Harry Hall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

National Library of Australia, Canberra

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

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

National Library of Australia, Canberra

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

National Library of Australia, Canberra

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

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

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

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

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

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Trans-Australian Railway

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tons of Money"

Dorothy Brunton’s Return

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

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

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

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

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

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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