MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS

They’re pulling down the old Church Hall I knew so well. 100’s were built in the 1890’s in industrial Yorkshire, with a door at each end and a back yard where the bins were always full. Inside, at one end, was a stage while, stacked at the other, were long, wooden six-seater benches. Scenery flats from the last production of the Drama Group stood idly on the stage. Once they had represented Mandelay (Rebecca), Brooklyn (Arsenic and Old Lace) or Lister Castle (Chiltern Hundreds). Soon they would be repainted as the station waiting room for The Ghost Train.

From 17 to 25 years of age, St John’s Parish Hall held the heartbeat of my life. Every winter we presented four plays. We rehearsed intensively for six weeks. On the seventh week we packed the hall to the window ledges. Fire regulations were unheard of but the Lord was good to us.

The old place is thick with memories. That night the Ghost Train roared through the station with such force that it shook down two flats of scenery onto the actors. Or when Mrs de Winter slipped down the Grand Staircase at Mandelay. In fact, she tripped over it! On our small stage three steps made a grand staircase. We deliberately took little footsteps to make the stage appear larger.

Chiefly I remember St John’s Hall because there I found my vocation. You couldn’t be a member of the Church Players unless you attended Church once a week. That old troupe of actors taught me vital lessons for my later life in the Church. How to work in a team, how to be heard and understood the first time, how to keep your head when all about were losing theirs. I even tasted the life of a parson when I was cast as the vicar in See How They Run by Philip King. I feel that every budding minister should serve a spell on the amateur stage.

A firm making wooden soles for clogs has now taken over the Hall. I hope they don’t kick too many of my memories into the bins in the backyard.