John Kirby

                                                                                                                                                                                        The auditorium of the Grand Opera House, Sydney in 1924

“The Photographic Call”

Explained by Charles Heslop

Which would you rather do? Go to the dentist or be photographed? Yes, I know. But, believe me, it is only because the disadvantages of the one are more obvious than the other. For instance. look at all these photographs of “Tons of Money.” Beautiful, are they not? Everybody smiling and happy; I daresay we were, too. The photographer was a very charming man and—what is more—a remarkable quick worker. All the same, these photographs took us nearly all day. All day in the theatre, changing your clothes, looking happy and being photographed. Starting at ten something, finishing at three something else. That’s carrying the thing to extremes, don’t you think?

Three pretty chorus girls in “Tons of Money” “snapped” in a box at the Grand Opera House whilst watching a photographic call conducted by Monte Luke.

We started off with Act II. Which meant that no sooner had I reached the Opera House after a gulped egg and a scrambled shave than I had to mess up my chin—again—with nasty sticky stuff to retain the beard and moustachios of Mexico. Smarting, then, under a sense of injustice and “White hard varnish” and encumbered with much accoutrement I dashed upon the stage and was straight away blinded by Dazzle and Glare. (This is not a firm of Real Estate mongers, they were two arc-lighthouses—Dazzle to my left, Glare to my right). Slowly regaining consciousness, I was made aware of many Mexican maidens posed alluringly beside me and a voice crying in the wilderness, “Don’t move!”... the situation of poor old Tantalus was nothing to it!... and again from the photographer: “The head a little higher, please! Quite still!” Behold me then trying to raise my head and keep quite still at one and the same time, which is a difficult process in itself and not made any less so by John Kirby pointing out quite kindly that my spurs were on back to front and inflicting grievous wounds on aforesaid maidens' ankles: the while Minnie Hooper suggested that I should raise my elbow (no, no, Minnie! not in that sense, I know) or lower my hat to give my bolero fair play. Then followed a moment of supreme tension during which some adventurous insect flew into my mouth (which I’d incautiously left on the jar) and emerged chuckling from my nose.... The photographer says, “Thank you, very good” and everything is relaxed and fluid again! Still, I know I’ve got on just the expression that I hate (because it reminds me of my Uncle Jeremiah) and I feel depressed and gloomy in consequence for weeks and weeks. In fact, until I be-thought myself that I could send this photograph of myself (taken bearded, bronzed, 'shapped’ and spurred in the beautiful Act II scenery) back to England, Home and Mother, for them to say, “Ah, how Australian he has become and look at the pretty shack that he has built himself in the bush!” They are all like that at home, you know; though doubtless the absence of the expected kangaroos, aboriginals and boomerangs will disappoint them sorely.

Charles Heslop "makes up"

Dorothy Brunton stops powdering her nose to allow a photographer to secure a dressing room snap.

Well, that was just the start of the thing. The girls were sent scuttling off for the umpteenth time to change their frocks and so, eventually, was I. Then more photographs—as the parson, with one's eyebrows painted out; and more photographs—with one’s eye-glass rooted in; and then [Publicity Manager] Lew Parks with endless suggestions for comic effects—all duly carried out—a snapshot in the dressing room (carefully camouflaging the more incriminating details), another outside the stage-door as a sort of larrikin-curate, the prey and butt of all the passers-by—so wore the morning pleasantly away. And hunger called—and called in vain—the while one posed and smirked and smiled and smiled—one’s inside just a gnawing pain.

But it’s all in a good cause. Look at these. Aren't they worth it? If it were not such an aged jest, I’d say the answer was in the negative.

Charles Heslop

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

My Dresser

By Charles Heslop

I know that many sceptics and scoffers object to actors having “dressers” at all. Surely, they argue, considering that you have dressed yourself 3,000,000 times (these are round figures) in the ordinary course of your life (and consequently undressed yourself 2,999,999 times (not so round), with a certain precision if with no great artistic effect, you should be able to do the job alone and unaided in the theatre? It would appear so; but then they are using the word “dresser” in its strictest sense, For please note that the smallest part of the “dresser’s" job is “dressing.” There are numberless other duties—first and foremost, perhaps, the duty of cheering up, enlivening and otherwise putting a bit of heart into the "dressee.” That alone is almost worth the heavy outlay. That, and the fact that he’s somebody on the spot to be sworn at when things gang agley, as they do even in the best regulated productions.

Charles Heslop as Aubrey Allington in Tons of Money

(photo by Monte Luke)

Personally, I have discovered in Sydney the dresser of my dreams. A man of tact, experience and humour first of all. I hadn’t had him a day before my dressing-room began to look like a chemist’s showcase. Tablets of soap were displayed in half-open boxes propped against the boot-cleaning apparatus, d’oyleys encumbered the dressing-table as far as the eye could reach, gaily-hued bottles encompassed all, towels appeared by magic, “empties” disappeared by the same means: shoe-horns, button-hooks, cork-screws and patent “openers” were marshalled with a military precision two paces to the rear of the silver salver whereon were ranged my grease-paints with meticulous care in graduated tints; it was indeed a beautiful sight—and my heart was heavy at the thought of how swiftly, swiftly one of my "quick changes” would reduce it all to utter chaos. For “quick changes” I rather specialise in in “Tons of Money” as you who have seen it may have noted. But the “dresser” doesn’t mind. Not he! He is a man of method and care. What if I fly out, leaving one shoe on the floor and another on the hat-peg—not only once but repeatedly, and per-adventure vice versa and patiently they are restored to their allotted parking-areas, until the next frenzied rush leaves them high and dry in other unorthodox spots. I dash in to find him retrieving shoe-horns from the washing-basin, separating brilliantine from the spirit-gum with imperturbable good-humour, and ready the next second for a last-minute dash round the back-cloth fastening my rudder as he goes! Method and care—foreign as they unfortunately are to me, they are qualities that I appreciate enormously in others. My dresser has them to the nth degree. I have seen him flick off the electric switch twice to make sure it was really off the first time—he will arrange my shirts as they come from the laundry in strict rotation, the last laundered at the bottom of the pile to avoid over-use, and when I call for one quickly will forget his admirable idea and dig one out from the bottom and so defeat his own admirable ends. There is nothing like method and care.

And he will talk. Talk most interestingly. He has dressed the stars, from the sublime to the ridiculous. From Macready (I think he mentioned Macready) to Me. And not a bad word has he got for one of them. They are all great artists, great gentlemen—even if his stories of their characteristics might unwittingly lead one to suppose otherwise. He has not only dressed them up, he has on occasions dressed them down!

George Rignold as Henry V

photo by Sarony

George Lauri as Tweedlepunch in Florodora (1900)

“Knock it off, Mister ’Unneybee”, I say to him (naming a Comic of the Comics) “if you have a drop more, so help me, you’ll have the audience laughing at you, sir, and that would be something new for you, that would!” My own efforts he criticises very frankly: “I tell you, they couldn’t hear you, sir; not that line, they couldn’t; so how can you expect ’em to laugh at it? You must give it to ’em....” and he will drift off into engrossing memories of the great ones of the past—George Rignold as Henry V, George Lauri as Tweedlepunch. Nor are his theatrical reminiscences limited to Australia—he knows London, he knows New York. One I gather was too cold for him, the other too hot. But he returned very, very English—even to the morning coat and spats—and he chuckles with delight as he recounts the impression these made on his awe-stricken “cobbers.” In his own words, when they saw him so “miraculously dressed,” they stepped on one side and held a “consolation over him!”

His name? Oh, well—as there is only one of him, his name is obviously not legion. But it’s somewhere near it.

Charles Heslop

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

The “Aubrey” and the “Chesterman”

 Otherwise Charles Heslop and Jack Kirby of “Tons of Money.”

“The Aubrey” and “The Chesterman,”
     Alluringly arrayed,
Beheld a “Try-your-weight” machine,
     Invitingly displayed—
“Now this is where,” laid Chesterman
     "I do a Roaring Trade!”

He climbed upon the platform, with
     A Conquering Hero grin,
Whilst Aubrey tossed upon the ground
     To see the fun begin—
And lost the toss, so came across
     And put ye penny in!

Ha, ha! Ha, ha (etcetera)
     The pointer raced around,
And, baffled, stopped at 20 stone
     Then with a grating sound
The slot exuded fifteen pence!
     That’s—work it out—per pound.

“By gad, my lad!” cried Chesterman
     "Just see what I have done!
"Here's fifteen pence that I’ve got back
     "For my invested ONE!
"If this goes on, too right, good-oh,
     "It’s Money by the Ton!”

The “Aubrey” and "The Chesterman”
     Continued all serene
—But One and Threepence richer now—
     Until, against the green,
Their eagle eyes discerned afar
     Another Weight Machine!

“Now curb ’ee, Mister Chesterman!"
     Cried Aubrey in his turn:
“I'll take my stand upon this same,
     “It’s secrets for to learn—
“And if the dashed machines last out
     "I’ll money have to burn!”

So Aub. jumped on; and then they watched—
     First A., then C, then both!
Alas! the finger never moved—
     It's middle name was Sloth!
They shoved a second penny in—
     Result? My (bally) Oath!!

A third and then a fourth ensued;
     In all, quite fourteen pence
The Weight Machine had thus engorged
     'Ere Aubrey murmured “Hence!
“This rotten thing is thing-me-jig!”
     (Which shows his common sense!)

“Just one more try,” cried Chesterman,
     "Now we have gone so far!”
“Once more into the slot!” cried Aub.
     For All We Have, And Are!”
“I thought as much,” said Chesterman,
     "You're sitting on the Bar!”

“No wonder that the index-pin
     Has shifted not a tittle!”
So Aub. jumped down and then it dashed
     To eighteen and a bit-tle!
The poor Machine had stood a lot
     And so it lied a little!

[And what this may be all about
     I do not rightly know;
I think it proves—the moral is—oh, well,
     just let it go!]

—Charles Heslop.

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

Postscript

A Soubrette from the Gaiety

Maidie Field’s Career

Maidie Field, who in private life is the wife of Chas. Heslop, the brilliant comedian in “Tons of Money,” away from the stage is delightful to chat with. In the bright musical show she plays pleasingly the part of the “Maid,” she really started her theatrical career against her mother’s wishes. Mrs. Field was for 22 years wardrobe mistress at the Gaiety. Mr. Field died when Maidie—who is one of a family of six girls and one boy—was a very wee mite. She has the proud distinction of claiming the Savoy Theatre (the home of the famous Gilbert and Sullivan Operas) as her birthplace.

“One morning I wandered into a voice trial which J.A.E. Malone was then conducting for Mr. Edwardes, that was at Daly’s. I was immediately engaged and drafted into the company then being formed to tour “The Country Girl.” Not long afterwards I was promoted to the rank of understudy to the soubrette Violet Lloyd, and later in the same capacity with Mabel Russell, who made such a hit in “Within the Law” and later with Gerald Du Maurier in “London Pride.” Mabel was one of the sweetest women I have ever met, and her success made her, instead of—as is frequently the case—spoiling her. She married subsequently, and is now known as Mrs. Hilton Phillips. She is the second woman in England to attain the honor of being a member of Parliament.

Mabel Russell in Jack and Jill

Marie Studholme as San Toy

“My next tour was with the company head by Marie Studholme—truly a beautiful creature to behold. I was with her during her great farewell tour. We did the “Girl on the Stage” and “San Toy.” I have also appeared in many pantomimes with George Robey and Malcolm Scott. Generally playing speciality roles. Both my husband and myself were in the “League of Notions,” the big London revue which cost £20,000 to stage at the New Oxford Theatre. We were playing in that when we left for Australia. I love this country—it is beautiful.

With George Edwardes’ company I played “Dora” in “The Toreador” at the Gaiety when Gertie Millar was the leading lady. This was an auspicious occasion for me, as during that season I first met my husband who was then playing “Trial” in the same production. By this time I had played in most of the Gaiety and Daly successes, both in London and the Provinces. After the “Toreador” season I joined my husband in sketch work. He has hundreds of them and all of his own manufacture. He is really a most versatile writer of verse, short stories and I don't know what not. At one time he used to write the doings of “Uncle Boffin and Tootsie” (famous with “Ally Sloper’s”). He also contributed stories and articles to the “London Opinion,” and other magazines. We played one of his sketches in the recent Melbourne pantomime. We also did a dancing duet in which branch of the stage art we have both had rather wide experience. We are both passionately fond of stage dancing.

Gertie Millar in The Toreador

Ally Sloper's Half Holliday (November 1922)

On Theatre Life.

“A young giri thinking of adopting the stage as a career must be very strong-minded and of course, possess ability as well as that magnetic charm—personality—which is a priceless attribute. Without this it is practically impossible for an artist to succeed, certainly they can never reach the high spots. She must ever remember that the life of an actress, no matter in what style of work she may be engaged, is never easy, on the contrary it is always hard. She will be confronted with many channels which at the outset appear in the guise of gorgeous pictures, but frequently lead to discontent and unhappiness. It is here that her level-headedness is of advantage. She must at the first sign of any of these big problems be able to decide the correct thing to do and possess sufficient will-power to act in accordance with the dictates of her inner conscience. Success on the stage is indeed great to enjoy, but under no circumstances is it ever attained without years and years of drudgery or hard work. If the novice feels that she still possesses enough interest to keep at it after facing the above, I would then say, ‘Very well, go right ahead.’

“Hobbies? Yes, cooking and domestic duties. I am particularly attached to my home, no matter where it may be. We have only one child—Peter. He’s nine now, and is at school at Toorak. We do not wish him to take to the stage in later years, but at present he shows every promise of revealing the actor’s talent and gives an excellent imitation of his father in many of his sketches."

Matrimony and the Theatre.

“When I hear of so many stage couples striking domestic trouble it makes me very sad. Since we have been married my husband and I have never had a harsh word—touch wood. Oh, well, it may happen you know (she laughingly added). When we married, I made up my mind that one of us had to sacrifice a portion of our ambition. I was never jealous of my husband’s abilities and from the first made a point of never interfering in his business affairs. Selfishness seems to me to be at the root of most matrimonial failures, despite the fact that in the theatre world there are countless numbers living happily who have been married many years. If two people become attached to each other and decide to link their lives together, provided the proper sympathy and understanding is there, and they are able to subdue any sign of selfishness, I fail to see any reason why actors and actresses should not marry.

“In conclusion, I am glad to say in my own experience my life, both on and off the stage, has been one of infinite happiness, no doubt there are many others who can put forward a similar claim, but were it possible to trace the reason of such success the above-mentioned ideas, I think, would be found as forming the basis of a successful matrimonial venture.

“I hope your readers will not think I have been lecturing them, but as you put the question, I was forced to answer—and there you are.

I was indeed full of regret when Mrs. Heslop had to leave me to again add a little touch to the merry comedy going on below, for it was in her dressing room on the first floor of the Grand Opera House that the above chat took place. I look forward to renewing the conversation in the near future with delight.

Stageland (Sydney), Number 4, April 1924, pp.11—12

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

P.P.S. Maidie Field retired from the stage in 1932 to devote herself to domestic life and the Heslops remained happily married for fifty-eight years, with Maidie pre-deceasing her husband on 23 March 1966 at the age of 81, and Charles rejoining her three weeks later on 13 April at age 82.

 * * * * * * * * * * * *

MR. CHARLES HESLOP FREELY CONFESSES

With the Aid of His Wife—Acknowledges Hobbies and Talks Instructingly—People Who Smile

“Hobbies,” said Mr. Charles Heslop, “Why, golf, and . . . or . . . swimming, of course; but I think I’ll concentrate on golf while in Sydney.”

“He’s become greatly interested in golf,” said Mrs. Charles Heslop, “since he heard there are sharks about here.”

Mr. Heslop, principal comedian of “Tons of Money”, insisted on being interviewed with a bit of assistance from Mrs. C.H.; somehow having got the notion that the process would be a painful one, the victim had called loudly for the moral support of his pretty, fair-haired wife, who had consented to act as a sort of umpire between the interviewer and the interviewed.

The Umpire sat between the combatants in the darkened auditorium of the Grand Opera House during a rehearsal of “Tons of Money.”

“Now,” said the attacker, with pencil poised, “Birth place—London.”

“Even so,” replied the victim, drawing a long breath, “and, like all the most famous actors ran away from school to go on the stage whilst a mere youth. Call of the drama, and all that sort of thing. Got my first job in a musical show called ‘Kitty Grey.’ Then a few years of touring with my own vaudeville show, which I finally took to London. Then came ‘The League of Notions,’ produced by C.B. Cochran, in which I had the leading role, and incidentally the privilege of being funny in my own way, that is, of introducing all my own ‘business’ into the show. I’ve written a bit, too, mostly sketches for the halls. It is my intention later to tour America with one entitled …”

ACTOR WITHOUT REGRETS.

“Swimming?”, asked the Umpire.

“No; golf,” replied the victim. “Then, when ‘The League of Notions’ had finished its 18 months run at the New Oxford Theatre, Mr. Hugh J. Ward signed me up to come out here for ‘Tons of Money,’ and here I am; an emigrated actor with no regrets...”

“Regrets, indeed. He just loves it here,” said the Umpire. “So do I; the people smile at you as they pass.”

“And one gets such a lovely view from the top of Hampton Court,” said the victim, getting away from his subject.

“And we’d just love to buy a cottage at Rose Bay,” sighed the Umpire, forgetting to be judicial, “only...”

“We’ve got to hie away to America at the end of my 12 months’ contract,” mourned the victim.

“So,” said the Umpire Reformed, “that only gives us a year to look at your beautiful harbour, and watch the people who go by and smile at one."

The victim was reflecting. “Go by and smile,” said he at length, “I hope, m’ dear, that, as to this one, they’ll pause and laugh.”

“Why, yes,” nodded the Umpire, “I hope they do.”

She was thinking of that cottage at Rose Bay.

Labor Daily (Sydney), Monday 25 February 1924, p.7

 * * * * * * * * * * * *

With thanks to Elisabeth Kumm for additional research