of one gauge. At the present time all goods, mails, etc., have to be transhipped at Wallangarra, Albury, Terowie, Port Augusta and Kalgoorlie. Fortunately the passengers shift for themselves, but the inconvenience of leaving a comfortable compartment and perhaps being separated from friends made on the journey are nevertheless apparent. This, of course, will have to be rectified, and with that rectification will come a considerable saving in time and money, and an increase in the comfort of travelling.

The climate of the country traversed by the Trans-Australian railway is undoubtedly good. There is probably no better winter climate in the world, the sun, which shines from a cloudless blue sky, imparting a gentle warmth to the body. The summer days are inclined to be warm; but if the day temperature in the middle of summer is high, the nights are invariably made cool by the breeze from the Antarctic which sweeps the Nullarbor towards the close of the day.

The Horsham Times(Vic.), Friday, 2 November 1923, p.4 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article72736399

[6] With the premiere of Tons of Money set for Saturday, 27 October, Charles Heslop, Dorothy Brunton and Maidie Field (Mrs. Heslop) had less than a week in which to join with the rest of the cast for the final rehearsals before the opening, as noted in the following newspaper item.

"Tons of Money"

Dorothy Brunton’s Return

 A season of quick-action farce comedy will be entered upon at the Palace Theatre on Saturday, when Mr. Hugh J. Ward will present the London laughter-maker, “Tons of Money.” Everybody in the play makes money, and it has brought fortunes also to its authors, Arthur Valentine and Will Evans, and its backers, one of whom was Tom Walls, well remembered in Australia as the original Peter Doody of “The Arcadians.” From the first performance in London considerably over a year ago, “Tons of Money” has never flagged, and is still going strong. At least four companies are also playing it on tour.

Dorothy Brunton has come back to Melbourne for the new production. She arrived from London on Monday after a lengthy absence spent at work and holidaying in America and England, during which she played in the piece in which she is to make her reappearance here. With her is Charles Heslop, a young English comedian, who is to play the leading role. “Tons of Money” is not a musical comedy, so that the interest in Miss Brunton’s return is not only in seeing her again on the stage, but in observing how she is suited to a class of play that she has not previously done in Australia. A particularly strong cast has been rehearsing the comedy under Mr. Harry Hall’s direction, but as both the principals are already familiar with their parts, everything will be in readiness for the opening on Saturday.

Harry Hall, who is producing “Tons of Money” for Mr. Hugh J. Ward, is just as much at home in handling straight comedy as he is with musical shows like “The O’Brien Girl,” “Tangerine,” and “Rockets.” Before coming to Australia, he directed a number of plays of the lighter type, including “Turn to the Right” and “Potash and Perlmutter.” “Tons of Money” is taken at a much faster tempo than either of those comedies; in fact, speed is the essence of its humor. But Mr. Hall is experiencing no difficulty in getting hold of the technique of the piece.

The Sporting Globe,(Melbourne), Wednesday, 24 October 1923, p.13, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/184813681 

The site of the Australian Federal Parliament from 1901 to 1927

MELBOURNE, December, 1923–24

Melbourne is a contradiction of a town. Here are magnificent Commonwealth, State, and Municipal buildings, broadly planned streets, Americanesque soda-fountains, kinemas de luxe, stores, labour problems¹—all the modern conveniences. And yet, just below the surface, there seems to be a mid-Victorianism, deep and abiding. In our property-room are some bound volumes of the Illustrated London Newsof 1860-something. Quaint wood-cuts of the building of Charing Cross Station and dramatic performances on H.M.S. —— in the China Station; studies of statuary at the Great International Exhibition; advertisements of some professor’s educated fish performing at a West-End theatre—somebody else’s eiderdown petticoats for ladies—a new patent crinoline attachment enabling its fair wearer to pass to her seat at the opera or omnibus with ease, grace, and elegance. There's the spirit of Melbourne in all this, somehow; although I cannot personally even begin to explain why, there it is—the Prince Consort jostling (he never did, I’m sure) with Charles B. Cochran. Perhaps it is not so incongruous after all; very possibly they had a Singing Duck at the Panopticon?

The remodelled façade of the “New” Palace Theatre in Bourke Street (pictured in 1944 after its acquisition by MGM for use as cinema as the St. James). Photo by Adrian Crother.

It's a great time for Melbourne when I arrive, I mean, when I happen to arrive Melbourne is having a great time. In any case, as it were. There's the Vanbrugh-Boucicault company about to play Mrs. Tanqueray at the King’s² ; Sally is going strong at the Royal³ ; Lorna and Toots and Charlie Austin are at the Princess’s⁴ ; The Beggar’s Opera at Her Majesty’s⁵ ; Shakespeare at the Playhouse⁶ ; and Long Tack Sam at the Tivoli⁷ —and the Melbourne Cup in the offing! But the star turn is the police strike, and “riots and looting” bottomed the bill, with disastrous results to the anticipated harvest.⁸ Well, you know all about that. Theatrically speaking, the best week of the year was, quite easily I imagine, the worst. It quite took me back to the old days . . . when we habitually arrived in a town for the most unfortunate week of the season. “Now, if you'd have been here lastweek.... or next week now.”  Well, at present you're having a general election at home, I see.

Tom Glover caricatures for The Bulletin (1923)

Sam Wells’ cartoon for The Herald, 29 October 1923 (with apologies to Tasmanians!)

 

House packed [for Tons of Money]⁹—Governors and Governors-General complete with entourages—glittering orders across distinguished boiled shirts (no, perhaps not; I’ve read that bit somewhere)—seething excitement—roars of laughter—tornadoes of applause—speeches—floral tributes by the yard—"praise, praise, praise”—your name in electric lights—your bill-matter in extravagant superlatives—your opinion telephoned for by the leading papers, and coupled in print with the Premier's and the Archbishop’s— well, this is all heady stuff, you'll agree. Especially coming so soon after your twice-nightly stock season at the Gasworker’s Recreation Hut (Goole), where the flow of enthusiasm ran dry as soon as the exchequer (and that never started.) Heady stuff, but you won’t find any red carpets waiting for you at Mister Blackmore’s when you return. “Hello, been away?”

Yes, thirteen thousand miles away from criticism. If you don’t like hotels and abominate boarding houses you can compromise in Melbourne with a service flat—excellent institutions and fairly plentiful. Not much more expensive than good rooms in England—and so much less trouble! No need to hasten forth with the catering purse and stagger back beneath half an ox and a hundredweight of cabbage, that’s all done for you. The cost of living seems contradictory, like the weather. Necessities seem cheaper (e.g., whisky); luxuries more expensive (videlicet, clothes). The weather is hot, cold, dry, and wet all in one day. You go out with a parasol and a fly-whisk, and come back blue with cold and soaked to the skin. For a stay of any length in Melbourne I should recommend you to bring a complete suit of reinforced furs, as worn in the Arctic, a bathing costume, several sheets of fly-paper, and a watertosh or two. You will also want some money; if you have any predilection for riding in taxis, you will want some more money.

I remember them remarking—some days out from Australia we were then—on the joy of picking your own fruit from the trees and bushes. . . . What a picture it conjured up in my mind! Kicking together a few strawberries, I would reach carelessly for a bunch of bananas with one hand, an orange with the other, whilst a hot roll would drop into my mouth from the bread fruit tree. . . . They must have been talking about some other part of Australia. Anyway, in Melbourne you've got to put down good money first—and then the shopman has the joy of picking ’em for you.

Moreover, whilst on the subject of cost of living, note, please, that you put down about the same quantity of good money for fruit in Melbourne as in England. 

An actor pays his own dresser, and pays him 7s. 9d. per performance.¹⁰ A non-musical play runs for about eight weeks in any of the big cities. For a musical play one hundred performances in one town approaches the record. To accomplish this, it means that the same audience must be attracted several times. They tell me that one young woman visited The O'Brien Girl seventy-eight times in Melbourne. I believe nobody actually saw this phenomenon of Nature, which is a pity, as now we can have no knowledge of what such a thing can look like. When a play has run its course in, say, Melbourne there is Sydney waiting (600 miles away) to receive it; also, in a lesser degree, Adelaide, Perth, Brisbane, possibly Newcastle and certainly New Zealand. The Maid of the Mountains thus ran for two years in Australasia.¹¹

More Tom Glover caricatures for The Bulletin (1923)

“First nights” here usually take place on Saturdays. This is an obvious disadvantage when the same company finishes a play’s run on the preceding night, as Charlie Austin pointed out to me (he had the experience with Rockets and Pretty Peggy). The same audience assembles on the two occasions, and the new production will almost certainly suffer by comparison with its long-played and smoothly running predecessor. By the way, Charlie tells the story of how, on his voyage out, he initiated the captain of the ship (no less) into the mysteries of taking the nap.¹² This happened shortly after leaving Toulon, and so pleased was the gallant sailor with his new trick, and so assiduous in his practice and exploitation thereof—on all and sundry, lawful and unlawful occasions—that Charlie bitterly regretted his rashness long ere the trip was over! Rockets is going Sydneywards now, and the Princess is occupied by Allen Doone and his company for a few weeks, playing a repertory of Irish pieces—The Wearin' of the Green, The Rebel, Tom Moore, etc. including a strange piece, which embraces in its cast Raffles and Sherlock Holmes.¹³ Doone is an Irish-American with a big following, I gather; the front of the house is strange museum of presentations from various bodies, public and private. A rifle with which he won the pigeon killing championship of Europe three years in succession—the front wheel of the bicycle which he rode to victory in another championship—pennons and flags from Irish societies, tennis racquets—all sorts of strange objects. I want to do the same thing next door at the Palace—I could spare my trousers press and my mortar-board as a nucleus—but I am not encouraged, alas!

Well, you might excuse me for a few minutes—I have to write a pantomime.

For it is Christmas time. And the eyes of the kiddies—the dinkum little Aussies—grow bright as they light upon the posters of dear old Santa Claus climbing in his furs over the snowcapped roofs (the jolly little reindeer champing their antlers in the frost behind), and sticky little fingers grasp spades and pails and bathing costumes the tighter—for they are scorching in their seats in the open tram to St. KiIda’s sun-kissed beach, and the witching waves, so tempting to parched little skins—as they sense the dear, unseasonable joys in store.

Oh, yes, there’s that pantomime, isn’t there? (Curse the flies.) Yes, now for two and a half hours of wholesome fun for the little ones.

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

[1]The most immediate of Melbourne’s labour problems, which coincided with Charles Heslop’s arrival in the city, was the stage hands’ strike, as reported in the local press:

STAGE HANDS ON STRIKE

 Actors Shift Scenes

By “G.K.M.”

Following a dispute with the theatrical managements, stage hands at all the Melbourne theatres ceased work on Monday evening. Only one production—“Sally,” at the Theatre Royal—had to be abandoned. At the other theatres actors and other volunteers managed to shift the scenes and enable the performances to proceed. 

Scenic effects being an important feature of the musical comedy “Sally,” it was found impossible to carry on without the regular stage hands. Consequently, the management was obliged to return the money paid for admission. At the King’s Theatre, Mr. Dion Boucicault gave patrons the option of having their money returned or seeing the play without the proper scenery. The unanimous response was “Carry on!” “Those are my sentiments,” declared Mr. Boucicault, who had previously said that, being an Irishman he was in no mood to take things lying down. He mentioned that while playing in London during the war he and his company had carried on their performance while an aerial bombardment was in progress. “Belinda,” the action of which opens in a Devonshire garden, had to be played in the library scene, that had been set for “The Will,” a one-act play, staged as a curtain-raiser to Milne’s comedy. The garden effect had to be obtained by placing a vase of flowers on the floor! Nevertheless, the artistry of Miss Irene Vanbrugh, Mr. Boucicault and other members of the company made the play a success, without the scenery.

At the Princess’s, where “Pretty Peggy” is the attraction, the work of scene-shifting was performed by the governing director (Mr. Hugh J. Ward), general manager (Mr. Douglas), Mr. Walter Fuller, Mr. John Kirby, and several members of the company. The performance went off without a hitch, and at the final curtain the company cheered Mr. Ward and his assistants.

The trouble is stated to have arisen through the refusal of the men to adhere to a new regulation, making them all work in together. This, it is alleged, would mean that scene-shifters would probably be called upon to work the spot-lights, a job which, they say, needs a skilled electrician. Representatives of the Theatrical Employees’ Union and the management met in conference on Monday afternoon, but the result did not satisfy the men.

Men Resume Work

An agreement was reached on Tuesday between the employees and the representatives of J.C. Williamson Ltd. and work was resumed in the evening at Her Majesty’s, the Royal and King’s Theatres. Volunteers, however, continued to perform the scene-shifting duties at the Princess.

The Weekly Times (Melbourne), Saturday, 27 October 1923, p.8,  http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article223835098

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THE STRIKE OF STAGE HANDS

 A COMPLETE SETTLEMENT.

All the Men Resume Work.

To the satisfaction of all parties concerned, including the general public, the strike of stage hands at Melbourne theatres was settled completely yesterday afternoon, and the men resumed work behind the scenes at the Princess Theatre last night. As reported yesterday, the trouble at the J.C. Williamson theatres had been settled on the previous day, and the only theatres affected by the dispute on Tuesday night were those of the Hugh J. Ward circuit— the Princess, where Pretty Peggy is being staged, and the Palace, where preparations are being made for the comedy farce Tons of Money, which is to open on Saturday night. At a conference with the industrial disputes committee of the Trades Hall on Tuesday afternoon Mr. W.J. Douglas, general manager of Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty, Ltd., undertook to place before his directors a suggestion made by the committee for a settlement of the dispute, and to give the committee a reply on Wednesday morning. Subsequently members of the Theatrical Employees’ Association were discussing the possibility of calling on members of the Musicians’, Actors' and other unions employed at the Ward theatres to cease work in the event of the firm’s reply being unsatisfactory from their point of view. As it happened, there was no need for them to take this drastic course.

Yesterday, morning the executive of the Theatrical Employees’ Federation met the industrial disputes committee at the Trades Hall, and discussed the general outlook. While the meeting was in progress, the reply from Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. arrived. It was as follows:—

To the Disputes Committee, Trades Hall, Melbourne.

Gentlemen,— Further to our conference of yesterday, this management, after considering the position carefully, have decided to agree to the suggestions put forward to us by Messrs Foster and Hannah on behalf of your committee, that is to say, that the men, whose jobs have always been open to them, resume the duties under the terms of the award upon which they were engaged prior to them walking out. As Mr. Hannah suggested, it is to be clearly understood that by so doing the rights of this management are not to be prejudiced in any manner. At the same time, we desire to emphasise the wrong done to our theatres because of the fact that the dispute, if any existed, was not caused in any manner by anything done by this management; but we feel that, in deference to the wishes of your committee and the manner in which your committee has approached us in the matter, we should fall in with your suggestions.—yours faithfully,

HUGH J. WARD THEATRES PTY. LTD.,

(Sgd.) W.J. Douglas, General Manager.

Taking this as an assurance that the men could resume work on the conditions which prevailed before the dispute, and that there should be no call for intermingling between the different sections of workmen in the work behind the scenes, the employees’ executive decided to recommend the men to return to work. Messrs. J. Hannah and H. Foster, of the disputes committee, attended a meeting of the employees in the afternoon, and explained the terms of the letter. It is understood that some of the men demanded that before they returned to their jobs some head men of certain departments, who had continued to work at the Princess Theatre, should be expelled from the association, but more moderate counsel prevailed, and after a brief address by the secretary of the association, Mr. A.E. Huckerby, the men unanimously agreed to resume work. Mr. Huckerby then notified Mr. Douglas that the scene shifters, light manipulators and other night hands would return to work in the evening, and that the day hands—carpenters, electricians and, property men—would resume on the following morning.

So ended the first serious strike in the theatrical business in Melbourne.

A New Log for Theatrical Employees.

The present award under which the stage hands are working, and which contains the “intermingling” clause to which they object, will expire on the 29th of this month, but its provisions will automatically remain in force till a new award is made by the Arbitration Court. It is reported that the executive of the Theatrical Employees’ Association intends to prepare a new log of wages and conditions, and serve it on the theatre managers within the next few days.

The Age (Melbourne), Thursday, 25 October 1923, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article206247667

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[2] English actress, Irene Vanbrugh and her husband, Dion “Dot” Boucicault commenced their 1923–25 Australian tour for J.C. Williamson Ltd. with a 19 week season at the King’s Theatre, Melbourne, which opened on 4 August with Arthur Wing Pinero’s His House in Order (for 5 weeks), followed by a double bill of J.M. Barrie’s one-act The Twelve Pound Look and A.A. Milne’s Mr. Pim Passes By (3 weeks); Laurence Eyre’s Mis’ Nell o’ New Orleans (4 weeks); a second double bill of Barrie’s The Will and Milne’s Belinda (3 weeks) and concluded with Pinero’s The Second Mrs. Tanqueryfrom 17 November for 4 weeks.

Irene Vanbrugh, 1924. Photo by Harold Cazneaux.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Dion Boucicault, 1925. Photo by Bertram Park.

 

[3]The Broadway musical comedy Sally(with music by Jerome Kern, lyrics by Clifford Grey, additional lyrics by B.G. DeSylva and P.G. Wodehouse, and a book by Guy Bolton) was given its Australian premiere by JCW Ltd. at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney on 6 January 1923, where it ran for 210 performances closing on 6 July. Following a season in Brisbane, where it played at His Majesty’s Theatre from 21 July to 3 August, the Melbourne season commenced at the Theatre Royal on 15 September for an eventual run of 26 weeks, closing on 7 March 1924 after 202 performances. The musical then toured New Zealand, followed by seasons in Adelaide and Perth, and subsequently enjoyed return seasons and revivals in the succeeding years due to its popularity. The show brought stardom to Adelaide-born dancer, Josie Melville playing the title role in her first major production. Josie became so identified with Sally that she briefly came out of retirement as a house-wife and mother in her hometown to recreate the lead for a radio version of the musical broadcast on the ABC National Network relayed from 5AN (Adelaide) on 4 July 1940, with a repeat broadcast on 10 August (minus the dancing!)

[4]English comedian, Charlie Austin and the Melbourne-born comedienne sisters, Lorna and Toots Pounds had originally starred in the musical revue Rockets at the London Palladium, where it commenced on 25 February 1922 and played two performances daily for a total run of 491 performances. The revue, with music by J.A. Tunbridge and Herman Darewski, lyrics by Ernest Melvin and scenes and sketches by Charles Henry, Frank Leo and Gilbert Brown, was given its Australian premiere by Hugh J. Ward’s New London Revue Company at the “New” Palace Theatre on Saturday, 7 July 1923 for a 13 week season closing on Friday, 5 October.

The company then transferred to the Princess Theatre for the Australian premiere of the musical comedy Pretty Peggy on Saturday, 6 October, which failed to repeat the success of the earlier show and closed on Friday, 26 October, followed by a short 2 week revival of Rockets, which played at the Princess from 27 October to 9 November. The company then proceeded to New South Wales to play a season at the Victoria Theatre, Newcastle, commencing with Rockets on 17 November followed by Pretty Peggy for the last 3 nights, closing on 30 November. Rockets subsequently opened at the Grand Opera House in Sydney on 22 December and played through to 16 February 1924, but given the disappointing reception in Melbourne to Pretty Peggy, it was not included in the company’s final season in the NSW capital.

Pretty Peggy(with music by A. Emmett Adams and lyrics by Douglas Furber, plus additional numbers by Fred Malcolm and a libretto by Clarkson Rose and Charles Austin) had premiered in London at the Princes Theatre on 3 February 1920, with a cast that included Charlie Austin and Lorna and Toots Pounds, and had a moderately successful run of 168 performances.

[5] Nigel Playfair’s long-running revival of John Gay’s 1728 opus The Beggar’s Opera, which opened in London at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith on 5 June 1920 for a run of 1,463 performances (closing on 17 December 1923), was the impetus for JCW Ltd’s Australian revival, which also utilised Frederic Austin’s revisions and arrangement of the score and Claud Lovat Fraser’s scenic and costume designs for the Hammersmith production. It commenced at the Palace Theatre, Sydney on 4 August 1923 for a run of 7 weeks closing on 21 September. An Adelaide season followed at the Theatre Royal from 29 September to 10 October, after which the production moved onto Melbourne. Victorian audiences, however, weren’t in tune with its 18th C. airs and it played for a mere three weeks at Her Majesty’s Theatre following its opening there on 20 October 1923. The ballad opera’s bawdy language also upset the sensibilities of at least two members of the city’s “wowser” element, as reported by The Argus on Wednesday, 24 October (p.8):

POLICE AT “BEGGAR'S OPERA.”

“Nothing Objectionable” Heard.

Complaints were made on Monday to the police department of the indelicacy of certain passages in the “Beggar's Opera,” which is being staked at Her Majesty’s Theatre, and the police were asked to take action. Two officers of the plain-clothes branch attended the performance on Monday night. In a report to the chief commissioner of police (Mr. A.N. Nicholson) yesterday Sergeant Campbell, head of the plain-clothes branch, said that there was nothing in the play to which the police could take objection.

* * * * * * * * * * *

A Herald report on the same day elaborated:

POLICE DRAMATIC CRITIC

The Sergeant and “The Beggar's Opera”

Sergeant Mathew Campbell has become the dramatic critic of the police force. He was sent to see “The Beggar's Opera” at Her Majesty’s Theatre to see if complaints that had reached the Police Commissioner were justified.

What does the sergeant say?

“’The Beggar's Opera,’ you understand, was laid in a setting some hundred or two hundred years ago in London. Of course the language and dresses used then were not what they are now, you know.” The sergeant lowered his glasses. He was exacting. He was cautious,

“No official action,” he continued, “can be taken against the language. There is nothing to justify this step. We hear the same words in Shakespeare. But some of the language is objectionable, and isn’t nice for girls just growing up. And even some well-to-do sort of people do not find the language good either. We know this from two letters we received.

“Language like that is no help to a community, but there is no official objection. Some people just can’t understand, that's all.”

The Sergeant, bowed his head over some work on his desk. Clothes? “No, the clothes were alright. Appropriate to those times, you see—appropriate to those times. Just the language, just the language. For Instance, such words as, well — and — —"

The Sergeant named the words, right out and out—two of them. No good dramatic critic can afford to be timid.

The Herald (Melbourne), Wednesday, 24 October 1923, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243739129

* * * * * * * * * * *

Gay’s original libretto contains such choice 18th Century epithets as “slut” and “whore”. (Ref.: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/25063/25063-h/25063-h.htm )

* * * * * * * * * * *

The lead role of the highwayman, Captain Macheath was played by the English baritone, Alexander Howett-Worster, who had commenced his career in Britain in the early 1900s as principal baritone in touring productions of the George Edwardes’ musical comedies, but had latterly been engaged as a singing teacher at Melbourne’s Albert Street Conservatorium, where he had also produced and performed in amateur operatic productions, until lured back to the professional stage by J.C. Williamson’s for its premiere of Merrie England in 1921 and subsequent musical productions. These included The Merry Widow in which he played ‘Prince Danilo’ opposite Gladys Moncrieff at Her Majesty’s, Melbourne in the week prior to The Beggar’s Operaopening there. (Howett-Worster returned to Britain in 1926 and starred as the male lead in the London premieres of Show Boat and The New Moonat the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in 1928 and 1929 respectively.)   

Captain Macheath (A. Howett-Worster) and his doxies. SB&W Foundation, Sydney.

[6]The Alan Wilkie Shakespearean Company (formed in Australia in 1920) commenced an 8 week repertory season of the bard’s plays at the Melbourne Playhouse (located over Princes’ Bridge on the South bank of the Yarra), with a production of King Lear on Saturday, 15 September 1923 followed by Twelfth Night, The Tempest, Hamlet, The Winter’s Tale, The Merchant of Venice, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, King John, Julius Caesar, Henry V, Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Macbeth and The Taming of the Shrew, which concluded the season on 10 November.

Shakespearean actor, Alan Wilkie

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Long Tack Sam (centre) and his troupe

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

[7]The Chinese illusionist, Long Tack Sam and his troupe of Chinese acrobats, musicians and jugglers commenced a season at the Melbourne Tivoli theatre, as part of a variety bill, on 27 October 1923, with final performances given on 7 December, before opening at the Geelong Theatre the following week.

[8]Of far greater consequence than the stage hands strike was that of the Melbourne police force, as, with dramatic suddenness, Melbourne was left completely without police protection for several days in November 1923. For some time previously there had been discontent in the police force over the activities of police “supervisors,” who had been moving from district to district in plain clothes to see that constables were doing their duties properly. The police maintained that these supervisors were nothing more than spies. The discontent came to a head almost without warning on the night of 31 October. Twenty-nine uniformed men, who were due to parade at, Russell Street for night duty, refused to fall in for the roll-call, and when the hastily summoned Chief Commissioner, Alexander Nicholson tried to reason with the men he was noisily received.

At this time Melbourne was crowded with visitors to the Spring racing carnival, and the Commissioner knew that the sudden withdrawal of police would be an enormous temptation to trouble makers. Finding himself unable to placate the men, he promised to remove the special supervisors for the night and to consult with the Premier, Harry Lawson during the next day. This satisfied the men, and they returned to duty . . .but not for long! On the night of 1 November the men were told that the Premier had refused to consider their grievances while the threat of a strike was held over his head, and once again the night police refused to report for duty. Police from outlying stations were at once ordered to report to the barracks, but when they arrived in the city they immediately joined the strikers.

Victorian Premier, Harry Lawson

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Chief Commissioner, Alexander Nicholson

For the next two nights the city was protected only by plain-clothes police and a few detectives. The first day passed quietly enough, with just a few isolated brawls and a lot of traffic problems; but the following day was Derby Day, and as the afternoon wore on great crowds began to congregate in town. The Australasian newspaper gave a detailed account of the anarchy that followed:  

RIOTS IN MELBOURNE.

DISGRACEFUL LAWLESSNESS.

Scenes of unprecedented lawlessness, a sequel to the mutiny of police, were witnessed in Melbourne on November 3, the windows of 78 business premises being smashed and looted. Disgraceful brawls occurred before the looting commenced. These and subsequent charges by the loyal regular police and special constables were the cause of nearly 200 casualties. Following the looting, the police regained control of the city, and arrested 62 persons on various charges, mainly of being in unlawful possession of property. An excellent response was made to a call for the co-operation of the citizens to quell lawlessness; more than 2,000 were enrolled as special constables. An influential citizens’ committee was formed and plans were made for the inauguration of a volunteer force of men with military experience to be used if required. The Federal authorities decided to employ naval, military, and airforces for the protection of Commonwealth property. Light horse recruits were called for, and a number of Light Horse men patrolled the streets. All tram and train traffic was suspended on November 4 and following nights.

Taking advantage of the unprotected state of the streets in the interregnum which elapsed between the withdrawal of a large number of the regular police owing to their mutiny, and the training of the volunteer special constables in their duties, the worst elements in the metropolis gained temporary control of the city, and for several hours anarchy reigned. The trouble began at the intersection of Swanston and Bourke streets. Loyal policemen yielded to the clamour of the crowd and ultimately there was not a policeman to be seen at the intersection. Then the mob gave itself over to unrestrained lawlessness. A few minutes after the police had left the corner was a surging mass of humanity. Innumerable fights took place. Men were seen to take full bottles of beer from their pockets and break them over the heads of whoever happened to be nearest to them. Bottles and jagged pieces of glass were thrown among the mob indiscriminately, and in a few moments scores of people were bleeding from cuts. Pools of blood bespattered the roadway. Men were felled and brutally kicked and trampled on while they were on the ground.

ATTEMPT TO BURN TRAM.

All traffic was completely blocked. Rushing a stationary cable tram, the mob forced it off the rails on to the roadway, and, for a time, it appeared as if an effort was to be made to push it into the plate-glass windows of the Leviathan. This, however, was not attempted. By throwing burning rags and paper inside the trailer, several youths tried to set fire to the tram, but without success. Shortly afterwards it was replaced on the rails, and driven away. 

The larrikins turned their attention from fighting among themselves to attacking shops. Standing in the centre of the roadway, a party of youths and men deliberately threw bottles at the windows of the Leviathan Clothing Company. Flying over the heads of the crowd, the bottles crashed against the windows, shattering them. Immediately there was a rush towards the footpath, the mob being intent on looting. Within a few minutes every window of the establishment had been shattered and the window exhibits removed. The footpath was littered with window fittings and broken glass. Discarding the hats which they had been wearing, many men and youths seized new ones and rushed away wearing them. Some of them hastily collected as much loot as possible, only to have it taken from them by others when they reached the roadway. This led to much fighting.

Attention was diverted to the jewellery establishment of F.H. Kermode, 157 Swanston street, and the cry went up, “Smash it in!” A steel grating, which was protecting the window, was quickly pulled down. A semi-intoxicated man advanced from the kerbstone, and, taking a bottle of beer from his hip pocket, struck the window with it twice. Within a few seconds the entire stock of the window had disappeared. In some instances, the rioters wrapped their loot in newspapers, but others walked away with their pockets bulging with spoil, and carrying expensive mirrors and large nickel-plate articles in their hands or under their arms. One man ran away with six shaving mirrors. From the Leviathan, the crowd moved slowly towards the corner of Little Collins street, smashing the windows of practically every shop on the way, and stealing the contents. From the windows of Messrs. Charles Jeffries and Sons valuable footwear was stolen, and the footpath was strewn with boots and shoes.

MOB IN CONTROL.

By half-past 6 o'clock the mob was in absolute control of the block surrounded by Bourke, Swanston, Elizabeth, and Collins streets. The situation was grave in the extreme. Above the yells of the crowd could be heard at frequent intervals the crash of breaking glass as window after window was shattered. Having been warned of the temper of the mob, several shopkeepers not in the immediate vicinity of the intersection of Bourke and Swanston streets cleared the stock from their windows, and it was noticeable that the crowd refrained from breaking windows behind which there were no exhibits.

At 7 o'clock—after the city had been at the mercy of the lawless element for more than an hour—a party of about 40 police, headed by three officers, marched down Bourke street with batons drawn. They charged the mob, which scattered in all directions. By a quarter past 7 o'clock the “storm centre” had been moved from the corner of Bourke and Swanston streets to other parts of the block, particularly to the corner of Elizabeth and Bourke streets. The policemen sought to make arrests, but, in many instances, they had not proceeded far with their captives before they were compelled to release them. Early in the evening an elderly man, who, flourishing a Bible, attempted to address the mob, was set upon and felled.

With the coming of darkness there was a surging return and reinforcement of the raucous and stunted larrikin element. The enormously outnumbered posses of uniformed men and arm-banded special constabulary marched gamely back and forth from the corner of Swanston and Little Collins streets to the London Stores. In a flash, when the Bourke street block was left unguarded, there was heard again the splintering and crashing of plate glass. The south side of Bourke street, from Swanston street to Elizabeth street, was delivered into the almost unhindered hands of mob rule. At about 20 minutes past 8 o’clock there were two premises in the Bourke street area (south side) upon which the looters concentrated. They had kicked in the windowpanes sometime earlier, but had not swept away all the contents when they were interrupted. Moreover, at Salamy’s, there was a tempting row of clocks, high up, upon a shelf, still protected by jagged remains of plate glass. In a moment one or two rioters had leaped to the shoulders of team-mates, and in another moment Mr. Salamy’s remaining window property was openly carried off. At Edments’s store one or two windows had been kicked in, and a yelling gang had snatched everything within reach. Meanwhile, a few assistants—as at dozens of other places—were now feverishly removing everything to safely within the shop. Yet the blazing lights and the glittering display of ware lured the lawless element. Only for the timely return of a score of police and newly-sworn comrades, Edments’s windows must have been stripped clean, and the store itself, perhaps, raided.

A smashed shop window following the rioting

Special constables patrol Bourke Street (past the Melba Theatre)

State Library of South Australia

SHOPKEEPER’S PLUCKY DEFENCE.

Next, with the passing of the protecting posse, came a diversion in front of Dumbrell’s jewellery establishment. Much of the display goods had gone—literally west—but much valuable booty remained. The glitter of diamond rings caught the greedy eyes of the crowd. With lowered heads, a mass of looters forged in from the roadway. Some got their hands on the spoil, but there was a snarling recoil. From the black recesses of the shop a tall man leaped into the battered window, gleaming revolver in hand. With agile feet and a flailing left arm he routed the scum. And, leaping after them, with pistol out-thrust this way and that—yet, with wonderfully fortunate restraint, never firing—he cleared and held the footpath clear. Twice he was rushed by groups armed with bottles, but he retreated to his window and, behind its jagged edges, held off his foes.

Wertheim’s window and Holder’s had already gone. Hitherto the brightly illumined phalanx of plate glass from Buckley and Nunn’s to the Post-office had remained untouched. Willing hands from within the establishments had stripped the windows of the smaller and more glittering articles. Chiefly, dressed figures, in exquisite array of Cup frocking, remained. A volley of stones ruined one of Buckley’s full-size windows and one of Myer’s, and still others towards the post-office. At the London Stores, the array of brilliantly lit and laden windows had been already “sampled,” but there remained dozens of unbroken panes.

Masses debouched from the Bourke street centre and dashed for the Mont de Piete. Racing to outstrip one another, men flung themselves upon the darkened windows. Rings, watches, brooches—jewellery of every description—were greedily seized by the rioters, who were able to continue their depredations without interruption. The siege was raised, barely soon enough to prevent the demolition of the doorway and the complete wrecking of the premises. The mob, as soon as the last item of value had been snatched from the window fronts, stormed the iron gateway which protected the entrance. They tore it from its hinges, and had battered the glass panels of the doors. But they could not withstand the vigorous batons of the constables, and hundreds were hunted up the Bourke street hill, and hundreds north and south along Elizabeth street. They wantonly kicked or burst in more windows as they fled. Running past the large sheets of glass fronting Thos. Evans and John Danks they left a destructive trail. In Elizabeth street north only one or two shops suffered. But between Bourke street and Flinders street, in Elizabeth street, the amount of damage was disgracefully large.

Rioters in Little Collins Street

Special constables on motor patrol

SPECIALS DISPERSE MOB.

With the arrival at last of the motor patrols of “specials” panic set in. Part of the crowd, after hurling glass and metal in showers, turned east along Little Collins street, where a score and more of windows had been smashed at earlier stages. Droves swerved along the same thoroughfare westward, and were driven helter-skelter by the charging motor parties. At the corner of Queen street they crashed through remnants of display materials hurled from the wrecked windows of a tailoring establishment which had been entered and “cleaned out.” By far the greater proportion, however, ran in the direction of the Flinders street railway station. On their fleeting way the mob battered a hat shop south of Collins street, and then made for a department of firearms, bats, and sticks in the windows of the Melbourne Sports Depot. Few things were looted, however, as the persons concerned were in a hurry. It was a remarkable fact that only one window in the Collins street heart of the city—that of the hat establishment of David Waring Ltd.—should have been destroyed. After half-past 10 o'clock comparative quiet developed.

Crowds gathered in the city on November 4, largely out of curiosity. Special constables in front of Scots’ Church, in Collins street, were attacked in the afternoon, but they soon dispersed their assailants. The appearance of a couple of mounted troopers sent the youths flying in all directions. A shower of rain completed the work which the horsemen had begun, and thereafter there was order. 

“Business as Usual” was the sign displayed on November 5 outside practically every shop which had been raided on November 3. Many windows had been totally covered by wooden planking, and only the doorways showed apertures.

A large crowd which was watching a fire in Messrs. Keep Bros, and Wood’s timber-yards, in Spencer street, West Melbourne, on the evening of November 5, got out of hand, and for some minutes there was hand-to-hand fighting between special police and the mob. Large pieces of brick and wood were hurled at the “specials,” who were assailed as “scabs.” One “special” was, felled with a picket and struck on the chest and stomach while he lay unconscious. Another “special” fired his revolver in the air, and this induced the crowd to retire. A “special” who attempted to telephone for aid for his injured comrade, and a plain-clothes constable who went to his help, were surrounded and attacked. When the constable drew his revolver the crowd wavered. Reinforcements of specials ultimately scattered the crowd by baton sallies. Damage estimated at between £400 and £500 was done to Leeming’s footwear establishment at North Melbourne on the same night. The shattering of one of the plate-glass windows was the signal for a fusillade from a large crowd. An appeal by Messrs. Leeming Bros. to the mob to cease their attack, produced a further shower of metal, whereupon the two men drew their revolvers and fired in the air. One man was taken into custody as the crowd retreated. Special constables dispersed the mob by baton charges and the firing of blank cartridges.

Eighty persons were charged with various offences at the City Court, Melbourne, on November 6, chiefly the possession of stolen property. Sentences of three and four months’ imprisonment were imposed on a large number of youths and men arrested in the crowds of looters on November 3. Mr. Knight, P.M., said that the sentences were not vindictive, but, in any event, they could be reviewed by the Attorney-General. A woman who had assaulted a constable, who said she “fought like a man,” was fined £5.

More than 10.000 men had been enrolled as special constables up to November 7, and others were accepted in the country. More than 1,000 private motor-cars have been offered for the use of the police. All hotels within five miles of the General Post-office, Melbourne, were closed at 2 o'clock on Cup Day (November 6). Licensing police refused to continue duty on November 5. Of more than 100 plain-clothes constables only seven have refused duty. A fund opened by “The Argus” for the loyal police amounts to £2,777.

The Australasian (Melbourne), Saturday, 10 November 1923, p.36 (extract), http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article140829129

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The total damage to business premises in the city of Melbourne was estimated at £75,000 [= $6,400,893]. Melbourne newspapers of the period attributed the rioting and looting to Melbourne’s criminal element, but subsequent court records showed that most of the offenders who were apprehended were young men and boys without prior criminal records. After the strike, its origins and effects were investigated by a Royal Commission. The Victorian State Government subsequently improved pay and conditions for police, and legislated to establish a police pension scheme before the end of 1923. However none of the 636 striking police constables were allowed to return to duty. All were discharged and an entirely new force recruited.

Volunteers queue at the Melbourne Town Hall to enlist as special constables

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Boarded-up shop windows in Collins Street in the aftermath of the riots and looting

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

[9] Tons of Money by Will Evans and “Arthur Valentine” (pseud. of Archibald Thomas Pechey) premiered at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London on 13 April 1922, before transferring to the Aldwych Theatre on 10 October later that year for an overall run of 743 performances.  Its success helped to institute the popular series of Aldwych farces staged at the theatre between 1923 to 1933, scripted by Ben Travers and featuring a stock company of farceurs that included Ralph Lynn, Tom Walls, J. Robertson Hare, Mary Brough and Winifred Shotter.  In addition to Lynn, Walls, Hare and Brough, Tons of Money also starred the French actress, Yvonne Arnaud in the role of ‘Louise Allington’, which became the basis for actresses who succeeded to the role to play it as a French woman (even though it was not originally written as such.)

The Australian premiere was staged at the Palace Theatre, Melbourne on Saturday, 27 October 1923 by Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. starring Charles Heslop and Dorothy Brunton (who also adopted a French accent) and a cast that included Maidie Field (Mrs. Charles Heslop), one-time matinee idol, Andrew Higginson (Australia’s first ‘Prince Danilo’ in The Merry Widow for JCW in 1908), and the veteran Emma Temple, whose performances with JCW’s Royal Comic Opera Company dated back to the 1880s. Following a run of 7 weeks, the comedy closed on Saturday, 15 December to make way for preparations for the Christmas–New Year’s pantomime Mother Goose. (See first-night reviews below.)

[10]7s. 9d. (7 shillings and 9 pence) per performance paid to a theatrical dresser in 1923 is equivalent to $33.07 in today’s currency, thus $264.56 per week for a standard 8 performances (6 evenings and 2 matinees.)

 [11] The Maid of the Mountains(with music by Harold Fraser-Simpson, lyrics by Harry Graham; Additional lyrics by F. Clifford Harris and “Valentine” (Archibald Thomas Pechey); additional music by James W. Tate and book by Frederick Lonsdale) received its London premiere at Daly’s Theatre on 10 February 1917 for a run of 1,352 performances; terminating only because its leading lady, José Collins, wished to move on to other shows. In Australia the musical brought stardom to Gladys Moncrieff in the title role of ‘Teresa’ following its premiere by JCW Ltd. at the Theatre Royal, Melbourne on 22 January 1921 for an initial run of 188 performances over 23 weeks closing on 1 July. The show then went on to achieve equal success around the rest of Australia and New Zealand touring for 2½ years, and its enduring popularity and that of its leading lady, made it the most revived musical in Australia in the 20th Century with ‘Our Glad’ having given over 2,300 performances as ‘Teresa’ before her retirement from the role following a final season in Perth in 1949.

Program cover for the 1921 Melbourne premiere season

Gladys Moncrieff as ‘Teresa’ on her first trek up the mountains in 1921

National Library of Australia, Canberra

[12]Nap (short for Napoleon) was a once popular card game dating from the late 19th Century (the rules of which may be read here). Each players bids on the number of “tricks” that they intend to win (from 3 to 5) and the player who bids to undertake to win all 5 “tricks”, and then succeeds to do so, wins 10 chips (or pennies, etc.) from each player, and thus “takes the nap”. High stakes betting on the game was classified as an illegal activity and newspapers would carry reports of police raids on nap “schools”.

Publicity flyer for Allen Doone c.1915

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Alan Doone in The Wearing of the Green

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

[13]Allen Doone’s weekly-change repertory season of Irish plays commenced at the Princess Theatre on 10 November with The Wearing of the Green (until 16 November), followed by Sweet County Kerry (17 to 23 November), Tom Moore (24 to 30 November), The Burglar and the Lady (1 to 7 December) and concluded with The Rebel from 8 to 15 December 1923. 

As noted by Charles Heslop, the play The Burglar and the Lady(by Landon McCormick) featured the eponymous character of ‘Raffles’ (E.W. Hornung’s gentleman thief), plus Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Sherlock Holmes’ as the detective who pursues the burglar (played by Allen Doone) but loses him in the end, as he makes good his escape with the lady of the title. (Although it is unclear how the playwright was able to perpetrate such an obvious breach of literary copyright without the permission of the respective authors.) Doone had first played the role in Australia in 1914, and the play was revived the following year as a star vehicle for ex-heavyweight champion, James J. Corbett (then visiting Australia) when the title character was re-christened ‘Gentleman Jim’ to trade on Corbett’s well-known sobriquet.

A regular visitor to Australia (where he had first made a name for himself as an actor–manager in Melbourne in 1909 due to the generous sponsorship of well-known sporting and theatrical entrepreneur, John Wren to the tune of £2,000; or almost $288,000 in today’s currency) Doone made a point of singing in each of his plays (a fact mentioned in his daily press adverts) and The Age review of the play observed that:

Mr. Allen Doone makes a very much better Irish lover than a burglar. Obviously, he was out of his element on Saturday night as Raffles, the “scientific crook,” in the melodrama The Burglar and the Lady, which was presented at the Princess Theatre. To be sure, Raffles, true to history, is a very kind hearted burglar, yet it is hard to imagine Mr. Doone as a common or garden type of bank robber. His happiest moments on Saturday night were when, in response to a plaintive cry from the gallery, “You have not sung to us to-night,” he discarded the jemmy and revolver and sang with gusto, “Here's a Toast to Erin.”

The Age (Melbourne), Monday, 3 December 1923, p. 11 (extract), http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article206254950

Clearly Doone was an actor who believed in keeping his loyal public satisfied!

Tons of Money reviewed in the Melbourne Press 

LAUGHTER'S RULE

Heslop and Dot Make It

TONS OF MONEY

As soon as Dorothy Brunton and Charles Heslop get the proper pitch of voice for the Palace Theatre, Tons of Money Is going to be one of the most popular comedies Melbourne has seen since [Fred] Niblo was here.

Artists sometimes are accustomed to the smaller-sized London theatres, and for those there is always that little difficulty of remembering the greater size of our houses. Added to that, Miss Brunton's part entails the speaking of broken English, and Mr. Heslop's calls for whirlwind patter—always difficult things to get over clearly.

A section of Saturday night’s audience felt rather like the old lady at the picture-show who has not time to read what the villain said to Mary, before it is flicked off again. But with such really clever artists as the two in the lead at the Palace, a grievance of that kind is sure to be remedied before others suffer it.

The play is one of the funniest imaginable.

BRINGS A ROAR

The first curtain brings a roar of laughter that you tremble for fear the authors (Will Evans and Arthur Valentine) will let you down over the second and the final curtain. But they don’t! The second curtain is a scream, and the play ends on a high note of laughter.

Ridiculous situation follows ridiculous situation without bringing the comedy down to the necessity for slapstick methods. The talk is good, and the plot develops with a rush.

Charles Heslop, as a young man who suggests to his bride that his coat-of-arms should really he "a couple of bailiffs rampant," fools with the delicious inconsequence of a Wodehouse hero. If the Indiscretions of Archie is ever staged, Heslop is the man for the star part! Comic business with hands and feet, his slick and assured handling of the part, and his irrepressible, natural sense of humor help him to make the portrayal of Allington, the bogus George Maitland, and Rev. Ebenezer Brown memorably funny character sketches.

DOT HAS GROWN UP

Dot Brunton, beloved of Australian audiences, has grown up during her absence from Australia. She is still the charming little comedienne, but she has added a finish and assurance to her work that gives it a distinction it lacked before.

The part of Louise Allington she handled with vivacious charm and a joyous abandon that added to the fun of the farce, without the actress's betraying that she was aware of it.

Emma Temple made a welcome return to the stage as Benita Mullett, Alllngton’s deaf aunt.

Sylvia Shaw's study of the girl who accepted three different impostors as her absentee husband was well done.

Charles Road Night appeared as the solicitor; Frank Hawthorne in the small but amusing part of Giles the gardener; Compton Coutts as the butler; Maidie Field as the parlormaid; Andrew Higginson as Henry; and Douglas Calderwood as the real George Maitland.

At the close of the performance repeated demands for speeches led Dorothy Brunt on to speak from a wilderness of floral gifts. She thanked the audience for their splendid loyalty.

Charles Heslop and Hugh Ward also made speeches, Mr. Ward's being conveyed to the audience through Miss Brunton, as he was suffering from a cold that had robbed him of his voice.

Sun News-Pictorial(Melbourne), Monday 29 October 1923, p.8, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/274215085

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AMUSEMENTS.

PALACE THEATRE—TONS OF MONEY.

Tons of Money, played by Mr. Hugh J. Ward’s company at the Palace Theatre on Saturday evening, is a farce of a fashion popular from last century to this. Impersonation, as the basis of a plot, is as familiar as any basis in the particular class of entertainment. It is employed, for instance, in What Happened to Jones, and in Tom, Dick and Harry, popular here twenty years or so back. Tons of Money, written by Will Evans and Arthur Valentine from old material, is not equal to Broadhurst’s work; it does not move swiftly and easily; it is not really funny; indeed, at times it takes all the work of the new company to prevent it from being extremely wearisome. The farce has enjoyed success in England. On the whole, it was well received by the crowded house on Saturday evening. Miss Dorothy Brunton was welcomed warmly. 

Miss Brunton plays Louise, wife of Aubrey, Henry Maitland Allington, young and impecunious inventor. Allington has given his smart young wife everything that credit can buy. His breakfast table is burdened with bills. The arrival of the solicitor, James Chesterman, with the news that Allington has been left a fortune, delights the young couple; but they realise speedily that every penny will be swallowed up by debts. And how to escape payment of these debts? Under the will the estate passes after Allington’s death to his cousin, George Maitland. Maitland has gone to Mexico, and is reported to have been killed. So that if Allington die, and reappear as Maitland, he will come in for the estate without encumbrance. He has invented an explosive; what if an explosion occurs, and he disappear? The explosion occurs, though a little too soon for Allington's comfort. Three weeks inter Allington reappears as Maitland. Unhappily he is not alone in the field; there is another impersonator of Maitland, and there is the real Maitland. On the familiar lines, the farces develops in a series of the wildest entanglements, chiefly in close imitation of Tom, Dick and Harry. A further complication is Maitland’s wife, as Louise’s charming cousin, Jean, proves to be. A little of this farce is no poorer than its predecessors. It is far poorer, when the first impostor starts telling of his adventures abroad; this is pitiful rubbish, and even the briskest of acting could do very little with it. The acting of the new company is brisk.

The energy which Miss Brunton and Mr. Charles Heslop, as Allington, put into their playing is commendable. They are seldom off the stage, and in this sense the parts are exacting. Yet the two do not succeed in carrying off the farce. For some reason Louise is French; the accent does not make the character any more amusing. Why Louise is not allowed to talk in straight-out English is puzzling. Miss Brunton deserves praise for her brightness and her desire to give the audience the best of her comedy; much of the folly does not allow her a fair chance. A little of it does—notably the passage-at-arms with Louise's cousin, Jean, who, as Mrs. Maitland, claims Allington impersonating Maitland, as her husband. Here Miss Brunton's success is furthered by Miss Sylvia Shaw, who, as Jean, is the most pleasing of the players of minor characters. The bitter-sweetness of the girl cousins to one another is bright comedy, and is very well played. Mr. Heslop is a young actor playing for the first time in Melbourne. He certainly does his utmost with the part of Allington, but the absurd exaggerations must prove rather too much for any actor. Broadhurst succeeded in providing really funny characters for his successes, and the writers of Tons of Money have failed to do so. Miss Emma Temple, who also was warmly welcomed by Saturday evening's audience, does all that can be done with the part of Benita Mullet, Allington's aunt. Mr. Compton Coutts plays well us Sprules, the butler; Mr. Charles Road Night does useful work as Chesterman; Miss Maidie Field appears as the parlor maid Simpson; Mr. Andrew Higginson as Henry, another impersonator of Maitland, and Mr. Douglas Calderwood as the real Maitland. Tons of Money is not even a reasonably lively farce; several of its scenes are very foolish.

The Age (Melbourne), Monday, 29 October 1923, p.6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article206252417

Emma Temple, Dorothy Brunton & Charles Heslop in a scene from Tons of Money. Stageland, Number Three, December 1923.

MUSIC AND DRAMA

HEALTHY ENGLISH FARCE.

"TONS OF MONEY" AMUSES.

Miss Brunton and Mr. Heslop.

“Poor dear Aubrey he was so generous to me. He gave me everything that credit could buy.” Who would not sympathise with the seeming widow of Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington when she is left with no one to create debts on her behalf? But mourning is very becoming to Louise Allington when she is Miss Dorothy Brunton and Aubrey’s absence is for only a few hours. Twice he “dies” and twice comes to life with neatness and despatch; but when Louise wishes him to die again he firmly refuses for he begins to think that the third time proves it. The reason for the deaths is the wish to claim a large inheritance without allowing Allington’s debts to absorb it. Stage law has a good deal to do with the plot. There are three characters each claiming to be one man, George Maitland.

The season of carnival is here and with it the season of farce, when material for unrestrained laughter is the first demand of many theatregoers. “Tons of Money” at the Palace, meets the demand. On Saturday the first night audience found a great deal to laugh at in the first and second acts; and in the third the laughter scarcely ceased, except when it turned into shrieks of amusement. A pleasant feature of “Tons of Money” is that it is clean and healthy from first to last. There is nothing about it of the French or American bedroom farce. It is hearty English fun making and make-believe. There are suggestions of resemblance to earlier plots (such as that of “Tom Dick and Harry”), but this is inevitable, especially in farce, and there is enough that is different. Even the veteran playgoer cannot quite say, as Allington says on conveniently regaining his memory, “How it all comes back to me—like a returned cheque!”

The farce, which is by Will Evans, the noted comedian, and Arthur Valentine, was well staged and cleverly acted. Miss Dorothy Brunton, who had a great welcome, showed that she could be as skilful and dainty in farce without music as in musical comedy. Louise speaks with a French accent, apparently because an accent went with the name of the actress who took the part in London, Yvonne Arnaud. There was no need for this peculiarity in the Australian production, but Miss Brunton used it neatly in the cause of a s piquancy which in its absence she could have obtained by other means. No comedy point was overlooked by Miss Brunton, whose untiring and deft work did a great deal to ensure the cordial reception of the play.

Mr. Charles Heslop, from England, was most amusing when he was most distant from reality, as the comic curate of the third act. His mannerisms when he was Allington undisguised tended to become rather monotonous and his comedy as the man from Wild America could have been more substantial; but in all cases he provided the audience with much to laugh at. Miss Emma Temple’s experience made the old aunt—a comparatively small part—one of the best characters in the play. Miss Sylvia Shaw contributed to the fun as the deserted wife who identifies each of the three George Maitlands as her husband. Mr. Compton Coutts was an able comedy butler, and Mr. Frank Hawthorne was well made up as the eccentric gardener. As played by Mr. Charles Road Night, the solicitor did not differ much from the leader of the gang in “Bulldog Drummond.” Miss Maidie Field aided the comedy as a parlourmaid, and Mr. Andrew Higginson and Mr. Douglas Calderwood took two of the Maitland parts suitably.

The first matinee will be given on Wednesday.

…

Additional interest was given to the first night by the presence of their Excellencies the Governor-General and Lady Forster, who were accompanied by the Hon. Mrs. Pitt Rivers and Lady Patricia Blackwood, and His Excellency the Governor and the Countess of Stradbroke, whose party included the Lady Helena Rous and Miss Hester Phillimore. In the box next the Governor-General were Mr. and Mrs. Hugh J. Ward, and Mrs. Brunton occupied the fourth box with a party of friends.

The Argus (Melbourne), Monday, 29 October 1923, p.15 (extracts), http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1998263

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N.B. Charles Road Night had played the criminal mastermind and leader of the underworld gang in the drama Bulldog Drummond staged at the newly renovated Palace Theatre in April and May of that year, hence the critic’s inference at his lack of versatility.

Program biography for Dot

Program biography for Charles

FARCE ONCE MORE—

Miss Brunton’s Return

“TONS OF MONEY,” a farce in three acts by Will Evans and Arthur Valentine (Palace Theatre)

“Tons of Money” is built so exactly on the plan one expected that I for one got quite a surprise. This impoverished young couple, the rich relative dying abroad, the rival impostors, the unexpected wife, the scheming butler, the eccentric gardener, and the comic curate, all re-appear, and never fail to behave precisely as stage tradition suggests. One can picture the men who wrote “Ton of Money” patiently searching every farce of the last hundred years for ingredients that could be mixed once more in a farcical brew, and with equal care setting down every line said to have “got a hand” since the spring of ’98.

But this, I suppose, does not greatly matter after all. No one expects originality in a farce. All that one can hope for is laughs, and, judged by this test, “Ton of Money” is likely to prove quite a success. A large audience was kept continuously amused on Saturday night, and it was clear that Mr. Hugh J. Ward, with his well-known acumen, had picked the right sort of piece to please holiday audiences. Had the writing been less slovenly, and the action more uniformly fast, it would have gone down even better; but then, really first-rate farces can be numbered on the fingers of your hands. The pity of it is that Will Evans and Arthur Valentine, with their deftness in evolving situations and poor literary equipment, should have gone so near the real thing without quite getting there. 

Even If “Tons of Money” had no other attractions, the return of Miss Dorothy Brunton would be sufficient to lift it from the commonplace. As vivacious and attractive as ever, Miss Brunton gave an excellent performance as the wife of the impecunious Inventor, and, without any very obvious effort, made the utmost of the broad comedy. Her only fault was a tendency—probably due to a little nervousness—to talk too fast in the early scene with her husband. For the first few minutes hardly a word spoken by either was audible. Thereafter, she was charming, though precisely why the character should be played with a French accent is a secret which lies between her and her producer.

Very successful also was Mr. Charles Heslop, a London comedian making his first appearance in Australia. In a modest estimate of Mr. Heslop that appears on the program, it is stated that he has a real genius for doing the funniest things in the most matter-of-fact way, and avoids the most obvious devices for getting laughs. His work is notable for clever unexpectedness, originality, and a skilful use of reticence that has delighted London critics as well as theatregoers.

Mr. Heslop may have been noted for all these qualities in London, but it would take a very penetrating critic to observe the slightest sign of them in the methods he adopts in Australia. After watching him bustle and gesticulate and fumble and race around on one leg after the manner of an attenuated Chaplin, one could only conclude that he was another victim to the idea that the comic artist, to get laughs in Australia, must lay on his paint with a trowel. Mr. Heslop is undoubtedly a comedian, and I should think that at his best, he would be a very talented one. Certainly he had some very bright moments on Saturday, especially when he returned from the grave as the red-haired curate, but a friend ought to tell him that even Australians get the idea of slight excitement when a man fumbles ten times for his pocket and still misses. Anything over ten times is superfluous, and anything over twenty a little boring. And the same rule applies to attempts to cross the legs.

The other parts were well played by Mr. Compton Coutts, who made a successful first appearance in Australia as Sprules, the butler; Miss Emma Temple, whose brilliant gifts had little scope; Miss Sylvia Shaw, Mr. Anndrew Higginson, Mr. Douglas Calderwood, Mr. Frank Hawthorne, Mr. Charles Road Night, and Miss Maidie Field.

G.C. DIXON

The Herald (Melbourne), Monday, 29 October 1923, p.4, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243742589

Dot Brunton as Louise Allington

Charles Heslop as Aubrey Allington (post explosion!)

NEW PALACE THEATRE.

"TONS OF MONEY."

“I ’ave an idea!” suddenly says Louise, the young French wife of Aubrey Alllngton, In “Tons of Money,” when they receive news of a big inheritance which will, however, be “almost all swallowed up” if they pay their creditors. So she persuades her husband to her plan, which is that he shall die, and later reappear as a cousin who is to inherit in the event of his death. Her husband reluctantly consents. Then comes discussion of the manner of his death, none of which appeal to him. Being an inventor, he has a workshop, and it is finally decided that it shall be blown up with a high explosive, while he is presumedly working therein.

The plan is carried out, but not just exactly as planned. Subsequently, no fewer than three George Maitlands from Mexico appear, for someone else has a brain wave and a plan to secure the money. Naturally things become a bit mixed, and the plotters are kept on tenterhooks.

This bright farce by Will Evans and Arthur Valentine caused the roof of the Palace Theatre to re-echo to shouts of laughter on Saturday night when it was staged for the first time. The authors have managed to contrive some rather novel situations out of materials that are not exactly new, while the business works up to a splendid “curtain” at the close of each act.

There are a number of old favorites in the cast, who were warmly welcomed on their first entrance, chief of these being Dorothy Brunton as Louise, the young wife. She is bright and animated, and makes Louise an attractive, vivacious individual, whom one is compelled to like even though her principles appear sadly lax.

Charles Heslop, as the inventor husband, proves himself decidedly versatile. He has a quick, volatile method, and a dashing manner. First as the husband, then as the cousin, with a rather crude idea of the manner in which a man from Mexico should dress, and less about life and manners of that far country. Later as an urbane curate in utter contrast, he contrives to give three clever character sketches.

Compton Coutts makes a good impression as Sprules the butler, who plots a little on his own account. Maldie Field is excellent as Simpson, the parlormaid, and his accomplice. 

Emma Temple contrives to introduce some effective comedy as Allington’s Aunt Benita, who Is deaf, but will not own to it. Andrew Higginson and Douglas Calderwood both appear with success in the guise of George Maltland, the first masquerading, the second being the genuine cousin.

Sylvia Shaw does good work as Jean, who accepts each of the pretenders as her husband, declaring she would know him anywhere by his kiss. 

Frank Hawthorne, as a deaf and eccentric old gardener, and Charles Road Night, as James Chesterman, solicitor, complete a first-rate cast.

The staging is excellent and the mounting most carefully and artistically carried out to the smallest detail.

“I ’ave an idea!” Louise says once more, but her husband flees from it, and the curtain falls upon her struggling with this new brain wave.

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 1 November 1923, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146466427

Compton Coutts (as Sprules)—Frank Hawthorne (Giles)—Douglas Calderwood (George Maitland)

“TONS OF MONEY”

Farce Comedy Pleases

By "G. K. M."

In staging “Tons of Money” at the Palace Theatre on the eve of the Cup carnival, Mr. Hugh J. Ward has shown sound judgment. This English farce comedy, which was successful when produced at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, is the sort of entertainment race visitors will enjoy. Full of ludicrous situations, it is as clean, as it is funny. Miss Dorothy Brunton’s return to the Australian stage is, in itself, an event of no little interest. Usually she has been associated with musical comedy, but in “Tons of Money” she shows a distinct flair for straight comedy. Miss Brunton is a much more finished actress than she was when she last appeared in Melbourne. Her representation of the French wife of Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington, who, to use her husband's words, “has been given everything that credit will buy,” is completely successful. With Mr. Charles Heslop, who plays the part of the debt-ridden Aubrey, she is on the stage practically all the time, and the fact that the audience is kept in roars of laughter proves the effectiveness of their work. Mr. Heslop is a comedian well suited to the requirements of a quick-moving farce. He should soon become a favorite with Melbourne playgoers.

To tell the story of the play would be to deprive the many surprising developments of much of their humor. The plot, however, is the old one of deception and mistaken identity, the object of the deception being to prevent Aubrey's creditors from getting the money he has unexpectedly inherited. Of course all the carefully laid plans of Louise and her spouse go astray, but the play ends with reconciliations and kisses all round.

The various minor roles are well sustained by Miss Emma Temple (Ailington’s Aunt Benita), Miss Sylvia Shaw (Louise's cousin), Mr. Charles Road Night (a solicitor), Mr. Compton Coutts (butler), Miss Maidie Field (parlor-maid), Mr. Frank Hawthorne (gardener), Mr. Andrew Higginson (an impostor), and Mr. Douglas Calderwood (Aubrey’s missing cousin).

Weekly Times (Melbourne), Saturday, 3 November 1923, p.16

Aubrey Henry Maitland Allington’s House at Marlow—scenery by Reg Robbins. Courtesy Marriner Theatre Archive, Melbourne.

Meanwhile The Bulletin’s veteran Melbourne-based critic, Edmund Fisher also penned his impressions of the proceedings, while an anonymous contributor to the periodical’s weekly theatrical gossip column noted the debt owed by practitioners of the histrionic art to their predecessors, with a few pertinent examples; and The Sporting Globe published an interview with the farce’s pseudonymous co-writer.

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SUNDRY SHOWS

“Tons of Money,” a fast and furious farce-comedy, imported from the London Shaftesbury, was paid out at the new Palace in Melbourne on Saturday night, under a running fire of chuckles from an overflowing audience. The three-decker, which was built up by Will Evans and Arthur Valentine, tears along at express speed, without once skidding off the rails of the neatly-constructed plot. The chief laughter-makers are a young inventor, Aubrey Allington, and his even more inventive little French wife. The pair are discovered facing the awful blue-writted consequences of a Rolls Royce life on a Ford income. But things proceed to ginger up with a fat legacy for Aubrey, which in the event of his demise passes to Cousin George in Mexico. The latter being conveniently listed as shot dead, the French daughter of Eve tempts her weaker half to diddle his creditors by bequeathing the wealth to her before vanishing in the smoke of an explosion in his laboratory, the idea being that he shall resurrect himself later in the likeness of the defunct George. The plot matures, but, the butler having readjusted the clock hands, Mrs. Aubrey fires the fuse before hubby has time to get away. A fine first curtain discloses the wretched inventor in a dreadful condition of wreckage after the blow-up. Disguised with a goatee and an American burr, he returns home—to be confounded by a second Yankee-tongued and goatee-chinned George. And so the complications proceed, until the story unwinds itself in a final curtain.

“Tons of Money” brings Dorothy Brunton back to us; and the uproarious greetings on Saturday held the show up for some minutes. As Aubrey's giddy French wife, Dot showed her old form. Her endearing spontaneity has in no wise diminished: she still throws herself into her part in the old hoydenish way. Her Louise, who tearfully boasts that her husband gives her everything credit will buy, is a typical English girl, fresh, pleasing and natural, despite a superabundance of foreign accent and gesture. The lengthy farceur, Charles Heslop, who comes here with a big London reputation, is apt to be a shade too tireless. Slick of eye and tongue and limb, he is temperamentally and technically equipped for his job. But one tires a little of his incessant juggling—with words and limbs and everything else he has to use. As the real George’s devoted widow, who recognised her hubby in all three holders of the name by the way they kissed, Sylvia Shaw is always in the picture, although her work is rather academic. Andrew Higginson is the pretender, and Douglas Calderwood gave an excellent account of himself as the real cousin from Mexico. Charles Road Knight, Emma Temple and a newcomer, Maidie Field, completed the fine cast.

The Bulletin (Sydney), 1 November 1923, p.34

Further Tom Glover caricatures for The Bulletin (1923)

POVERTY POINT

It seems to be a rule in theatrical business that the first successful way of doing any particular thing on the dramatic stage is the way it should be always done. A tradition is established. When Hugh Ward brought Charles Heslop and Dorothy Brunton to play in “Tons of Money,” the young man affected a restless, jerky manner which came uneasily to him, and was plainly adapted from a London original, whilst Dorothy had to pretend to be French because a Frenchwoman—Yvonne Arnaud—had “created” the part, and some lines had been put into the farce on her account. Whilst retaining her breezy Australian personality Dorothy Brunton lapsed into a mock-French accent whenever she thought of it, instead of getting the interpolated lines cut out, and talking like her natural self.

The Bulletin (Sydney), 13 December 1923, p.36 (extract)

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Managers Would Not Look at “Tons of Money” Script

The responsibility for “Tons of Money,” the successful English farce, at the New Palace, rests with Will Evans and Arthur Valentine. The former, who is a well-known London comedian, is now In Sydney, appearing at the Tivoli, and the latter is a writer who up till 10 years ago was a member of the Corn Exchange. The curious part about the success of the play is that the authors hawked the script from manager to manager for some years before it was finally accepted.

In a recent interview Valentine was asked what it felt like to strike a sudden tremendous success with a first play written seven years ago, and turned down by every manager until last year. “Every day, and in every way more and more pleasant,” he said, “I am beginning to feel as I have Imagined so many of the heroes of my stories would feel. What a lot of them have come into some sort of surprisingly good fortune at my pen's command! Now it has actually happened to me. Strange—but truth is strange sometimes, isn't it?”

“I suppose,” he went on, “that because I did the writing part of this ‘Tons of Money’ play people think I'm no end of a funny fellow. I assure you I am nothing of the sort.” He seemed to be anxious that there should be mistake on the subject. “I believe, that I have keen sense of humor,” he said, almost apologetically, “but I am not the sort of man who sets all his friends and acquaintances into constant roars of laughter. Nothing like that about me. I have never even tried to write a funny short story—and I wrote a quarter of a million words of fiction last year.”

Fully six feet in height, forty-six years old, and with the wind-tanned skin of one who spends half his time on the Kentish sea coast, Arthur Valentine (his real name is Archibald Thomas Pechey), began to write only ten years ago. He likes writing above all else; even the mechanical part of it, the physical exercise of putting words on paper, which many find so tiring irksome, delights him.

The Sporting Globe (Melbourne), Wednesday, 14 November 1923, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article184814411

The Tons of Money cast take their curtain call. Courtesy Marriner Theatre Archive, Melbourne.

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.

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

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

Central image shows Dress Circle of the Palace Theatre, Melbourne, 1924

“WHICH IS ABSURD.”

THE Curtainrose and fell... and fell and rose... and rose and fell... again, again, again. It seemed to Orlando (standing there, centre stage, bowing and smiling rather twitchingly, now supported by his loyal colleagues, the “powerful cast,” now rather pathetically alone with his pride and his presents) like a vast shutter, imperfectly damping down at intervals the roaring of the furnace beyond. That roaring which each exposure, as it were, seemed to increase; that furnace which gleamed with a myriad highlights of faces and shirt-fronts. A representative audience, it was assembled to say good-bye to him. Him, Orlando Rippit. A tribute to his three years’ triumph amongst them. Tomorrow the great star was going home.

(By the way, and before we forget—all the characters and incidents in this story are purely fictitious. It is manifestly impossible, as you will see later, that they should be otherwise. Very well then. Where were we? Ah, yes—we left Orlando Rippit bowing and smiling before the thunders of applause on his farewell night.)

They were applauding—they were cheering—because he was going home.

(Forgive another parenthesis, but that last sentence looks ambiguous. It reads as if the audience were delighted about him leaving them, doesn't it? No doubt some of them were, just as some of them were indifferent about it either way, having merely come to see “a play” in the ordinary course. But quite sixty per cent. of that vast concourse were genuinely sorry Orlando was departing from their midst, and were expressing their sorrow in the only way an audience can, i.e., by making all the sounds, signs and portents of genuine delight. Well, you couldn’t have them messing the place up with tears, could you? Let’s get on with it.)

Orlando is still bowing and smiling. And his mind, in the way minds have in these moments of ecstasy (ah, if he’d had as much of this sort of thing as you and I, gentle reader!) was darting hither and thither, and thither and yon—from that carefully-rehearsed impromptu speech he was going to deliver in a minute, from what the management had to say about it now, to the perspiring stage-hands hauling on the rope and cursing all such functions, to the individuals in the audience before him. For instance, that was surely old Daniels down there in the stalls corner, and certainly the Arkwrights in the O.P. stage box. What the devil were they getting so excited about? Old Daniels, now, who sold him his wines and spirits, and was the picture of impassivity behind the counter. Look at him now!  Good Lord, red in the face and—yes, actually cheering. No doubt there were a lot of Daniels in the theatre, all doing the same. He was the lion of the evening—a lion in a den of Daniels. Rather good, that. Perhaps he could work that in—no, of course he couldn’t. But this, he supposed, was the audience that had made him out here. Daniels and the like. The Arkwrights, too. They were shouting “Speech, speech” —how very unlike them. But, of course, it was all un-normal. He himself felt un-normal—a curious lightening of the head, a strange contraction of the throat. Oh, shut up, everybody!

He’d heard of people getting swollen-headed out here. Well, it was something to have your fellow creatures standing up and yelling appreciation at you.  They didn’t often do it to mere “straight actors”—or, did they? Of course, they did—anyway, out here. What was it, he wondered, about himself or his acting that made all in this building lose all control of themselves and their feelings for—. Wait a bit!  Everybody? Then who was that wet blanket making stealthily for the exit? Several of them, now he could see more plainly. Damn it! they were almost streaming out of the pit.

For five long minutes Orlando Rippit bowed and smiled before that deafening uproar. And then it died down, and he spoke to them—spoke to them in deathly silence, rather brokenly, very sincerely; he—and they—were convinced of that. And the management spoke. And there was a laurel wreath and musical honours, and at very long last, the curtain came down for the last time on Orlando Rippit in Australia. And that was that.

In valedictory notices in the Press references were made to Mr. Rippit’s regret at leaving a country where his great talents and outstanding personality had deservedly endeared him to every section of the theatre-going public... It was understood that long-standing contracts recalled him;... that he left reluctantly to resume the magnificent position which he adorned in the Old Country.... And so on.  That, I say, was quite understood.  So “the boat sailed on Wednesday.” The streamers parted, the last notes of “Auld Lang Syne” lingered tremulously on the hot summer breeze. . . .

A few minutes later an amazed bathroom steward heard strange sounds issuing from a locked cabin amidships.

To his anxiously repeated knocks: “Go away! I’m singing!” shouted Orlando.

* * * * * *

With all apologies to Mrs. Elinor Glyn, Five Weeks passed entirely without incident.

“One of London’s wet days” (on Aldwych and Wellington St.) from Photograph album – London, 1920s, by Harry Moult. Te Papa (Museum of NZ) (O.032095)

It was raining in London, and for many reasons none of those friends, relations, managers, and agents to whom he had imparted the glad tidings of his return were there to welcome our hero upon the platform. Or, I must add, did he expect them. Almost before the train stopped he was out and away for a taxi.

“Gawd!” he said, as his luggage was piled up, “London!” and breathed deeply and gratefully to find things so little changed.

A little man passing, with a self-conscious walk, turned and looked again.

“H’are you, Rippit?”

“Bolsover, by Jove!” The little man, violently wrung by the hand, was startled at Rippit’s evident affection for him. “What are you doing these days?”

“Been away, have you?”

“Just back from Australia.”

“Of course. Otherwise you’d have known. I’m at the Comedy. As a matter of fact, made a bit of a hit there, old man.”

“Splendid. I’m so glad.”

“Thanks.” Encourged, Bolsover produced a pocket-book.

“I’d like to show you a few of my—Of course, press-notices don’t mean anything to me; as a matter of fact, I never bother to read the things, but—”

“Rather; I’d love to see ‘em all later on. Just at the moment, I’m afraid—”

“Well, cheerio. See you somewhere soon, old man.” And the pocket-book was replaced and the self-conscious walk continued.

Rippit bounded up the stairs of his old rooms in Victoria three at a time. It was all the same, except for a new tablecloth, and he resented that, rather. There was a note from his landlady, propped in front of the clock, asking him to put the hall gas out and lock up.  He ran down to do this.... and stumbled back in pitch blackness.... to find some letters he’d overlooked on the mantlepiece. Ah, his agents...

“... Nothing much doing at present, and we think you would have been wise to stay longer in Australia.... You might perhaps call in next week, as they may be wanting small part people for the tour of...” The other letters were equally inspiriting. Outside the rain had increased and the landlady had omitted to pull the blinds or light the fire. There was probably a coal strike, so we must not altogether blame the thrifty soul.  Anyway, why should we worry? Orlando Rippit certainly did not. On the contrary, the darling of the Antipodes threw himself into his uneasy chair (of covered wickerwork) and chuckled with sheer delight. “Gawd!” he said again—and aloud because he wanted everybody and everything in the world to feel with him the wonder of it, the ecstasy of it, “I’m home. I’m Home. I’m HOME!” And to this crescendo refrain, until a discreet tapping of the wall reminded him that other people in the house wanted to sleep even if he didn’t, Orlando Rippit went to his English bed happier than he had been for three years. (Well, I told you the whole thing was purely fictitious. Moreover, it’s utterly improbable, and even absurd. Is not it?)

CHARLES HESLOP

Palace Theatre, Melbourne,

Australia

THE STAGE, 3 April 1924, p.19

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Lest he suffer the same fate as his imaginary protagonist due to his absence in Australia likewise rendering him “out of sight, out of mind” amongst the English theatrical agents and managements, Heslop kept the London readers of The Stage fully informed of the success that he was enjoying Downunder with the regular insertion of advertisements in its pages along the following lines:

The Stage, 29 December 1923, p.25

The Stage, 14 February 1924, p.14