From the grandiose Harrogate stage to the dolls house proportions of Chipping Norton Theatre, this week was mostly about shrinking our epic Australia into much more bite-sized slice colonial life. Chipping Norton Theatre has a fascinating history, originally beginning life as an 1888 Salvation Army Citadel. The building was rediscovered by a couple of RSC actors in 1968 who began the long process of planning and fund-raising to make their theatrical vision become a reality. In 1975 the the grand opening of the theatre took place with "Timelord" Tom Baker, snipping the tape.
On approaching the theatre from the box office/stage door entrance you could almost be mistaken for arriving at someones house. Once inside, it's clear that the backstage area, little green room, kitchen, small garden, two dressing rooms and tiny offices fit snugly into a building where the staff very much feel 'at home'. Squeezing our set onto the tiny stage was the biggest challenge yet, and the stage-right platform had to be removed entirely in order to get the rest of it in! No surprise then that the re-working of certain scenes was in order, and where in previous weeks we had been able to bound across the stage with freedom, our performances would now need to be distilled to something of much more naturalistic proportions. Performing that night, we certainly all felt the challenge and I was aware that everything we did seemed to be magnified. Rach described it best, almost like performing on a giant TV screen, and suddenly it was all about rediscovering the truth of each moment again as anything too physically big automatically felt false.
The 213 seat auditorium is laid out with the small stalls section quite a way below the lip of the stage, and the upper balcony on 3 sides thrusts back surprisingly deep making those sat there feel pretty far away. Imagine performing on the top of a double-decker bus and you get the idea. That first night left me deflated. I was uncomfortable in the space (it was particularly cramped in scenes where all 10 of us were on) but more than that I didn't feel like we'd make enough of a connection with the audience. Trying to get to grips with re-blocking as well as a few lighting issues had meant we'd stopped really listening to each other on stage. It was only going to be a short stint at this theatre, just 3 nights, so I was feeling the need to overcome these obstacles as swiftly as possible. This play has some lovely intimate moments and I knew that really we should be able to make it work anywhere.
Some Cotswold therapy.
After a very good night's sleep I was woken up by bright sunshine and the smell of breakfast wafting up the stairs. I was staying at a gorgeous B&B run by friends of mine in Cheltenham, and spending a morning catching up with copious tea and cuddles with their Westie dogs set me up for a much better day ahead. The show that night was definitely smoother and although I was still not feeling quite as comfortable as I'd have liked, the shouts and cheers of "bravo" and "well done" couldn't help but put smiles on our faces when we left the stage.
Chipping Norton itself is a beautiful old market town in the Cotswolds and after the fog of the previous day had cleared, it was lovely to drive around and explore the area and it's nearby villages. Upon recommendation from Emma and Jen, I decided to follow their suit for my final night and stay in a lovely B&B they'd discovered in the pretty nearby town of Whitney. The final blast of country air and breath-taking countryside was the just the rejuvenation I needed before the late night commute back home to London. |
| The ladies hang out between shows. |
Something About Mary.
At this point in the tour it's important to keep the creative juices flowing. For a bit of inspiration I've been reading poetry written around the time of the first settlement in New South Wales, as well as later reflections on colonial Australia. I want to leave you this week with something from another Mary: Dame Mary Gilmore. A fascinating women, a prominent Australian socialist poet, radical writer, political activist, and journalist who grew up in New South Wales some 70 years after the first colonial settlers, here's a poem of hers I came across entitled Old Botany Bay.
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| Mary Gilmore photographed in 1899 |
I'm old
Botany Bay;
stiff in the joints,
little to say.
I am he
who paved the way,
that you might walk
at your ease to-day;
I was the conscript
sent to hell
to make in the desert
the living well;
I bore the heat,
I blazed the track-
furrowed and bloody
upon my back.
I split the rock;
I felled the tree:
The nation was-
Because of me!
Old Botany Bay
Taking the sun
from day to day...
shame on the mouth
that would deny
the knotted hands
that set us high!
Botany Bay;
stiff in the joints,
little to say.
I am he
who paved the way,
that you might walk
at your ease to-day;
I was the conscript
sent to hell
to make in the desert
the living well;
I bore the heat,
I blazed the track-
furrowed and bloody
upon my back.
I split the rock;
I felled the tree:
The nation was-
Because of me!
Old Botany Bay
Taking the sun
from day to day...
shame on the mouth
that would deny
the knotted hands
that set us high!
 |
| A modern day view of Sydney across Botany Bay. |
Next week we're off to beautiful Buxton and the Welsh mountains of Clwyd. Stay tuned for my next Sneak Peak of the week too, coming soon!
Emily x
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