More Tales from a Corsham Boyhood

I have written previously about days spent at Cheviot House School, better recalled as 'Miss Bailey's', and the joys of those early formative school days spent under the tutelage of Miss Bailey herself. My memories of the schoolroom with its great big windows which overlooked the garden and across towards the Neston Glove Factory workshops, are amongst the most vivid memories from that time. If I close my eyes for a moment and think back it's not long before I can conjure up the smell of the parquet flooring in the schoolroom, grey with the wet footwear of countless children, and often still somewhat damp from yet another rainy day. I can still hear the scratch of chalk as some gritty piece was resisted by the blackboard. Then there was the blackboard itself, what seemed to be a gigantic affair to us littlies, which swivelled up and over to present a second side when the first had been filled with numerals or examples of joined-up writing for us to copy. I recall carefully trying to perfect the 'hooks' that we had to copy that were, it seemed, the secret of good joined-up writing.

Part of our education was taught under the heading of 'Dance', and we learned to move and dance in preparation for a concert which would be held at the Town Hall. I recall little of these concerts, or come to that, of the lessons themselves, other than the one occasion when I, resplendant in a sailor suit, actually fell asleep on the stage in a standing position!

Perhaps it was these early appearances that infected me with a love of the stage and performing, something which remained wih me for many years. Certainly, the ability to stand up in public and perform without feeling --- or at least, without appearing to feel --- nervous, stood me in good stead when I started to preach many years ago. I remember taking part in my first play which was put on by the Sunday School class which met on a Sunday afternoon at the Youth Club in Pickwick Road. It was called 'A Man of Sorrows' as far as I recall, and was a play which enacted out the Passion tide story, written by Dorothy L Sayers. I still recall my opening lines as one of the soldiers gambling with dice at the foot of the cross, hoping to win Jesus' robe: Five and four, Elias; beat that if you can. It's strange how something like that can stay with you for ever, isn't it?

Ken Davis, who ran the Clarke's Shoe Shop in the High Street, helped to stoke the fires of aspiring thespianism too by introducing me to the basics of stage make-up. Once again the memory of that first introduction has remained with me. Leichner numbers 3 & 5, the dark pink and the ivory, being blended to form a base, and then finished off with blending powder, Leichner again, of course. The fact that Leichner was a 'Professional' Make-Up was a wonderful thing to an 11 or 12 year-old boy. Ken Davis used to be the Make-Up artist for the local drama group, and so perhaps he was scouting for future players!

Once I hit 18 I joined the 'Over-18's Club' which was based at the Community Centre, one of the star attractions being that they performed a pantomime every year. I remember Ken Oatley, a tall, good-looking sportsman, who used to dress up as the panto dame on occasion. He made, as I recall, a marvelous 'Dame'. Perhaps the main memory of those distant days comes from taking part in 'Aladdin', although I have little recall of the performances or what part I played. I suspect that I was just in the chorus, and remember learning the song 'China Town' for the performance.

The other venture into the world of the theatre as far as I and Corsham were concerned was when, at the age of 16, I produced a variety show myself at the Community Centre. I remember constantly rushing from the back of the stage to the foyer to check the numbers of people arriving, spurred on no doubt by the fear of losing money on the production! As the compere, my outfit for the night was a dark suit with silver sequins stitched down the lapels to add a little sparkle, and finished off with a pale blue brocade waistcoat which I had made for myself, and a bow tie. Dressed up I really thought I looked the 'bees-knees'! Unfortunately, all the to-ing and fro-ing between the back of the stage and the foyer was to prove my undoing. It was a rainy night and the steps at the back of the stage were slippery. Returning from what turned out to be the final sortie, I slipped, baning my head on a brick wall and almost knocking myself out. Curtain-up was only a few minutes away! In the final event of things I was held up from behind by one of the cast and the audience thought that my dazed introduction of the first act was either a show of nerves or part of my act. Whichever it was I managed to get away with it! For me, the highlight of the evening was my friend Dick Ball, a brilliant comedian who used to have a routine based on a Wiltshire Yokel. He sauntered onto the stage and started to tell jokes, the audience soon being in stitches. For one part of his act he was to sing a song about a farmer's lad. I remember it went along the lines of :

"Sowings pretty good,

reaping ain't so bad,

but scaring all the crows

suits a farmer's lad;

but if you akses me,

the thing wot suits a feller

is a little bit of straw to suck

to keep his fancies meller;

that's why I'm leanin' on the gate

beside the fence,

beside the place

where my old dog do lie."

Partway through the song he lifted his leg in order to place his foot on a piece of fencing, leaning forward over his knee as he did so. The audience burst out laughing loud enough to bring the house down. Now I knew how funny Dick could be, but I had no idea what had caused this outburst of laughter from the audience. From the wings I soon found out! Dick's fly buttons were undone, and when he lifted his leg up it showed his underpants. No, it was most definitely NOT part of his act, but it certainly created one of the biggest laughs! He was so funny, and I'm sure that had he decided to make comedy his career, he would have done well. Even now, recalling many times where we shared humour together, he can still make me smile, although sadly Dick died whilst still comparatively young from, I believe, heart failure.

Thinking about Dick Ball reminds me of some more humorous happenings which took place at his family home in Priory Street. I had a reel-to-reel Grundig Tape Recorder, and we used to record some ad-libbed radio interviews which would have the listener in stitches. Not that they ever got on to the radio mind you, but we played them to anyone who would listen to them. I remember one in particular in which the interviewer (me) was visiting a factory that made toothbrushes and interviewing members of the staff, mostly female (Dick). We spoke about the skill of putting the holes in the handles so that the bristles fitted exactly, and much more, all in such a hilarious way that we could barely contain ourselves from spoiling the recording by laughing. Think 'The Goon Show' and you have a good idea of the way it all sounded.

How grateful I am for the blessing of memories such as these, memories which still raise a smile both to my face and to the inner man, all these years later.