On Monday the 16th of December, 1912 The Bristol Hippodrome theatre opened its doors for the very first time with a show named: Sands o' Dee. Ever since then it has remained the Number One West Country Venue for nearly all the major touring theatre companies.
It survived the Blitz - but lost its backstage area to a devastating fire in 1948. The Front of House, however, remains pretty much the same as it was at the beginning of the 20th Century.
A huge proportion of the population (not just local) have come to the Hippodrome to be entertained, and I'm sure that I am not the only person to have precious memories of this wonderful building.
My grandmother (as a one year old child) went to see the Sands o' Dee show in 1912; I went to see my first ever Pantomime there when I was a child in the 1960s; in the late 1960s my father, Johnny Randall, started working backstage there and soon became one of its most beloved Stage Managers; in 1971, while still only 15 years old, I began working backstage. Many of my relatives (my Mother, sister and various uncles) and many of my friends have worked there, so you could say that I grew up in the place.
Thanks to my experience working on the stage at the Hippodrome (and also to the nationwide reputation of my father) I soon went on to work in many other theatres all around the world during my career which narrowly fell short of three decades.
Most of these other theatres were marvellous places, set in far-flung, exotic (and not-quite-so-exotic) locations, but none of them could come close to the Bristol Hippodrome - where I quickly learned to take pride in my work.
Ironically, it was while working backstage in the Hippodrome where I sustained my lower-back injury that would (after two-and-a-half years of agony) eventually ensue in the demise of my long career.
Despite the fact that I received only a small amount of compensation for the injury I still love the Hippodrome; I still have many friends there and, as I have friends from many different touring theatre companies, it is still a place where I can periodically catch up with them when their show comes to town.
I have really only begun to scratch the surface as regards my warm feelings about this dearly beloved theatre.
So you can imagine how much I am looking forward to seeing how the people in charge of the place decide to celebrate this truly momentous & important occasion.
My Dad taught me how to really enjoy my work during the times I was there with him and, since he sadly passed on in 2003 of cancer, I am sure that he is still in there somewhere; and I'm sure that he too would want this anniversary properly marked.
Tuesday 17 January 2012
Magic
By the time that he was four years old Michael Hunter was getting more & more familiar with the world. By the time that he was approaching his fifth birthday he was sure that he pretty much knew all there was to know. The world was no longer just a huge, vaguely indistinct thing that seemed to revolve around his parents.
There was the house; the shops; the playground; and there were other kids and their parents he would see from time to time.
There was also the television and, though he still wasn't quite sure how all the people & things actually managed to squeeze inside the screen, it really had begun to give him a few ideas about what he would do with his life when he'd grown up a bit more.
He saw a programme about people singing and, though he was quite pleased with the songs he made up for himself to sing while in the bath, his mother soon forbade him to sing them to her. So much for being a singer.
Then he watched a programme about cowboys & indians which he found profoundly interesting in a strange kind of way. When he told his father about his latest idea he was told that people didn't 'become' horses as a job. Michael sighed and, forcing himself to accept what his father had told him, he tried to re-cast his mental net.
A month later he was eating his dinner while a sports programme was being aired - zygote! He would be a javelin thrower.
This lasted for almost a week, when he became interested in comedy programmes. Although almost all of the humour was incomprehensible to him he liked the way that the person telling the jokes made everyone in the audience happy. His parents laughed too and, for a long time afterwards, he was certain that he would one day mature into a popular comedian. When this happened he was positive that he would be so popular that he would soon be allowed to stay up much later, have lots of sweets & chocolate to eat, and be given all the latest wonderful toys to play with as a reward for being so good.
This phase lasted right up to a few days before his fifth birthday. His parents had asked him if there was anything in particular that he would like as a birthday present. He wanted a comedian kit: a shiny suit, a microphone and a book of jokes.
His mother and father were nonplussed. Though his request was straightforward and unambiguous they were sure that if he unwrapped what he'd asked for on his birthday he would be terribly disappointed.
Then, two days before the big day, his parents had come back from shopping with only a joke book towards Michael's present. They were still uneasy about buying him the shiny suit & the microphone.
After dinner they were sat in the lounge watching the early evening television when a programme came on about the life of Tommy Cooper. Michael was entranced. Not only was this man funny in a way that he was able to understand and appreciate, but he also did magic tricks as well! Also his parents laughed uproariously throughout the whole show.
When the programme finished and Michael was told to get ready to go upstairs for his bath, the little boy had an idea. He was sure that his suggestion would not be taken seriously, but he asked his mummy about it as he sat in the warm, soapy water.
" Mummy. Is there such a thing as a thing that could help you to do magic tricks?"
His mother brightened, pausing as she was about to wash his hair. "Do you mean like a Magic Set?"
"I think so," said Michael, staring thoughtfully at his plastic yellow duck that bobbed up & down among the bubbles as he used a sponge to bombard the toy with water. "If I had one for my birthday would I be able to do tricks like that man with the funny red hat did?"
The next day, Michael's father rushed around the shops after he'd finished work and, although he'd been told by friends & colleagues that a conjuring set would be available from practically any shop in town, everywhere he went either didn't stock them, or had only recently sold their last one. Feeling terribly defeated, he realised that all the shops were closing up for the night and, crestfallen, he wandered along to the bus stop, wondering what he would say to his wife when he got home empty-handed.
Deep in thought he wandered along the street and, purely by chance, saw what he had been looking for in the window of a charity shop. The box looked a little tatty and old fashioned in the display, but he had a good feeling about it.
There was, however, the fact that the shop was in darkness. It was closed.
Looking up, he saw his bus coming down the road towards him and, as he was about walk resignedly to the bus stop, the door to the shop opened. In a dilemma as to what to do, he went to the door and, displaying his best smile, he asked the lady who was about to lock up and go home if she would sell him the set in the window.
A little dithery, and with no idea of his sense of urgency, the lady looked completely confused.
"But I don't know how much it is." she told him. "Can you come back tomorrow?"
Explaining as quickly and as gently as he was able that it was his son's birthday the next day, Mr Hunter finally persuaded the woman to let him have the set for £20.
By some miracle he was able to board the bus with the magic set and, as he was taken back to the suburb where he lived, he opened the box and examined the contents to make sure that there was nothing in there that could harm his son. The picture on the box showed a Victorian looking man with a moustache & a top hat, smiling triumphantly as he wielded a black wand with a white tip. When he removed the lid he was struck by the musty smell that, for some reason, made him think of his own childhood. He checked the inside; finding no sharp edges or anything remotely dangerous looking. There was a somewhat dog-eared little book included with a smaller picture of the conjuror from the box lid on its cover. He made a mental note to have a quick look through the book before he wrapped it - then promptly forgot. Putting the little set of three parti-coloured cups (Cup - ball. Ball - cup. Thankyou very much!) back into the box with the wand and the various other odds & ends, Mr Hunter carefully replaced the lid. Though the set looked as though it had seen a fair amount of use sometime in the past he was satisfied that Michael would not be disappointed with it when he unwrapped it in the morning.
Before he wrapped it up that night he showed the set to his wife, expecting her to balk at the secondhand look of the thing, but she seemed fairly happy with his purchase. He breathed a sigh of relief; now all he had to do now was see if Michael would like it.
The present turned out to be exactly what Michael had wanted. He didn't seem to care that it wasn't brand new and, taking it up to his room, he explored the contents for most of the rest of the day. He did ask where the funny red hat was, but didn't seem too upset when he was informed that there wasn't one included.
It was a week later and, as his father settled down for a quick glance at his newspaper before setting off for work, Michael appeared next to the breakfast table, breathless and with an excited look on his face.
"Daddy! Watch me do a magic trick!" he pleaded, setting the box down next to the teapot. "Nothing up my sleeves!" he added, displaying his bare arms.
His father glanced at his watch and, seeing that he had about fifteen minutes before the bus, he acceded.
"Alright. But you'll have to be quick!"
Without further ado, Michael opened the lid of the box and, removing the book, a twelve inch square gold-coloured satin cloth and a smaller version of the wand that the man on the box had in the picture, he turned to smile up at his father.
"I'm going to make your watch disappear! Give me your watch, please, Daddy!"
Sitting down next to her husband at the table, his wife smiled as she saw the watch taken from his wrist and laid on the table. Helpfully, she removed the empty plates from around it to give their son plenty of room to perform his trick. Michael's lips moved silently as he referred to a page in the book. After a few moments he took his fingertip away from the words on the page and picked up the cloth and the wand again.
"Now, I put this cloth over the watch and tap it three times with this magic wand." Enthralled, his parents smiled to see Michael so obviously enjoying himself.
Twenty minutes later, Mr Hunter was on the bus, travelling to work as usual. Only today he had everything except his wrist watch. Silently he cursed himself every time he looked at his bare wrist. All the way along the journey he went back over everything that Michael had done at the breakfast table - from the time he had covered the watch with the cloth to when he said the magic word ("Just like that!") and removed the cloth to reveal - no watch.
After a frantic ten minutes interrogating their son about the disappearance of the watch, and searching frantically all around the kitchen for the missing item, Michael's parents had to call off the search.
Michael quickly decided that he no longer wanted to be a magician. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe the funny red hat was important after all.
"Where is Daddy's watch, Michael?" said his father.
"Daddy needs it for work." insisted his mother.
Close to tears, Michael simply repeated, over & over & over: "I magicked it away! You watched me do it!"
There was the house; the shops; the playground; and there were other kids and their parents he would see from time to time.
There was also the television and, though he still wasn't quite sure how all the people & things actually managed to squeeze inside the screen, it really had begun to give him a few ideas about what he would do with his life when he'd grown up a bit more.
He saw a programme about people singing and, though he was quite pleased with the songs he made up for himself to sing while in the bath, his mother soon forbade him to sing them to her. So much for being a singer.
Then he watched a programme about cowboys & indians which he found profoundly interesting in a strange kind of way. When he told his father about his latest idea he was told that people didn't 'become' horses as a job. Michael sighed and, forcing himself to accept what his father had told him, he tried to re-cast his mental net.
A month later he was eating his dinner while a sports programme was being aired - zygote! He would be a javelin thrower.
This lasted for almost a week, when he became interested in comedy programmes. Although almost all of the humour was incomprehensible to him he liked the way that the person telling the jokes made everyone in the audience happy. His parents laughed too and, for a long time afterwards, he was certain that he would one day mature into a popular comedian. When this happened he was positive that he would be so popular that he would soon be allowed to stay up much later, have lots of sweets & chocolate to eat, and be given all the latest wonderful toys to play with as a reward for being so good.
This phase lasted right up to a few days before his fifth birthday. His parents had asked him if there was anything in particular that he would like as a birthday present. He wanted a comedian kit: a shiny suit, a microphone and a book of jokes.
His mother and father were nonplussed. Though his request was straightforward and unambiguous they were sure that if he unwrapped what he'd asked for on his birthday he would be terribly disappointed.
Then, two days before the big day, his parents had come back from shopping with only a joke book towards Michael's present. They were still uneasy about buying him the shiny suit & the microphone.
After dinner they were sat in the lounge watching the early evening television when a programme came on about the life of Tommy Cooper. Michael was entranced. Not only was this man funny in a way that he was able to understand and appreciate, but he also did magic tricks as well! Also his parents laughed uproariously throughout the whole show.
When the programme finished and Michael was told to get ready to go upstairs for his bath, the little boy had an idea. He was sure that his suggestion would not be taken seriously, but he asked his mummy about it as he sat in the warm, soapy water.
" Mummy. Is there such a thing as a thing that could help you to do magic tricks?"
His mother brightened, pausing as she was about to wash his hair. "Do you mean like a Magic Set?"
"I think so," said Michael, staring thoughtfully at his plastic yellow duck that bobbed up & down among the bubbles as he used a sponge to bombard the toy with water. "If I had one for my birthday would I be able to do tricks like that man with the funny red hat did?"
The next day, Michael's father rushed around the shops after he'd finished work and, although he'd been told by friends & colleagues that a conjuring set would be available from practically any shop in town, everywhere he went either didn't stock them, or had only recently sold their last one. Feeling terribly defeated, he realised that all the shops were closing up for the night and, crestfallen, he wandered along to the bus stop, wondering what he would say to his wife when he got home empty-handed.
Deep in thought he wandered along the street and, purely by chance, saw what he had been looking for in the window of a charity shop. The box looked a little tatty and old fashioned in the display, but he had a good feeling about it.
There was, however, the fact that the shop was in darkness. It was closed.
Looking up, he saw his bus coming down the road towards him and, as he was about walk resignedly to the bus stop, the door to the shop opened. In a dilemma as to what to do, he went to the door and, displaying his best smile, he asked the lady who was about to lock up and go home if she would sell him the set in the window.
A little dithery, and with no idea of his sense of urgency, the lady looked completely confused.
"But I don't know how much it is." she told him. "Can you come back tomorrow?"
Explaining as quickly and as gently as he was able that it was his son's birthday the next day, Mr Hunter finally persuaded the woman to let him have the set for £20.
By some miracle he was able to board the bus with the magic set and, as he was taken back to the suburb where he lived, he opened the box and examined the contents to make sure that there was nothing in there that could harm his son. The picture on the box showed a Victorian looking man with a moustache & a top hat, smiling triumphantly as he wielded a black wand with a white tip. When he removed the lid he was struck by the musty smell that, for some reason, made him think of his own childhood. He checked the inside; finding no sharp edges or anything remotely dangerous looking. There was a somewhat dog-eared little book included with a smaller picture of the conjuror from the box lid on its cover. He made a mental note to have a quick look through the book before he wrapped it - then promptly forgot. Putting the little set of three parti-coloured cups (Cup - ball. Ball - cup. Thankyou very much!) back into the box with the wand and the various other odds & ends, Mr Hunter carefully replaced the lid. Though the set looked as though it had seen a fair amount of use sometime in the past he was satisfied that Michael would not be disappointed with it when he unwrapped it in the morning.
Before he wrapped it up that night he showed the set to his wife, expecting her to balk at the secondhand look of the thing, but she seemed fairly happy with his purchase. He breathed a sigh of relief; now all he had to do now was see if Michael would like it.
The present turned out to be exactly what Michael had wanted. He didn't seem to care that it wasn't brand new and, taking it up to his room, he explored the contents for most of the rest of the day. He did ask where the funny red hat was, but didn't seem too upset when he was informed that there wasn't one included.
It was a week later and, as his father settled down for a quick glance at his newspaper before setting off for work, Michael appeared next to the breakfast table, breathless and with an excited look on his face.
"Daddy! Watch me do a magic trick!" he pleaded, setting the box down next to the teapot. "Nothing up my sleeves!" he added, displaying his bare arms.
His father glanced at his watch and, seeing that he had about fifteen minutes before the bus, he acceded.
"Alright. But you'll have to be quick!"
Without further ado, Michael opened the lid of the box and, removing the book, a twelve inch square gold-coloured satin cloth and a smaller version of the wand that the man on the box had in the picture, he turned to smile up at his father.
"I'm going to make your watch disappear! Give me your watch, please, Daddy!"
Sitting down next to her husband at the table, his wife smiled as she saw the watch taken from his wrist and laid on the table. Helpfully, she removed the empty plates from around it to give their son plenty of room to perform his trick. Michael's lips moved silently as he referred to a page in the book. After a few moments he took his fingertip away from the words on the page and picked up the cloth and the wand again.
"Now, I put this cloth over the watch and tap it three times with this magic wand." Enthralled, his parents smiled to see Michael so obviously enjoying himself.
Twenty minutes later, Mr Hunter was on the bus, travelling to work as usual. Only today he had everything except his wrist watch. Silently he cursed himself every time he looked at his bare wrist. All the way along the journey he went back over everything that Michael had done at the breakfast table - from the time he had covered the watch with the cloth to when he said the magic word ("Just like that!") and removed the cloth to reveal - no watch.
After a frantic ten minutes interrogating their son about the disappearance of the watch, and searching frantically all around the kitchen for the missing item, Michael's parents had to call off the search.
Michael quickly decided that he no longer wanted to be a magician. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe the funny red hat was important after all.
"Where is Daddy's watch, Michael?" said his father.
"Daddy needs it for work." insisted his mother.
Close to tears, Michael simply repeated, over & over & over: "I magicked it away! You watched me do it!"
Wednesday 11 January 2012
The Weigh Foreword?
I have been listening to the news on the radio recently about the high speed rail link between London & Birmingham. Once constructed, this new line will enable folks to travel from London to Birmingham in only 40 minutes. I expect that it will also be possible to get from Birmingham to London in a similar amount of time.
What I don't understand is why anyone would want to travel so quickly between these two cities. I've been to London and I've been to Birmingham and, while they are both fine places, I can't help but think: "What's the rush?"
Eventually the plan is to cover the entire country with these high speed railway lines; but the way things are going these days there won't really be anywhere worth going to see - especially at high speed.
I think the ultimate plan is to make the whole island so dour and overcrowded that people will simply abandon the desire to travel anywhere else in Britain at all. This will free up spaces in the already overcrowded & overpriced trains.
Hopefully, I am completely wrong.
On December the 16th, 1912 the Bristol Hippodrome theatre opened its doors for the very first time. As it is such a dearly loved venue I wonder how the people currently owning the theatre plan to celebrate this truly momentous occasion at the latter end of this year?
Let's hope that they do it justice.
What I don't understand is why anyone would want to travel so quickly between these two cities. I've been to London and I've been to Birmingham and, while they are both fine places, I can't help but think: "What's the rush?"
Eventually the plan is to cover the entire country with these high speed railway lines; but the way things are going these days there won't really be anywhere worth going to see - especially at high speed.
I think the ultimate plan is to make the whole island so dour and overcrowded that people will simply abandon the desire to travel anywhere else in Britain at all. This will free up spaces in the already overcrowded & overpriced trains.
Hopefully, I am completely wrong.
On December the 16th, 1912 the Bristol Hippodrome theatre opened its doors for the very first time. As it is such a dearly loved venue I wonder how the people currently owning the theatre plan to celebrate this truly momentous occasion at the latter end of this year?
Let's hope that they do it justice.
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