The magnolias, mimosas and daffies are in flower and plans are afoot for the ETC’s next
production. This grumpy old Crofter hasn’t even recovered yet from The 39 Steps and he
only had a very small role to play. Chapeau to the four main actors. Impressive
performances by them all.
But let’s reminisce for a moment.
The props and set for that production were seemingly endless meaning that backstage
was an almost organised, almost silent, dimly lit chaos, full of backstage crew and
incredibly cramped. After my first appearance on-stage where I eventually stomped off
saying “Ah’ll see tae ma coos” (Translated into English as “I will attend to the well-being
and nutritional requirements of my prizewinning herd of pedigree Highland cattle”) I located
my two square feet of changing space and attempted a swift change into my next set of
clothes. Result – I fell over my half kicked-off wellie boots whilst trying to remove my oilskin
trousers. After silently extricating my lower half I then managed to tangle my microphone
wires around my neck while attempting to remove my jacket.
“@#Frfksekbldyelgeezsfknwpt#@” is an approximation of my whispered expletives to
myself.
Then back on stage to hide behind the door on wheels until my next appearance. I then
had some plastic herring tossed in my lap before I said my grace to “The most unforgiving
Father.” For me, of very few grey cells, the grace was difficult to learn. It only took me nine
months to achieve what was, in my ears, perfection! But our Director’s opinion is best not
mentioned. The result though, months later, is that my remaining two grey cells haven’t
switched off yet and I’m still automatically rehearsing it when I awake in the wee small
hours.
But, off-stage again, a quick grimace through a picture frame that was supposed to be a
window and, if the previous attempt to get changed was a failure, the next had to be
perfect. Whip all my clothes off and dive into a nightdress. Whew – just 2 milliseconds to
spare before dashing back on-stage for the last time to give a piece of my mind to Hannay
and Margaret who were casually “makin’ love behind ma back.”
You might think that now I could sit back and relax, my role as Crofter having been
completed. But no! No way! This is the ETC. We’re a team and we all have to do every last
thing under the sun. So, another quick change into blackout clothes but with a CU Jimmy
hat on (ye ken, yon tartan bunnets wi’ a wee fringe of red hair aroon the lugs). Wheel this
couch on, heave that table off, drag the various dead bodies off to the tip, the mortuary, the
crematorium, wherever. Then, at last, a change back into the Crofter outfit for the curtain
call. Knackered, but a great sense of achievement when all those months of rehearsals all
seamlessly came together in Lectoure.
production. This grumpy old Crofter hasn’t even recovered yet from The 39 Steps and he
only had a very small role to play. Chapeau to the four main actors. Impressive
performances by them all.
But let’s reminisce for a moment.
The props and set for that production were seemingly endless meaning that backstage
was an almost organised, almost silent, dimly lit chaos, full of backstage crew and
incredibly cramped. After my first appearance on-stage where I eventually stomped off
saying “Ah’ll see tae ma coos” (Translated into English as “I will attend to the well-being
and nutritional requirements of my prizewinning herd of pedigree Highland cattle”) I located
my two square feet of changing space and attempted a swift change into my next set of
clothes. Result – I fell over my half kicked-off wellie boots whilst trying to remove my oilskin
trousers. After silently extricating my lower half I then managed to tangle my microphone
wires around my neck while attempting to remove my jacket.
“@#Frfksekbldyelgeezsfknwpt#@” is an approximation of my whispered expletives to
myself.
Then back on stage to hide behind the door on wheels until my next appearance. I then
had some plastic herring tossed in my lap before I said my grace to “The most unforgiving
Father.” For me, of very few grey cells, the grace was difficult to learn. It only took me nine
months to achieve what was, in my ears, perfection! But our Director’s opinion is best not
mentioned. The result though, months later, is that my remaining two grey cells haven’t
switched off yet and I’m still automatically rehearsing it when I awake in the wee small
hours.
But, off-stage again, a quick grimace through a picture frame that was supposed to be a
window and, if the previous attempt to get changed was a failure, the next had to be
perfect. Whip all my clothes off and dive into a nightdress. Whew – just 2 milliseconds to
spare before dashing back on-stage for the last time to give a piece of my mind to Hannay
and Margaret who were casually “makin’ love behind ma back.”
You might think that now I could sit back and relax, my role as Crofter having been
completed. But no! No way! This is the ETC. We’re a team and we all have to do every last
thing under the sun. So, another quick change into blackout clothes but with a CU Jimmy
hat on (ye ken, yon tartan bunnets wi’ a wee fringe of red hair aroon the lugs). Wheel this
couch on, heave that table off, drag the various dead bodies off to the tip, the mortuary, the
crematorium, wherever. Then, at last, a change back into the Crofter outfit for the curtain
call. Knackered, but a great sense of achievement when all those months of rehearsals all
seamlessly came together in Lectoure.
Ma coos are in calf, ma sheep are lammin’, ma porridge is simmerin’ and Summer’s on its
way.
Right then, what’s next?
Chris Sutton