Dorothy Brunton

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]

Orient Line poster

Australian 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

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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

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.

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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

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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 )

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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

Wikimedia

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 Rebel

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

 * * * * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

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 "drowning"!)

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. (photo by CJ Frazer)
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.

* * * * * * * * * * *

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)

* * * * * * * * * * *

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. (photo by CJ Frazer)
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.

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SUNDRY SHOWS

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

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

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

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Tom Glover caricature for The Bulletin

Commercial broadcasting in Melbourne officially commenced in January 1924

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

Sydney, March 12.

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

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

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

The Heslop’s residence in Sydney

Building (Sydney), 12 July 1920, p.62

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

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

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

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

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

Shooting the surf at Coogee—photo by Harold Cazneaux

The Home, 1 March 1929, p.30

Sunday on Coogee beach—photo by Harold Cazneaux

The Home, 1 March 1929, p.29

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

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

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

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

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

Harry Julius caricatures for The Bulletin

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

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

CHARLES HESLOP.—

THE STAGE—8 May 1924, p.7

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

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WEALTH FOR ALL

“TONS OF MONEY” SOON

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

DOROTHY BRUNTON.

RETURNS TO SYDNEY.

"TONS OF MONEY.”

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

COINERS!

Den Unearthed

Tons and Tons of Money

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then again—just as suddenly—

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

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

AUSTRALIAN MUSIC

Meanwhile the rest of the coiners are hard at it.

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

Nobody dares say anything. Not even Mr. Ward.

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

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

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

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

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

DOT BRUNTON

And—

And—Dot Brunton.

The rehearsal ends with a plaintive wail from Dot Brunton.

“Oh, but Mr. Hall, it’s so hard!”

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

Somebody puts a cushion in Charles Heslop’s lap.

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

“Ooh, Mr. Hall!”

Dot Brunton rubs herself bitterly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cast

Characters in Order of Appearance.

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Scenes

Scene Synopsis.

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Score

Musical Numbers.

Orchestra under Direction of Hamilton Webber, Mus. Bach.

Act I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Act II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Act III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

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

* * * * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

Tons of Money reviewed in the Sydney Press

TONS OF MONEY

Dot Brunton Returns : Charles Heslop’s Success

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dorothy Brunton in Tons of Money

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TONS OF MONEY

Musical Dark Horse

SURPRISE AT OPERA HOUSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Arthur Adams]

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

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

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

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

"TONS OF MONEY."

NEW MUSICAL FARCE.

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

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

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

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

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

[Gerald Marr Thompson]

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

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

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“TONS OF MONEY”

Dot Brunton’s Return

Dashing Musical Farce at Opera House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— W. J. O'NEILL.

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

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SUNDRY SHOWS

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

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

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

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Harry Julius for The Bulletin

Syd Miller for Smith's Weekly

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Lavish Stage Dressing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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TONS OF MONEY

BRIGHT AND COLORFUL

Dorothy and Her Dimples

(By THE GALLERY GIRL.)

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

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

Whirl of Color

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

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

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

A Versatile Actor

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

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

Good Character Study

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

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

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

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

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

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“TONS OF MONEY”

GRAND OPERA HOUSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello! one letter isn’t a writ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The story?

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

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

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

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

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

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Postscript

At a Dress Rehearsal

Putting the Final Touches on a Musical Comedy.

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

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

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

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

"All right, lets go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No—er, yes, just a second."

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

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

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

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

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Further Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JCW flyer—1915. Photos by Monte Luke. State Library Victoria, Melbourne.

Preparations continuedfor the Australian premiere of the American musical comedy High Jinks, which was scheduled to open at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney on 6 February 1915 at the conclusion of J.C. Williamson’s New English Musical Comedy Company season of The Girl on the Film and JCW’s Press Agents ensured that the theatre-going public were kept well informed of its upcoming production.

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Music and Drama

“High Jinks,” which is to be staged for the first time in Australia by the J. C. Williamson management on Saturday next, at Her Majesty’s, is the light lyric order of entertainment. It was presented over a year ago in New York by Mr. Arthur Hammerstein, son of Mr. Oscar Hammerstein, of grand opera fame, and it had a run lasting right through the summer. As a rule most of the American theatres close during the summer, and it requires a very bright attraction to withstand the hot season; but Mr. Hugh J. Ward found “High Jinks” equal to the test when he was in New York last year. It was one of the few shows running, and as he remarked, “the only musical one at that.” In fact, he considers it a very amusing entertainment, farcical, and with ingenious complications. While he was at the theatre he met three Sydney men in the foyer, who spoke of the musical play with enthusiasm. The J.C. Williamson management has secured a cast eminently suited to the piece, and one which, it is believed, will compare favourably with the one Mr. Ward saw at the Lyric Theatre, New York. The fun in “High Jinks” is admittedly evolved from an absurd idea, arising out of the discovery by a Dr. Wayne of a perfume, which, upon being inhaled, bring out a man’s social instincts, which, however, have to be more or less restrained, owing to convention. The producer of “High Jinks” Is Mr. Harry Burcher, from the London Gaiety Theatre, with Mr. Ward, who is actively interesting himself in the rehearsals.

Next Saturday will be “Actors’ Day.” Annually the members of the profession in Sydney give a day to the Actors’ Association of Australasia, whose funds go to the benefit of the less fortunate of the craft, and the event is generally anticipated as a very pleasant reunion. The White City will again be the venue of an entertainment, which will last from 1 to 5 p.m. Mr. Fred. Niblo, Miss Josephine Cohan. Miss Ethel Dane, Miss Dorothy Brunton, and a host of others will have charge of the stalls and side-shows; and, as a number of society ladies are also giving their services in looking after the refreshment rooms, there will be no stint of free and loving service in a worthy cause.

All the White City attractions will be open to enhance the success of “the day,” and Mr. T.H. Eslick and his staff are throwing themselves with enthusiasm into the work of preparing for the entertainment.

Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Saturday, 30 January 1915, p.8, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article15564072

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Entrance to The White City (1913)

The mountain railway attraction (1913)

The opening of High Jinks coincided with Actors’ Day at the Sydney amusement park, The White City, based at Rushcutters’ Bay, which had been designed and built by the English civil engineer and architect, T.H. Eslick (who had also been responsible for the design and construction of Melbourne’s Luna Park) and had first opened on 3 December 1913. Amongst the members of the theatrical profession taking part in the festivities for the charity event was American actor (and future film director) Fred Niblo, then in the final year of a 3 year theatrical tour of Australasia with by his wife, Josephine Cohan for J.C. Williamson Ltd., which included seasons of plays by his brother-in-law, George M. Cohan. Others in attendance included leading players, Julius Knight and Irene Browne, comedian, Jack Cannot, pantomime star, Daisy Jerome and JCW Managing Director, Hugh J. Ward. The event also received the patronage of the New South Wales Governor, Sir Gerald Strickland. The New English Musical Comedy Company was represented by the chorus girls, who sold programs and its leading lady, Dorothy Brunton, who sold flowers and was also the subject of an anecdote published in that day’s World’s News.

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What Did the Actress Do?

At Her Majesty’s, Sydney, Miss Dorothy Brunton, who is to play Sylvia Dale this Saturday in “High Jinks,” sings a recruiting song in “The Girl on the Film.” This is Paul Ruben’s number, “Your King and Country Want You.” It is a woman’s appeal to the manhood of the nation to enlist. In the refrain occur the lines:

Oh, we don’t want to lose you,

  But we think you ought to go

 For your King and your country

Both need you so.

  We shall want you and miss you,

      And with all our might and main,

            We shall love you, hug you, kiss you —

 When you come back again!

One night during the week Miss Brunton found two young soldiers waiting at the stage door for her. “May we speak to you, Miss Brunton?” one asked. “Yes,” she replied. “What is it?” “Well,” said the spokesman, “I am going to the front with the next lot of Australians. My friend, Billo, here, has just came back from Rabaul. We heard you sing to-night that you would kiss us when we came back again. Now what are you going to do about it? Billo, here, is back. He’s all right for his kiss. I was wondering if I could get mine in advance!”

World’s News (Sydney), Saturday, 6 February 1915, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article131503078

 

JCW Prompt Scrapbook 8, Vol. 2, National Library of Australia, Canberra

The premiere of High Jinks proved to be a great success with Sydney audiences, as reported by the theatre critics in the Sunday newspapers and their counterparts in the following Monday’s press. However, just as the German origins of The Girl on the Film had been obfuscated, so, too, were the names of High Jinks’ Hungarian-born librettist, Leo Ditrichstein, American-born (of Danish descent) lyricist/co-librettist, Otto Hauerbach (later known as Harbach) and Bohemian (Czech)-born composer, Rudolf Friml conspicuous by their absence, both from the theatre programme distributed at Her Majesty’s and the subsequent reviews of the production, lest the war-conscious audience be put off from attending by the mere mention of such Germanic-sounding names.

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LAST NIGHT AT SYDNEY’S THEATRES

A GENIAL ENLIVENER

NON-STOP LAUGHTER PLAY

HILARITY AT HER MAJESTY'S

“High Jinks” certainly sums it up. Few plays are fitted by their title like the unusual enlivener that burst upon the big audience at Her Majesty’s last night.

The story is quite equal to the strain of supporting the succession of bright numbers that rattle through the three hours of lively stage traffic. Sometimes there is a suggestion of congestion but the road to gaiety is never impassable. A full thoroughfare, too, is always brisker and brighter than one in which a thin stream of people meander. That is the difference between Melbourne and Sydney streets. In Melbourne the streets are too wide for the traffic; in Sydney you have to hop about to avoid being hit by something.

Last night the rush on the stage of Her Majesty’s kept the audience hopping. At times the music caught their feet with the merry jingle of bright movement—syncopated for the most part—and there was plenty of color to hold the eye.

The color scheme. of “High Jinks” is pitched in a brilliant key. All the dresses are vivid.  So is the story, by the way. This tells of a young doctor who discovers a perfume, the particular virtue of which is to send the sniffer thereof into a transport of joy. He begins to bubble with life and assume a roving eye. Anything that is in sight he is after. Violet Lorraine used to sing in one of the pantomimes:

Why do those things with trousers on

Follow those things with blouses on

Something in the seaside air!

To the seaside air of Beauville, where all the characters in “High Jinks” spend the second and third acts, there is added the perfume, already mentioned. It is most potent as an inducer of the mood irresponsible—or should we say that it produces the indicative mood, indicative of being out for a good time?

How the characters get to the seaside is a story in itself. Dr. Thorne, an American physician practising in Paris, is besought by an inflammable Frenchman to take a safety pin out of his wife's throat. The patient is so grateful for the relief thus granted, that she embraces and kisses the doctor. The Frenchman is so incensed by observing this demonstration that he challenges the doctor to a duel. As an alternative he asks to be presented to Mrs. Thorne so that he might kiss her. To avoid this insult to his wife—also the Frenchman is fascinating and likely to make headway—the doctor gets Sylvia Dale, a young actress, to impersonate Mrs. Thorne. Together with Miss Dale’s chaperone, the doctor and Sylvia go to the seaside. They are registered as man and wife, though they occupy separate apartments.

Complications ensue when the inventor of the perfume, who is engaged to Sylvia, and Mrs. Thorne arrive, severally, not jointly, at Beauville. An apparently inextricable tangle is continued. This is added to by the arrival of J.J. Jeffreys —no relation to the champion—and his finding out that Sylvia's chaperone is his long lost wife. To be exact, she has been lost twenty-three years. Sylvia is supposed to be her daughter, but J.J. Jeffreys is dismayed when Sylvia tells him her age is twenty-one.

The turns and twists in the fun-making are very amusing to observe. They would, however, give one a headache if he essayed to elucidate them. Indeed, the only lucid intervals in the evening are—the intervals.

Taken at a lively pace, one has to keep mentally alert to keep up with the author. There is no breathing space in the numbers either—they are breathless. In fact, one comes away from the theatre with a feeling that one has laughed himself into a high state of good humor, and visions of delightful girls “dancing the blues away.” If one could only get a week-end ticket to Beauville and a phial of the “High Jinks” perfume, the tourist traffic would be enormous. Everyone at Her Majesty’s last night would be booking berths to-morrow and looking up the fares to-day.

To the producing staffs great credit is due. The pace never stops, and a master hand may be discerned in this very fact. Mr. Harry Burcher was the producer, Miss Minnie Hooper the ballet mistress, Mr. Andrew MacCunn the musical director, and the whole was supervised by Mr. Hugh J. Ward.

“High Jinks” has an admirable company. Miss Dorothy Brunton as Sylvia Dale was charming. Her number with Mr. Paul Plunket, as the inflammable Frenchman, was a sheer delight. It is entitled “Not now, but Later.”  Mr. Plunket decidedly voted in favor of “Now.” Miss Brunton has a dainty waltz refrain, “Is this love at last?” All her work is finished, clever and attractive. Mr. Workman shares one or two numbers with the golden-haired little Australian. Their voices blend harmoniously, and the skilful acting of the English actor makes his performance a notable one. Mr. Field Fisher “eccentricises” the part of Dr. Thome, and gets plenty of genuine laughs. So does Mr. Alfred Frith as a quaint, elderly beau, Colonel Slaughter. A lumber king is the role assigned to Mr. W.H. Rawlins, and the “High Jinks” perfume has a wonderful influence upon him. Miss Vie (as the chaperone). Miss Gertrude Glyn (as a naughty actress posing as a nurse), Miss Marie Eaton (as Mrs. Thorne) and Miss Eileen Cottey are all “in the picture.” A graceful dance is given by Mlle. Novotna and M. Lauschmann in the Cabaret scene of the third act.

One of the hits of the evening was the ragging of the prison scene from ”Faust.” The cast was Mr. Workman, Mephistopheles; Miss Eaton, Marguerite; and Mr. Maguire, Valentine. It is a knockout number, and the audience would be listening to it yet if the singers were agreeable.

The well painted scenes were by Mr. Leslie Board and W. Little. The Cabaret set, with the English Channel in the background, was particularly effective.

The first matinee will be on Wednesday.

Sunday Times (Sydney), Sunday, 7 February 1915, p.6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article120792475

A novel promotion for High Jinks featured in the Sunday Times, from photos by Monte Luke, which also included Business Manager, George Matheson, the scenic artist (Leslie Board), Property Master, Rock Phillips and the theatre’s call-boy.

Act 1—Dr. Thorne’s Sanitorium, near Paris. Scenery by William Little.

JCW Scene Book 8, Theatre Heritage Australia

Acts 2 & 3—Hotel de Pavillion at Beauville, a Bathing Resort on the French Coast. Scenery by Leslie Board.

JCW Scene Book 8, Theatre Heritage Australia

Meanwhile The Sun’s critique was a virtual love letter to lead comedienne, Florence Vie!

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

HIGH JINKS.

Light, Bright, And Gay.

FLORENCE VIE IN THE VEIN.

NEW COMEDY CATCHES ON.

Thank you, Miss Vie. When the producer asks it, few people can in such a rollicking spirit as you slap the old fellows on their bald heads and say, “Oh, go hon.” You did a lot of it in the third act, when your business was to turn the supper scene into one of those devil-may-care restaurant sprees; and the audience liked it so much that no matter how puffed you were, they wanted you to keep going for another quarter-hour. But you had to say no. You are getting like Hamlet, you know; embonpoint and short in the wind. You show wonderful vitality and love of fun. “I don’t know how you do it, but you do.”

But in addition to this jollity, Miss Vie, you can manage quieter effects, as you did in the first act, and part of the second. The formal thanks of the first paragraph are tendered to you because of all the individuals concerned In the musical comedy, you were the one who supplied the greatest propelling force for the general gaiety.

(We must interrupt these few remarks to you, Miss Vie, in order to inform the public that the musical comedy High Jinks, an American extravaganza, was produced at Her Majesty’s Theatre by Harry B. Burcher, yourself, and others last night.)

Of course you don’t imagine, Miss Vie, that we think you the only good thing in the piece. The piece is generally pleasing, and promises to hit the public taste better than any musical comedy from America since The Belle of New York. It contains lots of ragtime, of which some people grow tired: but others are just beginning to feel enthusiastic about it. Your own songs are raggy. To tell the truth, you don't sing them as well as you could when you were the end girl in the Midnight Raiders; but you weren't engaged for your singing.

Forgetting yourself for a moment, Miss Vie, what do you think of Marie Eaton? It is a fine thing that this dashing singer should be so well placed. Give her something bold in the way of dress and something florid in the way of music, and she will do better in the role than anyone else now in Australia could. It is a pity that that black-and-white square-cut garment hung so awkwardly in the second act. Her other costumes were The Thing, and she stormed the trenches as usual with her singing.

You must share the general opinion, Miss Vie, concerning the finale of the first act— that it was striking both in its musical arrangement and in its setting. Let us mention also that your legs were easily recognisable in the quaint recall given after the first act. That was a clever trick. After the curtain rose to the recall, the whole company pranced across the stage; then danced across in close file; then showed only their legs beneath a hardly-raised curtain. Little quiffs like that add to the popularity of a show.

Be good-natured, Miss Vie, as we know you are; join with us in congratulating Dorothy Brunton on a decided success, but you needn’t take responsibility for the statement that her voice was thin in singing. She acted with great daintiness and charm.

Alfred Frith, as Colonel Slaughter, was a good study all the time; and when he sat drinking beside you at the supper-table, he was just full enough to be funny. He got drunk like a gentleman; a silly, old gentleman; and you and he together provided some great comedy of the broad sort.

Of course, Florence (we use the Christian name as the night advances), you have often seen Field Fisher’s real face. It isn’t often seen by audiences, but was revealed last night when he played Dr. Thorne. It is a funny face, isn’t it? And he's a funny comedian, a first-rate laugh-maker. He shares your success.

Perhaps, Flo, you admire C.H. Workman more than we do. He always seems to us so darned matter-of-fact in his alleged comedy. His singing passes muster. But there you are; he’s the lead—so why criticise him?

That was a bad failure of a Frenchman you put into the show, Florrle. Paul Plunket playing Jacques Rabelais. If he came into the lines at Soissons talking with that heavy, accent and barking his final “Ha” and “H’m” like that, he would be shot as a spy. His usual complement, Gertrude Glyn, was tacked on to the rest of the cast as a dancer Chi-Chi, who flirted indiscriminately. She was gentle, amiable, and undistinguished; as is her habit.

Ah, Florence, don’t you wish you could pirouette like Vlasta Novotna? She and Victor Lauschmann don’t put much striking originality into recent dances; but the spirit and movement of life are in them.

W.H. Rawlins as the Lumber King turns out to be your long-lost husband. He does you proud, if it was you who taught him to act; for his performance was a specially good piece of heavy comedy.

The show is a good one; but honestly, Flo, it’s a bit naughty in parts, isn’t it? Men employing casual wives “scientifically,” and booking up double rooms in hotels—though there is of course never a hint that they occupy them. And bits of the dialogue here and there . . . but blue is a color which doesn’t displease Sydney audiences.

You understand, Miss Vie, that the reason why the notice is written in this way is in order to get your name into every paragraph; because the writer thinks that your share in the success deserves that amount of mention.

Space fails. There is room only to say that the comedy is smart, and fairly consecutive in spite of so many loosely-strung numbers; the setting is handsome, the dressing bright, if not extravagant, and the songs better than usual. The waltz refrain, Love at Last (Dorothy Brunton) will be popular. The burlesque of Faust in rag-time goes well with those who like rag-time burlesque—and apparently 99 of the 100 do.

First matinee next Wednesday.

The Sun (Sydney), Sunday, 7 February 1915, p.4, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article229323706

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(l to r) Charles Workman as Dick Wayne, Dorothy Brunton as Sylvia Dale, Field Fisher as Dr. Robert Thorne and Marie Eaton as Mrs. Marion Thorne. Photos by Monte Luke.

“HIGH JINKS.”

“High Jinks,” the new “musical follity” at Her Majesty’s Theatre, is a gorgeously-dressed piece of hilarious nonsense, for the most part noisily scored to suit the uproarious high spirits of a bustling crowd on a well-filled stage. At the same time it boasts two fascinating melodies which delight the general ear. The scent-theme is heard as often as Dick Wayne (C.H. Workman) waves the magic “High Jinks” perfume beneath the nose of one of his victims, with the result that “the veriest icicle glows with the warmth of spring, and the prude becomes a daredevil.”

In this way the sight of various people gliding and springing like puppets whenever the string was pulled to the sparkling orchestral piece that emphasised the comic situation never failed to put the audience in high good humour. The second theme on which the popularity of the musical farce will be founded is a charming “valse lente” in the Viennese style, first introduced in song-form by Miss Dorothy Brunton, with plangent harp and flowery reed-phrases in the dainty scoring, and afterwards taken up as a chorus, and happily repeated whenever the action threatened to flag. The irresponsible merriment of “High Jinks” revealed tedious places here and there in the earlier scenes, but really clever acting by all concerned triumphed and the advantage of a capital last act in which Mr. W.H. Rawlins and Miss Florence Vie carried all before them, so prized-up the entertainment as a whole, that it may be confidently “tipped” for a good run.

Mr. Rawlins makes leisurely headway before he becomes prominently “in the running” for first honours, his part being that of a ponderous. elderly American timber king. This stout old way-back, one J.J. Jeffreys, cherishes sentimental recollections of Adelaide Fontaine (Florence Vie), an actress who deserted him 23 years before, and a year after their separation mendaciously announced that he was the father of a lovely baby-girl. The reconciliation between the two, their duet “Come Hither,” Mr. Rawlins’ prosy supper-speech, and the joyous surprise of handsprings from an elderly actor of high tonnage, were amongst the uproarious delights of the evening. Miss Vie’s quietly humorous aplomb as a woman capable of enjoying a champagne lunch with undiminished zest no matter what perilous complications may develop, and her calm indifference to the fact that Sylvia Dale was not her daughter at all, as “papa” must quickly find out, kept up the interest of the plot. Rag-time was evidently all the rage when the musical comedy was written and Miss Vie’s comic numbers were mostly in that idiom, which, with chorus and brass effects, almost invariably leads to sheer noise. The blue of her costume in “Jim” clashed horribly with the hostile tone of the blue blazers of her attendant Swains—and at eight to one the lady should give way!

The principal figure in the story was Mr. Field Fisher, as an American specialist in Paris, a Dr. Thorne, who struck only occasional sparks of humour from dull dialogue, but looked the part, and comically expressed in dance the joys of “High Jinks.” Besides her well-rendered valse-song, Miss Brunton as Sylvia Dale, played her rapturous little love-passages prettily, and though the enunciation of her first song was quite indistinct, she hit the mark in “By the Sea.” Herein a roguish-looking bevy of bathing-girls threw themselves in easy attitudes upon an imaginary shore whilst the rhythmic “swish” of a shingly beach was suggested from the wings as on additional accompaniment. Miss Marie Eaton (Mrs. Thorne) was twice encored, in association with Messrs. Workman and Fred Maguire, for a ragtime burlesque upon the prison-trio from “Faust.” Mr. Workman did not reveal new points as an actor, but his tuneful voice was well used in various duets, including “Chi-Chi,” with Gertrude Glyn. This latter artist’s best effort was the tender song “Bubbles,” the idea of which was further illustrated by coloured puff-balls launched upon the bosom of the air. Laughter was caused by Mr. Paul Plunket's amusing, through weird, caricature of Jacques Rabelais. Mr. Alfred Frith’s soundly-drawn portrait of Colonel Slaughter, a military boarding-house buck, proved of immense service in the supper-scene. Beauville, with the purple shadows of night suffusing a breath of turquoise sea, formed the central tableau by Leslie Board. Here, also, Vlasta Novotna won applause by her dazzling pirouettes within the embrace of Victor Lauschmann. Mr. Harry B. Burcher directed this successful production, Mr. Andrew MacCunn conducted the music, and Miss Minnie Hooper the dances, and all were included in the recalls of enthusiasm at the close.

Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Monday, 8 February 1915, p.4, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article15549955

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Field Fisher as Dr. Thorne with W.H. Rawlins as J.J. Jeffreys. Photo by Monte Luke.

Dancers, Vlasta Novotna and Victor Lauschmann perform in the Act 3 cabaret. Photo by Monte Luke.

HIGH JINKS.

 MUSICAL JOLLITY AT HER MAJESTY’S.

There is a good deal of smart comedy in “High Jinks,” which was produced by the Williamson management at Her Majesty’s Theatre on Saturday night. The development of the story, with its numerous absurd complications, is far more coherent than the majority of pieces of the class, and was undoubtedly well thought out. One can quite imagine an author getting rather mixed himself in working through this scheme, in which wives and pretended wives pay such important roles.

It emanates from the act of a doctor (Robert Thorne) being caught by a truculent Frenchman (M. Jacques Rabelais) kissing his (the Frenchman’s) wife. Rabelais wants either a duel with the doctor or to kiss the other’s wife. Thorne, under the advice of Dick Wayne, supplies another wife for the kissing, and away everybody goes from the doctor’s sanatorium near Paris to Beauville, a French bathing-place, where the scenes—particularly that at a supper in the  Hotel de Pavilion—are extremely gay. Leslie Board’s picture of this bathing resort is decidedly a success. The idea of Dick Wayne’s perfume that acts as a kind of rejuvenator, though not entirely new, is responsible for fine wholesome fun. In parts the comedy gets close to the danger line, but people seem to like that.

As for the music, much of it will appeal to those who like ragtime, and Sydney’s taste is certainly inclined that way nowadays more than ever, perhaps for lack of higher musical encouragement. There is a kind of ragtime burlesque on “Faust” (sung by Miss Marie Eaton, Mr. C.H. Workman, and Mr. Fred Maguire), over which the audience went fairly wild. But everything was like that in the uproarious supper scene.

Mr. Field Fisher’s performance of the part of Dr. Robert Thorne was cleverly humorous, especially while he was under the influence of the “High Jinks” perfume, invented by Dick Wayne (a part smartly played by Mr. C.H. Workman). Excellent humor was exhibited by Mr. W.H. Rawlins, as an American lumber king, who had lost his wife for over 29 years, and discovers her at last in Adelaide Fontaine (a character played on broad lines by Miss Florence Vie), and Mr. Alfred Frith, who made everybody laugh at the supper table, as Colonel Slaughter. Mr. Paul Plunkett’s Rabelais was eccentric, but not convincing. Miss Dorothy Brunton (Sylvia Dale), Miss Gertrude Glyn (Mlle. Chi-Chi). Miss Marie Eaton (the real Mrs. Thorne), and Miss Nellie Hobson (Madame Rabelais) each had her admirers.

Evening News (Sydney), Monday, 8 February 1915, p.8, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article115825612

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The ballet girls, including Madge Elliott (2nd from top). Photo by Monte Luke.

Alfred Frith as Col. Slaughter. Photo by Monte Luke.

“HIGH JINKS.”

AMERICAN COMEDY AT HER MAJESTY’S.

Ever since a few peculiarly seductive bars of waltz music made “The Merry Widow” one of the successes of its period, composers in two continents have been striving to find some other peculiarly seductive bars, so as to make some other musical comedy the success of some other season. They have not succeeded overwell, but In “High Jinks,” produced at Her Majesty’s on Saturday night, there Is a frequently recurring little melody, which in a month’s time will be whistled by every messenger boy in Sydney. “High Jinks” is the name given to a new liquid, the taste—even the aroma—of which possesses remarkable properties. Under its influence “the icicle glows with warmth of spring, and the prude becomes a devil,” and the change is announced by a lilting little strain, which sets everybody's feet a-dancing. They dance through three acts of comedy, from the more or less sedateness of a specialist’s surgery to the balcony of a Beauvllle hotel, where the jinks are, in truth very high.

But “High Jinks” has come to stay. Being American, its music is syncopated fairly well, out of compliment to the prevailing musical fashion, though a little bit of syncopation is not unpleasant, if only by way of variety. Yet the purely musical side of “High Jinks” is clever. Mr. Workman’s first song sets a high standard, both for soloists and chorus. Half a dozen numbers, which come within the legitimate scope of the play—notably a waltz song, “Is This Love at Last,” by Dorothy Brunton-—are far removed from the commonplace. One interpolated, number—“Faust” in ragtime—whilst standing out as an offence against everything associated with the memory of Gounod, a horrible travesty upon one of the world’s masterpieces, is so clever, as to make it almost the musical success of the evening. The final trio of “Faust”—Mephistopheles, Faust, and Marguerite—singing the triumphant “Holy Angel in Heaven Blest,” is actually produced and sung in horrible ragtime by Miss Marie Eaton, Mr. C.H. Workman, and Mr. Fred Maguire. The parody is a piece of gigantic American impudence, but its cleverness is undoubted. There is similar cleverness throughout the whole performance, which, produced on a substantially lavish scale, may be quoted as one of the best things of its kind that America has produced in recent years. And the few bars of real live melody give promise of providing a sound foundation for a successful career.

Dr. Robert Thorne, an American specialist in Paris, is a very grave, austere, scientific person, interested only in patients and in science. He is the despair of his wife, until Dick Wayne comes along with the liquid discovered outback somewhere, which has the curious effect on the nerves already referred to. He submits it to Thorne as a property with millions in it. Thorne is a scoffer and will not listen to Wayne. In order to prove its potency, however, Wayne smuggles some into the doctor's drink. At once the little melody is heard coming up from the first violins, the flutes take it up, then the clarinets, then the full orchestra—and the metamorphosis is complete. The staid scientific icicle is infected with the warmth of a human spring. He suffers a grateful Parisienne to kiss him just as her husband happens to be looking on, and the Frenchman insists on either a duel or the privilege of kissing the doctor's wife by way of compensation. The rest is comparatively easy. The Frenchman may kiss anybody so long as it is not the doctor’s wife, and in order to secure this end various impersonations have to take place.

One of the doctor’s patients is Mr. J.J. Jeffreys, an American lumber king, who lost his wife 23 years ago. Adelaide Fontaine happens to be the wife, and circumstances draw her to Beauville at the time her husband is there undergoing a cure. She has a protege, Sylvia Dale, who is to be introduced as the doctor’s wife. Jeffreys has a particularly pretty dancer attending him as a nurse, and the mix up leads to a great finale. Through it all runs Colonel Slaughter in the role of more or less idiotic commentator.

There are quite a number of situations which progress as far as they legitimately can, but a whiff of “High Jinks” sets the fiddles going, the fiddles infect the flute, the flute the clarinets, and the parties concerned dance themselves out of all the difficulties that seem to be looming ahead.

Three characters stood but conspicuously—Mr. W.H. Rawlins as the American lumber king; Mr. Field Fisher as Dr. Thorne; and Miss Florence Vie as Adelaide Fontaine. The first named was always clever. His speech at the supper table, into which he tried to introduce a few local references when he had better have adhered to the “book,” was the only flaw in an otherwise great performance. Mr. Fisher was an immediate success. His smile, developing breadth with the accompanying music, was irresistible. Miss Vie, in a part which in more or less readymade, also came through with flying colours. One misses the twang which would have put the perfecting touch to the extravagant and loud Americaine, and the critic has not to say too much of Miss Vie’s singing; but the lady, nevertheless, took a big share in the honors of the evening. Mr. Workman has not much scope in the more or less stodgy part of Dick Wayne, whose chief business seems to be singing, and to spread the aroma which sets everybody else on the move; but Mr. Frith’s Colonel Slaughter was another of the successes of the night. Mr. Paul Plunket was the Frenchman—earnest, but not French; just as Miss Gertrude Glyn, in her part of Mdlle. Chi Chi, a dancer from the Folies Bergeres, was very interesting—but not Parisian. Her “bubble” song near the end deserved a recall.

The musical honors were shared between Miss Marie Eaton as Mrs. Thorne, and Miss Dorothy Brunton as Sylvia Dale, both of whom were fortunate in having to sing songs that were suitable to their style of voice, and in the various numbers in which they were joined by Mr. Workman (who carried all the male vocalisation) all did well. The chorus work was excellent. The dancing was clever, the dresses pretty, and the staging lavish, and there is everything in the production to warrant extended popularity. There will be a matinee on Wednesday.

Daily Telegraph (Sydney, NSW), Monday, 8 February 1915, p.8, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article238847276

Dorothy Brunton as Sylvia Dale, Paul Plunket as Mons. Jacques Rabelais and Charles Workman as Dick Wayne. Photo by Monte Luke.

Gertrude Glyn as Mlle. Chi-Chi with Charles Workman as Dick Wayne. Photo by Monte Luke.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The musical aspects of High Jinks were also given their due by JCW’s respected Sydney-based Musical Director, Andrew MacCunn and the interpolated Act III trio “Faust in Ragtime” (not in the original New York production) even received comment (and grudging praise) from the “serious” music critic of The Daily Telegraph, echoing that of the paper’s drama critic.

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

LIGHT MUSIC

THE PROBLEM IT PRESENTS.

The musical director of High Jinks had innumerable rehearsals with the orchestra and principals before the production at Her Majesty’s last night of the piece.

“There are people,” Mr. MacCunn says, “who imagine that there is no art in light tunes. There is. How many composers of grand opera have tried to ‘dash off’ a musical comedy and dismally failed? The gift of melody is as decided a gift as, say, the gift for writing graceful verse. There is also some special talent required for presenting it. I have rehearsed and conducted grand opera; in fact, I did nothing but that for some years. And it is easier work than musical comedy. Opera, so far as the best works of great composers is concerned, is musical gold. Musical comedy is glitter, without being gold. Therefore it has to be made to seem like it, to be polished until it sparkles brilliantly. There is a whole box of tricks one has to master before he can get the brilliance from the scores. One has to got the vocal brightness from the choruses, the orchestra, and the principals, who in every case are not perfect musicians. Even with such skilled readers of music as Mr. Workman, Mr. Maguire, and Miss Eaton, we have had endless rehearsals for the Faust ragtime trio. The harmonies, the syncopation, and the tricky vocal acrobatics all have to be got with such a degree of certainty and ease that no effort Is apparent. The average person in an audience imagines that lack of effort in an artist denotes that a thing is easy. Few realise the time that artist expends in perfecting a number so that effort is concealed. Many stage aspirants are misled into thinking a thing easy through it looking that way. It is one of those stage paradoxes that the easier a man’s job seems the more difficult it actually is! That is how it is with the music of High Jinks, for instance.”

The Sun (Sydney), Sunday, 7 February 1915, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article229323678

High Jinks song list

Andrew MacCunn, as seen by Harry Julius (1912)

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

MUSICAL NOTES.

“High Jinks” perpetrates an extremely clever “paraphrase” of the prison scene in Gounod’s “Faust.” It is a polyphonic tangle of sound for three voices, accompanied by the orchestra, that must have demanded unremitting rehearsal. Old contrapuntal Bach would be filled with envy if he could hear it. So clever is it that the “parody” is lost sight of, a fortunate circumstance for those who have enshrined Gounod’s masterpiece in their hearts. But where will these musically irreverent liberties end? Perhaps we shall hear the Austral Quartet engaged to play ragtime at Bridge parties, and the stately Philharmonic chorus chanting cake-walk variations on Handelian themes. Seriously, though, no music-lovers would like to see overmuch of this trifling, however clever, and however well executed. The sublime is so near the ridiculous, it is said, that when next we see Goethe’s hapless Marguerite, her tragic distress will not touch us, remembering its humorous travesty in “High Jinks.” In a way, no doubt, the burlesque can show good cause; the trail of the artificial is spread over such scenes as the one in question. The new version of the “Faust” prison scene is but a modern commentary upon the older operatic conventions. It is obviously put forward as an item in the business of relieving much-tried humanity from the monotony of everyday existence; as such it is to be accepted in the same spirit as it is placed before the public.

The Daily Telegraph (Sydney, NSW), Saturday, 13 February 1915, p.6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article238844951

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The ‘Faust in Ragtime’ trio with Charles Workman, Marie Eaton and Fred Maguire. Photo by Monte Luke.

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Meanwhile the weekly Bulletin’s critique of the show was in typical flippant fashion, accompanied by Harry Julius’s comical caricatures.

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SUNDRY SHOWS

“High Jinks,” the latest JCW light musical show, now kicking cheerfully at Her Majesty’s, Sydney, is the usual French comedy with its fangs drawn. There is just enough left in it to suggest that, in its original state, it must have been a death-adder. There is, for instance, the passage-at-arms between the pretty actress-nurse and the elderly rich American, who has been sent away in her charge by a doctor made frivolous by a whiff of the wonder-working “High Jinks” perfume. Finding that she has registered as his wife at two hotels (they have just been politely moved on from the first), he strikes a virtuous attitude and asks her what she means by it. “Why!” she drawls amazedly, “I thought it was expected of me!” The plot is quite simple and conduces to hilarity. After one whiff of the “High Jinks” raffing gas, everybody becomes uproarious and morally irresponsible and runs away with the other party. It is the sort of central idea that would become boresome if done to slow, yearning music by a lot of staid, easy-going principals with the fat of middle-age thick upon them. Fortunately the music—of which there is a good supply—is nearly all lively and tuneful, and the few Jinkers who are not young and handsome have some other advantages.

* * * *

Dorothy Brunton is the usual fluffy vision in a cream-puff part and a couple of songs, one of which, a remembersome waltz, is sung with taking ease. Her careful voice-production is in delicate contrast to Marie Eaton’s method of using her high soprano, which is forced unpleasantly, especially in a superfluous Faust burlesque several yards too long. However, Miss Eaton's acting is uniformly good, and so is cheerful Florence Vie’s. The fair and willowy Gertrude Glyn as usual looms up in one or two gowns that stun the stalls; but a wide, sunny smile disarms criticism. She almost succeeds in being pathetic with a song in which large rubber balloons are referred to as soap bubbles. Field Fisher, C.H. Workman and W.H. Rawlins, the chief comedians, put up a remarkably good plain-clothes performance. Rawlins is the best off for “fat,” as the moral American invalid mentioned above. Chris Wren (French waiter) and Alfred Frith (burlesque Colonel) form a good comedy second-line. Paul Plunket succeeds in being the sort of infatuated stage Frenchman that numberless other actors have failed to be; and the dainty little Vlasta Novotna whirls gracefully with partner Victor Lauschmann in a smart third-act specialty. The mounting and dresses are good, and the chorus and orchestra do their duty; but the Iron Crosses and other decorations must be handed to the 14 capable principals.

The Bulletin (Sydney), 11 February 1915, p.8

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With the increased perils faced by commercial shipping from the UK and the Continent, which were subject to possible attack by German battleships and U-boats, the importation of overseas artists for theatrical engagements by J.C. Williamson’s was severely hampered and consequently Australian actresses were promoted to leading roles in its productions – a situation that was remarked upon and celebrated by the Sydney Sunday Times.  

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THE NIGHT OF THE AUSTRALIAN

THREE NATIVE-BORN GIRLS AS STARS

Three critics of the “Sunday Times” held a hasty consultation last night, resulting in a collaboration upon three Williamson attractions. Each critic was struck by the prominence achieved by Australian artists at the principal Sydney theatres. Australians were conspicuously represented at Her Majesty’s, the Theatre Royal, and the Criterion. It is noteworthy that the three leading actresses at each performance were native-born.

At Her Majesty’s, Miss Dorothy Brunton appears as Sylvia Dale, the sympathetic role of “High Jinks” on the feminine side. Miss Brunton gives a performance worthy of any light musical offering of any theatre in the world. She has in addition to many small graces that go to make up charm, admirable acting assets. Her technique is certain, and reflects the mind of a thorough student of dramatic art. Although a mere girl, she brings to her performance the wide experience of a carefully trained vocalist and actress. It is a sheer delight to watch her in the various numbers of the score that are allotted to her. One of these in particular, “Not Now, But Later,” represents the perfection of stage effect. Not only is she skilful in her singing of this, but the dance she shares with Mr. Paul Plunket, is neat and cleverly rhythmical to a degree seldom witnessed on the lyric stage. There is little doubt that if Miss Brunton had come to us from abroad she would be recognised as the most successful engagement of years.

In the same theatre there is an artist of exceptional merit in Miss Marie Eaton. Miss Eaton is another Australian who shows a true sense of the theatre. All her work is ably considered and her effects wonderfully sure. She has also singing abilities away ahead of what might be expected in the class of attraction in which she figures. Her vocalism is brilliant and theatrically effective. In the Faust trio she displays a gift of syncopation that is extraordinary outside the native American. Contrasted with this, is her spirited rendering of “When Sammy Sang The Marseillaise,” a number that would be a hit in pantomime.

There are two other young Australians who show promise in this bright show—Miss Cecil Bradley, who speaks the lines of a French boy in buttons with remarkable verisimilitude, and Miss Eileen Cottey, who appears as the demure Red Cross nurse of Dr. Thorne.

Then there must be mentioned the excellent work of Miss Minnie Hooper, the Australian ballet mistress of the Williamson management. All the chorus elaborations are hers, and they would do credit to the most ingenious inventor of enlivening and hustling stage movements of the New York productions. Miss Hooper is also to be congratulated upon the splendid material she has to her hand in the beautiful and intelligent chorus girls who are such a feature in “High Jinks.”

Touching on the dramatic side of the Williamson forces, the company at the Theatre Royal [in “The Sign of the Cross”] exhibits several Australians of conspicuous merit. Outstanding among these is Miss Lizette Parkes, who plays Mercia to the Marcus Superbus of Mr. Julius Knight. Miss Parkes got something out of this character last night that is new to Australian playgoers. She interpreted Wilson Barrett's heroine on lines of originality that show her to be no mere copyist or slavish follower of tradition. Miss Parkes made Mercia spiritual, and brought to the role a simple dignity that exercised a powerful emotional appeal. Heretofore we have seen statuesque and sometimes cold impersonators of the Christian girl whose faith is equal to the test of martyrdom. For the first time one realised the true inwardness of the character, and it remained for an Australian to bring it home to us in its full force.

Sunday Times (Sydney), Sunday, 14 February 1915, p.6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article120797610

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In support of the war effort (and also as a good public relations exercise) J.C. Williamson’s was at the forefront in organising extracurricular promotional activities for it company members.

* * * * * * * * * * *

POLICE CARNIVAL.

Mr. Hugh Ward, the Sydney director of J.C. Williamson, Ltd., is interesting himself a good deal in connection with the police and firemen’s carnival next Saturday, and he instructed Mr. Matheson, the manager of Her Majesty’s Theatre, and Mr. Rock Phillips, the property master, on Saturday to have dress rehearsals of the tableau of Britannia at the theatre yesterday.

About 20 members of the “High Jinks” Company were in attendance, and the morning was spent in arranging the tableau, which will be most effective, and will lead the parade.

Two other members of JCW companies are to be in the procession as Joan of Arc and the Statue of Liberty. Mr. Ward will decide this morning who will fill the parts mentioned.

Members of the Australian Vaudeville Artists’ Federation were also engaged yesterday in rehearsal for the carnival. They are to have tableaux of Australia and Montenegro, and, judging from the displays, their efforts towards making the procession a spectacular one are certain of success.

The members of the Stagehands’ Society, under Mr. Rock Phillips, have received permission from Mr. Ward to wear pantomime costumes in the procession.

The brigades of ladles who are to appear in different national costumes and represent the allied countries have been busily engaged with the organisers, making final plans for the carnival, and they are having costume rehearsals early this week.

At the Showground the theatricals who appear in the procession will also take part in the afternoon's program.

Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Monday, 22 February 1915, p.7, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article15562972

PATRIOTIC CARNIVAL.

The arrangements for the Police and Firemen’s Patriotic Carnival on Saturday have been completed. Over 20,000 tickets have been sold.

The procession is to leave the Domain at 10.20 o’clock In the morning, but the processionists will be in the Domain at 9.30 o’clock. The parade will be nearly two miles long, and the displays are considered to be the finest of their kind yet shown in Sydney. Miss Alma Phillips, of the Julius Knight Company, as Joan of Arc, will lead the French section. In the preparation of her armour and headgear, her father, Mr. Rock Phillips, property master for J.C. Williamson, Ltd., has used some chain-mail which was fixed to the crown worn by the late Mr. George Rignold when he first appeared at the Drury Lane Theatre, London, in “Henry VIII.” The British Empire tableau, with Miss Hope Hunter, of the “High Jinks” Company, as Britannia, and Miss Dolan, of the Julius Knight Company, posing as the Statue of Liberty in the French section, will be features. In fact, all the sections will be well represented. A fireman, Mr. Ephraim Stoneham, head of the mechanical department at Fire Headquarters, will be dressed as John Bull. The Canadian representatives have a splendidly arranged tableau, and Mr. A. Gordon Wesche, superintendent of the P. and O. Company in Australia, has given permission for 100 Indians now in Sydney to march in the Indian section. There will be Maoris on parade, and vaudeville artists and baseballers have arranged tableaux, while the naval, military, police, and fire brigade forces will each be in strong force.

Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Thursday, 25 February 1915, p.7, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article28113947

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Charles Workman, too, played his part in providing “copy” for the relentless publicity machine put into motion to promote J.C. Williamson productions.

 A HORRIBLE SITUATION.

CHARLES WORKMAN'S STORY.

Many extraordinary experiences have been encountered by Charles Workman, the infectiously humorous comedian, who, as Dick Wayne in High Jinks, is high priest in chief of that rollicking musical farce. When engaged at the Savoy Theatre, London, in the regime of Gilbert and Sullivan it was the custom to play at least one afternoon a week, and the opera chosen for the day show was invariably different to that on the evening bill, On this particular occasion Mr. Workman had been playing Jack Point in The Yeoman of the Guard during the afternoon, and having got rid of the trials and tribulations of the pathetic jester, went to his lodgings for a rest previous to the night performance.

At the usual time Mr. Workman proceeded to dress for the evening’s entertainment. Presently a red-headed youth called, “Mr. Workman, on the stage, please,” and the favorite comedian at once made his way towards the stage and took his stand in the wings. Suddenly his hair began to rise on end, his backbone became frozen, he shivered as in a palsy, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He heard the chorus in full blast singing as they bowed and kow-towed towards the wings where he was standing, “Defer, defer, to the Lord High Executioner.”

Heavens, The Mikado, and he dressed for The Yeoman of the Guard! There was no help for it. He had to go on. Consternation was depicted on the faces of the people on the stage. Presently it gave way to merriment. First they giggled, then guffawed, and finally roared. The audience, taking up the general laughter, stamped and yelled. With one wild look Mr, Workman flew from the stage, tearing off the fateful garments as he ran, reached his dressing-room, and with a despairing shriek threw himself from a third-story window on to the paved courtyard beneath. Then he woke up, and found that he had tumbled out of bed, having torn to ribbons a new pair of pyjamas.

The Sun (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 28 February 1915, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page24526170

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British comedienne, Florence Vie also contributed her fair share to the theatrical gossip columns.

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

BEAUVILLE AND COOGEE.

FLORENCE VIE COMPARES THEM

“Nobody has asked me for a pattern of the bathing gown I wear in High Jinks,” said Florence Vie with, comic ruefulness, after mentioning the fact that the chorus members were receiving requests as to who made theirs.

“You see, my purpose is to be grotesque. All my effects in the clothes way in this production are bizarre … I am a humorous vulgarian. If the character is not accepted in that spirit, then there is ‘nothing to it,’ as the Americans say.

“I am referred to as 'a little September morn.’ Really I feel more like summer afternoon—at Coogee. There, however, I would probably be wearing a floppy cottonette Canadian, judging from observation of the beach. I have noticed that the surf beach garbs of the ocean bathing places about Sydney are utilitarian rather than aesthetic. I wonder what would be said if our Beauvllle girls in their dainty costumes invaded Coogee one Sunday morning. The press agent ought to try it. I think there would be a sensation. But in Australia the surf is an enjoyment. Girls go in and splash about. Looks are their last concern. At the French watering places they don’t go near the water. You see them parading in beautiful bathing gowns, and most of them don't get any more wet than the chorus in High Jinks could get in the painted ocean.

“All things considered, I think the Coogee way is better. There you can feel nice. At Beauvllle you can only look nice—‘By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea!’”

The Sun (Sydney, NSW) Sunday, 14 February 1915, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page24526030

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

As the Sydney season of High Jinks drew to a satisfactory close after a run of six weeks of dispensing fun and frivolity to its war-weary audiences, its esteemed Musical Director found himself on the receiving end of some unscripted high jinks perpetrated by the company members, as related in the Personal columns of the next day’s newspapers.  

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

Mr. Andrew MacCunn, who has for some years now successfully conducted the J.C. Williamson orchestras, experienced the surprise of his life at the close of “High Jinks” at Her Majesty's Theatre last night. Raising his baton with confidence for the National Anthem, his orchestra responded with an exuberant rendering of the “Wedding March,” whilst a crowd of front-stall patrons joined the artists in pelting the embarrassed musician with confetti. Mr. MacCunn’s secret was a secret no more! He is to marry Miss Forester to-day.

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW) Thursday, 18 March 1915, p.8

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

Following the Wednesday evening performance, Hugh J. Ward presented MacCunn with a silver salver from J.C. Williamson, Ltd., a cabinet of cutlery from the company, and entree dishes from the orchestra.

Andrew MacCunn was duly married to Adelaide-born musician, Miss Laura Forrester at St. Stephen’s Presbyterian Church, Phillip Street, Sydney by the Rev. John Ferguson on 18 March. The bride was given away by Mr. E.J. Tait, who at that time was the General Manager of the Sydney branch of J.C. Williamson Ltd. Her Majesty’s Theatre Orchestra attended the church and played musical selections.

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

CLOSE OF “HIGH JINKS”

“High Jinks,” which has crowded Her Majesty’s Theatre throughout its run, came to an end last night amidst scenes of enthusiasm and floral presentations. Indeed, there can be no doubt that, but for the interruption of Easter, the American “musical jollity” would have held its place for weeks to come. The musical comedy provided plenty of good parts, and Messrs. Fisher, Workman, Rawlins, Plunket, Misses Brunton, Glynn, Eaton, and Vie were all seen to advantage in it. The J.C. Williamson Company will introduce this piece in Melbourne next Saturday as the Easter attraction.

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Saturday, 20 March 1915, p.21

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

As JCW’s New English Musical Comedy Company wended its way Southwards via train to open at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne on Easter Saturday, 27 March 1915, its Sydney counterpart prepared to pay host to the pantomime Cinderella, which had entertained Melbourne audiences for a good 8 week season over the Christmas–New Year period, followed by a stopover in Brisbane during early March.  

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Endnotes

High Jinks (A Musical Jollity in Three Acts). Book by Leo Ditrichstein and Otto Hauerbach [Harbach]. Based on Leo Ditrichstein's farce Before and After, (adapted from the French farce Les Dragées d'Hercule by Maurice Hennequin and Paul Bilhaud). Music by Rudolf Friml. Lyrics by Otto Hauerbach [Harbach]. Produced by Arthur Hammerstein. Opened 10 December 1913 at the Lyric Theatre, moved 12 January 1914 to the Casino Theatre, and closed 13 June 1914 after 213 performances.

High Jinks midi files, featuring the full score of the musical, may be heard online at:https://www.gsarchive.net/AMT/highjinks/index.html

The vocal score for High Jinks published by G. Schirmer: New York in 1913 may be read (and downloaded) from the Internet Archive athttps://archive.org/details/highjinksmusicalf00friml/mode/2up

The orchestra parts for High Jinksextant in the ‘J.C. Williamson collection of performance materials’ at the National Library of Australia (reference: https://trove.nla.gov.au/work/34454117) reveal that the musical was scored for leader; 1st violin; 2nd violin; viola; cello; bass; bassoon; clarinet; flute; oboe; cornets; horns; trumpets; trombone; drums and harp.

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Postscript

MONTE LUKE

THEATRICAL PHOTOGRAPHER

AN ILLUSTRATED INTERVIEW.

THERE were signs of “a certain liveliness” in Mr. Monte Luke’s studio when the writer called. One star of great magnitude was in possession of the chair, some lesser lights were examining prints; an assistant was hard at work coloring transparencies for the front of the theatre.

The studio at the back of the Theatre Royal, Sydney, is a small one, without trimmings. Subjects don’t need to be cajoled into it, nor flattered while there with comfortable lounges and luxurious carpets. On the way to it the outsider gets some fascinating glimpses of the big JCW property room, and perhaps of some members of a company practising a dance in another room.

Mr. Luke, with the curly hair, the smile that won’t come off, and a cigarette, adjourns to the three by two darkroom to develop plates and answer questions.

“Yes, there have been a good many theatrical celebrities in front of my camera. There were Oscar Asche and Lily Brayton. I was particularly interested in taking Mr. Asche, as I was born a few doors away from his birthplace in Geelong. There were Lewis Waller and Madge Titheradge, the principals of the Quinlan Opera Co., Graham Moffat and the ‘Bunty’ company, and a good many others, including those now playing in Australia—the Julius Knight, Fred Niblo, Muriel Starr companies, and the new English Comedy Co.

“I don’t remember any particular incidents. They all know their business and pose without any trouble. I press the bulb, and the camera does the rest. It’s very easy.

“Did you see the cinema pictures in ‘Come Over Here?’ Jack Cannot, Johnnie Osborne and some others in a car raced along the road and dashed across the railway line in front of a train. That was a thrilling moment for me as a spectator at the camera. People thought it was a fake. It wasn’t. The pictures were taken at National Park. The engine-driver knew nothing about it beforehand. I guess he was a bit startled to see the car cross in the nick of time.

“We have done some fairly good fake pictures. That was some years ago, before this business had extended so much and we were not so busy. On one occasion, there were no pictures of the pantomime animals, and I suggested a wild beast chase in Centennial Park. A camp of hunters was made up, and property lions, giraffes, etc., taken out. We got photographs of a man treed by a lion, men stalking a giraffe, and things of that sort. Another time an actor was mistaken for a burglar and arrested. We got a super dressed up as a policeman, had the scene re-enacted and photographed it.”

By this time the plates were finished with temporarily, some prints had had a bath and we were out in the studio again.

“Of course, speed is an important matter in this business. I remember when Florence Young came over from Melbourne for ‘The Girl in the Train’ performance. I went up to Strathfield to meet her and take a snap-shot of her in the train. The station-master obligingly pushed the train out of the dark underground platform for me, and I got the picture at a quarter to eleven. At twelve noon the print was in the newspaper offices and appeared the same afternoon.

“I valued very much Mr. Graham Moffat’s praise of some work I did for him. He had been a photographer for many years before he became a playwright and actor.  Before he opened here with ‘Bunty’ he called in one day at four-fifteen, and at five o'clock his photographs were in the newspaper offices. He said they were amongst the best pictures of himself that he had seen.

“Madame Genee started photography out here. She was getting pictures every week from her husband, who was a fairly good amateur, and she thought she would like to send him as good or better. I went round with her frequently to take snapshots in the Gardens and elsewhere. She picked up the game quickly. A very charming lady was Genee.”

“Do you find the ladies more anxious than the men to have their photographs published?” Mr. Luke was asked.

“I don’t find actresses in a hurry to have their photographs taken, as a rule. Perhaps I should say that their anxiety varies inversely with their experience. There is a stage in the career of an actor when he doesn't want any more photographs taken—at any rate, not until his hair turns white all over.

“At first it is interesting, I suppose, to see one's face all over the place. They become almost as familiar to the public as the King’s head, but he has the pull of an exclusive circulation on coins and postage stamps. But it’s a thing one gets used to, like the job of taking ’em.”

“You were once an actor yourself, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and my knowledge of acting has helped me some here. I was for a number of years in Julius Knight’s company, and with Edwin Geach, Clarke and Meynell, and Philip Lytton. I went into the country and played most of Harcourt Beatty’s parts, and I was understudy to Stephen Ewart in the Ethel Irving Co. It was Mr. Knight who advised me to take up photography. Some of my early pictures pleased him, and I kept at it. On returning from New Zealand with the Ethel Irving Co. I found there was nothing doing for me for a few weeks until ‘Ben Hur’ opened; so I took some photographs on my own account and brought along some suggestions to the management. Not long after I was engaged permanently and provided with this studio and dark room.”

“Did you start with those frames of tinted beauties who might very well pass for angels in the dusk with the light behind them?”

“Not exactly. I used to take pictures of the performers in their make-up on matinee day, and put a set of them in a frame. Coloring came later. Mr. Hugh Ward suggested the transparencies. And then we got the set of powerful arc lamps which enable us to take pictures in the day time without the hard starey expression of photographs taken with a flashlight. To-morrow I’ll be taking a lot of scenes in ‘High Jinks.’ Come along to Her Majesty’s and see it done.”

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

The stage was lit for the occasion with white light. The full strength of the company was present as for a full dress rehearsal. The stage manager called out “Take your places, please, for the opening scene,” and the company arranged itself. The camera had been placed on a trestle up the central aisle of the stalls. In a couple of minutes everybody had posed correctly. Mr. Luke focussed the group and with bulb in hand called out, “That’s it; now hold it, hold it, hold it—right!”—click, and the deed was done in less than five minutes. Then groups and single figures appearing in scenes in the first act were taken, the opening of the second act, other groups and individual performers; the camera being removed to the stage for the smaller groups.

“Mr. Workman, will you lean a little nearer to Miss Brunton, please?”

“Now, Mr. Rawlins, if you’ll throw your head back and laugh. I’m ready for you. That’s it. Thanks.”

“Miss—will you pull your foot back, please, it’s in the way.”

It was entertaining to the solitary idle spectator to see a well-known actor or actress in costume and make-up putting on a fatuous grin or pretending to rock with wild laughter. It reminded him of that well-known stage direction on the post card:—“Smile, damn you, smile!” and made him laugh more than a regular performance. Apparently the make-up on the actress's face is not a necessity when photographs are taken with the new lights. Miss Glyn came in a little late and without any make-up, and the photographs taken of her were as good as any. The camera fiend went on, perspiring but imperturbable, until over 150 negatives had been taken. He had started at a quarter past eleven, was interrupted by the rehearsal of a ballet, and had finished at a quarter to two. The whole of the photographs were finished and ready for inspection at a few minutes past five o’clock.

“How many photographs do you turn out in a week?”

“Some weeks, two or three hundred. That would be when a new play opens here. The prints are sent from Sydney to all the other Australian cities and to New Zealand and South Africa. When a new play opens in Melbourne, I run over there in time for Friday’s dress rehearsal and the prints are in front of the theatre on Saturday.”

Every passer-by sees these pictures and apparently likes to see them. The public never gets tired of the faces of the pretty women and the clever men who provide its principal entertainment. That is to say that the public is at least as much interested in the personality of the actor as in his words or songs or even acting. While that is so the photographer who makes as good photographs as Mr. Luke does of theatrical stars is a public benefactor, for he helps to scatter their radiance far beyond the footlights.

The Lone Hand, 1 April 1915, pp.315–317

Additional sources

• The White City Designer, T.H. Eslick, The Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 21 December 1913, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article126317958
• The White City opening, The Evening News (Sydney, NSW), Thursday, 4 December 1913, p.3, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article117952437
• White City attractions, The Daily Telegraph (Sydney, NSW), Saturday, 29 November 1913, p.15, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page25736325
• Actors’ Day at The White City newspaper reports, TheSun (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 31 January 1915, p.18, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article229321968
• The Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 7 February 1915, p.9, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article120792668
• TheSun (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 7 February 1915, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article229323765
• The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW), Monday, 8 February 1915, p.4, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article15549797
• Monte Luke photographs from High Jinks, The Critic (Adelaide, SA), Wednesday, 19 May 1915, p.15, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article212160564
• MacCunn, Forrester marriage, Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW), Sunday, 21 March 1915, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article120795331
• Richard C. Norton, A Chronology of American Musical Theater, Vol. 2[Oxford: Oxford University Press 2002]
• JCW Prompt Scrapbook 8, Vol. 2, National Library of Australia, Canberra, https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-1250848164/

Monte Luke’s promotional photos included scenic artist, Leslie Board and the show’s 28 year-old stage manager, Rege Carey. Punch (Melbourne), 8 April 1915, p.18

Following the conclusion of the Sydney premiere season of High Jinks (to make way for J.C. Williamson’s pantomime season, which traditionally commenced in the harbourside city at Easter time) JCW’s New English Musical Comedy Company travelled Southwards to open at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne on Easter Saturday, 27 March 1915. With Victor Champion taking the conductor’s chair as its local Musical Director, the cast remained much the same as it had in Sydney, with only a few minor alterations, which included the return of English actress, Gwen Hughes, who took over the role of Dr. Thorne’s nurse, ‘Florence’ from Eileen Cottey, and the addition of speciality dancer, Jack Hooker, who was given a solo spot in the Act 3 cabaret scene.

Melbourne audiences took to the new musical with the same enthusiasm as the Sydneysiders had, which was reflected in the newspaper critiques published on the following Monday.

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

 HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE.

 “HIGH JINKS.”

The new musical jollity at Her Majesty’s Theatre is infinitely brighter, more cheery and melodious than any half dozen of the same class that have preceded it. It has also the advantage of improving through its three acts, the last one being a climax of irresponsible absurdity that sent the huge audience home in the best of spirits. It comes from American sources and the author is unannounced, but there are ample signs that it has been doctored a good deal in its passage from the States, and after. The music is mostly of the sparkling comedy, with a charming valse theme introduced in the beginning by Miss Dorothy Brunton, a song principally with harp and reed accompaniment, the melody also appearing in the score continually affording opportunities for admirable chorus singing. The second attraction was Miss Brunton’s and Mr. Plunket’s graceful duet and dance, “Not now, but later;” the third the trio, “Faust in ragtime,” with a serious travesty on grand opera by Mr. Workman, Miss Marie Eaton and Mr. F. Maguire, and the fourth Miss Eaton’s rousing ballad, “Sammy sang the Marseillaise,” the soul-stirring strain of the great French war song dominating the number. An additional treat was the exquisite dancing of Mdlle. Vlasta Novotna and Mr. Victor Lauschmann.

Of course there is a plot, but it has all its work to do to carry the three acts on its back, and there is no strain necessary to follow it. The “High Jinks perfume,” if only smelt for a moment, has the power of turning the staid into jolly dogs, the dour towards roses and raptures and wine, and the cold-blooded to seek dare-devilry and Adventure. Of course it is all hilarious nonsense taken—after the first act—in the very highest of animal spirits, and finishing with a banquet full of surprises, the chief delight being the throwing of joyous handsprings by the lost, heavy father—of course after supper—to the joy of his newly-discovered wife, who has been dancing with all the energy worthy of a certificated pupil of St. Vitus.

Mr. Field Fisher—who may be remembered as the stolid waiter in The Girl in the Taxi—takes the part of Dr. Thorne, an American specialist, the first victim of the perfume expressing, his new found mercurial vitality in attractive dancing, and fresh affection for his wife and for the wives of others, only avoiding a duel by urgent business at a bathing resort on the French coast, whither all the other characters come, the result being higher jinks than ever. Miss Florence Vie appears to every advantage as a woman of the world who has lost her husband, an American lumber king, for years, but manages, for all that, to live on and enjoy life to its full, which Miss Vie makes it very plain she does, throwing herself heart and soul into a performance that kept the stage lively all the time she was on it, especially in her duet with Mr. Rawlins, “Come Hither,“ and “The Dixiana Rise,” with the full company backing her as chorus. Miss Dorothy Brunton’s is chiefly a singing role, and as the adopted daughter of Miss Vie she was rather overshadowed in the dialogue but she gave her songs archly and brightly, making the hit of the evening with the valse number, “Is This Love at Last?” and subsequently in a ballad “By the Sea,” but in the last act she is almost obliterated, and is an onlooker only at the revels. As the stolid American lumber man, J.J. Jeffreys, transformed by the “High Jinks perfume” into a jovial and even dangerous man, Mr. W.H. Rawlins had a character rich in that class of humour in which he is an adept at portraying, and, with Miss Vie, kept the fun always at the topmost notch. A cleverly dealt with character was that of Jacques Rabelais by Mr. Paul Plunket, and departing from stage tradition rightly made him a gentleman—all Frenchmen are gentlemen. His graceful dance and song, “Not Now but Later,” with Miss Brunton, charmed by its verve and refinement. Of the explorer and inventor of the famous perfume, Mr. Workman had not much opening for his undoubted capabilities, but he made a telling hit with his first number, “High Jinks,” and in the duet “Chi Chi,” with Miss Glyn. Miss Marie Eaton was also—as Dr. Thorne’s real wife—assigned a singing part which she dealt with in fine style, and Miss Glynn was heard in a tender song, “The Bubble,” the effect being further illustrated by coloured air balloons that rose and fell, and even made their way to the roof of the theatre, where they found a home amongst the ornate mouldings. Mr. Frith’s Colonel Slaughter, who was also given and did smell of the perfume, was a neat comedy character, and Mr. F. Maguire, who does not appear till late, lent worthy aid by his singing to “Faust in Ragtime”. Miss Gwen Hughes created a pretty Red Cross figure—as nurse at Dr. Thorne’s; Mr. Chris Wren was a satisfactory garcon; Miss Nellie Hobson a rather sedate Madame Rabelais; and Miss Cecil Bradley a spruce Boy in Buttons, alias a page; and Mr. J. Hooker did a rattling double rag-step dance. The scenery by Messrs Board and Little, was captivating, and Mr. Victor Champion conducted skilfully, while a word of praise must be awarded Miss Minnie Hooper for the many pretty dances she has arranged. The piece, which had a very hearty reception by a packed house, will be repeated nightly with matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

The Argus (Melbourne), Monday, 29 March 1915, p. 6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1506452

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AMUSEMENTS

HER MAJESTY’S

“HIGH JINKS”

For the packed house at Her Majesty’s theatre on Saturday night three hours seemed to pass as so many minutes. The J.C. Williamson New English Comedy Company made a decided hit with “High Jinks,” truly described by Harry B. Burcher, the producer, as a musical jollity.

The scenes are laid in France, first at the sanatorium of Dr. Thorne, an American, afterwards at Beauvllle, a coastal bathing resort. That the doctor, under the influence of the perfume, secretly administered by his chum, Dr. Wayne, permitted himself to be kissed by the wife of M. Jacques Rabelais, was the cause of a maze of misunderstandings, and most of the jollity. Wives became inextricably mixed with sweethearts, husbands dodged duels with the utmost difficulty, yet in spite of all, they sang and danced with a verve that delighted the audience. To sketch the plot would be to presume that it mattered, whereas it was submerged under an avalanche of mirth and mischief, lilting refrains, gay repartee and twinkling feet.

Mr. C.H. Workman (Dr. Wayne, an explorer), the exploiter of the magic perfume, linked it, at the beginning of the first act, with the haunting melody of a song, “High Jinks." The song, the perfume, and Mr. Workman were then essential to the continuance of the piece.

Miss Dorothy Brunton (Sylvia Dale, in love with Dr. Wayne), received an ovation for her most important number, “Is This Love at Last?" Her duet with Mr. Paul Plunket (M. Rabelais) was another success. Miss Marion Eaton (Mrs. Thorne) did justice to her numbers, particularly “Sammy Sang the Marseillaise.” Miss Florence Vie (Mrs. Jeffreys, a runaway wife), was responsible for much of the frivolity, and her song “Jim,” was especially well rendered. Miss Gertrude Glyn (Mile. Chi Chi, a dancer), was warmly encored for her tuneful “Bubbles.”

Excellent work was done, with little respite, by Messrs W.H. Rawlins (Mr. J.J. Jeffreys, American lumber king), Field Fisher (Dr. Thorne), Paul Plunket (M. Rabelais), Alfred Frith (Colonel Slaughter), and Fred Maguire (Johnnie Doe). Others who pleased were Misses Gwen Hughes (a nurse), Cecil Bradley (a page), and Nellie Hobson (Madame Rabelals), and Mr. Chris Wren (garcon).

In the third act Miss Vlasta Novotna and Mr. Victor Lauschmann were seen in a spirited dance. Mr. Jack Hooker contributed an eccentric step dance.

The jollity will continue till further notice.

The Herald (Melbourne), Monday, 29 March 1915, p.7, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article242276441

   Hal Gye caricatures for The Bulletin (Sydney), 8 April 1915, p.9

The J.C. Williamson Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Company having just concluded its final return Melbourne season at Her Majesty’s prior to the advent of High Jinks prompted the Age critic to draw comparisons with the evergreen comic operas. 

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

AMUSEMENTS.

HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE—HIGH JINKS.

The medley of mirth and song staged at Her Majesty’s Theatre on Saturday well represents the trend of advance—or the line of retreat—in matters musical since the Gilbert and Sullivan operas were written 30 years ago. In actual fact the world has probably become more serious since then. In its plays, and particularly in its musical comedies, it has become more flippant. Compared with Iolanthe or The Yeomen of the Guard, a production like High Jinksis an iridescent bubble on the surface of events. It is a chanson to an epic poem, or, if one prefers it, a souffle to a pancake. But whatever it is or is not, it is capable in the hands of a clever company of being made a very agreeable and light-hearted form of entertainment. And this is what happens to it in the present instance. The crowded audience on Saturday night gave the new production a cordial reception, and left the theatre feeling thoroughly satisfied. The three acts do what they profess to do; they furnish scenes of musical frivolity and light-hearted good humor; they provide some genuinely mirthful situations; and they carry the house along with them at a rapid, almost a breathless, pace. If anyone expects to hear improving moral sentiments or find a serious plot in High Jinks he will be disappointed. If he wants to have his fancy amused and his eyesight captivated he will be thoroughly satisfied. One is reminded at times of the lines in Mrs. Browning’s Wine of Cyprus, which may be applied to this extravaganza. It is:

Bright as Paphia’s eyes e’er met us,

Light as ever trod her feet.

The name of the author of High Jinks does not appear on the program, but it is manifestly a composite work, built up by the collaboration of stage mechanist, dresser, librettist and musical composer—perhaps several of each. The result is really a harmony of its kind; a harmony made out of a number of sparkling and irresponsible materials, but none the less a harmony. The first scene is laid outside a doctor’s house in Paris. An accredited doctor, whether French or American, is not as a rule the kind of man who makes love to his patients, or takes unknown ladies on frivolous missions to the seaside. But there is a reason why the eminent American specialist, Dr. Robert Thorne, should do so in this case. A fellow practitioner has presented him with a wonderful specific; it is a perfume the merit of which is that it will galvanise into sudden life and “flirtatiousness” anyone who takes so much as a breath of it. Even the most serious-minded suffragette, it is claimed, could not resist this perfume; on a second or a third application she would forgive the British Prime Minister, and possibly dance a can-can with him in Trafalgar Square. At any rate, the effect on Dr. Thorne and the members of the High Jinks company is enlivening and exhilarating. There is no need to follow all the complications of the story. The doctor becomes an apostle of cheerfulness. He prescribes seaside resorts and young, good-looking nurses for all of his male patients. As for the women, he conceives it to be his mission to cheer them up by making love to them. A husband of one of them, who is unreasonable enough to object to this form of treatment, is completely pacified when given the opportunity of himself making love to the doctor's wife—or rather of a lady whom the doctor has thoughtfully passed of as his wife. It is all very impossible and very amusing. The second and third act, thrown against the background of a French watering place, introduce pretty dresses, pretty faces and comic situations in bewildering variety. The third act is perhaps the most handsomely staged and decorative of any. It is lit with lamps and adorned with shimmering evening dresses; and it is interspersed with music and very clever dancing, in which Mlle. Vlasta Novotna. Mr. Victor Lauschmann and Mr. Jack Hooker carry off the honors.

The company that interprets this musical medley, and keeps it moving briskly from start to finish, is the one that appeared here last season in The Girl in the Taxi. The individual members, with scarcely an exception, appear to more advantage in this production than in the last, though Miss Jarvis, the leading lady, has in the interim deserted the stage for matrimony and domestic life. The leading part of Sylvia Dale, the young lady who has to pose both as assumed wife and assumed daughter falls to Miss Dorothy Brunton, who quite comes up to expectations. Miss Brunton seems to he improving with each new part. Her useful soprano voice, which she manages very pleasingly, is heard to great advantage in the song ‘Is This Love at Last’ in the first act, and also in the number ‘By the Sea’ in the second act. She shows, too, that she has stage sense and histrionic ability. Miss Gertrude Glynn, who will be remembered as Lady Babby in Gipsy Love, has a congenial part in this production as Mlle. Chi Chi, a dancer. Her clever dancing and good stage presence make her duet with Mr. Workman in the second act both graceful and effective; she is also heard to advantage in a pretty song, The Bubble, in which the effect is heightened by the sending up of large bright-colored bubbles to the ceiling. Miss Florence Vie is a large, cheerful and altogether successful runaway wife—so much so that the audience can hardly agree with the husband who congratulates himself on having a wife who is so considerate as to run away. Miss Marie Eaton performs creditably as the wife of Dr. Thorne, but the effect of her good singing voice would be enhanced if she gave the audience the benefit of the words. Of the others, Mr. Field Fisher does exceptionally well as Dr. Thorne, his dancing agility standing him in good stead. His conception of the part is legitimately humorous. The imposing personality of Mr. W.H. Rawlins fits admirably into the character of Mr. J.J. Jeffreys, the “lumber king,” and Mr. C.H. Workman, though not the ideal lover of romance, is sufficiently well cast as the comparatively serious hero—if anything in the play can be called serious. Mr. Paul Plunket as the would-be duellist husband, Mr. Alfred Frith as a very lively patient, Mr. Maguire as a young man about town, and Mr. Chris Wren as a droll and small sized waiter are others in the cast.

The Age (Melbourne), Monday, 29 March 1915, p.7, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154927664

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

In addition to noting the absence of an author’s credit for the libretto, The Age critic correctly concluded that the score was a composite work, as Rudolf Friml’s original musical score had been bolstered by the addition of various interpolations, which was standard practise for musical comedies staged in Australia by JCW at this period, with Andrew MacCunn serving as chief musical adviser on such matters. In addition to the “Faust in Ragtime” trio showcasing the combined vocal talents of Charles Workman, Marie Eaton and Fred Maguire, the show also sported two popular American songs from 1914 to highlight the talents of its two leading ladies, “By the Beautiful Sea” (by Harold R. Atteridge and Harry Carroll) for Dorothy Brunton, and “Dancing the Blues Away”(by Joe McCarthy, Howard Johnson and Fred Fisher) for Marie Eaton.

While the most likely source of the interpolated Act III opening chorus “Beauville” was the Act II opening chorus “Friville” (with amended lyrics) from the 1911 British musical comedy Peggy, featuring the music of Leslie Stuart and lyrics of C.H. Bovill, for which JCW held the Australasian performing rights (under a long-standing agreement with London impresario, George Edwardes to acquire the rights to all musicals and operettas staged at his London Gaiety and Daly’s Theatres, which had been instituted by J.C. Williamson himself) since the musical was never professionally staged by The Firm in Australia (although the original orchestra parts remain extant in the “J.C. Williamson collection of performance materials” archived at the National Library of Australia in Canberra.)

Sheet music cover

National Library of Australia, Canberra

The theatre critics for the weekly Melbourne newspapers and periodicals were no less stinting in their praise of the new musical than their colleagues of the daily press.

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

The Playgoer

By “Peter Quince”

HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE

There were no signs of war or world-troubles upon the playgoing face which, loomed large, shining and smiling at Her Majesty’s Theatre on Saturday evening. The house was densely crowded, and the welcome which was accorded to the members of “The Girl in the Taxi” Company as they made their reappearance was warm to the point of enthusiasm. The new production is entitled “High Jinks,” and is a musical farce, the name of the composer being modestly withheld, probably because it is that of a German. The piece has achieved a great success in America, and will probably do the same here, if one may judge by the favour with which it was received on the first production. “High Jinks” is an hilarious nightmare, as amusing a story as it is wildly improbable, inconsequent and utterly irresponsible. The music is varied, bright and enjoyable, the fact that it is reminiscent of much that we have had before detracting but little from its attractiveness. The name “High Jinks” serves the double purpose of describing the action of everybody concerned, whilst under the influence of the perfume, “High Jinks.” This magical scent has the effect of making any person who sniffs it amorously happy and deliriously demonstrative. The doctor who has tested it becomes at once oblivious to the troubles of his patients, except when they are young and pretty, and require soothing kisses to be administered; rheumatic patients under the influence of the smell shake off their stiffness in a remarkable way, and develop at once amativeness and Terpsichorean energy, whilst its potency is so all-powerful as to send everybody to a charming seaside resort, where the hours are spent in singing, dancing, love-making and strolling on the sands in the most fetching of costumes, full, scant and intermediate. In fact, the spell of the High Jinks perfume is irresistible.

* * * *

Hazily seen, through the piece is woven the love story of a Manila lumber king, who has married an actress. They, after a brief honeymoon, had agreed to separate, and at the time the opera commences this separation has endured for twenty-three years. The actress after separation, sent her husband a cable notifying the birth of their little girl. The story of the birth was a “frame-up,” which the pseudo-mother covers up afterwards by adopting an attractive young singer. The lonely lumber king comes to France for the good of his health, and under the influence of “High Jinks” is condemned to a course of treatment at the hands of a fascinating nurse. The actress-wife and the supposed daughter visit the same watering place, and at once find themselves entangled in the web of intrigue and misunderstanding which “High Jinks” weaves everywhere it is permitted to mingle with the atmosphere. An excitable French gentleman and his wife are prominent in the action, as also are many dancers. The final result is that the subtle perfume gets into the nostrils of the audience, and the piece leaves them in a state of “High Jinks,” merriment and an atmosphere of “dunno-where-they-are.”

* * * *

In this piece Miss Dorothy Brunton plays perhaps her most important part—that off the adopted daughter Sylvia, and in the character sings in a much improved and effective manner, giving altogether a most creditable rendering of the young, proper and affectionate girl. Miss Brunton has the song of the piece, “Is This Love at Last,” a waltz number of haunting quality. She also scored in “By the Sea” with an effective chorus, and running through the refrain at times is heard the “swish” of the far resounding sea, as the rollers lazily chase each other upon the sands of Beauville. Miss Brunton, of course, looks a delightful picture, and acts with spirit and charm. Miss Gertrude Glyn as Chi-Chi, a dancer, is in this piece a character of minor importance, but Miss Glyn made her as bright and convincing as possible, and scored successes in “The Bubbles,” and in her duet with Mr. C.H. Workman. Miss Florence Vie as the separated wife of the lumber king was quite in her element, and in her quaint appearance, costumes and sayings must be held responsible for a large proportion of the laughter of the evening. As the doctor’s wife Miss Marie Eaton achieved a distinct musical success; the two adjectives must be taken as bracketed together, for her singing of the music was as distinctly successful as the words of the songs were indistinct and unintelligible. Perhaps now that Germany is under a cloud, operatic artists will reconsider the true value of “lieder ahne worte,” and give the author, as well as the composer, an opportunity of being heard and understood. Miss Nellie Hobson as Madame Rabelais, and Miss Gwen Hughes as a nurse, were respectively “bits of all-right,” and Miss Cecil Bradley filled the role of a page with marked success. The gentlemen in the cast may be briefly summarised as “all there” in dialogue, music, dancing, action and the provocation of merriment. They were Messrs. Field Fisher, W.H. Rawlins, C.H. Workman, Paul Plunket, Alfred Frith and Fred Maguire. More of them next week. During the third act a dance by Mr. Victor Lauschmann and Mdlle. Vlasta Novotna was warmly appreciated. The piece was enthusiastically received, and will prove a shining Easter attraction.

Punch (Melbourne), Thursday, 1 April 1915, p.32, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article138698513

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Dorothy Brunton and the girls’ chorus sing “By the Beautiful Sea”. Photo by Monte Luke. Punch (Melbourne), 25 March 1915, p.27.

HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE

The complaint as to a slump in matters theatrical can scarcely be well-founded considering the capital attendances at the regular theatres, notwithstanding the counter attractions of picture-shows innumerable. Her Majesty’s Theatre is packed nightly. On Saturday night hundreds were turned away from the doors. “High Jinks” went as befits its name—merrily and boisterously. The piece is strong in comedians, who keep the ball rolling briskly. Mr. W.H. Rawlins is a great favourite as Mr. J.J. Jeffreys, who curses his fate, in being called after the former champion of the prize ring. Poor Jeffreys has come to Paris for the cure, which seems to consist of pleasant treatment by a comely nurse who has no serious objection to playing up high-jinks when required. Mr. Rawlins and Miss Florence Vie are very successful in their humorous duet. “Come Hither,” Mr. C.H. Workman is bright, brisk and lively throughout, and is heard to great advantage in the scene, “Faust in Ragtime,” in which he shares the honours with Miss Marie Eaton and Mr. Fred Maguire. Mr. Field Fisher carries the important burden of Dr. Thorne lightly, Mr. Paul Plunket, gives characteristic tone and action to the impressionable and fire-eating French husband, Mr. Alfred Frith does splendidly as Colonel Slaughter, especially in the banquet scene. The dancing introduced into “High Jinks” forms an important and attractive feature. The pas de deux by Miss Vlasta Novotna and Mr. Victor Lauschmann is a brilliant and graceful measure, and is loudly applauded, whilst the eccentric double-rag dancing of Mr. Jack Hooker is something in the way of a revolution in step-dancing. The graceful movements and dances incidental to the action of the piece are highly creditable to their arranger, Miss Minnie Hooper. “High Jinks” will be produced every evening until further notice.

Punch (Melbourne), Thursday, 8 April 1915, p.32, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article138698627

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HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE

 “High Jinks.”

Packed in every part, there was quite a gala spirit rife at Her Majesty’s Theatre on Saturday night. From the opening of the overture there was a breath of espiegle and gaiety about the new production, “High Jinks,” that set everyone in a good humor. There is plenty of dash and “ginger” in it from start to finish, and never a dull moment. Events are hurried at the breathless speed and with all the hustle which characterises American productions. The music is bright and sparkling, with catchy airs and a pretty waltz refrain, which, however, is not intruded too much. It has also that rare thing in musical comedy—a plot which is followed almost without a break to the very end. It is thin, but it serves to keep up a strong interest right to the close of the third act.

The story opens outside Dr. Robert Thorne’s surgery, a busy specialist, who is brusque in manner. Patients arrive to consult him, and Dick Wayne, a friend, drops in. He is the inventor of a wonderful perfume, “High Jinks,” with magical qualities, so that a mere whiff makes one genial and ready to frivol. The doctor receives him snappily, then, to make some amends, says he will take his perfume and have a look at it. He does so, with the effect that it makes him skittish, and he scandalises several persons by being caught dancing most energetically. Finally, in the very act of kissing Madame Rabelais, he is detected by her husband, who challenges the doctor and gives him the choice of being killed or allowing Monsieur to kiss Mrs. Thorne. The latter alternative is chosen. The lady is to be at Beauvllle, but a little plot is arranged to have a pseudo wife represent her; and an actress, the adopted daughter of an ex-stage favorite, is chosen to play the role. But Wayne is a devoted admirer of her, and has watched her night after night from a box, and he begins to suspect and to be furiously jealous when he sees her in a compromising situation. There is another patient, who is sent off to recruit with a nurse, J.J. Jeffreys, who tells how he has not seen his wife, whom he married from the stage, for over 20 years.

They all arrive at Beauville, even the stately, real wife of the doctor, and there are many muddles and explanations before it is all straightened out.

To do justice to the production, a specially-picked company is necessary, especially on the masculine side, for each role has to be sustained by a comedian with a sense of character, and at the same time a dancer and more or less a singer. Such a company the management has been lucky enough to find, and consequently “High Jinks,” which is beautifully staged and mounted, has a dash and breeziness which are quite irresistible. All the parts fit the performers as though made for them. C.H. Workman is excellent as Dick Wayne, a role in which he displays acting ability of no mean quality, real vocal talent, and proves himself a dancer who is wonderfully light on his feet. Of Field Fisher, as Dr. Thorne, much the same may be said, except that he is not quite so well endowed as a singer. But right through he keeps to the spirit of the part in an effective way.

Paul Plunket is admirable as the excitable, volatile Frenchman, Mons. Jacques Rabelais. Alfred Frith, as Colonel Slaughter, an elderly military dandy and fire-eater, is another well-worked-out role which provokes humor, and W.H. Rawlins is first-rate as J.J. Jeffreys, who has mislaid a wife and daughter and acquired a too pronounced figure and some digestive ills.

Marie Eaton makes one of the most striking successes on the feminine side. Like Mr. Workman, she comes out strong as quite a dramatic actress, a singer of high merit, and a dancer. The trio in the third act, in which she, C.H. Workman, and Fred Maguire give the “Faust” burlesque in ragtime, represents something very fine vocally, such as is rarely heard in musical comedy; it approaches very nearly grand opera, and arouses the audience to a regular salvo of applause.

Florence Vie, in the comedy part of Adelaide Fontaine, the mislaid wife, is next in prominence and scores a big popular success, for she bubbles over with humor and good spirits.

Dorothy Brunton is sweet and dainty as Sylvia Dale, her adopted daughter, with just the right dash of assertive spirit to prevent Sylvia being too cloyingly sweet. Gertrude Glyn has not much opportunity as Mdlle. Chi Chi, but manages to make the part stand out, and does well in her one song and dance.

Gwen Hughes as the nurse at Doctor Thorne’s, Nellie Hobson as Madame Rabelais, Cecil Bradley as a page, Fred Maguire as Johnnie Doe, and Chris. Wren as Garcon, are well placed in the minor roles. Mdlle. Novotna and Victor Lauschmann give a graceful dance number in the third act.

There are many new ideas in stage effects and movements, and the whole production reflects the greatest credit upon Harry B. Burcher, who supervised the whole. The orchestra, under Victor Champion, does excellent work.

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 1 April 1915, p.25, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146577173

(l to r) Florence Vie & W.H. Rawlins—Gertrude Glynn, W.H. Rawlins & Cecil Bradley (as the page)—Alice Bennetto & Field Fisher.
Photos by Monte Luke. Punch (Melbourne, Vic.), 25 March 1915, p.27.

THEATRES, &c.

Coming on the heels of the Gilbert and Sullivan season at Her Majesty’s Theatre, musical comedy has its differences, its defects, thrown into sharper contrast, but “High Jinks” is as well fitted to stand the strain as anything in the line produced of recent years. That this kind of entertainment maintains its popularity there can be no doubt. The air and attitude of the large audience which welcomed it back on Saturday evening offered convincing proof upon that point. The gaiety of the house was infectious—it increased with the progress of the frolic, which is admirably arranged to create expectation at the outset and carry one on from that pleasant state to the feeling of unbounded, irresponsible gaiety reached in the climax. “High Jinks,” if not consecutive, is sparkling, melodious, and graceful all through. No author has put his name to it, but possibly a dozen have contributed to what is, after all, the least important part of an entertainment, brought to perfection chiefly by stage art and experience. As “The Mikado” has a fresh musical surprise for us in each melodious moment, so “High Jinks,” in other ways and by wholly different charms, keeps one simmering always, sometimes shouting impulsive and unstinted approval. As with “Seven Keys to Baldpate,” [the George M. Cohan play starring Fred Niblo then playing at the Theatre Royal] it is better to leave a good deal for revelation on the stage. Mention of the idea is almost sufficient—a magical perfume, the secret of which is possessed by an American doctor resident in Paris, and the effect of which even at a single sniff is to make moody people bright and bright people intensely gay. It is an elixir calculated to do much good in some communities, maybe harm in others, though no moral that anyone can discover is hinged on or even suggested at Her Majesty’s. The doctor who administers it, and who at the outset is impelled only by scientific zeal, the glamour of a great discovery, is not immune to his own medicine. So he is infected, and his remedy for all ailments—not discoverable in the pharmacopoeia—is to make love to his patients, serious or frivolous, maiden or married alike. If husbands find fault with the method and seek interviews, a whiff of the magic perfume removes all jealousy, all gloom, and thence on—to use imagery suitable to the situation—they are “in it up to their eyebrows.” Two of the acts are set at a charming French seaside resort, with all that the atmosphere and the situation offer or suggest. For the rest of the story—the detail that completes it, the bits in parentheses that have nothing to do with it—but are not less welcome on that account—the curious, as in the case of “Baldpate,” are best referred to the theatre. To those who fail to find full enjoyment, either the magic perfume itself or an everyday tonic is prescribed. In curt analysis, “High Jinks” may be defined as a hybrid between the lighter, brighter side of musical comedy and the just-deceased revue. It is produced—and better played and sung—by the company which appeared in “The Girl in the Taxi,” with whom Miss Dorothy Brunton, now in the lead, has been winning fresh distinction. Miss Brunton has in this instance chiefly a singing part, and fate in the allotment of its favours is unkind to her only in the last act, where she is mainly a picturesque looker-on. In the earlier scenes, however, Miss Brunton does more than enough for her reputation—and chiefly in the song “Is This Love at Last?” In such a production as this the chief comedian is of vital importance. As the doctor driven to gaiety by the diablerie of his own medicine, Mr. Field Fisher has altogether a different kind of character to the waiter of the Jeunesse Doree restaurant, and fresh opportunity reveals in him new and highly entertaining qualities as a comedian. Mr. Fisher is no specialty artist. He grasps and reveals the humorous and the ridiculous on the broadest lines. The doctor has two wives, the one taken before, the other after the perfume. Miss Florence Vie, the after effect, has run away from one husband, a rough and ready lumberman of the back woods, who, getting within range of the joy-bringer, is transformed in the usual way. Miss Vie is decorative, musical, and, like the Waverley pen, “a boon and a blessing to men,” while Miss Marie Eaton, as the wife of the scientific era, sings supremely well, though always with more regard to the value of musical notes than song words, which are, however, of lesser importance. The comedy is sprinkled with good songs and bright situations, and some distinct, if not vital, characters. The frivolous Frenchman of the English stage is very often a grotesque caricature. As a concession to the Entente, Mr. Plunket in this instance corrects such errors without losing anything in effect upon the light side. His Jacques Rabelais is not very Rabelaisian—just Rabelaisian enough. Miss Gertrude Glynn, Miss Gwen Hughes, Mr. Frith, Mr. W.H. Rawlins—who is very happy indeed as the transformed and rejuvenated man of the pine woods—and other artists equip this comedy in a way that offers little chance for betterment. All that stage art can do in colour design and effect to give it suitable setting is accomplished; the dancing of Vlasta Novotna and Victor Lauschmann wins unbounded admiration. Nothing better in fun, frivolity, light-hearted and graceful entertainments—with just sufficient of the spice of wickedness—has recently been staged at Her Majesty’s than “High Jinks.”

The Australasian (Melbourne), Saturday, 3 April 1915, p.24, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article142970830

(l to r) C.H. Workman & Dorothy Brunton—Field Fisher caught kissing Nellie Hobson by Paul Plunket—Gertrude Glynn & C.H. Workman—Field Fisher & C.H. Workman.
Photos by Monte Luke. Punch (Melbourne), 25 March 1915, p.27.

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The critic for The Leader, however, was far more grudging in his praise and seemed to regard the whole enterprise as unworthy of his serious appraisal, and of possessing only a few redeeming features.

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DRAMA, &c.

HIGH JINKS.

High Jinks, produced at Her Majesty’s by The Girl in the Taxi Company, is described as “a musical jollity,” and is certainly entitled to no higher commendation. It has been devised for the amusement of those who are content with rollicking farce and desire no more intellectual form of entertainment. There is no deception practised, for the title is quite sufficient to indicate the nature of the show. Those of the audience who are not satisfied with the broad effects which evoke laughter, with the inspiring music, and the dancing which seems to be the outcome of irrepressible influence, have no business to give their patronage. High Jinks may be taken to represent the lowest phase to which musical comedy has descended, though we should not like to say that there may not be in the lowest deep a lower deep. It is redeemed from its worst aspects by the tuneful quality of some of the musical accompaniment, and by the kind of tarantelle dancing which furnishes its principal attraction.

The idea, if it can be called an idea, which is contained in the story, is found in the mysterious virtues attaching to a certain perfume. A whiff of this is sufficient to overturn the mental balance of the most staid and correct of individuals, and to send him capering with a nimbleness which defies any sense of restraint. A doctor of irritable temperament and sober demeanor, who was induced to try it by his friend the explorer becomes a new being, eager for amatory converse with his patients and ready to seize on any opening for intrigue. He is discovered by a jealous Frenchman kissing his wife, and to avoid a duel prefers to face the threatened alternative of a retaliation in kind. His own wife he sends off on a wild goose chase, while he arranges for temporarily filling her place with an accommodating dancer, who is quite ready to be kissed by the indignant Frenchman on a basis of substantial pecuniary reward, but as her terms are exorbitant, the doctor thinks he can make more economical arrangements by engaging the services of a grass widow and her adopted daughter. Then follow an inextricable series of complications which are supposed to be irresistibly amusing. Whenever there is danger of a hitch, the intoxicating perfume is brought into action and sets everybody's legs wildly gyrating. Those who are willing to succumb to the suggestion that there is something exhilarating in this form of humor will find ample excuse for riotous laughter, but it is a kind of fooling which may well make the judicious grieve.

The only reasonable occasion for satisfaction in High Jinks will be discoverable in the music, the dancing, and the setting. There are some catchy songs interspersed throughout the performance, and all the principal characters are given an opportunity. The main theme, repeated again and again, has a tuneful quality, and the parody of Faust, given by Marie Eaton, C.H. Workman and Fred Maguire, is of quite ambitious character, though the conversion of Gounod’s magic tone into ragtime may be condemned as a desecration. The dancing is a distinctive feature of the performance, and apart altogether from the funny capers which are an adjunct of the perfume, there are ballets of an attractive kind, and a specially delightful illustration of the poetry of motion supplied by Vlasta Novotna and Victor Lauschmann. The costuming and setting of the play are other merits to be acknowledged.

The company does the most it can with the material at its service, though the conditions are not as favorable as those under which the original reputation was obtained.  Mr. C.H. Workman is most to be pitied, for his part of the explorer who has to whisk about with the scent bottle is an impossible one. As some compensation, he is given more chances of displaying his vocal ability. He has a song, a duet and the Faust trio, but we miss his humor. Miss Marie Eaton is in greater prominence than usual, and when she has singing to do acquits herself well. Miss Dorothy Brunton bids fair to become a great favorite with the public, and though now lacking in certainty, has qualities which should enable her to achieve success. A pleasant appearance, a charm of manner, and a voice which enables her to sing prettily, are good assurances of recommendation. Miss Florence Vie seems to experience a joy in living which she communicates to the audience, and her style of humor finds a convenient environment in High Jinks. Miss Gertrude Glynn as Chi-Chi, the dancer, combines vocal and pedal gymnastics. Her song, The Bubble, with its quaint accompaniment of colored air balloons, was distinctly novel. The doctor was played by Mr. Field Fisher with a thorough appreciation of its spirit. Mr. Alfred Frith as a volatile Colonel, and Mr. Paul Plunket as the indignant Frenchman, made the most they could of their parts. Mr. W.H. Rawlins as an American lumber king, who was not averse to amorous adventure while in search of his long lost wife, was appropriately ponderous, with an occasional outburst into amazing agility. Aid was rendered also in minor measure by Miss Gwen Hughes as a nurse, by Miss Nellie Hobson as the kissed wife of the Frenchman, by Miss Cecil Bradley as a page, and by a young male member of the company who contributed a lively step dance.

The Leader (Melbourne), Saturday, 3 April 1915, p.34, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article91370174

Punch (Melbourne) 8 April 1915, p.18

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The theatrical gossip columns in the daily press and weekly periodicals continued to promote public interest in the entertainment world by reporting items of interest.

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IN THE PROMPTER’S BOX

Mr. Harry Burcher, “producer” of “High Jinks,” is the latest to sing the praises of the Australian chorus girl. “Her versatility is simply remarkable,” says Mr. Burcher. “In London a chorus girl generally remains a chorus girl, or, at any rate, is seldom able to distinguish herself in an emergency such as the Australian girl is capable of. We have in the chorus of the ‘High Jinks’ company, at the present time, at least six girls who could step out of the ranks and play parts if called upon. The same applies, to some extent, to the male members of the chorus, who are far above the average type of chorus man we have in London. The ranks of the Australian chorus provide a remarkable amount of material for turning into highly accomplished artists.”

The Herald (Melbourne), Wednesday, 28 April 1915, p.1

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Harry Burcher was as good as his word and during his tenure as a producer (or stage director in modern parlance) with JCW, he helped to promote the careers of many Australian performers in his productions, including Madge Elliott, who he brought out of the ballet and cast in her first acting and singing roles, culminating with the titular Cabaret Girl in 1923.

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On and Off the Stage

“I’ve just had quite an interesting experience,” said C.H. Workman, the famous comedian in “High Jinks,” at Melbourne Her Majesty’s. He had just emerged from a book-seller’s shop, and displayed a copy of an English souvenir of “The Chocolate Soldier,” in which he created the part of Bumerli. “I was buying a magazine,” he explained, “when the man behind the counter looked at me sharply for a moment, and then remarked, ‘I think I have got something here that will interest you.’ He handed me a copy of the ‘Chocolate Soldier’ souvenir. ‘You're Mr. Workman, I think?’ I admitted that I was. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘would you care to accept this? I have often thought I would like to meet the original of that picture of Bumerli on the cover. I saw you in the piece in England, and it does seem strange that I should meet you in Melbourne.’ It was quite a strange sensation to me to see my own picture on a periodical thousands of miles from England, and so unexpectedly.”

Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 29 Apr 1915, p.20

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Widespread public sympathy for Belgian refugees displaced from their homeland by the German invasion, which had precipitated Britain’s declaration of war against the aggressors (with Australia following suit in support of the Empire) resulted in many charitable appeals to support the Belgian Relief Fund to provide food and clothing for the beleaguered nation. One such appeal was Belgian Rose Day held on 8 April (to mark the birthday of King Albert of Belgium) which saw Charles Workman and his fellow cast members rubbing shoulders with the Australian Prime Minister, Andrew Fisher, and Melbourne’s own hometown operatic diva, Nellie Melba, who was just then embarking on the patriotic fund-raising work that would earn her the title of Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire in early 1918. (As a world famous exponent of the role of ‘Marguerite’ in Gounod’s Faust, Melba’s reaction to the interpolated “Faust in Ragtime” trio in High Jinks went, sadly, unrecorded. A curiously comical juxtaposition was provided by a charity matinee staged at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne in aid of the Actors Association of Australia Benevolent Fund and the Royal Comic Opera Company's Sick Fund, on the afternoon of Friday, 8 September 1916, in which Melba sang the prison scene from Faust to end the first part and the New English Musical Comedy Company concluded the entertainment with a performance of the complete second act from High Jinks, which included the musical “travesty” performed therein wherein Faust comes to bail Marguerite out of prison, and Mephistopheles, who has a taxi waiting outside, bewails the fact that it is ticking off dollars while the trio are singing.)

Andrew Fisher, Australian Prime Minister c.1915

State Library of South Australia, Adelaide

Melba as ‘Marguerite’ in Faust, Metropolitan Opera, New York, c.1893

State Library of Queensland, Brisbane

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ROSE DAY

Decorated motor cars paraded the streets, bands of pierrots, and masked, mysterious ladies sang patriotic songs. The streets were gay with red, yellow and black banners and flags. Several of the shop windows were dressed in the national colours of Belgium, and through the crowded streets went on busily the clinking of coins into tin boxes. Each affair of this kind seems to bring out more girls to collect—there were nearly 700 yesterday in the city alone. Most of the collecting activity seemed to be displayed in the forenoon. The 100,000 artificial roses were sold out by midday, but there still remained the postcards, ribbons, and the real roses. At luncheon time the principal cafes were decorated with roses and Belgian colours, and a number of politicians and leading citizens took advantage of the occasion to say pleasantly true things about King Albert and in praise of the people who stood for a fortnight against the brutal might of Germany.

In the afternoon there was a parade through the city of the decorated motor cars. The motor car is not a thing which lends itself much to decoration, but indubitably the best effect was that obtained by the car which headed the procession—a chariot in blue and white, with two white swans perched over the bonnet, and giving an effect of Lohengrin. The second car, in autumn colours, was also well designed and a good effect was gained by the one which came later in the procession—the body being massed around with blue and white flowers with a Union Jack design at the back, and a pole in the centre to which gaily-coloured streamers led.

His Excellency the Governor and Lady Stanley came in during the afternoon, and halted for a while at Lady Allen’s kiosk opposite the Town Hall; moving on to see the return of the motor procession at the Federal Parliament House. The weather throughout was pleasant and sunny, though rather warm …

DECORATED MOTOR-CARS.

MADAME MELBA WINS PRIZE.

At quarter past 2 o’clock the decorated cars, some of which had been acting as kiosks during the forenoon, drove up opposite St. Patrick’s Cathedral, under the eye of the Lady Mayoress, who judged them, and awarded the prize to Madame Melba. The car for which the first prize was given was that mentioned above as reminiscent of Lohengrin. It was a perfect bower of blue and white, most elaborately and tastefully handled. It was the only thing in the procession which did not look like a motor car, and the prize could only have gone elsewhere by a shocking error of taste. Half a dozen banners were given to half a dozen other cars, and the procession left for the city, via Collins street to William street, and thence through Bourke street to Parliament House. Madame Melba’s car went first, Madame herself distributing the flowers to the crowds which lined the route …

MADAME MELBA’S SHARE.

The official luncheon in [the dining-room of the Oriental Hotel] was given by Mesdames Percy Russell, R. Hallenstein, V. Wisher, and Arthur Woolcott, who had the use of the lounge as a depot. The principal guest was the Prime Minister (Mr. Fisher). The table at which they sat was ornamented by an immense canopy of roses amid foliage, and from the centre rose a fountain of rose-scented water. At the given time the Prime Minister rose and proposed the toast “His Majesty the King,” and then in a few words gave the toast of the day. Early in the afternoon preparations were made for the cafe chantant, for so many tables had been booked that, in addition to the Winter Garden, accommodation in the lounge and dining-room had to be requisitioned. A capital programme was rendered from the musicians gallery, the contributors being Miss Dorothy Brunton and Miss Florence Vie (of the “High Jinks” company), Mr. Lawrence Leonard, Mr. Fred Collier, Miss Elsie Treweek, Miss Anne Williams, Mr. H. Hamilton, Miss Rosa Walton and Miss Florence Finn. Programs were sold for silver coins, and a few which Madame Melba autographed realised fancy prices, as much as £1 being given for one.

At the conclusion of the procession of decorated cars, Madame Melba took tea at the Oriental, her arrival being announced by Mr. F.A. McCarty, who said he had just received from her funds amounting to close on £30, which she had collected during her tour through the city. Madame Melba had intended putting up several articles for sale by auction, but she felt too fatigued to conduct the sale, so Mr. Workman of the “High Jinks” company, and Mr. P. Bush, of the Theatre Royal company, acted as auctioneers with the result that £13/12/6 was raised from two Belgian flags (£8/15/), a prize rose (£1/10/), and two bottles of “High Jinks” scent (£3/7/0). The proceeds from the tea tickets amount to close on £30.

The Argus (Melbourne), Friday, 9 April 1915, p.6 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1508710

Scenes of Rose Day in Melbourne, 8 April 1915, with Melba’s prize-winning decorated car pictured at top left

Punch (Melbourne), 15 April 1915, p.22

https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/page/16457696

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AUCTION AT THE SAVOY.

The members of the High Jinks company gathered at the Savoy Cafe on Saturday night with the object of helping the Belgian fund. Mr. C.H. Workman, with the co-operation of Mr. H.B. Burcher, directed the proceedings, a feature of which was an auction sale by Mr. Workman. A £1 note was purchased by Mr. Falkiner for £110, and he also secured a pair of poplin curtains for £24. A collection by Miss Marie Eaton realised £17 8/, the total amount received being £131 18/. During the evening an entertainment was given by Mr. Workman, Mr. [Victor] Lauschmann, Mr. Alexander Yakovleuko, Mme. Clere and Miss Eaton.

The Leader (Melbourne, Vic.), Saturday, 3 April 1915, p.50

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Having established his home-base in Melbourne with his wife, “Tottie” and son, Roy, Charles Workman also helped to organise further charitable events with the co-operation of fellow citizens of his adopted city and the active participation of Mrs. Workman.

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Mr. Workman’s Garden Fete

Mr. C.H. Workman, of the “High Jinks” company, with Miss Dorothy Brunton, has organised a garden fete and café chantant, in aid of the Belgian Fund, to be given at Ascog, Southey street, St. Kilda, next Saturday, May 8. There will be numerous attractions, including the attendance of a large theatrical party, who will appear by permission of J.C. Williamson, Ltd. Those taking part in the program will include Mr. Workman, Miss Dorothy Brunton, Mr. Hector Goldspink, Mr. Willie Conway, Miss Elsie Warman, and members of the “High Jinks” company.

The Argus (Melbourne), Saturday, 1 May 1915, p.18, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1513887

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FETE AND CAFE CHANTANT.

By FALAISE.

The residents of Ascog and Whinbank, St. Kilda, were the successful organisers of a garden fete combined with a café chantant and tennis tournament, which was held in the spacious grounds of Ascog, lent by Mrs. J. Grace, on Saturday, May 8, in order to raise funds for the Belgians. Flags and streamers in the Belgian colours decorated the stalls which had been erected on the front lawns, and the gay scene was enhanced by all the young girls assisting wearing white frocks, with aprons and caps in our national and Belgian colours. The opening Ceremony was performed by Mr. C.F. Beauchamp early in the afternoon, but, though the sale of gifts only then commenced, the tennis tournament had been in progress from 10 o’clock a.m.

The arrangements for this were supervised by Miss Mamie Marks, who had been assisted in the preliminary work by Mr. E. Trend. There were between thirty and forty entries, and some exciting matches were witnessed in the concluding rounds. When the final contest took place the daylight was rapidly departing, consequently it was difficult for the players to distinguish the ball. The successful pair, Mr. A Whyte and Miss Jones, just managed to win from Mr. K. Trend and Miss Essie Price. The trophies for this tournament had been donated by W. Drummond and Co. and the balls by the Dunlop Rubber Co. The café chantant was in the billiard lounge, and throughout the afternoon it proved a great attraction, as a large number of well-known artists gave their services on the program, including Mr. C.H. Workman, Mr. Fred Maguire, Mr. C. Wren, Miss Dorothy Brunton, Miss Queenie Paul (all of the “High Jinks” Company), the Misses Elsa Warman, Mansell Kirby, Master and Miss Scurrah, and Messrs. Hector Goldspink, E.H. Leahy, G. Chant, and W. Conway.

The various side-shows included Aunt Sally (in charge of Mr. Trend), bran pies, fortune telling, spinning jennies, motor and pony rides (the car and ponies having been lent by Miss Simmonds and Miss Joseph respectively.) Tables for afternoon tea out on the broad verandah, and those who directed the arrangements there were Mesdames Workman, James, and Richardson. A well-stocked stall for sweets was in charge of Mesdames C.F. Beauchamp, J.B. Macglashan, and Miss Beauchamp; and another which displayed an attractive show of cut flowers and pot plants was managed by Mrs. Raphael. Among those who sold sprays for coats or dresses was Miss Gwen Hughes, of the “High Jinks” Co. In the evening Mrs. J. Grace arranged a palais de danse, which was attended by some hundreds of visitors, and was a great success. The committee of direction for the fete, &c., was formed by Messrs. C.H. Workman, E. Trend, D.O. Reeson, T. Grace, and J.B. Macglashan. It is estimated that the proceeds will result in about £100 being handed to the Belgian Relief Funds.

The Australasian (Melbourne), Sat, 15 May 1915, p.40, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article142973169

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N.B. £1 in 1915 would be equivalent to approximately $108.50 in today’s currency; thus £10 = $1,085 and £100 = $10,850, etc. (ref: https://www.rba.gov.au/calculator/annualPreDecimal.html )

Scenes from the Garden Fete held in St. Kilda, with Charles Workman pictured at bottom left (possibly with his wife). Punch, 13 May 1915, p.15.

 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/page/16457613

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Other wartime charities were also the beneficiaries of the theatrical profession’s largesse in supporting worthy causes by donating their talents gratis, which also extended to the management providing the performance venues without cost, especially on Sundays when the staging of regular theatrical entertainments was prohibited in accordance with the Lord’s Day Observance Act. Such extra-curricular activities that took place on the Sabbath day were generally given the billing of “Sacred Concerts” in order to circumvent the law. The “Grand Entertainment” organised by the tenor, Walter Kirby, in aid of the Australian and British Red Cross Funds staged at the Theatre Royal on Sunday, 16 May was thus advertised in the local press with the stated proviso that the artists taking part “Will Sing or Talk, as the Spirit moves, in Sacred or Sunday Mood.”

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“HIGH JINKS” COMPANY EFFORT

An attractive program is being arranged for the entertainment to be given at the Theatre Royal next Sunday night in aid of the Red Cross funds. The whole of the “High Jinks” company have volunteered their services. The entertainment will commence at a quarter to 8 o’clock. In view of the urgent need of funds for the Red Cross a big success is hoped for.

The Argus (Melbourne), Friday, 14 May 1915, p.12

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The Melbourne season of High Jinks finally wound up after a highly successful 8 weeks, with the closing performance on Friday, 21 May ending in particularly high spirits (including those of the bottled variety!)

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

HIGH JINKS.

Animated scenes and humorous happenings marked the last night of the Highs Jinks company at Her Majesty's Theatre. The members of the company had made themselves very popular during their stay in Melbourne, and “in front” amongst the crowded audience were many friends of the artists, who helped to keep the proceedings throughout thoroughly lively—from first to last. The artists themselves entered into the spirit of the evening. The big ragtime scene was one of the hits of the evening, being embellished with many incidents that were not set down in the “script” of the stage manager. It had to be repeated thrice in response to insistent demands, and each time it was gone through with variations. The climax was reached when Mr. Paul Plunket seized a lady member of the wardrobe staff who had been watching interestedly from the “wings” and waltzed her across the stage into the melee of frenziedly-working ragtimers. The final fall of the curtain was the signal for a prolonged demonstration of applause, and a lavish presentation of flowers to the lady members of the company, as well as mysterious looking parcels—the contents of which could be guessed at—to the gentlemen of the cast.

The Leader (Melbourne), Saturday, 22 May 1915, p.49, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article91371317

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The New English Musical Comedy Company then made their way Westwards in preparation for their first appearance in the South Australian capital of Adelaide.

[To be continued.]

Alfred Field Fisher (1914). Photo by Monte Luke.

State Library of New South Wales, Sydney

Postscript

The Interviewer.

MR. FIELD FISHER.

A man of varied talents and varied interest, Mr. Field Fisher—who is Dr. Robert Thorne in “High Jinks,” around whom all the story circles—is a very interesting man to meet in private life. He is by no means wrapped up in his theatrical work alone, although he is keenly interested in it, but at the same time he has a little attention to spare for the questions of the day, and so can talk about other things than the theatre. In fact, he does not talk “shop” much at all, although if that subject crops up he follows it without any marked reluctance, for there is no affected pose about him.

He is caught at Her Majesty’s Theatre one morning, and then ensues a search for a quiet corner in which to talk. This involves a regular journey of discovery over a dark stage and round corners, upstairs and downstairs, until we settle in the Lounge, as every other place seems to be in the hands of energetic cleaners. There, in the only two unshrouded chairs, we make ourselves comfortable, and Mr. Fisher almost immediately begins to talk of newspaper work, and says—

“I know something of press-work, for I used to do some of it, or, rather, drawing for the papers—for the Harmsworth publications. Yes, humorous sketches and that kind of thing. The first sketching I ever did was costume designing. This was when I was with Laurence Irving (I was with him for a long time) when he was going to put on the play ‘Margaret Catchpole,’ which, by the way, is Australian, isn't it? At least, she ended her life out here or something of the sort; he was in some difficulty about the costumes, and l undertook to design them, which I did. Then the next thing I attempted was posters and little sketches. One day a member of the staff of one of the papers, ‘The Sketch,’ saw one and asked to be allowed to show it to the editor. He sent for me, and so I was launched on my newspaper work, and did it for some time, finally working for several of the Harmsworth papers and for ‘Comic Cuts,’ ‘Ally Sloper’ and such publications.

“No, I do not do it now. I found it meant that I needed to be in the city, and was too much of a tie; I used to have to be at the offices to see the editor and talk things over.”

Mr. Fisher then launches off into talk about the war, suggested by a sudden recollection of the first actor to lose his life there, whom he knew personally. “It was sad about Mackinder, wasn’t it—one of our best all-round actors. He was offered a commission, but refused, and said he preferred to serve as a private with the men he knew and had always been with. He had been in a position to earn a handsome salary—about seventy pounds a week the year round—and he gave it all up. Did you hear how he died? They received an order one night to change trenches, eight of them; he was the last. When they reached the new trench they found they were only seven, so went back to look for him and found him on his back. They asked him if he were hurt,’ and he answered, ‘I don't know,’ and died immediately. [1]

“There are so many who have given up so much, and gone to the front. It is fine, isn’t it?”

Elisabeth Kumm collection

Laurence Irving and his wife

Elisabeth Kumm collection

Then Laurence Irving’s sad death in the “Empress of Ireland” wreck is mentioned, and Mr. Fisher says:

“I was to have been with him then. Even to the Sunday before he left for America it was all arranged, and we had dinner with him to talk things over. Then this offer for Australia came and I decided to accept it, and in consequence was not with them on the wreck. Yes, he could have been saved had he not gone back for his wife, but that was just what he would do; it was just like him. [2]He was a most absent-minded man; but good natured and a genius. It was only just beginning to be realised in England too. H.B. was the elder son, and inherited the bulk of the money, and at Sir Henry's death the father's mantle fell upon his shoulders, and Laurence had no such help, and had to fight his own way.

“One incident I recall about his absent-mindedness. When I went to America with him on a previous visit, he said the day after we arrived: ‘Come on, and I'll give you a real American dinner!’ This was about four o’clock in the afternoon, after rehearsal. We went to a fashionable restaurant and had a splendid dinner; then the bill came and Laurence put his hand in his pocket, and said, ‘I haven't any money; but it doesn’t matter, you pay.’ He never did have any money. Well, I had about a dollar, so I said: I have no money, either.’ He said: ‘Never mind,’ and explained to the waiter, who he was and that he would send and settle the bill. But the waiter would have none of it, and said: ‘It’s all very well, but that won’'t go with me; we have had that before.’ So after some argument it ended by us going off to Irving’s hotel, accompanied by the waiter, for he would not trust us.”

“You have had command performances at Sandringham?”

“Yes, several times. That was when we had our own little company—my brother and my two sisters. It was known as the Field Fisher Quartette Company, and we used to appear at ‘at homes’ and private entertainments, giving a musical show of a refined nature. [3]

“It was rather funny how we came to have our first Royal command. We were appearing at the pier pavilion at Ryde—that is near Cowes, Isle of Wight, you know. One of my sisters came off the stage and said: ‘There are two men in front who seem to be trying to be free. I wish you would go and give them a look.' You see, the girls had been rather strictly brought up, and my mother always travelled with us, so they were well looked after. They were fine girls, I must say, though they are my sisters.

“So I went on, and had a look at two men in yachting costume in the front row, and I gave them a look. We continued giving them looks during the rest of the performance.

“Then as we were walking down the pier on our way home, my sisters being on in front, we saw the two men stop them and speak to them—one being very tall, the other short. My brother and I naturally hurried up, and the tall one turned to us—

“I was just saying to your sisters I think they must have forgotten me. I am Abercrombie, and I had the pleasure of meeting you at Lady So-and-So’s.'

“It was quite right, we had been engaged by the Countess and had met the Earl of Abercrombie, and he turned to his companion and said: ‘May I introduce the Prince of Wales?’ That was the present King. He complimented us upon our performance, and said, ‘You must come on board the yacht and do it for us, will you? Of course we were delighted, and they asked could we go the next day. We had to explain we could not manage that, as all our things were packed ready to leave, as that was our last night there, and we were to go to Southampton. But we said we could go on the Monday, and it was arranged. They told us they had been on ‘the yacht’; it was the Cowes Regatta week, you know; but had run short of matches, so had landed at Ryde to get some, and seen our posters, and Lord Abercrombie remembered us and said we must see this—they are good. After telling them how we had come near to throwing them out, we parted.

“We went to the yacht on the Monday, and found one deck all arranged with a nice little stage all fixed up with red at one end. My brother and I were on this fixing things and having a bit of an argument, because he wanted the piano at one side and I thought it ought to be more up the stage, and he was telling me not to be a blithering idiot, and that kind of thing, when I caught a whiff of a cigar and turned to find King Edward standing just inside the curtain watching us. Goodness knows how long he had been there.

“When we started the performance before the King and Queen and Prince and Princess of Wales, and the German Emperor, by the way, who was there on his yacht, the ‘Hohenzollern,’ for the regatta week, we were deadly nervous, you can guess, and feeling pretty anxious as we opened, as we always did, with an instrumental quartette, for they were all good performers. My instrument was the banjo, because I was always the unmusical one. The King—King Edward—was sitting just a yard or two away from us, and when we were about half-way through he settled himself back contentedly and said ‘Delightful, delightful.’  So, you can guess that bucked us up a bit and things went better after that. We had supper with them before we left and found them all charming—so unaffected and natural. Why, another time when we were appearing at Sandringham, the present King came along the passage to the stage himself and said to me: ‘I want you to do that little thing of yours—about the Frenchman attempting an after-dinner speech—because the French Envoy is here and I want to watch his face.’ I did not much like doing it under the circumstances, because I did not know how the Envoy would take it in the absurd broken English. But it was a Royal command, and I had to. I gave it, and they all watched him and laughed delightedly at his expression. They are absolutely unaffected and natural in this way.

Aboard the Royal yacht with the Prince of Wales (later George V) Edward VII and Prince Edward (later Edward VIII and subsequently the Duke of Windsor) c.1909

“In fact, we appeared at many country houses for the leading people, and always found them most considerate and charming. Only on two occasions were people not nice to us. Once was in Hertfordshire. We were engaged to appear at a country house there. We were driven to the servants' entrance, and given our dinner by the butler in a kind of pantry. Afterwards I said I would like to see the hostess, Mrs.—eh, well, I forget her name for the moment—I have a dreadful memory for names—but say Jones. He told me ‘Mrs. Jones will send for you when she is ready.’ You see, the butler was putting on airs with us, too. 

“We were sent for, and I saw the hostess, and went towards her, saying 'Good evening,’ when she put her hands behind her back as though she was afraid I was going to shake hands with her.

“They had rented the place, and were giving this big affair, had sent out invitations everywhere. And Hertfordshire is probably the greatest county for country houses; there are ever so many well-known people [who] have homes there. By this time we had come to know most people who were anybody, for we had appeared so frequently at house parties. The guests had arrived and we found we knew nearly everyone. Suddenly the people of the neighbourhood—the Gowers—came rustling in; they are conservative people, keep up great style at their home, drive about with a coach and four- etc. Well, they came straight up to us, shook hands, said how pleased they were to meet us again, and chatted to my sisters. When the hostess saw this she nearly fell upon our necks—wanted us to stay all night, in fact, would have kept us a week or two if we would have stayed.

“We had our little company for eight years. Then one sister married, and later the other. My brother and I tried to fix things up and engaged two girls who had had musical comedy experience and were clever, but somehow we could not make things go the same. We had always worked very hard, we were up at nine every morning practising and trying things over. But with the other girls it was not the same. They did not take the same interest and would not work. When we were on tour they used to go off and have a good time. People began to say the Field Fisher quartette was not the same—had gone off. So we disbanded. My brother gave up the profession, and is now a barrister, and I am the only vagabond left.

“Since then I have been on the stage. I had some experience before—I had appeared with the [Henry] Irving company as a boy.”

Mr. Fisher talks of his work and how he enjoys it when he has a congenial part to play. Asked about his pastimes he says:

"Well I still keep up drawing, though not for publication. It is confined mostly to albums now. I am fond of tennis, but otherwise do not go in for any sport.”

One thing very pleasant for Australians to hear is Mr. Fisher's admiration for the all-round cleverness of the Australian girl and the chorus girl in particular. He generously implies that the grade of cleverness and versatility among the ladies of an Australian company compare favorably, not with English choristers, but English principals.

Mr. Fisher in manner and speech is very English, and has a slight suggestion in his way of speaking of what we deem the dude, but his travels have made him cosmopolitan, so that there is not the English reserve with it, which is often so difficult to pierce.

Table Talk (Melbourne), 22 April 1915, p.26, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page17433603

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Endnotes

1. Former London Gaiety Theatre actor and singer, Lionel Mackinder was killed in action while serving as a Lance Corporal with the Royal Berkshire Regiment in France on 9 January 1915 at age 46.

2. On the homeward bound voyage following a tour of North America in 1913–14, British actor, Laurence Irving (the youngest son of Sir Henry Irving and brother to H.B. Irving) and his actress wife, Mabel Hackney, perished aboard the RMS Empress of Ireland when it founded off the Canadian coast following a collision with the Norwegian collier Storstad in the early hours of 29 May 1914, with the subsequent loss of 1,012 lives.

3. A typical evening’s entertainment given by the Field-Fisher Quartette (and the regard in which they were held) is provided by the following review of one of their performances:

ENTERTAINMENT AT THEATHENÆUM.

The opening entertainment of the season at the Athenæum in Bury St. Edmund’s, on Thursday evening, was extremely successful, considering that the weather was unfavourable, and that the season is early, and for this result the fame of the Field-Fisher Quartette is responsible. The local associations of the talented visitors doubtless had something to do with the satisfactory attendance, but apart from this fact, their reputation as first-class artistes would have been sufficient to attract an audience. The quartette comprises the Misses Marjorie and Evelyn Field-Fisher, and Masters Alfred and Eric Field-Fisher. The first-named young lady has an excellent voice, and is a clever performer on the guitar, while her sister is a remarkably graceful dancer, and also manipulates with skill the mandoline. Master Alfred Field-Fisher is a banjoist and recites with wonderful expression, and his charming little brother dances and plays the mandoline with the grace and feeling of a born artiste. Indeed, to attempt to define the capabilities of any one of the quartette would be futile, and the qualifications which we have mentioned are simply those in which they excel. For variety the program could not have been improved upon, its items ranging from selections from the latest comic operas to plantation melodies, and from a pathetic ballad to Spanish and other dances. But the entertainment was something more than merely clever and pleasing. It was essentially refined. Nothing was lacking to make it popular, and yet upon no single item could the finger of a reproving censor be laid. The performance was of an undeniably high-class order, and its originality, and the cleverness of the artistes, were all the more appreciated by the select and large audience assembled. This was the first visit of the quartette to Bury, and the cordiality of their reception clearly demonstrated that they had more than fulfilled the favourable anticipations formed of them. At no time did the performance fall flat. The program scintillated with items at once tuneful and artistic, several of which were enthusiastically encored. The mandoline, guitar, and banjo quartettes were highly appreciated, the variety of the selections meeting all tastes. “The Mountebanks,” and “La Cigale,” were drawn upon in this respect, and a “selection of popular airs,” in which was introduced “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” was loudly re-demanded. Miss Marjorie’s songs met with marked favour, notably the Spanish and Italian songs, “Sara Zetta” and “Nuna Palona,” and “One day Margot." The graceful dancing of Miss Evelyn was a feature of the entertainment, emphatic marks of approval rewarding her execution of the “Pas seul.” “How Grandmama danced,” was admirably recited and acted, and was followed by a minuet and tableaux by Miss Evelyn and her younger brother. She also went prettily through a Spanish dance; Master Eric, an exceedingly clever child, played the mandoline with considerable expression and wonderful correctness, and he was loudly re-called for the solo “Cavalleria Rusticana.” The recitations of Master Alfred Field-Fisher were commendable expositions of the recitative art, and he gives much promise in this respect. For each recitation he was loudly encored, and responded with humorous little selections. The dumb show recitation, “The Village Blacksmith,” which was clearly given, met with an especially enthusiastic reception. The same performer, as a banjoist, and with the bones, also lent considerable assistance to the musical portion of the program. The performance was an excellent one throughout, and the Council of the Athenæum are to be congratulated upon their first entertainment of the season.

The following was the program:

Quartette, “La Cigale,” mandolines, guitar, and banjo (introducing the songs “Doubt not” and “Our dear old home.”) The Quartette; quartette, “Sweet Innisfail,” mandolines, guitar, and banjo. The Quartette; dance (Spanish), “Toreador,” piano and castanets, Evelyn and Eric Field-Fisher: quartette, “Hock Hamburg March,” mandolines, guitar, and banjo, The Quartette; song (Spanish), a “Sara Yetta,” and (Italian) b “Nuna Palona,” guitar. Miss Field-Fisher; recitation, “Man with one hair,” Alfred Field-Fisher; song, “Rory Darling” (Hope Temple), Miss Marjorie Field-Fisher; duet, “Little Johnny Jones,” piano, Evelyn and Alfred; solo, “Cavalleria Rusticana,” mandoline, Eric Field-Fisher; dance, “Scarf dance,” piano, Evelyn; song, “Aloha” (Sandwich Island National Song), mandolines, &c., Miss Marjorie Field-Fisher; quartette, selection from “The Mountebanks,” mandolines, &c., The Quartette; quartette, “Selections of Popular Airs,” mandolines, &c. The Quartette; recitation, a “How Grandmama Danced,” Evelyn; dance, b “Minuet, with Tableaux,” piano, Evelyn and Eric; song, “One Day Margot,” piano. Miss Marjorie Field-Fisher; trio, “Cup of Tea,” piano, Evelyn, Alfred, and Eric; trio, a “Daffodil,” b “Christmas” (Lindsay Kearne) Mandolines, &c., Marjorie, Evelyn, and Eric; recitation (silent), “The Village Blacksmith,” piano, Alfred Field-Fisher; dance, “Pas Seul,” piano, Evelyn; quartette, “Plantation Melody,” mandolines, &c., The Quartette; quartette, “Good night,” mandolines, &c., The Quartette.

During the interval the performers were introduced to the Mayor and Mayoress, by whom they were warmly congratulated on their success. Mr. Field-Fisher was so much gratified by the enthusiastic reception given to his family at the Athenæum, and so pleased to renew his own acquaintancewith the good old town of Bury after a lapse of many years, that he has kindly concerned to arrange for a return visit by the quartette at the earliest possible opportunity.

The Bury and Norwich Post and Suffolk Standard (Bury St. Edmunds, England), 27 September 1892, p.7

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British character comedian and singer, Alfred Field Fisher was born Thomas Alfred A. Fisher in Cambridge in the county of Cambridgeshire, England in 1876, the eldest son of brewer, Thomas Field Fisher and his wife, Louisa Fanny Fisher (nee Hanson). His siblings included an older sister, Margaret (Marjorie) Lowther Fisher (b. 1873), younger sister, Evelyn Isabel Fisher (b. 1878) and two younger brothers, Thomas Eric Field Fisher (b. 1881) and Caryl Hillyard Barclay Fisher (b. 1887). The four older children began performing together as a quartette in the late-1880s in aid of local charities at their local theatre in the London suburb of Bedford Park and their act proved to be so successful that they were urged by the press; actor, Harry Nicholls; playwright, Alfred Calmour, and others to join the ranks of professional entertainers. Impresario Sir Augustus Harris subsequently engaged them to play leading parts in a juvenile fairy play, which was produced at Covent Garden in 1889. In addition to public and private performances of their family act, the talented siblings were also individually cast in a variety of juvenile roles in plays in London and the provinces, with older sister, Marjorie also venturing into comic opera in the early 1890s. Amongst the early stage roles enacted by Alfred was doubling as both The Prince and the Pauper for Mrs. Oscar Beringer’s 1890 stage adaptation of the Mark Twain tale at London’s Gaiety Theatre, when both characters (principally played by the playwright’s daughter, Miss Vera Beringer) were required to share the same scene, and playing a prince in Sir Henry Irving’s production of Charles I at the Lyceum.

 

“SLASHES AND PUFFS”, FUN (London), vol. LI, no. 1302, 23 April 1890, p.172

Alfred Field Fisher arrived in Australia in May 1914 to reprise the role of the Romanian nobleman ‘Dragotin’ (which he had played for over a year in the British provinces) in J.C. Williamson’s Royal Comic Opera Company production of the Franz Lehár operetta, Gipsy Love which premiered at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney on 13 June. He then transferred to JCW’s New English Musical Comedy Company for The Girl in the Taxi in July 1914 and remained a stalwart of the latter company throughout the 1910s and early ‘20s. In 1926 he joined Frank Neil’s Comedy Company to tour in such farces as Are You a Mason?, Charley’s Aunt, The Nervous Wreck and Getting Gertie’s Garter, and performed in the pantomimes Mother Goose and Little Red Riding Hood. A fellow member of Neil’s Company, Vera Fisher (nee Wallace) had married Alfred in the West London district of Kensington in April 1905. In 1930 they toured South Africa with Frank Neil’s Comedy Company, which was so well received that the visit, originally planned to last three months, was extended to ten months and made three complete tours of the South African theatre circuit. Returning to Australia (following a return visit to England at the conclusion of the tour) Fisher rejoined Frank Neil’s Company for Almost a Honeymoon at the Bijou Theatre in Melbourne in April 1931 and other productions. In 1932 he made his feature film debut in Melbourne in the George Wallace comedy His Royal Highness for F.W. Thring’s Efftee Film Productions, followed by Diggers in Blighty and Waltzing Matilda for Pat Hanna Productions in 1933. (Further film roles ensued in Charles Chauvel’s Heritagein 1935 and the Cinesound productions Mr. Chedworth Steps Out, starring Cecil Kellaway, in 1939 and Dad Rudd, M.P., starring Bert Bailey and Fred MacDonald, in 1940, both directed by Ken G. Hall.) Fisher also performed in the Cyril Ritchard and Madge Elliott revivals of The Quaker Girl and Our Miss Gibbs for JCW in 1933 and reprised his original role of ‘Dr. Robert Thorne’ for their revival of High Jinks in 1935. After a brief sojourn for F.W. Thring in the stage production Mother of Pearl starring Alice Delysia in 1934, Fisher returned to the JCW fold to appear in a succession of musical comedies, plays and pantomimes throughout the remainder of the 1930s, including Yes, Madam, Anything Goes and Under Your Hatand played the title role in Sinbad. 

Concurrent with Fisher’s stage appearances, were his performances on radio in comedy sketches and plays (including those that he had written himself) and musical comedies (starring Gladys Moncrieff) for the ABC. He was first heard over the airwaves as a cast member of the JCW production of the musical Kid Boots (starring George Gee and Josie Melville) which was broadcast from the stage of His Majesty’s Theatre, Melbourne by 3LO during the Gala performance given on the evening of Saturday, 25 July 1925 in honour of the visiting American Fleet (followed by a further broadcast from the theatre of Act 2 on Saturday, 15 August 1925) however his first studio performances of his self-penned comedy sketches and duologues with his wife, Vera, were broadcast from 2BL in Sydney in January 1930. In June 1933 Fisher reprised the role of ‘Dr. Thorne’ in two separate studio broadcasts of High Jinks relayed by the ABC National network from 3LO and he also performed in two radio serials that he had scripted: The Adder from 2BL in 1933 and The Old Folks Abroad (with Vera) in 1937, broadcast from 3AR, Melbourne. At the time of his death in Sydney on 8 September 1940 (at age 63) he had been due to rehearse for a radio production of the musical comedy Good News for the ABC national network, for which his role was subsequently recast.

Fisher’s last stage appearance was as the valet ‘Brassett’ in Charley’s Aunt at the Minerva Theatre, Sydney in July 1940—a play in which he had performed a variety of roles since its original London premiere in 1892. An acknowledged master in the art of stage make-up, which was often commented upon in reviews, Fisher boasted in a 1926 newspaper interview that he had a collection of over 100 wigs with which he could transform himself at a moment’s notice into the many and varied character roles that he portrayed on stage. A comprehensive list of Field Fisher’s Australian stage credits is given on the AusStage website at https://www.ausstage.edu.au/pages/contributor/230701

 

The Wireless Weekly (Sydney), 19 January 1934, p.15

Program listing for the repeat broadcast in 1933 (with the WWI era pseudonyms for Friml and Harbach persisting into the 1930s)

Additional Sources

• Lionel Mackinder death, https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/56494908/lionel-mackinder

• Laurence Irving death, https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/9581057/laurence-irving

• Laurence Irving death, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/15512496/1280147

• Empress of Ireland sinking, The Sydney Morning Herald, Monday, 1 June 1914, p.9, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/page/1280147

• “A Guitariste—Miss Marjorie Field-Fisher”, Hearth and Home (London), vol. 1, no. 23, 22 October 1891, p.128

• J.P. Wearing, The London Stage, 1890–1899: A Calendar of Productions, Performers, and Personnel, 2nd ed.; Rowman & Littlefield: Lanham, Maryland, 2014

• Ancesty.com

• “About People”, The Age (Melbourne), Tuesday, 19 May 1914, p.7

• Comedian for “Gipsy Love”, World News (Sydney), 30 May 1914, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article131499358

• Gipsy Love program, https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-3055135740/view

• Program listings for 3LO (Melbourne), Wireless Weekly, 24 July 1925, p.39

• Program listings for 3LO (Melbourne), Wireless Weekly, 14 August 1925, p.39

• “A Hundred Wigs—Field Fisher’s Collection”, The Call (Perth), Friday, 6 August 1926, p.4, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/210943477

• “Field Fisher Over the Air”, Sunday Times (Sydney), 2 January 1930, p.13

• Program listings for 2BL (Sydney), Wireless Weekly, 10 January 1930, p.30

• Daily Standard (Brisbane), Friday, 10 January 1930, p.5, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article186350857

• “Frank Neil Brings Back New Plays”, The Herald (Melbourne), Saturday, 21 March 1931, p.13, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article242882727

• The Telegraph (Brisbane), Wednesday, 31 May 1933, p.12, http://nla.gov.au/nnews-article168417915

• Program listings for 3LO (Melbourne), Wireless Weekly, 22 June 1933, p.47

• “13 Musical Comedies”, Wireless Weekly, 31 July 1936, p.7

• “Appearing with Gladys Moncrieff in the ABC Musical Comedy Broadcasts from Melbourne”, Wireless Weekly, 28 August 1936, p.12

• “Alfred Field Fisher Dead”, The Sun (Sydney), Monday, 9 September 1940, p.6, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article231195765

• Internet Movie Data Base, https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0279485/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_1

(left) Theatre Royal, Adelaide, 1881. Photo by Samuel Wright Sweet. State Library of South Australia, Adelaide. (right) C.H. Workman. Photo by Dover Street Studios. Author’s collection.

Built in Hindley Street in 1878 on the site of an earlier theatre of the same name, the Theatre Royal was J.C. Williamson Ltd.’s sole performance venue in Adelaide and, as the theatre’s lessee (since October 1913), The Firm had undertaken its remodelling in 1914, which was enthusiastically described in a newspaper interview with Melbourne-based Managing Director, George Tallis prior to its reopening.

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“SMARTEST LITTLE THEATRE.”

ADELAIDE AND THE WILLIAMSON PRODUCTIONS.

[By our Special Reporter.]

In theatrical attractions Adelaide is getting into line with its neighbouring capitals. There is an avalanche of J.C. Williamson attractions approaching. If Mr. George Tallis (managing director of Williamson, Limited) had not made a casual trip to Adelaide last December this city would not, for two or three years, perhaps, have become possessed of the smartest little theatre in Australia.

It was a long while since “the head” had paid a visit to the Adelaide Royal. When he saw its condition, and gauged its possibilities, things began to get busy. Mr. Tallis sped to Sydney and hustled his architect and contractor, Messrs. Pitt and McDonald respectively. To-night, when theatregoers gaze in admiration upon the Hindley street transformation they will witness the fruition of a really tremendous enterprise. The rebuilding of the Theatre Royal has been the most sensational performance staged anywhere by the great entrepreneurs.

The story of the three-shift two-month task is one of splendid management of men allied to superb response on the part of every unit. Even on Friday morning, when a reporter chatted with Mr. Tallis, in the remodelled stalls, there was such chaos of incompletion that the lay mind failed to visualize a public entertainment within 36 hours. Yet every minute was telling its tale and paying its tribute to the brains behind the whole scheme.

—Unique Superiority.—

“Yes,” said Mr. Tallis, “I think we have the finest theatre of its kind in Australia. No place in Melbourne or Sydney can equal it for at least three things. Those are comfort, ventilation, and sighting. We have gone the limit in providing comfort; we have gone one better in securing ventilation; and as for the sighting, from any seat or corner of the building it is simply magnificent. Compared with the acoustics of the old Theatre Royal this new construction will provide immense improvement. See that massive proscenium arch! Notice how it issues from the stage like a gigantic funnel. That is precisely what it is. It throws out the sound for all the world like the funnel on a phonograph. We are going to make the ventilation here a pattern for all our theatres. We are going to reproduce it exactly in our new little theatre in Melbourne, which should be completed in 12 or 18 months. [A reference to the proposed Williamson Theatre, which ultimately would not be constructed due to the on-set of WWI.]

—Red Letter Day.—

“When I speak of comfort here, I want you to see how we have provided not only handsome and luxurious chairs, but there is more space per seat than patrons have ever had in the Royal before. It is all a tribute to our architect and contractor. Than Mr. McDonald I do not think any man living can handle an army of workmen better; he is a wizard. I must give thanks to our representative here, Mr. Herbert Myers, who has ably watched over the whole business, night and day. Saturday will be a red-letter day for J.C. Williamson, Limited, for we shall open two new theatres—this in Adelaide and an Opera House in Wellington, which cost £65,000. In a week or two we hope to start work on still another new Williamson theatre in Sydney—corner of George and Bathurst streets. That place will be almost as large as Her Majesty's in Melbourne, and will accommodate 2,250 people. [Another proposed theatre which did not come to fruition due to the war.]

—A Gigantic Concern.—

“Our total of theatres? Well, we shall hold four in the New South Wales capital, three in Melbourne, and one each in Adelaide, Brisbane, Auckland, Christchurch, and Wellington (those three in New Zealand we have on lease). Then there are a theatre in London, and our South African interests …

—Adelaide's Turn.—

“What are we going to do with the Adelaide Theatre Royal? Why, we are going to keep it pretty well always stocked. Your public will, of course, have a big say in that matter; but I will tell you our immediate prospects. You will be having the ‘Forty Thieves’ pantomime before long, and the ‘Revue’ show as well. That latter, by-the-way, is the biggest and most expensive attraction we have ever tackled. We not only propose to give Adelaide folk much more frequent treats, but we hope to run longer seasons. We shall linkup Adelaide much more closely with Melbourne, by alternating our attractions more frequently between the two capitals than has been possible in the past. You see, as this bigger and better theatre now stands, we shall have the chance to send you our bigger and more costly productions …

“The firm of Williamson hereby promises Adelaide not only a better theatre, but a higher standard and wider choice of attractions. Naturally, in return, we look for an equivalent extension of public encouragement.’

The Register (Adelaide), Saturday, 11 April 1914, p.5 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article58505574

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The Bulletin’s dramatic critic in Adelaide writes: The last generation seems to have had a sporting idea of fire-risks in theatres. The rebuilding of the Royal (last reconstructed in 1878) has brought to light all kinds of stuff that was fair flame-food. The old idea seems to have been to put up a framework of timber, line it with match-board, and pad that with hessian. Out of the dome have come down hundreds of cartloads of inflammable material, just under which was hung the great chandelier that—all the years before electricity came in-—gave out so intense a heat. Dress-circle Adelaide knew that it got to and from its seats by a wooden staircase, passing above a liquor-bar, but it did not know what a bonfire it was going to have a front seat in if anything went wrong. However, nothing did. Herbert Myers—local manager for the Williamson Co.—points with pride to the vast quantities of marble stairs, and steel beams, and fibrous-plaster ornamentation that are to minimise risk in the new building. The old Academy of Music, dating from about the same time as the Royal, was burnt down twice in the ’80s; and then they got tired of rebuilding it.

The Bulletin (Sydney), Vol. 35, No. 1781—2 April 1914, p.9—Poverty Point

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Herbert Myers

State Library of South Australia, Adelaide

George Tallis, c.1915. Photo by Lafayette.

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Given the smaller population of Adelaide in comparison to the Eastern state capitals of Sydney and Melbourne and consequently the city’s proportionally smaller number of regular theatregoers, the J.C. Williamson productions staged in the South Australian capital were given limited run seasons and, to make such seasons financially viable in terms of the production costs involved (which included the transportation of scenery, costumes, properties and the company members themselves, which sometimes included principal orchestral players, with local musicians “picked up” in the host city) there would be two or more productions staged in repertory by each company sent on the “road.” Thus, in addition to High Jinks, the New English Musical Comedy Company also toured its earlier success The Girl in the Taxi, which would also be making its South Australian debut. The Adelaide press had already primed it readers with news of the success that the company had enjoyed during its respective theatrical seasons in Sydney and Melbourne since August 1914 and it now reported the imminent arrival of the company in the Southern state, whose residents could at last see for themselves those musicals which had so entertained the Easterners (taking care also to emphasise the success that The Girl… had enjoyed in London and New York; and also drawing a comparison between High Jinks and The Belle of New York, which, prior to the success of the former, had been the most successful American musical to be staged in Australia up to that date—Australian tastes at the time tending to prefer British musical comedies and Anglicised European operettas and comic operas. Indeed a revival of The Belle… had also been initially advertised for Adelaide, but it wasn’t until the company reached Perth that it was eventually staged.)

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J.C. WILLIAMSON SEASON.

“THE GIRL IN THE TAXI” AND “HIGH JINKS.”

“The Girl in the Taxi,” the next J. C Williamson musical offering for the Theatre Royal, will be presented next Saturday evening for six nights and a matinee. The occasion is one of special interest, since the principals will all make on this occasion their first appearance in Adelaide. Mr. C.H. Workman’s reputation as a comedian has already proceed him, while the company also includes Mr. W.H. Rawlins, Miss Millie Engler, Miss Gwen Hughes, Messrs. Fred Maguire, Hugh Huntley, Chris Wren, Paul Plunket, Miss Nellie Hobson, Miss Marie Eaton, Miss Daisy Yates, Miss Florence Vie, and Miss Dorothy Brunton. The score is by Jean Gilbert, whose catchy music largely contributed to the success of this famous musical comedy in London and New York, also in Melbourne and Sydney a few months back. The second and final production of the season will be devoted to what is described as the high kick of musical comedy, “High Jinks” with which the above company are now terminating a highly successful season in Melbourne. There are three acts in this play, which is of “The Belle of New York” type, and each of them is characterised by the same lighthearted irresponsibility, gaiety, and snap as “The Girl in the Taxi,” and it also furnishes scenes of musical frivolity and good humour, and provides a host of genuinely mirthful situations. “High Jinks” will be staged for six nights and matinee, commencing Saturday, May 29. The box plans for the season of 12 nights and two matinees will open at Marshalls’ next Tuesday morning at 9 o'clock...

W. H. Rawlins, who plays Baron Dauvray in “The Girl in the Taxi,” and Jeffreys, the lumber king, in “High Jinks,” relates that he was once appearing in drama, when the company had to put on a new play with but scant preparation. On the day of the opening the manager, who was also the producer as well as a member of the cast, pointed out that no one seemed to know their part at all well, and the only thing to do was to be prepared for emergencies. “ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “If I find things are too bad, I’ll come on with a pistol and kill everybody off.” “And this is what happened,” said Mr. Rawiins. “Half-way through the last act, after everybody had been floundering terribly, the ‘villain’ came on with a pistol, and pointing it at each of the principals, exclaimed. ‘Your time has come; now die!’ shooting them off, one after the other, and the curtain fell amidst loud applause.”

Field Fisher, who plays Dr. Robert Thorne in “High Jinks,” is another musical comedy artist who has graduated from drama. Years ago he strutted a brief time in a varied assortment of dramatic plays, including a production of “Charles I” by Sir Henry Irving, in which Mr. Fisher played a young prince. His varied roles also included a nihilist, a burglar, an old woman, an escaped convict, and others of a type which, as Mr. Fisher says, made his stage life a series of ups and downs. “They are mostly bad people I played in those dramas of my early stage career,” says Mr. Fisher. “My list of stage convictions was so long that i would have required to be a Methuselah to have served the sentences.”

“I am very glad to be playing a part in which I am allowed to laugh,” said Field Fisher, who is playing a mercurial doctor in “High Jinks.” “In ‘The Girl in the Taxi,’ as the waiter Alexis, I had to keep a stiff face the whole of the evening and to resist the temptation to laugh. It was a perpetual strain. In ‘High Jinks’ I can give my face as much exercise as I like. It nearly knocked me silly sometimes when one or two of the artists would try to make me laugh. They only caught me once!”

Playgoers who have seen Dorothy Brunton in musical comedy—and they are innumerable—have oftentimes marvelled at the deft little dramatic touches she puts into her work. Notably this was a characteristic of her acting in “Autumn Manoeuvres,” particularly in the scene with her father, in the course of which she made one of her biggest successes with her song “Daddy Dear.” Miss Brunton gained her knowledge of dramatic values from her early experiences in drama. Her early training was with Mr. and Mrs. Bland Holt, playing child parts. She was “Little Dorothy Brunton” then. Her first prominent part in drama was Stephanus in “The Sign of the Cross” with the Julius Knight Company.

The Mail (Adelaide), Saturday. 15 May 1915, p.6 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59297192

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As mentioned in the article, the various cast changes for the Adelaide season included English actress, Daisy Yates taking over the role of “Mdlle. Chi-Chi” from Gertrude Glyn in High Jinks, with Chi-Chi’s Act 3 song “The Bubble” now reassigned to Dorothy Brunton, who, as “Sylvia Dale”, had hitherto only been an ‘onlooker’ to the farcical complications that ensued in the concluding Act, without making any further significant contribution to the plot (as the Sydney and Melbourne reviews of the show had previously noted.) As a compensation for the loss of the song, however, Daisy performed a dance duet “The Grand Vitesse” with her “brother”, Sydney Yates in the third Act’s cabaret scene in the place of Vlasta Novotna and Victor Lauschmann, whose dancing had been a feature of the Sydney and Melbourne seasons. The Yates also danced the tango in the second Act of The Girl in the Taxi previously assigned to Novotna and Laushmann. (Although Sydney had performed in Australia in previous years, Daisy was making her Antipodean debut and both were engaged by JCW in South Africa to join the company for the musical comedy season in Adelaide, where they had arrived by ship in early May. The pair were, in fact, unrelated but performed together as a ‘brother and sister’ dance duo—their actual names being Ellen Maingay Daniels and Sydney Culverhouse.)

And with the retirement of English leading lady, Maggie Jarvis from the stage in December 1914 to settle down to married life as Mrs. Thomas Reynolds in Melbourne, Dorothy Brunton was promoted to the female lead role in The Girl in the Taxi, having previously played the daughter of the Dauvray household, “Jacqueline”, in Sydney and Melbourne (a role now played by local actress, Cecil Bradley.) Additionally Alfred Frith was now cast as “Professor Charcot” in place of D.J. Williams, who had enacted the role in the original Sydney and Melbourne seasons of The Girl … Andrew McCunn also came over from Sydney to conduct the orchestra and supervise the musical side of both productions.

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Photo montage of the company members including a full-length portrait of Daisy Yates

The Critic (Adelaide), 12 March 1915, p.23

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Critical reaction to Charles Workman’s performance in High Jinks in both Sydney and Melbourne had tended to be mixed. Although his acting ability and the undoubted quality of his singing were never in question, such reservations that were expressed were mainly in relation to the casting of the middle-aged comedian in the relatively straight role of what was essentially the musical’s juvenile romantic lead. Consciously aware of this, Workman (who had celebrated his 43rd birthday in Melbourne on 5 May) preceded his Adelaide debut by directly addressing the matter in the press.

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At The Play

MR. WORKMAN.

“One or two of the papers seemed to accept my part as a ‘straight’ one, and referred to me as playing the lover,” said C.H. Workman, discussing his role of Dick Wayne in ‘High Jinks,’ at Her Majesty's, Melbourne. “It wouldn't be the first time I have played other than a character part,” added Mr. Workman, “yet because I made my first appearance as Pomarel, in ‘The Girl in the Taxi,’ which is to open at the Theatre Royal next Saturday week, everyone expects me to stick to that type of part. For example, the other day I was introduced to a man who, after referring eulogistically to ‘High Jinks,’ remarked, ‘But why, Mr. Workman, have they given you Romeo to play, balcony scene and all?’ Dick Wayne is certainly something of a stage lover, but the part has a certain amount of sentiment, and I enjoy playing it. The only fly in the ointment, as it appears to me, is that in this country if they see you in one type of part, they expect you to stick to it all the way through.”

The Critic (Adelaide), Wednesday, 12 May 1915, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article212160489

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Although Workman had only briefly visited Adelaide before, during the RMS Orontes’ stopover there on Saturday, 25 July 1914, en route to Melbourne and Sydney on its voyage out from England, his presence in Australia had been a regular item of interest noted in the theatrical columns of the South Australian press, which had published the following anecdote the previous January.

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By Gum!

Mr. C.H. Workman, the well-known comedian, tells an amusing story of his young days.

A fancy-dress bicycle gymkhana was organised in aid of some local charity, and Mr. Workman attended dressed as a young lady, to the great scandal of some of his friends. He had a very busy day collecting for the fund, and among other places he entered was a small country inn.  Here an animated discussion arose as to whether the fair collector was a boy or a girl.

An old chap presently came up to him. “Will ’ee ’ave a drink, miss?” he asked.

“I don't mind if I do!” was the cordial reply of the “miss.”

A tankard of ale was brought, and, forgetting everything except the thirst that consumed him, he drained it at a draught.

“Well,” said the old man respectfully, “I dunno if thee be a lass or a lad, but, by gum, thee can soop ale!”

Border Watch (Mount Gambier, SA), Saturday, 30 January 1915, p.5

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Press agents continued to furnish the local press with anecdotes related by the company members prior to their arrival in Adelaide.

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MUSIC AND THE DRAMA

FROM STAGE AND PLATFORM

SOME PASSING NOTES.

Field Fisher, the English comedian with “The Girl in the Taxi,” made one of his early appearances in drama with the late Lawrence Irving. In one of his plays he was cast as a Nihilist. “I don't want you to wear a wig,” said Mr. Irving, “I want the real thing. Let your hair grow long.” When the hair grew down over his ears the actor found it a bit of a nuisance, especially when he attracted the attention of small boys, who publicly advised him to “get his hair cut.” The result was that Mr. Fisher approached Mr. Irving and told him that he was going to throw up the part and pay a visit to the barber. An extra £2 per week, however, made the actor change his mind and keep his hair on. “But it was worth it—and more,” says Mr. Fisher.

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“I seem to be paying the penalty of success, as Bumerli in ‘The Chocolate Soldier,’ ” said Mr. C.H. Workman, who created the role in London, and is to feature in the cast of “The Girl in the Taxi” at the Theatre Royal. “Every mail brings me heaps of letters, the gist of which is the query, ‘Will you play Bumerli in “The Chocolate Soldier” in Australia?’ I had no sooner set foot in Australia than an interviewer asked me that question. I replied that I was here to play my original part of Pomarel in ‘The Girl in the Taxi.’ ‘Yes,’ said the interviewer, but couldn't that play be put off to enable you to appear first in “The Chocolate Soldier”?’ And so it goes on,” added Mr. Workman. “I just want to forget that I once was Bumerli, because I like my part of Pomarel very much, and I want the public to like me as Pomarel.”

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Saturday, 8 May 1915, p.8, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134407873

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The Girl in the Taxi was the first ‘cab off the rank’ opening at the Theatre Royal, Adelaide on 22 May 1915, and the audience reaction and critical opinion of the musical comedy mirrored that of its prior Sydney and Melbourne seasons.

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“THE GIRL IN THE TAXI”

WILLIAMSON COMPANY'S COMEDY TRIUMPH

BRILLIANT OPENING PERFORMANCE

Very useful are comparisons even if there are occasions on which they happen to be odious. During the last few years theatregoers have had ample opportunities of comparing the various classes of comic opera as presented by Viennese, Parisian, and American composers. They could, therefore, with some degree of correctness size up the relative merits of the best of those which have been staged in Adelaide, and the very latest of the species, “The Girl in the Taxi,” which was presented at the Theatre Royal for the first time on Saturday night. Had one averaged public opinion he would doubtless have found a general belief that "The Girl in the Taxi" was the best example of musical comedy seen here since the famous “Merry Widow.” It certainly sparkled where most of the others have merely glimmered in patches, and in humor, music, and plot was as far above them as was that other well-known work which made Franz Lehar's reputation. Handled by a remarkably clever, well-balanced, and versatile company, and assisted by a very competent orchestra, it was a most agreeable and lighthearted entertainment, and was given a wonderfully cordial reception from an audience which filled the theatre to overflowing.

“The Girl in the Taxi” is French—decidedly so. One does not find in it a moral lesson or sentimental plot, but an abundance of espierglerie, vivacity, and musical frivolity which pleases the fancy, captivates the eyesight, and sets one at good terms with oneself. There is a spice of naughtiness to add that piquancy which most playgoers appreciate, and a multitude of farcical situations which supply unending action and keep the machinery of the plot moving with that swiftness so necessary to the success of musical comedy. Above all, it is light. Call it an iridescent bubble on the surface of events and you have a fairly accurate description of what the production really is.

The name of the piece is quite misleading. There is no girl in a taxi to be seen, and only once is her existence hinted at. But, after all, that doesn't matter a little bit. If some other title—"A Night in a Joy Club,” for instance—were chosen it would be all the same. The aim of the librettists was to create a family mix-up in which a father, son, daughter, and nephew meet unexpectedly at the same night-club and in circumstances of peculiar embarrassment. Without any straining of possibilities the play works itself out to this end, twisting amid scenes of riotous gaiety and ludicrous perplexity, and finally unravelling itself in a whirl of action chockfull of the brightest humor. It is quite a simple story, but its embellishment is gorgeous, and scintillating wit and lilting melodies make the whole production a thing to remember with pleasure. To follow the plot one must first know the Baron Dauvray, his wife, his son Hubert, and daughter Jacqueline, and Rene, who is a nephew of the baron and an officer in the army of France. Others with whom one must form an acquaintance are Monsieur Pomeral, a wealthy provincial scent manufacturer, his wife Suzanne, who is surpassingly pretty and has been awarded a prize for virtue, and Rose Charcot, wife of a professor who at times pervades the company. Dauvray is in public life a companion of Pecksniff and Sir Joseph Porter. In private life—that is to say, when the nightclubs are open and his wife is safely asleep in bed—he is a gay dog—in fact, a “knut”. He has a pet theory, heredity, and in his Porteresque moments inflicts on all and sundry such sentiments as “If a cat has kittens in the oven, must her progeny be called ‘bis-kitts’?” or “Train up the pea in the way it should grow,” &c, Hubert wants to be a “knut,” but can't do it on his allowance of 5/- per week. Jacqueline also wants to sample the high life, but her mother won't let her.  Rene, in love with Jacqueline, is a most pronounced “knut,” who when he announces his ardor is informed by the baron with true Pecksniffian egotism. “My children are my garden, and I want no weeds in it.” “No,” replies Rene, “but perhaps you require a rake.” The first act gives opportunities for introducing the characters and it closes with the Baron, Hubert, Rene, and Jacqueline stealing off separately to spend the rest of the night amid the giddy gaieties of the "Jeunesse Doree." Act two shows us the interior of the “Jeunesse Doree.” Hubert arrives and meets Suzanne, whose husband has gone off to take part in military manoeuvres. She arranges for supper, teaches him the gentle art of flirtation, and generally helps him to a good time. Next comes the Baron with Rose Charcot. It appears they met quite accidentally. He was getting in at one door of a taxi, she at the other. “My taxi, I believe,” said the Baron. “Mine, I think,” replied Rose, and in his most polished Don Juanesque manner Dauvray added, “Ours, I hope”; and “ours” it was. Follow Rene and Jacqueline, who, like the others, are shown to their private rooms. There is music and dancing, and abundance of mirth and merriment, and pretty but scantily dressed girls. The principals appear in humorous sequence, and finally there is the denouement when all come face to face. Among them even Charcot and Pomarel, who had also made the “Jeunesse Doree” their rendezvous. The only thing is that the two last mentioned, though finding their wives at the restaurant, do not know who took them there. Then comes act three, and the venue is transferred back to Dauvray’s dining room, where the parties assemble for breakfast. It is in this scene that the great bulk of the humor is packed, and without exaggeration it may be said that the audience on Saturday night fairly shrieked with laughter from end to end of it. The dialogue sparkles with the funniest passages, the appearance of the head waiter of the “Jeunesse Doree”—who has been engaged as butler by the baroness—frightens the delinquents into the most screamingly ridiculous situations, and the aggrieved husbands pay early visits to the establishment and have their doubts explained away in a fashion that can only be described as the most delightful farce. In this fashion everything Is straightened out and there is the usual happy ending.

Act 2—The Jenuesse Doree. Photo by Monte Luke. The Australasian (Melbourne) 24 October 1914, p.vi

The J. C. Williamson company which presents “The Girl in the Taxi” is the main factor in a triumphantly successful production. Few of the principals have been seen in Adelaide before, but they came here with bright reputations, which one and all sustained. There is however, one artist whom we have known favorably for some time now. She is Miss Dorothy Brunton, who takes the part of Suzanne, the leading feminine role. Right here it can said that the J.C. Williamson management provides in the person of Miss Brunton an argument against the constant importation of oversea stars for “leads.” This charming little lady proved herself to be the cleverest and sweetest exponent of musical comedy that has delighted a South Australian audience for many a long day. Miss Brunton has everything to commend her to the liking of the theatregoer. Voice, looks, figure, and deportment combine to make her a “star of stars,” and it is safe to predict for her the brightest of futures. What a bewitching little Suzanne she made! With her husband (only stage, by the way) one could say that her marriage day was the fortunate male person's awfully lucky day. Mr. W.H. Rawlins was happily cast as Baron Dauvray, And his comedy characterisation was without a doubt one of the gems of the evening. His great fund of natural humor enabled him to do the fullest justice to the many mirthful situations with which he was connected, and he had no difficulty whatever in earning his full share of most hearty applause. As Hubert Mr. Fred. Maguire had to plenty to do, and he did it well. The picture he presented of the youth anxious to break parental bounds, and finally doing so after having pawned a family painting to provide himself with funds, was clever indeed, and his subsequent scenes with Suzanne proved him to be an artist in this particular line of comedy. Very fine and dashing was Mr. Paul Plunket as Rene, and really picturesque in his French uniform—which, it might be mentioned, was recognised and cheered. Into the character of the debonair man of the world Mr. Plunket imparted the proper amount of sprightliness and devilment, and generally carried himself off his part with a pleasing and convincing naturalness and grace. Mr. C.H. Workman made the most of the many opportunities for low comedy provided by the librettists in Pomarel, who adores and trusts Suzanne implicitly, even though she only allows him to kiss her shoulder, and reserves her more ardent amorousness for her supper partners at the “Jennesse Doree.” As the stolid head waiter of the giddy restaurant Mr. Field Fisher was particularly funny. Good work was done by Messrs. Alfred Frith (Professor Charcot), Chris Wren as the diminutive and acrobatic second waiter, and Hugh Huntley the third waiter. As for the ladies, they are somewhat overshadowed by Suzanne, but they were all attractive and accomplished. Miss Cecil Bradley made a charming Jacqueline, who was at her best in her rebellious breakaway from her fiance Rene when the latter thought she had seen enough of the “Jeuneese Doree.” In her portrayal of the Baroness Delphine Dauvray Miss Millie Engler gave a clever study of the stately dame and blindly devoted mother, and Miss Gwen Hughes was sufficiently piquant as Rose Charcot to justify the baron's decision to take her with him on a clandestine joyride. Miss Helen Hobson looked very pretty in the small part of Marietta, a housemaid.

Throughout the production there was a plenitude of beautiful music, wherein the art of Jean Gilbert in contriving melodies was seen at its best. Two numbers which doubtless appealed to the audience more than any others were the waltz song “Lilt That is Mazy”—really a delightful strain—and Miss Brunton’s closing item “Suzanne,” the latter a fine swinging refrain that should not be easily forgotten. Other contributions to the musical side were the opening ensemble, “Dearest Baronne,” “The Ingenue” (Miss Cecil Bradley), “As Good as I Can Be” (Mr. W. H. Rawlins), “Sauce for the Gander” (Miss Bradley and Mr. Plunket), “The Happy Marriage” (Miss Brunton and Mr. Workman), “Paris” (Miss Brunton and Messrs. Plunket and Maguire), “Not Too Fast and Not Too Slow” (Miss Brunton and Mr. Maguire) ensemble, “Why, Jacqueline, How Came You Here” (Misses Brunton and Bradley, and Messrs. Rawlins. Plunket, and Maguire), “The Old Dog and the Young Dog” (Messrs. Rawlins and Maguire), and “Let the Toast go Round” (Miss Brunton). The chorus was strong and well balanced. An incidental item was a tango danced by Mr. and Miss Yates, which was responsible for one of the most persistent encores of the evening.

It would not be fair to pass over the gorgeous dressing or brilliant scenic effects without a word of commendation. Both these features were outstanding, and, indeed, quite eclipsed previous J.C. Williamson efforts, splendid though many of them have been. Some of the costumes worn by the ladies might be termed the “dernier cri” of Parisian fashion, especially that worn in the last act by Miss Given Hughes—divided petticoats, similar to the long-legged pantaloons of our great-grandmothers, being a conspicuous portion of the creation.

“The Girl in the Taxi” is to be staged throughout the week, including a matinee next Wednesday at 2 o’clock, and on Saturday next “High Jinks” will be presented for the remaining six nights and matinee. The season is limited to a fortnight only.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Monday, 24 May 1915, p.2, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134410573

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Born into the theatrical life in Melbourne, as the daughter of John Brunton (a chief scenic artist for actor-manager, Bland Holt and J.C. Williamson), Dorothy Brunton revealed some of the disadvantages of life on-the-road for the touring actress (which probably explained her absence from the company’s subsequent season in Perth.)

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INTERVIEW

FIVE MINUTES WITH MISS DOROTHY BRUNTON.

“Miss Brunton will see you this afternoon,” said Mr. Herbert Myers when he had arranged the interview by ’phone, so 2.30 found us waiting upon the lady at the South Australian Hotel. But pretty, vivacious little Dorothy Brunton was in bed waiting the arrival of the doctor. Still she had a little chat, in which her mother, Mrs. Brunton, largely assisted. Dorothy’s mother deserves a par all to herself, she is simply charming, so young and pretty you cannot credit she is Miss Brunton’s mother.

“How fortunate your mother is with you now?”

“Yes,” replied Miss Brunton, “I don't know what I should do without her. Since my father died five years ago she has always travelled with me.”

“The last time we were in Perth,” said Mrs. Brunton, “we had a cheerful experience to begin with. We are not good sailors, and I arrived there so ill I had to go straight to a hospital. Dorothy visited me the first three days, and she looked such a perfectly awful color I thought she was going to be ill. The next thing that happened was she had quinsy, and I had to leave the hospital to go and nurse her.”

“This is rather a doleful conversation,” remarked Miss Dorothy.

“How did you get this chill?”

“Coming over in the train,” explained Mrs. Brunton. “Unfortunately there were Parliamentary men on the train, and they had taken all the best carriages, consequently the sleepers we were in had no doors, and it was a bitterly cold draught blowing upon us the whole time, and Dorothy being run down it has evidently affected her. She was in such pain last night she could hardly stand.”

“And yet managed to look so full of fun and laughter. You had a very busy time before coming here?”

“Yes, I was going hard for some months rehearsing for our last new production, ‘The Girl in the Film.’  That and being fitted for frocks, shoes, hats, everything imaginable, does not leave a moment unoccupied. I have been going like that for three years now straight off, and Dr. Strong warned me in Melbourne that I would have to get in a rest somehow. But I love the work and feel I want to keep at it.”

“When did you first play in Adelaide?”

“In the ‘Count of Luxembourg’ and ‘The Chocolate Soldier’ and ‘Autumn Manoeuvres.’ I had such a nice compliment paid me in Melbourne before I left, one I appreciated very much. Mdlle. Dolores was staying at the same hotel and went to the theatre one night. The next morning she wrote me a charming note saying how much she had enjoyed my performance, and complimented me upon my singing—she is such a sweet woman —I would like you to see the letter.”

At this moment the arrival of the doctor brought our chat to an abrupt close, and we left with best wishes for a speedy recovery for the sake of the public as well as herself.

—"DRIA.”

The Critic (Adelaide), 26 May 1915, p.20, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page23529336

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Further insights into Charles Workman’s various interests and accomplishments were provided by the following interview conducted by the pseudonymous “Jacques” of the Adelaide Daily Herald.

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COMEDY AND CRIME

C. H. WORKMAN CLOSELY STUDIES BOTH

INTERESTING CHAT ON GILBERTIAN OPERA

(BY “JACQUES.”)

Interviewing a theatrical celebrity is not always pleasure unalloyed. One meets some with whom it is a pleasure to converse. Occasionally one meets the other sort, and the period of the interview is one of torture. I have experienced both kinds, and in the category first mentioned I want to place Mr. C.H. Workman the celebrated English comedian whose Pomarel in “The Girl in the Taxi” is something to remember with the greatest delight.

For an hour yesterday I chatted with him on divers subjects. Mr. Workman did most of the talking, and I was quite content to listen with the utmost interest for his lengthy experience in the mimic world has given him a store of theories, anecdotes, and reminiscences which would be a veritable treasure to him were he ever to embark on the sea of authorship. The conversation started with comparisons of the work of those master-minds, Gilbert and Sullivan, and present-day farce compositions, and gradually drifted along the most pleasant lines until I found myself engrossed in his stories of adventure in the underworld of London and Liverpool. This latter subject may seem strange when coming from one whose theatrical duties have never earned for him, as the “villain of the play,” the hisses of the hero-loving gallery. Mr. Workman has never departed from the genialities of musical comedy, but for all that be is a keen student of criminology, and has accompanied some of England’s most famous detectives on not a few daring adventures.

“I started my stage career in Gilbert and Sullivan opera,” said the artist in reply to a leading question. “It was in 1894 that I made my first appearance, curiously enough at the Shakespeare Theatre at Straford-on-Avon. The piece was ‘Utopia Limited.’ I think that I now hold a record which is unique, for I have played the leading comedy roles in every one of the operas written by the famous pair, with the one exception of ‘Ruddigore.’ ”

And your favorite part is?

“ ‘Jack Point,’ in ‘The Yeomen of the Guard.’ I always loved that part, and I think I must have done very well in it, for I had the honor of being paid a very high compliment by the late W.S. Gilbert. The occasion was at a dinner given by the Playgoers’ Club, London, after the last revival at the Savoy Theatre of ‘The Yeomen of the Guard.’ Gilbert was present, and among others were Grossmith, the original Jack Point, and Walter Passmore, who played the part in the first revival. I was Jack Point in the second revival. When the time came for speechmaking Gilbert had something to say about the performance. This was his actual remark: ‘I am sure that neither Workman’s protagonist, Grossmith, nor his immediate predecessor, Passmore, will grudge him the triumph he has achieved, as he played the part with exquisite charm and finish.’ I regard it as the highest compliment that I could have had paid me. Only the other day I came across that speech in a book which Bridgeman has written, entitled ‘Gilbert, Sullivan, D’Oyly Carte, and a History of the Savoy Theatre’.”

I gather that you are still true to your old love, and that you prefer the operas of your earlier associations?

“Yes, I love the old operas, and can truthfully say that I would like to have a go at them again. Much as I like the parts I am at present playing, I would dearly like to appear out here in such a role as Jack Point, the Lord Chancellor in ‘Iolanthe’ or even the King in ‘Princess Ida.’ ”

Then you must have found it difficult to break from the richer and more satirical humor of Gilbertian works into the extreme frivolity of the French farce?

“It might have been hard had I not had a good run in ‘The Chocolate Soldier,’ which, as you know, had a great run in London. From that to the character of Pomarel in ‘The Girl in the Taxi’, which piece ran for 13 months, was a sort of stepping stone. Still, Jack Point is a role in which there was never meant to be any low comedy, and the man who clowns all the way through it does wrong. The unfortunate jester, as Gilbert meant him to be, combines comedy, pathos, and tragedy, and in the latter reaches the sublime. There are always tears not far from his laughter. I must say that I have never portrayed a character who touched me to the same extent as does Jack Point. In that magnificent finale I have never had any need for vaseline tears, for I have finished with real tears streaming down my face. I remember one performance in Manchester at the close of which I took a call in this state, and there were plenty among my audience who were sobbing also.”

That indeed is real entry into the spirit of the part.

“Yes, and therein lies for me the charm of the stage. You go into a theatre and at once become a different person. Instead of thinking what you would do in the situations that are created you think what the character as outlined by the author would have done. I make it my business to get as close to life in my acting as I possibly can. In ‘The Grand Duke,’ one of Gilbert's productions, and his last [with Sullivan], as a matter of fact, I had to play the part of an old Jew clothier. Well, for weeks before the opera was staged I used every Sunday to dress in my oldest clothes and take a walk into the Jewish quarter down in Petticoat Lane. Soon I came across the very type of man I had to represent, and by studying closely every detail of his facial expression, his movements, and his garb I was able when the time came to present to my audience a character which was as true to life as it could possibly be.”

Charles Workman as ‘Ben Hashbaz’ in The Grand Duke,1896. Photo by Alfred Ellis.

Charles Workman with Lilian Coomber, 1906

Do you think such works as were produced by Gilbert and Sullivan will ever become as popular again as they were years ago?

“Not unless there arises a new Gilbert and a new Sullivan. Never were two men more fitted to collaborate, and never was there a greater misfortune than when they parted company. That break was a tragedy over a trifle if ever there was such a thing. You know, Gilbert, Sullivan, and Carte were running the Savoy on shares, each man taking an equal part. Gilbert was away on holiday, and during his absence the other partners decided to purchase a new carpet for the theatre. That in itself was only a trifling matter, but Gilbert thought he should have been consulted, and the argument that ensued led to the separation, it was most unfortunate for all. Gilbert wrote several operas after the split, but none of them was successful.”

You have undertaken management yourself, have you not?

“Yes, and whenever I feel inclined to grumble at my lot as an actor I force upon myself the reflection that I might be worse off as a manager. I went into management at the London Savoy and produced three musical plays—'Fallen Fairies,’ ‘The Mountaineers,’ and ‘Two Merry Monarchs.’ They left the Treasury £14,000 on the wrong side, for, although there was no doubt as to their excellence as plays, getting a success is a costly business in London.”

The reception accorded you by Australian audiences must have made you wish you could transport them to England for the benefit of managers?

“I agree with you. We certainly have had some magnificent audiences. Without a doubt Australians have a great liking for such plays as ‘The Girl in the Taxi’ and ‘High Jinks,’ and I am sure the people of Adelaide will enjoy the latter just as much as they did the other. It really is a splendid performance, and I can assure you that we all enjoy acting in it. The music is catchy, the dialogue snappy, and the situations even more funny than those in ‘The Girl in the Taxi.’ By the way, in ‘The Girl’ Miss Brunton is my wife, but in ‘High Jinks’ she is my sweetheart. Rather a staggerer such a change in relationship all in the short space of two nights, isn't it?”

Yes, it surely is. Theatregoers will envy you your good fortune.

“Who could blame them,” said Mr. Workman, laughingly. “By the way, Miss Brunton has in ‘High Jinks’ a most charming waltz refrain, which I know will please everybody.”

Than Adelaide theatregoers, there are no people in Australia more pleased with Miss Brunton’s great success, I added. And taking up the part of questioner again I sought some information as to how Mr. Workman occupied his time when not acting or rehearsing.

It was then that we drifted into the subject of criminology, and I learned of visits to the darkest of Liverpool’s criminal haunts with detectives who were seeking an absconding cashier; of the raiding of an illicit dancing hall in the underworld of London; and of talks in waterside haunts with men who mostly were “wanted” in some other part of the world. “We never went without being armed,” said Mr. Workman, “but not once were we attacked. Criminals of the lowest type, though many of the men with whom we came in contact might have been, they were content to let us alone so long as they knew that they were not wanted by the detectives who were on the job. What interesting studies those men provided. You have nothing like them out here but I must say you are very well off without them.”

In answer to a final question. Mr. Workman expressed his great admiration of the Australian chorus and ballet. These, he said, could not be bettered anywhere. And he has learned to love the Australian audiences even though, as he admitted, it is rather difficult for a stranger to become used to the different moods that prevail in the capitals of the eastern States.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Friday, 28 May 1915, p.2, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134411412

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The Girl in the Taxi was succeeded by High Jinks on Saturday, 29 May and the critical plaudits which had greeted the show in both Sydney and Melbourne were repeated in the Adelaide press, attesting to the musical’s popularity with both critics and audiences alike.

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“HIGH JINKS”

A SPLENDID PRODUCTION.

ANOTHER “ROYAL” SUCCESS

“MAIL’S” SPECIAL REPORT.

Only a few moments elapsed after the curtain was raised on “High Jinks” at the Theatre Royal this evening before Dick Wayne, an explorer. produced the marvellous perfume. Its effect was instantaneous not only on the artists on the stage, but on the great audience which entirely filled the building. This wonderful discovery had the power of transforming the most severe into happy, dull-free beings, and of infusing into the cold blooded the most amorous of feelings; in a word, the blues were danced clean away. Even when Dr. Robert Thorne, an American specialist in Paris, was faced with death or the option of Mons. Jacques Rabelais kissing his wife, and when he ought to have felt sad, under the spell of the great scent he was blithe and gay. So was the public, and the musical jollity in three acts can be heartily recommended as an exceedingly mirth-creating production. Everybody present was wound up, and happiness and laughter reigned unchallenged.

Many attractions combined to make “High Jinks” an undoubted success— the extraordinarily complicated situations, the high-class performers, the elaborate settings, the pretty dresses, the attractive choruses, and last, but not least, the sparkling music...

Mr. Field Fisher took the character of Dr. Thorne, and he was one of the first to come under the spell of “High Jinks” perfume. Instead of curt, impolite, and unaffectionate replies to Mrs. Thorne he lavishes kisses on her and other people's wives. The result is he has to make a hurried departure to Beauville, a bathing resort on the French coast, in an attempt to avoid a duel. His enemy, the Frenchman, his wife, and everyone else eventually meet there, and the jinks become higher than ever. Miss Florence Vie as Adelaide Fontaine, a runaway wife, had a heavy part, but she did not appear at any time to be downhearted on account of her loss. She was delightfully ingenue throughout, and especially at Beauville, where Dr. Thorne was paying all the bills. The duet with W.H. Rawlins. “Come Hither,” proved particularly attractive. Paul Plunket. as the Frenchman, was a great success, and his association with Dorothy Brunton in a duet, “Not Now, but Later” was most heartily encored. W.H. Rawlins as Mr. J.J. Jeffeys. an American lumber king, caused many laughs. His repudiation of the idea that he was the champion boxer raised a scream every time. Mr. Alfred Frith as Colonel Slaughter acted right up to his first-class comedy reputation. Dorothy Brunton as Sylvia Dale was not afforded many opportunities, but her songs, “Is This Love at Last?'' and “By the Sea” were among the best selections. Miss Daisy Yates as Mlle. Chi Chi, sang as beautifully as she danced.  In the last scene she and her brother gave the Grand Vitesse, a wonderful whirlwind dance, which was encored three times. The other artists fully sustained their roles, and greatly contributed to the enjoyment of the performance.

“High Jinks” will be presented every evening until Friday, and on Wednesday afternoon there will be a matinee.

The Mail (Adelaide), Saturday, 29 May 1915, p.7 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59299040

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 AMUSEMENTS.

“High Jinks”

The audience which assembled in the Adelaide Theatre Royal on Saturday night to welcome that musical jollity. “High Jinks,” was from a managerial stand-point an absolute record. Every inch of standing room allowed by the law with all the seating accommodation was fully occupied, and what was equally as important so far as the company was concerned, the greeting accorded to each item of the performance was both appreciative and enthusiastic. “The Girl in the Taxi” was a very great success, but the Williamson New English Musical Comedy Company excelled both it and themselves in “High Jinks,” and it is certain that the remaining nights of their all-too-short season will be abundantly successful, This is the more gratifying because the Australian element in the case has been greatly strengthened, for, in addition to the dainty charm of Miss Dorothy Brunton, we have in this second attraction that accomplished Adelaide singer, Miss Marie Eaton, whose beautiful voice was heard to great advantage in the chief musical numbers, and our old friend, Miss Florence Vie, whose skill as a comedienne has won her a high reputation throughout the Commonwealth. “High Jinks” has a subtle charm which captivated the theatregoers of London when it was originally presented at the Lyric Theatre there last year [sic—it did not receive its London premiere until 1916 at the Adelphi Theatre], and which since it was first produced in Australia has won it immense success in all the cities where it has been seen. The people of Adelaide have placed the seal of their approval on the verdict of Melbourne and Sydney, and probably most of those lucky persons who saw the spirited performance on Saturday night will take other opportunities of refreshing their pleasant memories concerning the musical comedy before the season ends on Friday night.

There are three acts, each of which is more hilarious than that which preceded it. The first is a pretty setting representing the sanatorium of Dr. Thorne, near Paris, with a handsome residence on one side, a surgery on the other, court yard with a stone wall and iron gate in the centre, and distant view of Paris in the background, in which the outline of the Eiffel Tower is a conspicuous feature. The second and third acts are at Beauville, a fashionable bathing-place, with the Hotel du Pavilion exterior, and a vast expanse of esplanade terrace, and azure sea to begin with, and afterwards the warmth and luxury of electric lights and a throng of banqueters and night birds.  The principals move about in the various scenes amid a kaleidoscopic chorus composed, as the theme of song or action suggests, of nurses, housemaids, seaside strollers, French shop girls, cabaret dancers, fashionable promenaders, gaily-apparelled guests, bathing parties, waiters, and other bright beings, all of whom are attired in picturesque costumes harmonising most artistically with the general color scheme. The plot of the story is a mere secondary consideration...

The fun begins very early, and it remains until after the final curtain fall, for three times the delighted audience insisted upon the curtain being raised again, so that they might see the company marching past in review order, to the lilting music of "High Jinks,” and the last time, the curtain being only knee-high, the vision was of many twinkling feet, with such upward continuations as served to identify sex and character. Miss Dorothy Brunton was even more alluring and gladsome than in the previous comedy.  Her dresses were dreams of prettiness, and her singing, dancing, acting, and speeches were all so many additional embellishments to her natural charm. There was a sentimental seriousness about her first ballad, “Is This Love to Last?” but there was a sprightlier note in “By the Sea” and a rollicking lightness in “Not Now, but Later,” while in “The Bubble,” illustrated by toy balloons which sailed right up to the dome of the theatre, the serious note returned. Miss Marie Eaton’s rich and beautiful voice was always enjoyable, whether in “Dancing the Blues Away,” in the opening act, or in the richer melodies of “Sammy Sang the Marseillaise,” with the martial splendor of the French national air ringing through the chorus. It was in her ragtime-operatic number, however, with Messrs. Workman and Maguire as the Mephistopheles and Faust, that Miss Eaton soared to her most magnificent heights, and the tumultuous applause which followed brought about a double repetition of the scena. Seldom in musical comedy is so effective a rendering given of such full and lustrous harmonies. Miss Florence Vie had several catchy songs to give, in which she did herself full justice, but her chief mission was of “the liberty, love, and laughter” brand. She had the principal comedy part, and she rose to the requirements of the situation with consummate skill. She received a cordial greeting on her initial entrance, and she kept the merriment on the boil wherever she went. Her acting and her speech were equally mirth-provoking, and she was always a welcome figure, a leader and an expert exponent in any of the revelries. Miss Daisy Yates was not only well placed in her part as Mlle. Chi Chi, but, with Mr. Sydney Yates, she danced the “Grand Vitesse” in such an exhilarating fashion that it had to be given three times before the performance was allowed to proceed. Misses Gwen Hughes, Nellie Hobson, and Cecil Bradley were good in less important roles. Mr. Workman, as Dick Wayne, the purveyor of the wondrous perfume, was a gay and giddy personage, but principal comedian on Saturday evening was Mr. Rawlins, as the humorous American lumber king, who was brimming over with clever sayings and who always had the risible faculties of the audience in operation. All he did and said was so much rich cream, and his speech at the banquet of reunion with wife and child was a masterpiece of heterogeneous cleverness. “Laughter holding both his sides” followed his drolleries and whimsicalities throughout. Mr. Field Fisher (the American specialist), Mr. Alfred Frith (Colonel Slaughter), Mr. Paul Plunket, as the irascible Frenchman, and Mr. Fred. Maguire all sang and acted well, and Mr. Chris. Wren was a typical garcon. The chorus, in their dancing, singing, and complicated evolutions, were invariably equal to the demands made upon them, while the scenery and lighting effects were all that could be desired.

“High Jinks” will be repeated each evening of the week and at a matinee on Wednesday, and on Saturday evening next the favorite actress Miss Nellie Stewart will appear in Beiasco's romantic historical play, “Du Barry.”

Express and Telegraph (Adelaide), Monday, 31 May 1915, p.3 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article209988281

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The company poses for the Act 2 Finale: “We’re Sorry to Detain You”, while Dorothy Brunton (fourth from right) examines her hemline! Photo by Monte Luke. Punch (Melbourne), 25 March 1915, p.419.

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“HIGH JINKS”

TREMENDOUS “HIT” AT THEATRE ROYAL

ANOTHER SUCCESS FOR WILLIAMSON COMPANY.

How unfortunate it is that some things can only happen in plays. Were it otherwise we could all have a sniff of the “High Jinks” perfume, and then—hey presto! Gone would be care and troubles, debts, and duns, aches and pains, and the whole mass of the worries to which man is heir. A few drops of the wonderful essence sprinkled on the Kaiser might even be the means of ending the war, for he could not be filled with a desire to laugh, dance, and be merry and still retain a demeanor compatible with that of “The All-Highest War Lord.” However, Dick Wayne is only a creature of a playwright's fertile brain, and the wonderful “High Jinks” perfume which he dispenses is but another of those elixirs for which the world has sought, and will-ever seek in vain. The only thing, then, to be done is to do as did the crowd which packed every available space in the Theatre Royal on Saturday evening, and get the benefit of three hours of the infectious frivolity which the “High Jinks” company radiates over the footlights...

The characters of the piece dance joyously through three acts of sparkling comedy, from the more or less sedate exterior of a nerve specialist's surgery to the promenade of the “Hotel du Pavillion,” Beauville, where, in very truth, it may be said that the jinks are of the highest. And this time the audience is immersed in a mass of harmony—a harmony made out of a number of scintillating and irresponsible details, but nevertheless a harmony that caught hold and gripped, and that will make “High Jinks” remembered as the most excellent example of the French musical farce ever seen in Adelaide …

The third act is the most handsomely staged and decorative of any. It is lit with lamps, adorned with shimmering evening dresses, interspersed with music of the liveliest description, and there is some remarkably clever dancing, in which Mr. and Miss Yates and Mr. Jack Hooper share the honors …

Of course the curtain falls with the whole tangled skein unravelled to the satisfaction of all, and a hilarious “High Jinks” finale sends the audience away laughing heartily and abundantly satisfied.

Of course, if “High Jinks” were not properly handled it might degenerate into a stupid kind of a show, but the Williamson Company which has it in hand swings it along with just the briskness of action and abandon which it demands. The individual members appear to splendid advantage, but those who stand out most prominently are Mr. W.H. Rawlins as Jeffreys the Manila lumber king, Florence Vie as Adelaide Fontaine, and Mr. Field-Fisher as Dr. Thorne. They each have magnificent opportunities for low comedy work and certainly make the most of them. Mr. Rawlins was just as clever as ever. His part was rich in that humor which he is such an adept at portraying, and nothing could have been funnier than his speech at the banquet in which he mixed up his thoughts as a happy husband and the stock remarks of a company director, or his annoyance with people who would confound him with “our former pugilistic champion.” Really it was a great performance. Miss Vie came through with flying colors. She was large, cheerful, and breezy, and her songs were given in the brightest possible fashion. The stage was lively all the time she had it, and especially so during her singing of “the Dixiana Rise” with full chorus, and the duet with Mr. Rawlins, “Come Hither.” Mr. Fisher did exceptionally well as Dr. Thorne. It was the first time Adelaide audiences had seen him in his proper sphere, and the applause which followed was proof of the predilection which they at once conceived for him. As Sylvia Dale, Miss Dorothy Brunton did not have the opportunities which were hers in '”The Girl in the Taxi,” but for all that she was just as charming and sweet as in that piece. One of her numbers, the waltz-song of the play, “Is this Love at Last?” was quite the hit of the evening, and her clear soprano was admirably suited to the vivacious “By The Sea.” Other items for which she received ovations were the duet with Mr. Plunket, “Not Now, But Later,” and a pretty ballad “The Bubble” in which the effect was heightened by the loosing of large, ruby-colored balloons which floated ceiling wards. Miss Marie Eaton did justice to herself as Mrs. Thorne. She also had a fine singing part, and her songs were well suited to her splendid voice. Especially good was her rendition of the ragtime numbers “Dancing the Blues Away” and “Sammy Sang the Marseillaise,” and in the burlesque of the prison scene from “Faust” with Mr. C.H. Workman and Fred. Maguire, she helped to successfully travesty grand opera in a manner that was very clever, for while the parody was conducted on the most humorous lines, the musical “theme” was retained throughout. Though Mr. C.H. Workman was quietly cast as Dick Wayne he nevertheless scored very heavily in the “High Jinks” number, and gave a proper conception of the lover at times in the seventh heaven of delight, and at others plunged into an abyss of despair. Mr. Paul Plunket, as the would-be duellist husband, Mons. Rabelais; Mr. Alfred Frith, as Colonel Slaughter; Miss Yates, as Chi-Chi; Miss Cecil Bradley, as a page boy; and Miss Gwen. Hughes, as the pretty nurse at Dr. Thorne’s studio, were artists who capably assisted towards the general success of the performance.

The play was produced by Mr. Harry B. Burcher, to whom much credit is due for the triumph scored, and a word of praise is due to Miss Minnie Hooper for the many pretty dances she arranged. The scenery from the brush of Messrs. Board and Little was strikingly fine, and a capable orchestra under the baton of Mr. Andrew McCunn was a pleasure to the audience, and an assistance to the performers.

“High Jinks” will run until Friday next when way will then be made for Miss Nellie Stewart’s company. There will be a matinee on Wednesday.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Monday, 31 May 1915, p.2, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134411810

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Charles Workman & Dorothy Brunton. Photo by Monte Luke.

Dorothy Brunton. Photo by Monte Luke.

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ENTERTAINMENTS

“HIGH JINK.”

There will be a matinee of “High Jinks” at the Theatre Royal at 2 p.m. to-day. The popularity of “High Jinks” exceeds that of “The Girl in the Taxi,” which fact amply testifies to the merit of this latest production by the J.C. Williamson, Ltd., new English musical comedy company. Overflowing audiences have been in attendance nightly, yet despite its record-breaking propensities this magnificent production must be withdrawn on Friday night to make way for the Nellie Stewart attraction which had been pre-arranged for. Mr. Charles Workman, who reappeared last night, has now thoroughly recovered from the indisposition which necessitated his being absent on Monday night, and his clever work in the part of Dr. Wayne, together with that of W.H. Rawlins as Jeffreys, out rivals their respective parts in the previous production. Miss Dorothy Brunton looks prettier than ever, and her charming manner, delightful personality, clever singing, and dancing are items alone which would make for success in less worthy musical plays. Field Fisher and Alfred Frith also have greater scope than formerly, and in addition the cast has been added to by the inclusion of Florence Vie and Marie Eaton. Those who have not already witnessed “High Jinks” are advised to book at Marshalls', as three of the biggest houses yet known to the theatre are confidently expected. The company will sail for Perth on Saturday, and may possibly play a return season with other new pieces when passing through to Melbourne.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Wednesday, 2 June 1915, p.2, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134412195

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SUNDRY SHOWS

A week of “High Jinks” at Adelaide Royal leaves a usually unenthusiastic critic bubbling with enthusiasm. The waltz and the scent motive, coming in again and again, are highly effective; the dancing of the joyous young Australian chorus has a careless swing that captivates; and the acting is simply brilliant, without the buffoonery generally “starred” in musical comedy.  Workman has been ill, but a young [Harry] Wotton took his place neatly. Rawlins is an artist. Field Fisher one would like to see in a [George] Grossmith part. And then Plunket and Frith and Maguire brisk up the show whenever they come in. Dorothy Brunton has now fully “arrived.” Florence Vie and Marie Eaton came in for this play, leaving a lot of clever girls to small parts. Business has been big, and is likely to remain so for Nellie Stewart, strongly supported, in “Du Barry.”

The Bulletin (Sydney), 10 June 1915, p.9

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Meanwhile “Jacques” of The Daily Herald turned the spotlight on the work of the musical’s producer, Harry Burcher and stage manager, Redge Carey (who, as the son of actor-manager George P. Carey, had commenced his stage career playing juvenile roles in JCW productions in the early 1900s, before taking up a position behind-the-scenes.)

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FROM BEHIND

“HIGH JINKS” WATCHED FROM NEW ANGLE

HOW A PIECE IS PRODUCED

(By “Jacques”)

Let me take you to stageland. It will have to be a kind of a spirit voyage, with my description supplying the necessary picture of all that may be seen from that mysterious spot, the prompter’s corner. There is, of course, the possibility that while I say there were moments when I stood a solitary male in the midst of a gay, chattering, laughing cluster of the pretty girls who form the famous Williamson choruses you will scarcely derive the same satisfaction from the telling as you would from the real thing. Ah, well, we can’t all be lucky. Console yourself with my assurance that it was all most delightful. Much as I enjoyed “High Jinks” from the front on Saturday night, I enjoyed it none the less from the “back” one evening this week. One’s position does not matter so long as an uninterrupted view of the happy situation created by the “High Jinks” perfume is obtainable.

In Charge of Experts.

My guides were Mr. Harry Burcher and Mr. Redge Carey, producer and stage manager respectively of the musical farce which has set Adelaide’s feet a dancing with the lilting strains of the “High Jinks” song. I could not have been in better hands, for in the company of these two leaders I could watch the wonderful evolution from a chaotic mass of scenery of a beautiful seaside scene and the handsome exterior of the gay Hotel du Pavillion, and at the same time learn something of the unfailing attention to the minutest details that is absolutely essential to he successful production of a piece. For the benefit of those who are accompanying me on this tour of stageland let me compare Mr. Burcher to the generalissimo of an army, and Mr. Carey to his chief of staff. The one draws up the plan on which the play must be presented to the public; the other sees that the rank and file do their part towards making the thing a success, that the stage dressing makes up a picture which will be in keeping with the spirit of the performance, and that the myriad mortals whom we never see, the stage attendants, carry out their work swiftly, methodically, and accurately. Nothing must be left to chance. If a performer has to hand another a bill, or a roll of banknotes, or a phial of perfume it is the stage manager who must see that these “properties” are at hand when they are wanted. He is here, there, everywhere. Now in the prompter's corner keeping his eye on the “book,” now issuing instructions to the limelight operators, now hustling the chorus and generally keeping things moving. He is about the only man on the stage who has to work hard the whole evening, and I was by no means surprised when Mr. Carey observed to me, “This job is worth a thousand a year.” After watching him for a couple of acts I could quite believe it.

Enthusiasm Reigns.

The man in the street firmly believes that from the “wings” a performance loses all the attractions it presents to the front of the house, and that it fails to overcome in those whose duties are “behind the scenes” an apathy born of familiarity. Perhaps these premises are right in certain cases, but I must say that it was not so the other night.  It may have been because the J.C. Williamson firm tolerates nothing tawdry or shoddy in its productions, but at any rate there was just the same freshness and attractiveness about the performers, and the same brightness and completeness of detail about the stage setting, from my viewpoint as there was on Saturday night. And no one could have been more enthusiastic than either Mr. Burcher or Mr. Carey over the excellent manner in which the performance was swinging along. The artists themselves were anything but blase. One might well have believed that they had imbibed the spirit of the “High Jinks” perfume. In the “wings” they laughed and joked among themselves, radiated gaiety, and watched their colleagues “in action” with a keenness that betokened more than ordinary interest in all that was going on. Mr. Burcher treated them like a proud father, and looked the pride he felt.

“They're great,” he said, “That's as good a chorus as I've ever seen in England or America. In fact, I have no hesitation in saying that it is one of the best in the world. The girls are all pretty, and they can dance, sing, and act. In England the girls are fine looking, but they are showgirls and nothing more. They are on the stage because of their looks, and when it comes to singing and dancing, well—” and the sentence finished with an expressive shrug of the shoulders. “And where,” asked Mr. Carey as he pointed to the 12 ladies who are garbed as nurses in the first act of “High Jinks,” “could you find a better-looking lot of girls than those? Aren't they a fine advertisement for Australia?”

“Yes, they are,” replied Mr. Burcher. And I was an enthusiastic supporter.

No Time for Slackers.

Now, while we were talking of the chorus, I remembered that before the curtain rose on the first act I had heard Messrs. Burcher and Carey discussing certain changes, and what would happen to So-and-so if more “ginger” was not put into that person's work. It seemed strange to me that there were any who could be accused of slackness in such a play as “High Jinks,” and I remarked it. “Well,” said Mr. Burcher, “such cases are certainly few and far between. The greater number of our chorus people go into their work because they like it. There are some who are like greyhounds—every night is a first night, with them. But there are others who like a rest. We have no time for the latter, and when we catch them at their games out they go. It's the only way to keep the chorus strung up.” By the way, I observed a remarkable instance of the versatility of the Australian chorister. Mr. C.H. Workman had injured his foot and could not appear in his usual role of Dick Wayne, the explorer, who discovers the “High Jinks” perfume. His understudy (Mr. Wotton) who—I mention this with a great deal of pleasure—is an Adelaide boy, had to go on at short notice and take on the part. Believe me it was no easy task to play up to the fine standard which Mr. Workman has set, but Mr. Wotton did really well, and was congratulated in the heartiest manner by the producer, stage manager, and the principals.

The Presiding Genius.

The presence of Mr. Burcher with the company in Adelaide is an earnest [token] of the fact that the J.C. Williamson management is determined its productions shall be as perfect as possible. Seven years as stage manager at the London Gaiety, the most famous comic opera theatre in the world, have given Mr. Burcher a wonderful knowledge of the requirements of the theatrical public, and an experience in handling and arranging performances, especially those in which comedy reigns supreme, that must be invaluable to any firm which engages him. During his association with Mr. George Edwardes (the proprietor of the Gaiety) Mr. Burcher made 51 trips to America with various companies, and he now looks upon the voyage across the Atlantic as being nothing out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, however, he is no friend of King Neptune's, and he informed me that he was not looking forward with any degree of pleasure to the voyage to Western Australia which he will be taking within the next few days.

Interesting Mementoes.

Mr. Burcher carries tangible mementoes of his connection with the Gaiety in the shape of handsome presents from many celebrities who from time to time visited the famous playhouse. Among those gifts he particularly treasures one from the Grand Duke Michael (Commander-in-Chief of the Russian army), and another from the late Mr. Vanderbilt, the American millionaire who was drowned when the Lusitania was torpedoed by a German submarine. A tall, slim, Englishman, Mr. Burcher looks younger than his years.  He has been connected with the stage for about 16 years, and prior to his appointment as stage manager at the Gaiety was himself in musical comedy, and was understudy to Mr. George Grossmith [Jnr.] This is his first visit to Australia, but he is likely to be with us for some time, as the Williamson firm has him under a lengthy contract.

A Genial Worker.

The revue, “Come Over Here,” was the last company with which Mr. Carey visited Adelaide, so that he has been associated with two of the biggest successes this city has seen in recent years. He complains good-humoredly that he always gets the hardest shows to look after, but the explanation of this doubtless is that “the firm” knows to whom it can safely trust those of its enterprises which call for all the ingenuity, initiative, patience, energy, and skill of that, to most of us, unfamiliar genius, the stage manager.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide, SA), Thursday, 3 June 1915, p.3, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134412448

Photos by Monte Luke

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AMUSEMENTS.

—Theatre Royal.—

“'High Jinks” will be staged for the last time at the Theatre Royal this evening. The present season has proved the most successful financially and artistically on record since the rebuilding of the Theatre. To-night should prove one of the heartiest send-offs yet experienced in Adelaide for Mr. J.C. Williamson’s company is remarkably popular … The talented performers will bid farewell this evening … The Musical Comedy Company will leave for Perth on Saturday.

The Register (Adelaide), Friday, 4 June 1915, p.3 [extracts]

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As the completion of the trans-Australian railway line lay just over 2 years away (on 17 October 1917) JCW’s New English Musical Comedy Company departed from No. 2 Quay on Saturday, 5 June aboard the S.S. Katoomba arriving at the port of Fremantle four days later with its cargo of scenery, costumes, props., etc. in preparation for a season at His Majesty’s Theatre in the Western Australian capital of Perth.

[To be continued.]

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Audio

• Love’s Own Kisses(aka ‘Is This Love at Last?’)—Dorothy Brunton

Columbia studio orchestra conducted by Charles Adams Prince (recorded in New York c.May 1918)—Cat. no.: Columbia 772 [matrix 49414]

• The Bubble—Dorothy Brunton

Columbia studio orchestra conducted by Charles Adams Prince (recorded in New York c.May 1918)—Cat. no.: Columbia 772 [matrix 49415]

(courtesy of Frank Van Straten)

• Come Hither (aka ‘She says it with her Eyes’)—W.H. Rawlins with Maisie Gay (of the 1916 London cast)

Adelphi Theatre Orchestra conducted by Howard Talbot—Cat. no.: (HMV C-721 or 04177)

(courtesy of Dominic Combe)

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

Postscript

A COMEDY KING

TALKS OF A THIRTY YEARS’ CAREER

HOW W. H. RAWLINS CLIMBED THE LADDER

(By “JACQUES”)

Big, breezy, and sunny-natured. That is a description in brief of Mr. W.H. Rawlins, Baron Dauvray of “The Girl in the Taxi,” and J.J. Jeffreys of “High Jinks,” which piece we are all going to thoroughly enjoy at the Theatre Royal to-night. On the stage he has made himself the primest of favorites.  It would the same were he to forsake the limelight for the comparative retirement of ordinary citizenship. The man who could be an enemy of such a genial personality would surely pick a quarrel with a friend who offered him a fiver for nothing.

W.H. Rawlins. Photo by Monte Luke.In a cosy room at the South Australian Hotel I ran Mr. Rawlins to earth, and was soon ensconced in an easy chair in front of a cheery fire. Let me say right here that from the very outset everything was in complete harmony. Better conditions for an interview no one could imagine. A group of photographs caught my eye. In one of them—the photos, not my eye—a big man was standing in the midst of a cloud of dust, and his attitude was one of extreme travail. I bent closer to look at the scene, and Mr. Rawlins explained. “Yes,” he said, in answer to an unspoken query, “that individual is myself. No, that’s not an axe; it’s a golf club. And when that picture was taken I was endeavoring to get out of a very bad bunker. I don't appear to be making a very good job of it, do I?” Following this I was shown photos of Mr. Rawlins at golf in company with other English theatrical celebrities, and also a trophy, a handsome silver cigar case, nicely engraved, which Mr. Rawlins won in a match with our old friend of comic opera, Leslie Holland. Out talk of golf led to the relating of some funny stones, one of which is worth repeating here. On one occasion Mr. Rawlins landed at an out-of-the-way place in Wales with his clubs and a fishing rod; for he is also an ardent angler. There were two youngsters on the station, and his appearance led to the following conversation, “They be funny sticks to play ’ockey with.” “G’arn, they ain’t ’ockey sticks, stoopid.” “Well, if they ain't, wot are they?” “W’y, don'tcherknow? E’s going golfishing.” And those lads were not far wrong, for, as the actor informed me, he drove two balls in a small stream adjoining the links that day and had to fish them out again.

Dropping golf, we chatted of things theatrical, and the usual question elicited the reply that Mr. Rawlins commenced his stage career nearly 30 years ago. But even before this he had an adventure as a boy actor. His parents lived at Durham, and on one occasion during a holiday at Newcastle he gratified the ambition of his young life by securing permission to appear as a frog in a pantomime. Part of his duty was to hop across the stage from the prompt to the O.P. side, and, as the stage was in semi-darkness he distinguished his first appearance by missing his way and hopping right into the lap of an old lady who was sitting in a private box on a level with the stage. She gave a scream of fright, and he, childlike, pulled off his frog mask, jumped onto the stage again, and cleared for his life.  Next day the papers said that his was the star turn of the evening. Mr. Rawlins still laughs heartily over the recollection of that adventure.

His schooling over, Mr. Rawlins went into a stock company at Manchester, and in those days was associated with the famous Barry Sullivan. “Those companies did a lot of good,” I said.  “Yes,” was the answer; “but their methods would not be tolerated nowadays. Now a play is put into rehearsal for a good six weeks before the public gets a glimpse of it, and if a girl has found her way into a company because she has a pretty face and a pleasing voice she is taught to act before the playgoers get a glimpse of her.  In the old days what now rank as rehearsals counted as performances—and the public had to pay for them. Of course, the old stock companies made very heavy demands on one, but they soon found out if you had any versatility or ability.”

“While a member of a stock company Mr. Rawlins had an amusing experience at a place called Blackburn. They were there with G.R. Sim’s first play, “Crutch and Toothpick.” which was on the light side, and a bit above the heads of the audience. The first week’s business was of the very worst, so the manager of the hall, who was also the local butcher, and was out for gold rather than glory, told the company they would have to cut out the comedy and put on heavy drama. The company agreed, but there was nobody who could be cast as the villain. At last Mr. Rawlins was rushed into the job, though he had never previously played a heavy part, and the fun began. The audience soon dropped to the fact that temperamentally Mr. Rawlins was no villain. Mr. Rawlins knew that fact far better than anyone else in the house, and it made him so nervous that he jumbled up some of his “lines.” Early in the play he was supposed to deal rather harshly with his wife, and then to call the maid and say, “Take away my wife—I am afraid she is not well.” Instead of that he said, “Take your wife away—I am afraid I am not well.” From that moment the audience was on the qui vive for slips. They found them, and some funny ones they were, too. “I was satisfied when I got through without any more damage than was done to me by verbal bricks,” said the comedian, “it was an uncomfortable experience, but not as bad as one I had on the occasion of my wedding morning. What was it? Why, I went to the pay office to draw some cash, and the answer I got was, ‘'Just how little can you do with?’ Nice sort of wedding present for a chap, wasn’t it?”

No lightweight is W.H. Rawlins. Although he is very keen on sporting, this great bulk of laughter and contentment would probably turn the scale at somewhere about 15 st. now, and to look at him nobody would think that he was once thin enough to play the part of Gobo, the shadow, in “Les Cloches de Corneville.” Yet this was so. However, three years of that role with success and the payroll growing all the time effected a big change, and at the end of the term he was playing the part of the Baillie, which is a “fat” part in more senses of the word than one. It surely was a case of dropping the shadow for the substance.

So many operas, musical comedies, and pantomimes has Mr. Rawlins, the subject of this interview, taken part in, that his memory is stored with all sorts of reminiscences and odds and ends of poetry and music. He has had a remarkably successful stage career, and for over 20 years has been one of the recognised comedy “leads” in London and the large provincial cities of Great Britain. During the greater part of this time he was associated with the late George Edwardes, under whose management he appeared in “Les Cloches de Corneville,” “Falka,” “Pepita,” “Nanon,” “Erminie,” “La Cigale,” “Madame Favart,” “The Shop Girl,” “The Gaiety Girl,” “The Circus Girl,” “The Geisha,” “San Toy,” “The Greek Slave,” “The Messenger Boy,” “The Merry Widow,” “The Dollar Princess,” “The Girl in the Train,” “The Sunshine Girl,” “The Girl in the Film,” and “The Girl in the Taxi.” He has also played in 33 pantomimes. Twice he visited America, once with “The Gaiety Girl” and once with “The Shop Girl,” and has the pleasantest recollections of each tour. His favorite part he believes to be Uncle Matt, in “La Cigale.” Perhaps the fact that he made his first big success in this role may have something to do with his liking for it. “I followed Lionel Brough as Uncle Matt,” he told me, "and after that never looked backwards.” Other roles for which he has a particular fancy are Nish in “The Merry Widow,” and Bolger, in “The Dollar Princess,” but he is very much attached to the parts he is now playing in “The Girl in the Taxi” and “High Jinks.” “They give one such splendid opportunities,” he says. I have told you that in his early days Mr. Rawlins played with Barry Sullivan, and I may add that one of his earliest recollections with the famous Barry was in the part of one of the princes in “Richard III,” He has also fond memories of another delightful public favorite, now, alas, gone to his long rest, and this time another great comedian—Johnnie Toole—with whom he was associated at the Theatre Royal, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

Tragedian, Barry Sullivan, 1852. Photographer unknown.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Comedian, John Lawrence Toole. Photo by W. & D. Downey. Published 1892.

National Portrait Gallery, London

“You should have seen me out this way some time before I actually arrived,” said Mr. Rawlins, when I asked him how it was he came to visit Australia. “I always wanted to visit the great Commonwealth, and had signed a contract to come and take a part in ‘Gipsy Love.’ However, other arrangements were made, and it was ultimately decided that I should come to Australia with ‘The Girl in the Taxi.’ Like the place? Yes, I do. I have been in Australia over 12 months now, and have just signed a new contract to stay another six months. It meant putting off a panto engagement in London, but I'm having such a fine time out here that I don't mind how long I stay.”

“At any rate,” I said, “you have made your audiences love you like a brother.”

“Have I? Well, I'm glad. And in return for that let me say that Australian audiences are simply great. As a matter of fact, they are really too good, for they make such a fuss over you that you are likely to overdo things a bit if you are not careful. Australian artists? Well, what more can I do than point to Miss Dorothy Brunton? She has everything—appearance, charm, a good voice, and any amount of ability. If she were in London she would be the success of the season.  And if she ever does go to London they won't be in a hurry to let her leave.”

Mr. Rawlins was due at rehearsal at noon, so the interview came to an end here. I shook hands and said good-bye, having spent a most pleasant time with one who could be nothing else than the best of friends and the most interesting acquaintances.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Saturday, 29 May 1915, p.3, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134411638

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MUSICAL COMEDY ARTISTS

ARRIVAL OF MR. AND MISS YATES

WAR INCIDENTS IN FRANCE.

Two musical comedy artists, Mr. Sidney Yates, and his sister, Miss Daisy Yates, were passengers by the Blue Funnel liner Aeneas, which arrived at the Outer Harbor on Friday. They have come to Australia under engagement to J.C. Williamson, arrangements having been made for Miss Yates to appear in “The Girl in the Taxi,” which will be staged for the first time in Adelaide at the Theatre Royal next Saturday night. Mr. Yates [has] played in Australia, … having appeared at the New Tivoli Theatre in Adelaide when it was opened about two years ago. Miss Yates was … with Mr. George Edwardes’ company, and played the part of Mary, the Yorkshire girl in “Our Miss Gibbs” with Mr. Chris. Wren, who acted as Timothy Gibbs. During the voyage of the Aeneas the two artist made themselves very popular with all the passengers. They gave entertainments which were so appreciated that the captain, on behalf of those on board, presented Mr. Yates with a sovereign purse and Miss Yates with a gold wristlet watch.

Although Miss Yates will appear in “The Girl in the Taxi,” her brother has not yet received instructions as to what he is to do or where he is to appear. Since he left Australia Mr. Yates has been appearing in London and France, and was in Paris at the time war was declared. “Had it not been for the war,” he said, “we would not have been here. We were producing a revised version of ‘The Quaker Girl’ in one of the principal theatres of Paris, and having had the final rehearsal everything was ready for the opening night when a uniformed official read out a declaration ordering all men to immediately join their regiments. All our musicians, stage hands, and artists simply had to throw down their tools and join the colors, leaving myself and the women there. Of course the theatre, like others in Paris, had to be closed down, and our agreements were broken.

“Ten days after war was declared we tried to get out of Paris back to England, but as martial law had been proclaimed we found the task exceedingly difficult. The trains were being used to take troops to the fighting line, and it took us three days to get our tickets. About 4000 people were trying to get across to England. The train journey from Paris to Dieppe usually occupies seven hours, but it took us over two days to get there, the delays having been occasioned through having to shunt on to sidings until troop trains went by. We got to Dieppe about half-past one in the morning, but as every hotel and house was packed we could not obtain accommodation, and had the extraordinary experience of sleeping out on the sands all night. We were doubtful about getting a boat next day, but fortunately one came along, and we were taken across the channel to Newhaven. There we experienced further trouble in trying to change French money.”

Mr. Yates witnessed many exciting incidents in Paris when war was declared. Big German shops and business houses were gutted and ransacked, and there were processions by people of the allies through the streets both by night and day. The newspaper offices were bringing out special editions almost every hour, and when their paper stock became depleted they published extraordinary editions on plain paper bags. There was intense excitement and jubilation in Paris when the news came through that Great Britain was entering the war on the side of France.

When Mr. and Miss Yates got back to England they were rehearsing musical comedy for the music halls. After Christmas they went to South Africa, where they appeared in the principal cities, their season there having been extended from six to 16 weeks. It was while in South Africa that they were engaged by J.C. Williamson, Limited, to come to Australia.

The Daily Herald (Adelaide), Monday, 17 May 1915, p.3, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134409321

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

Since Daisy and Sydney Yates (aka Ellen Maingay Daniels and Sydney Culverhouse) were unrelated*, the Lincolnshire vicarage mentioned in the following article presumably alluded to Ellen’s family background.

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

VICARAGE TO STAGE.

CLEVER DANCERS’ CAREERS.

From a quiet Lincolnshire vicarage to the world's leading stages is a far cry, but that sums up the meteoric careers of Miss Daisy and Mr. Yates, whose dancing in “The Girl in the Taxi” at the Theatre Royal has practically held up the houses since [Saturday] last. They reached Adelaide … after a successful tour in Africa, and the large audiences who have seen them here have clamoured for more on every occasion.

“The war is the reason why we are together,” remarked Mr. Yates to a “Mail” reporter. “When the clarion was first sounded we were both in Paris, in opposition establishments. We worked up a turn and intended to do the provinces in England, but it was so attractive that we were at the Coliseum for six weeks, after which we were sent to Africa. In Paris I was a ballet master and producer in four of the leading theatres. I have also done a lot of work for Pathe Freres, but dancing has always attracted me. I brought out a troupe of dancers at the opening of the new Tivoli Theatre.

“Our turn in ‘High Jinks’ ” interposed Miss Yates, “is one of our own specialities. It is a whirlwind dance called the ‘grande vitesse,’ and will give a lot of pleasure. My part in that musical jollity is Mlle. Chi Chi, a dancer, who is one of the chief characters concerned in the humorous muddle so cleverly worked out by the author.

“My first appearance,” she continued, “was at one of the leading provincial theatres in England when I was in ‘Florodora’. I was the first principal boy to appear in a two house a night pantomime.  Subsequently I made five tours as Mary in ‘Our Miss Gibbs.’ After having been in ‘The Arcadians’ and a Hippodrome revue I went to Paris, where I had a most enjoyable and successful time.

“This is my first visit to Australia. How glad I am in the circumstances to be away from London with its dark streets. The theatres have no lights at all outside, and it has a most depressing effect on stepping into the street to almost grope one's way through the gloom. This trip is the outcome of the third offer I have had to visit the great Commonwealth, and I am delighted to be here. The Adelaide public has treated us very nicely.”

Miss Yates mentioned that during the trip from America she and her brother entertained the people on the boat with songs and dances. Their appreciation was so great that Lady McMillan, on behalf of her fellow passengers, presented Miss Yates with a watch and her brother with a sovereign purse.

Every morning is spent by the pair practising, and the young danseuse has a busy time in the afternoons, as she is engaged in studying several parts which she will assume in Melbourne.

The Mail (Adelaide, SA), Saturday, 29 May 1915, p.4, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59299021

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* Daisy’s true identity was revealed in 1916, when she was granted a divorce from her husband (actor and theatrical manager) Thomas Henry Daniels, whom she had married in March 1906, on the grounds of his desertion of both her and their child for another woman (ref.: The Herald (Melbourne), Wednesday, 20 September 1916, p.1, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article242377620 ). In 1920 a Supreme Court writ was issued on behalf of Ellen (Daisy), who claimed £2,000 in damages against Sydney Charles Culverhouse (her erstwhile putative ‘brother’ and stage dance partner) in a suit for alleged breach of promise, for which she was subsequently awarded £500 (ref.: The Herald (Melbourne), Friday, 1 May 1920, p.1, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/245598502 & Saturday, 2 May 1920, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/245605417 )

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

COMEDIAN’S COMMENTS.

WHEN SCREAMS COME.

AUSTRALIAN CHORUS GIRLS PRAISED.

“I hate humorous parts,” exclaimed Mr. Field Fisher, who as Alexis, the head waiter in ‘The Girl in the Taxi,’ and Dr. Thorne in ‘High Jinks,’ made everybody in the Theatre Royal laugh with great gusto. “I would like to be the leading tenor, the hero,” he told a 'Mail' reporter. “After all, low comedy is my favourite line,” he continued. “There is so much licence allowed. Gags may be introduced, and that is much appreciated by some of the business firms. A well-known importer of whisky used to send me a box, but the trouble was everybody in the company would hear of it.

“Audiences certainly do vary very much. The Australian practice of giving an artist applause on his appearance on the stage each night is most encouraging, and shows the fine spirit of the people. Humour has to be good, and nothing that is too risque or broad is wanted in Australia. A local touch always goes down in the Commonwealth. A line that will bring a scream in Adelaide invariably does so in Sydney, or vice versa. It is therefore easier to play in this country than, for example, in England.  A reference that appeals to the risible faculties of the people in Manchester might be absolutely flat in Liverpool. Where the scream will come can never be relied on over there, and that makes the work of a comedian harder…

“It is just 30 years ago since I started with Sir Henry Irving in ‘Charles I.’ In ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ I took the part of the Prince, and afterwards under Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree I was Prince Arthur in ‘King John.’ Everything was arranged that I should go to America with Lawrence Irving, who died in the wreck of the Empress of Ireland. On the Sunday prior to his departure I had dinner with him in order to talk matters over. Then this scheme to visit to Australia came, and I resolved to take advantage of it. The result is I was not in the ill-fated vessel. He could have been saved himself had he not gone back for his wife.  It was just like him. His genius was only just being realised in England.

“My first pantomime was at Covent Garden in ‘Cinderella,’ where I assumed one of the leading parts, although l was only 18 years of age. Since then I have been either the baron or page—two important characters—in pantomime nearly every year except this one...

“The Australian chorus girls are remarkably versatile. They dance, sing, and act. In England they either do one thing or the other. At home they wander from one company to another, but here they grow up with a firm. They know there is not another to go to, and that probably spurs them on. lt is truly wonderful what the Australian can accomplish, and several instances might be cited where local actresses have been able to take leading parts with success, although they are given only 24 hours’ notice.”

The Mail (Adelaide), Saturday, 29 May 1915, p.5 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59299108

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Part 2: ‘Everyone I knew told me I was all kinds of a variegated fool.’

Frank Neil in Charley’s Aunt, 1925. Author’s collection.

Tthe fuller theatricalempire was vast and powerful. It owned and controlled theatres throughout Australia and New Zealand and presented a wide range of attractions, from grand opera to crowd-pleasing vaudeville, plus drama, melodrama, musicals, farce, comedy and pantomime. Family-owned and operated, it was headed by Benjamin Fuller. Born in squalor in London in 1875, Ben Fuller mastered theatrical management and was knighted in 1921. An astute, wily spotter of talent, he had seen Neil perform with Maurice Tuohy and admired his ability as an actor, but he also recognised his potential a producer.

On 2 June 1917 the Fullers had launched a new Sydney theatre, the 1642-seat Majestic, to cater for the entertainment needs of the bustling working-class inner-city suburb of Newtown. Initially the Majestic presented vaudeville, but in April 1918 the Fuller Dramatic Company wound up their Melbourne season and moved in. This time the personnel included not only Tuohy, who was cheekily promoted as a ‘new leading man from London’ but also Frank Neil, who played assorted character roles and, most importantly, was to be responsible for producing every one of the company’s weekly-change melodramas.

Their initial offering, As Midnight Chimes, on 12 April 1918, elicited the following welcome from The Sydney Sun: ‘The medium that introduced the new Fuller dramatic company at the Majestic could not be said to lack in either weirdness or sensation. A four-act play that provided a violent quarrel, a murder accusation, a smuggled child, an express train, an escape from custody, a lonely wharf, a limping Chinaman, a mysterious Hindoo girl, a drug scene, a vault in a church yard, with an accompanying vision, and a poisoned drunk, had all the elements that appeal to melodramatic fiends. As Midnight Chimes had all these and moreover was played with considerable vigor by a company of players well versed by long experience in the ways of sensational stagecraft. Maurice Tuohy, a leading man from England [!], made his first appearance here as Dave Stannard, a young fisherman, the hero of many adventures and of many persecutions instigated by Luke Dezzard, played in true stage villain style by Jefferson Tait. Frank Neil (the producer) had a comedy role as a railway porter that appealed strongly to the Newtown folk. These and the subsidiary parts were sustained in a way that evidently gave much satisfaction to the crowded audience.’

It also gave much satisfaction to Ben Fuller. His instinct for picking talent had proved right. He became a great friend and supporter of Neil, offering advice and encouragement as the young man’s career developed.

At the Majestic the success of Neil’s parade of weekly-change crowd-pleasers was phenomenal. Somehow he managed to churn out a new drama every seven days for more than two years: What Women Will Do for Love, Camilleand The Luck of Roaring Camp were typical, and there were occasional interesting Australian offerings such as For the Term of His Natural Life and A Girl of the Bush. A turgid religiously tinged drama called The Confession was in residence when peace came on 11 November 1918.

‘Cheer Up Girls, Here Come the Aussies’ sheet music cover, 1918

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Lily Molloy, c.1925

Author’s collection

Shows always opened on a Saturday evening and finished on the following Friday evening. The next week’s show was learnt and rehearsed during the day. The only relief came during the Christmas holidays, when melodrama made way for pantomime: Bluebeard and his Seven Wives, for Christmas 1918, ran twice a day for a record six weeks. Frank produced it and also wrote it. It included, appropriately, a ‘Hall of Peace’ tableau featuring ‘The Homecoming of the Aussies’ complete with a new song he wrote and composed called ‘Cheer Up Girls, Here Come the Aussies’. It was sung by the Principal Boy, Essie Jennings—and also by Lola Hunt, the Principal Boy in Fullers’ Sinbad the Sailor at the Grand Opera House (the former Adelphi in Castlereagh Street). Frank’s patriotic flag-waver was published by W.J. Deane and Son in Sydney.

The Dame in Bluebeardwas Essie Jennings’ husband, popular comedian Jim Gerald, an engagement he’d accepted while still serving with the Australian forces in the Middle East. Regulars from Frank’s melodrama company included Maurice Tuohy as the heroic Jack Blunt, Jefferson Tait as Bluebeard, and Lily Molloy as the adorable Princess. Frank ‘blacked up’ to portray the comic Rastus, who confided to the kiddies, ‘I’m Bluebeard’s valet, and I love what’s right. Though my skin is black, my heart’s all white.’ Collet Dobson played the dastardly Demon Discord, made up to looked remarkably like the hated Kaiser. Bluebeardpacked the Majestic for six merry weeks.

‘Cooing Time in Loveland’ sheet music cover, 1919

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Ivy Moore in Cinderella, Grand Opera House, Sydney, 1919

State Library of New South Wales, Sydney

Neil also provided the script for Little Red Riding Hood, which he produced at the Majestic for Christmas 1919. Jim Gerald and Essie Jennings were back, this time as Dame Pimples and Fairy Rose Petal. The great male impersonator Nellie Kolle was Boy Blue, with Rita Starr as Red Riding Hood and Frank Neil as Simple Willie. The score included Frank’s latest composition, ‘Cooing Time in Loveland’, which was introduced by Essie Jennings. Simultaneously it was also being sung by Linda Dale in Fullers’ other Sydney pantomime, Cinderella, at the Grand Opera House. Frank’s lyrics were, well, quaint. Here’s the chorus:

When it’s cooing time in Loveland, in Loveland coo-coo,

I’m going to steal a little aeroplane and fly away

To where they never ever see a rainy day.

And we’ll float through life together

Where the skies are always blue,

And I’ll spend my time in Loveland

With my cooing doves and you.

Bluebeard program, Grand Opera House Sydney, 1920

Author’s collection

‘I Know You’ll Be Wanting Me Someday’ sheet music cover, 1920

National Library of Australia, Canberra

For Christmas 1920 Fullers entrusted Neil with producing two pantomimes in Sydney—a revival of Bluebeard at the Grand Opera House and The Babes in the Woodat the Newtown Majestic. In Bluebeard Jim Gerald and Essie Jennings were the Dame and Fairy Queen, with Ray de Vere as Principal Girl and Flora Cromer, from Britain, as Principal Boy. Sydney Truth was impressed: ‘If Bluebeard were just a succession of scenes it would be a big attraction without any actors, but when you add to the magnificent scenery a host of pretty girls, delightful music, the comedy of the acrobatic Dame and others, the new songs, and the wonderful specialties of Ferry the Frog, then it becomes an entertainment of outstanding merit, and one that producer Frank Neil may well be proud of.’

In Babes in the Wood were Doff Dee as Principal Girl, Mattie Jansen as the Fairy Queen and Bert Desmond as the Dame. As Principal Boy, Robin Hood, Nellie Kolle made the most of a brand-new Frank Neil composition, ‘I Know You’ll be Wanting Me Someday’.

American star Marie Ilka, c.1920

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Australian actress Nellie Bramley, c.1923

Author’s collection

Frank’s next assignment was producing a short season of melodrama for Fullers at the Empire Theatre in Albert Street, Brisbane, with a company headed by Austin Milroy and the star American import Marie Ilka.

On 19 February 1921 The Brisbane Daily Mail told its readers: ‘Frank Neil, the producer and comedian of the Fuller Dramatic Company at the Empire Theatre, has had a long and varied theatrical career, playing from one end of Australia to the other. Starting at the bottom rung of the ladder, he graduated to the dizzy eminence from which he played three parts in East Lynne, played the piano between whiles, and was property-master as well. His salary for all this was 50 shillings per week, but he never got it. On one occasion, in Maffra, Victoria, he played the piano in the wings and, lowered the curtain on the death of little Eva, by holding the rope in his teeth till given the cue. But he has progressed, and this year produced two pantomimes simultaneously, both for the Fuller management, one at the Majestic Theatre, Newtown, and the other at the Grand Opera House, this latter being claimed to be the most brilliant and successful 1920 pantomime produced by any management in Australia.’

The Brisbane season opened sensationally on 26 February 1921 with The Unmarried Mother by Florence Edna May. It was promoted as ‘The terrific New York success’—which is odd, because there is no record of it ever being produced there. It was probably an unauthorised stage adaptation of one of May’s scandalous potboilers, which also included The Unwanted Childand The Unloved Wife.To add to its prurient attraction, the press advertisements carried this admonition: ‘The Management do not ask you to listen to a talky sermon, but they do ask you to give serious consideration to a problem that is late in the solving, and to render every assistance to players called upon to interpret the very real characters in this direct and forceful expression of the playwright's views.’ Later came Should a Mother Tell?, A Daughter of Mother Machree, A Flapper’s Married Life and Tommy’s French Wife. The latter depicted the experiences of a young French girl who marries a British soldier. It was one of the last works of noted Australian playwright George Darrell, author of The Sunny South. He had tragically committed suicide in January 1921.

Tommy’s French Wifewas chosen to launch the company’s transfer to the Princess in Melbourne in April 1921. Austin Milroy was still leading man, but Nellie Bramley had taken over the principal female roles from Marie Ilka. In June they moved to the Grand Opera House in Sydney.

‘Cuddle In Your Mammy’s Arms’ sheet music cover, 1921

National Library of Australia, Canberra

‘I had a little drop with Martha’ sheet music cover, 1921

National Library of Australia, Canberra

For Christmas 1921 Neil wrote and produced yet another edition of Bluebeardfor Fullers’ at the Princess in Melbourne. Again, Neil played Rastus. Nellie Kolle was Selim, the Principal Boy, Essie Jennings was Queen Felicity and Jim Gerald was the Dame, Sister Mary (‘I’m a saucy little girl with a giddy little prance. I’m looking for a lover—so come boys, here’s a chance!’).

Much of the music for Bluebeardwas written by Fullers’ senior musical director, Hamilton Webber, with lyrics by Frank Neil. There was, however, one song for which Neil wrote both music and lyrics. Called ‘Cuddle in Your Mammy’s Arms’, it was in the stereotypical ‘mammy’ tradition so popular at the time. Although at first the words seem trite, they have a deeper, wistful charm. The idiosyncratic capitalisation is Neil’s:

(First verse)

I can see my dear old Mammy,

In the Happy Days gone by.

How She used to tease me,

How She’d hug and squeeze me,

When I think of Her I sigh.

As the shades of Night were falling

And the Stars began to peep,

She would fold me in Her arms

And gently croon me off to sleep.

(chorus)

Rock a bye, Hush a bye,

Mammy’s Little Baby,

‘Cause I love but You, yes indeed I do,

I’d reach the Stars from Heaven down

And give them to you.

Rock a bye, Hush a bye,

My little bunch of charms,

For you’ll never find a pal like your Mammy,

So just cuddle in your Mammy’s arms.

(Second verse)

Now that I’m a child no longer,

And I have no Mammy dear,

How I love to treasure

All the priceless pleasure

That I felt when She was near.

For you only get one Mammy,

And I miss her now she’s gone.

How I wish I had Her here

To croon to her this little song.

‘Cuddle in Your Mammy’s Arms’ was published by E.W. Cole of Melbourne’s famous Book Arcade.

Ferry the Frog. This 1901 poster deceptively depicts him as white.

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Cover of souvenir of the 100th performance of Bluebeard at the Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 24 February 1922

Theatre Heritage Australia

For the gala 100th performance of Bluebeardon 24 February 1922 Fullers published a handsome souvenir that named not only the twelve principals but, unusually, also the 17-member ballet and the ballet mistress, the 15 juvenile dancers, the eight-member chorus, the three speciality acts (including a Charlie Chaplin imitator and the aforementioned Black American contortionist known as  ‘Ferry the Frog’), the musical director and his nine musicians, the seven in the electrical department, the six mechanists, the three prop men, the five ladies in the wardrobe, the scenic artist, and the 18-strong front-of-house team.

After Bluebeardit was back to melodrama for the Fullers at the Majestic in Newtown and the Victoria Theatre in Newcastle. Neil produced the plays and he and Maurice Tuohy were in virtually all of them. Most of the repertoire was standard fare though there was the occasional locally written effort, most notably Clarence Lee’s A Daughter of Australia. Neil played Spiky McDonald, ‘a roustabout—he causes great amusement’; Tuohy was the hero, Tom Stanton, ‘a young Australian squatter’.

Cover of program for Mother Goose, Palace Theatre, Melbourne, 1923

Theatre Heritage Australia

Page from the program for Mother Goose, Palace Theatre, Melbourne, 1923

Theatre Heritage Australia

In 1922 Hugh J. Ward, the American-born managing director of J.C. Williamson’s, resigned and set up his own entrepreneurial organisation, Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty Ltd, in partnership with the Fullers.

Frank Neil switched to the Hugh J. Ward management to produce their 1923 Christmas pantomime Mother Goose at the Palace Theatre in Melbourne. The Palace, at the Parliament House end of Bourke Street, had opened in 1912 as Fullers’ National Amphitheatre, but had been renamed the Palace in 1916. The starry cast included Joe Brennan in the title role, Joe’s wife, Ida Newton, as Truehart, ‘a likeable boy’, Amy Rochelle as Sailor Jack, and the great musical comedy star Dorothy Brunton as Silverbell, Squire Hardflint’s beautiful daughter. Renowned ‘animal delineator’ William Hassan played Anastasia, the goose that lays the golden eggs. Minnie Hooper looked after the ballets and Harry Jacobs conducted the orchestra. Also for Ward, Neil stage-managed a season of plays presented by a company headed by the great British actor-playwright Seymour Hicks.

Canadian actress Muriel Starr, c.1920s

State Library Victoria, Melbourne

Dinks and Onkus (Jack Paterson and George Wallace), c.1925

Nancye Bridges collection

During this time Maurice Tuohy had leading roles in the dramas Rain and The Wheel opposite British actress Barbara Hoffe and in The Garden of Allah, East of Suez, Madame X and The Pelican with Muriel Starr, a Canadian-born London-based actress who proved immensely popular with Australian audiences.

In June 1924, Neil sailed with Ward in the Sonoma to look for new shows and stars in the United States, London and Paris. Ward was widely travelled, respected, and had valuable theatrical contacts in every major city. He was an astute judge of shows and stars, and a shrewd and skilful negotiator. Neil could not have had a better mentor.

Neil was back in Australia in time to produce Cinderellafor Hugh J. Ward at the Princess in Melbourne, where it opened on 20 December 1924. This was a transplant of a lavish production first staged at the London Hippodrome for Christmas 1922. Ward was reported to have imported 150 tons of scenery, wardrobe, costumes and props, including a fairy coach studded with 20,000 cubes of cut crystal and lit by 500 tiny electric light bulbs. He also brought out two members of the original London cast, Bert Escott (he played Baron Mumm) and Harry Angers (Buttons). The local players included Roma Phillips (Cinderella), Kitty Reidy (Prince Charming), Trixie Ireland (the Fairy Godmother), June Mills and Dinks Paterson (the Ugly Sisters), William Hassan (Cutie the Cat), Freddie Carpenter (Harlequin) and Hal Percy (the Clown). Carpenter went on to an international career as a dancer, choreographer and producer, especially of pantomimes, while Percy was a co-founder of the influential Melbourne Little Theatre. Dinks Paterson and Trixie Ireland were on a brief visit to their homeland. Back in 1919 tall, skinny Jack Paterson had teamed with short, stocky George Wallace to develop a knockabout comedy act. Calling themselves Dinks and Onkus—contemporary Australian slang for ‘good’ and ‘bad’. Their rough and tumble antics were enormously popular at Harry Clay’s Sydney suburban theatres. After Dinks and Onkus split in 1924, Paterson paired with his wife, Trixie Ireland, as Dinks and Trixie. They spent many years working in Britain, where they participated in an early experimental BBC television broadcast. They returned to Australia permanently in 1948 and retired from show business in 1957.

Musical comedy star Dorothy Brunton, 1920s. From cover of Stageland, no. 4, 1924.

State Library of New South Wales, Sydney

Cover of program for Little Jessie James, Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 1925

Theatre Heritage Australia

After Cinderella, Harry Angers and Bert Escott stayed on to co-star with Dorothy Brunton in Ward’s next production, the musical Little Jessie James, which opened at the Princess on 11 April 1925. Frank was co-producer with Harry Hall, who was mainly responsible for the show’s dance elements. Little Jessie James was not a musical ‘western’—it was mainly set in a smart New York apartment. Today it’s all but forgotten, but it was the biggest hit of Broadway’s 1923-1924 season. Much attention focussed on the music: the traditional pit band was replaced by an 11-piece ‘symphonic jazz orchestra’ led by local pianist James (‘Jimmy’) Elkins. His young percussionist, Jim Davidson would become prominent in Australian popular music and would head the Australian armed forces’ entertainment unit during the Second World War.

Neil stayed with Hugh J. Ward to work on two more now little-remembered musicals. He either produced, stage managed or had a role in The Honeymoon Girl and Tangerine, staged by Ward at the Grand Opera House in Sydney and the Princess in Melbourne.

Later in the year came a turning point in Frank Neil’s career. Encouraged by the experience he had gained working with Hugh J. Ward, he decided to venture into management, forming a partnership with Maurice Tuohy to produce a weekly-change repertoire of modern American melodramas.

Neil and Tuohy leased the Fullers’ Palace Theatre in Melbourne and there, on 29 August 1925, they launched Frank Neil’s Dramatic Company with an ‘American mystery play’ called The Revelations of a Wife. Strangely, it does not appear to have graced the Broadway stage. The plot involved ghosts, sliding panels, bizarrely disguised detectives, and a particularly dastardly villain. The reviews were kind, but somewhat tongue-in-cheek. This was followed on 5 September by the ‘rollicking comedy drama’ Queen of My Heart, whose plot took its characters from London to Japan and included a spectacular on-stage sea rescue.

Despite Neil’s claims, neither The Revelations of a Wife nor Queen of My Heart were in fact ‘modern American plays’. Although the author of Revelationswas uncredited, both plays were by Royce Carleton, an English actor and prolific melodrama playwright. They had toured the British provincial circuits in 1915, with Revelations under its original title, The Confessions of a Wife. Both plays had been registered for Australian copyright by the Fullers in 1921. The reason for the name change is not known. The author, Royce Carleton, had an interesting connection with Australia. His father, an actor also known as Royce Carleton, had visited Australia with the Janet Achurch company in 1890, and his daughter, Moira Carleton, enjoyed a long career on Australian stage and radio.

Sadly, both shows were financial flops. Neil later disclosed that The Revelations of a Wifehad lost £700 ($64,000 today), a figure more than doubled by Queen of My Heart. In two weeks they lost £2000 ($184,000). He said, ‘We were only prevented from losing more by the fact there was none left.’ He told a friend that he had only £20 ($1800) to spend on the next production. Charlie Vaude remembered: ‘He gave drama a good try-out, but he found it did not make box office receipts soar.’ Sir Ben Fuller agreed to defer rent payments ‘until the weather broke’. And break it did.

Cover of program for Are You a Mason?, Princess Theatre, Melbourne, 1925

Theatre Heritage Australia

Frank Neil in The Nervous Wreck, 1925

Author’s collection

In desperation Frank Neil’s Dramatic Company was hastily rebadged Frank Neil’s Comedy Company, reappearing on 12 September 1925 with the Brandon Thomas favourite, Charley’s Aunt. Tuohy played Jack Chesney and Neil was Lord Fancourt Babberley, a role he had first tackled in 1912. His appearance in drag all but stopped the show and the season had to be extended. After Charley’s Aunt came a seemingly endless succession of frenzied farces that speedily attracted a new and eager audience. Among them were The Private Secretary, Are You a Mason?, Getting Gertie’s Garter, The Nervous Wreck, What Happened to Jones—and many more. Their triumph was repeated at the Grand Opera House in Sydney, in Perth, and in two return seasons at the Palace in Melbourne in 1926.

In July 1926 Maurice Tuohy became ill while he, Lily Molloy and her mother were driving from Melbourne to Sydney, where they were to board a steamer to take them to Perth, the next stop on the company’s itinerary. Tuohy became ill, and what was initially thought to be a cold worsened rapidly. Lily drove them to the hospital at Orbost, where doctors diagnosed pneumonia. Touhy could not be saved. He died there on 17 July 1926, aged only 34. News of his passing was widely reported and a memorial service in Adelaide was attended by many members of the theatrical community, including Adelaide comedian Roy Rene. Tuohy was interred in the cemetery at Willaston, South Australia. Lily Molloy told a reporter that she was ‘devastated’, as she and Tuohy had become engaged in March 1924—which must have surprised everybody, especially Frank Neil. He posted a heartfelt tribute in several Adelaide newspapers:

‘In loving memory of my dear comrade and associate for many years, Maurice Tuohy, who passed to his last home on the 17 July 1926.

“I long for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still.”

— Inserted by his sorrowing friend, Frank Neil, Sydney, NSW.’

The poignant quote is from Tennyson’s poem Break, Break, Break.

Frank carried on alone. His company continued to draw happy crowds to the Palace through the Christmas season. He added the vintage farce Fun on the Bristol to his repertoire. Older theatregoers could still remember the diminutive American comedian John F. Sheridan as the feisty Widow O’Brien in the original Australian production. Frank Neil now made the drag role his own.

The years 1927, 1928 and the first half of 1929 were much the same, with Neil shunting his company between the Palace in Melbourne and the Grand Opera House in Sydney, a routine broken only by annual pantomimes in Sydney and seasons in Newcastle and at the Theatre Royal in Adelaide in the latter part of 1928.

In 1930 Neil reminisced: ‘With all modesty I would like to mention this: everyone I knew told me I was all kinds of a variegated fool for presuming to run a show of my own in Melbourne or Sydney, and to play “cheap farce”, as they were good enough to describe it, was plain suicide. Yet here is the cold truth. In our four-and-a-half years, playing only in Sydney and Melbourne, with the exception of one season of thirteen weeks in Perth and another of eight weeks in Adelaide, I cleared £47,000 ($4,374,000) net profit.’

In November 1927, buoyed by his healthy bank balance, Neil announced that he had purchased a prime block of real estate in Sydney’s Central Railway Square. The island site had been passed in at £42,000 ($3,820,000) at a recent uction, but Neil was thought to have outlaid £50,000 ($4,549,000) on its purchase. He engaged the architects of Sydney’s palatial Prince Edward Theatre, Robertson and Marks, to design his 1800-seat theatre. It was to be ‘the last word in comfort. Special steam heating apparatus will be installed for the winter months, whilst in the summer season the latest ventilation system will make it the coolest theatre in Sydney. It will also have a sliding roof. As well as the theatre proper there will be five stories of office buildings in the front, and over the tram loop at the back several stories of workrooms will be built.’ Later plans included ‘a hotel on the American plan, containing at least 300 bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.’

Early in 1928 Neil sent his general manager, Eddie McDonald, on an overseas trip ‘in search of world-class attractions for Frank Neil’s Comedians and some of the latest musical comedy successes’, and to ‘secure special furnishings and effects that are unprocurable in Australia for the new theatre that Mr. Neil is building. The venture will represent a huge outlay, but it is Mr. Neil’s intention to stick to his policy of cheap prices.’ Although Neil’s Liberty Theatre was never built, the name was adopted by David N. Martin for the stylish art deco cinema he erected in Pitt Street in 1934.

Frank Neil was riding the crest of a wave. He had hit on a uniquely successful formula: a small, hard-working and devoted company, and a perennially popular repertoire of tried-and-true farces whose initial production costs had been well and truly covered. If he tired of the treadmill, he didn’t show it. It was money for jam.

To be continued