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Snow White Begins (Excerpt 4.) By Tracey Vale

(The following is an excerpt from the beginning of this chapter.)

The dwarfs were already assembled and waiting when I walked on to the stage of Sydney’s Her Majesty’s Theatre. Having already rehearsed and performed the show in Adelaide, with an Australian actor as Snow White, they were not impressed at having to start over with a new lead. Prior to this, they had worked in the London production of Snow White and had already started over with the Australian production. It meant they had to start rehearsals again despite knowing the show back to front. When they saw me, blonde and a petite five feet, they were even less impressed.

The dwarf playing the part of Happy looked anything but his namesake. Looking from me to Tibor, he said, “She doesn’t look like Snow White.” It was clear that the others felt the same way. Even the director said “Oh, terrific—I’ve got eight dwarfs!”

“Vait,” said Tibor, nodding assuredly. “You vill see.”

An appointment was made with a hairdresser to dye my hair black. It was then cut and styled in the tradition of Disney’s famed character. Finished off with a ribbon headband, it was an amazing transformation. The next time I walked across the stage, complete with heels, the dwarfs were satisfied but were still yet to be convinced.

“See,” Tibor had said, as I walked in. “Make very good Snow White!”

The next hurdle to overcome was the music. I couldn’t reach the incredibly high notes of ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’ and requested that it be transposed in a lower key.

“Oh no. Not possible,” said Tibor. “It has to be in the same key as it is a Disney production. Cannot be changed. You vill have to sing it zat high.”

A Long Trip Downunder (Excerpt 3.) By Tracey Vale

(The following is an excerpt from the beginning of a chapter dealing with a trip to Australia and Joan's subsequent appointment as Snow White.)

Chesney Allen had sent me to audition for the Australian production of My Fair Lady. My audition was successful and I was on to the next stage—another audition to decide between myself, Julie Anthony and one other candidate. I was concerned, however, that there wasn’t a part for Paul and couldn’t imagine going so far away without him or having him out of work when he was enjoying so much work here in the U.K. and abroad. I’d expressed my concerns to Chesney but he was unable to make any guarantees or to secure a part for Paul. On the basis of this, I turned down the deciding audition and the part went to Julie Anthony.

Only a number of weeks later, Chesney offered me another role in Australia. This time he assured me that Paul would also be employed.

“Do you want to go to Australia this time?” asked Chesney. “It’s a 16-week contract for both of you.” We had just finished the contract working with Adam faith and were in his office to negotiate the next, so it wasn’t a difficult decision, especially as it involved Paul.

“Yes—we’ll go,” I said.

“Great—only you’ll need to book a berth on the Orcades. It’s sailing this week!” he announced. “You’ll be working for Tibor Rudas. Don’t know much about it…” He rummaged through some paper-work on his desk, glanced over a hand-written note and said, “He saw you, Joan, playing Cinderella. He was very impressed. I explained that Paul had to be part of the package and he readily agreed to those terms.” Looking at the note again, he located a notepad and scribbled down the relevant address. “You’ll need to disembark in Sydney and meet Tibor at his office there.”

More Stage Work / Adam Faith Tour (Excerpt 2.)

(The following is an excerpt, the end of a chapter concerning Summer revues and touring with Adam Faith.)

Due to her tireless efforts, there had been a great deal of publicity surrounding Adam. His every move was choreographed for this tour and interviews were written for him. He was involved in many photo shoots arranged by his agent and created to instill popular opinion about his character.

One evening, before the show, I waved the newspaper at him as he came towards us. “When have you had time to ride around on horses?” I asked.

He laughed sheepishly. Taking the paper he read out the caption beneath a photograph of him astride a horse. “’Adam loves to get up early and go horse riding’,” he laughed again. Glancing up at Paul and I, he said “I was bloody scared! I’d never been on a horse before! It’s all supposed to build this appealing image to make the girls go crazy.”

And crazy they were. Every night, outside the theatres we toured in with Adam, there were crowds of girls gathered. Shouts rang out, “We want Adam! We want Adam!” After the show, he would be mobbed again by crowds at the stage door. He hated it, so we devised a plan to get him out each night, unnoticed. We had a large basket, a skip, we used for transporting all the puppets, props and costumes. Between Paul and I and anyone else we could rope in, we had him bundled into the skip and carried him out to waiting transport without anyone being the wiser.

References

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0265693/bio

Cited 17/6/2013

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/2832221.stm

Cited 17/6/2013

http://www.bradfordtimeline.co.uk/mindex60g.htm

Cited 17/6/2013. Adam Faith article, Brighton Hippodrome appearance.

www.hippodromebristol.co.uk/page9.html (Scroll down below the photos and view the date.) Cited 17/6/2013

Germany (Excerpt only. 1.) By Tracey Vale

(The following is an excerpt only and is the end of the chapter on Germany. The chapter deals with the War Office tour in Germany and includes Joan's experience while being shown through the Bergen Belsen Concentration Camp.)

Continuing on, our footsteps echoed in the silence as we entered a massive storage room. In a grim reminder that they remained unclaimed, a mountain of suitcases towered toward the lofty ceiling. They were stacked haphazardly in a corner—looking more like a bizarre contemporary art piece in a resonant space. They spoke volumes.

As well as the officer, a German man accompanied us on this grim tour of the camp. He was from the town of Belsen and had witnessed the death march as these impoverished people made their way to the camp. He had been contributing various facts to us in extension of what the British officer was telling us, including verifying that the lamp in the doctor’s office was believed to have been made from the skin of a prisoner and that there were many more like it as part of the Nazi’s medical experimentation at the time.

I turned to him now. “Why didn’t the people in the village of Belsen know what was going on?” I asked.

  

“They did,” he spoke quietly and with some difficulty as his English was very limited. “Some people helped very much.” Pausing, he looked as though he was recalling something or someone. “You know little man?” He asked, gesturing with his hand below hip height.

“Do you mean ‘dwarf’?” I asked.

“Yes! Very little and very thin like this,” he moved his hands closer to indicate a narrow person.

“Ah—a midget. Turner’s Syndrome,” I explained.

The man agreed and went on to tell us how this German ‘midget’, a very kind man who lived in Belsen, risked his life time after time to deliver food portions to the abhorrently impoverished inmates of the first Bergen-Belsen camp. He would crawl through the water pipes with his offerings, a difficult and highly risky exercise. The man didn’t know what had become of him but I can only hope that his sacrifices were met with just reward. He had chosen to take action in a situation where many wouldn’t, and didn’t. Where many considered they were unable to help, that there was nothing they could do, this man knew he could, regardless of how small that assistance may have seemed. He is, or was, one of those unsung heroes.

References

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/18/2

Cited 11/6/2013

http://www.library.gatech.edu/holocaust/bergendes.htm

Cited 13/6/2013

http://worldhistoryproject.org/1945/4/15/bergen-belsen-concentration-camp-is-liberated-by-british-forces

Cited 13/6/2013

http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005224

Cited 13/6/2013

http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/judaica/ejud_0002_0003_0_02647.html

Cited 13/6/2013

http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/Belsen.html

Cited 14/6/2013

Shenanigans with Dave Gray, By Tracey Vale

Ugly Dave Gray, whose real name is Graham David Taylor, was a professional comedian and part-time prankster. We worked with Dave in summer reviews and laughed often at his on-stage as well as off-stage antics.

Staying in theatrical digs he would incense the owner with his frequent pranks. On one memorable night, around midnight, he yelled out, “Paul! Joan! Come to my room—I’ve stolen eggs from the kitchen!” This was followed shortly by the owner bellowing, "Who took the eggs?"

On another occasion we were staying in rooms that were freezing. It was a seaside town where winter guests were a rarity. There was a heater in the downstairs hallway, but nothing at all to keep us warm in our rooms. Dave charged downstairs once the owner had turned in and unplugged the heater from the wall before lugging it noisily upstairs. “Here we go,” he announced, at the top of the stairs. “Let’s get some warmth up here!” But, before long and having heard the less than conspicuous commotion, the landlord was charging up the stairs, his dressing-gown billowing behind him.

“Watcha think you’re doing? Get that back downstairs!” Before waiting for him to do as he’d demanded, the landlord wrenched the heater from Dave and carried it awkwardly back downstairs, huffing and muttering as he went.

“Okay, what now?” Dave looked around for inspiration, then returned to his room as though an idea had suddenly come to him. Following him and wondering what his next antic was, we witnessed him wrestling the timber drawers out of the wardrobe. Walking to his open door, he banged them loudly together before yelling out down the hallway, “It’s okay! I’m lighting a fire in my room with this old wardrobe!” Again, the landlord came running…

While performing with another company, Dave contacted my mother, asking if he could call in for a ‘cuppa’ as he was travelling nearby. Mum said she’d love to see him and, before long, there was a knock on the door. There stood Dave, along with the entire bus load of actors walking towards her.

We heard about this latest antic while on another Combined Services tour—this time to Germany.

Back to work, By Tracey Vale

I was soon back into the full swing of performances. Paul and I were booked in, thanks to Chesney Allen, to the Finsbury Park Empire Theatre in London with the puppet act. We were to perform there for a week and had heard that a well-known talent scout, Cissie Williams, was a frequent member of the audience. She only scouted the number one theatres and was known for her professional eye. Actors who toured with her ‘top of the bill’ variety show would also become well known, hence a position in her line up was highly sought.

We had also heard that she loved royal blue and were quick to have new costumes made up in this colour. Backstage on the third night there were feverish whispers “She’s here, she’s here! Do your best!”. Thankfully, she loved our act and that night became the beginning of a new round of bookings with her show. We were booked for the top theatres in England, Scotland, often as far as Aberdeen, and Ireland. We returned regularly for repeat performances in the variety shows and also continued to do summer reviews and pantomimes. Life was a whirlwind but we loved it.

Soon we were travelling overseas once again with the War Office. Accommodation was varied and hotels, depending on the political situation in the area, would often be empty. We were not allowed to stay on the military camps, although we would perform for at least two nights at each camp, before travelling on to the next.

Rehearsals

This time, while in Cyprus, the hotels were vacant and, as a result, we had been booked into one of the most luxurious. It was a frightening time, however, as it was just after the assassination of a British army wife—murdered in cold blood as she, along with her daughter and another army wife, stepped out of a bridal store in the main street after choosing the daughter’s bridal gown.

Since 1955, the Greek Cypriots undertook guerrilla warfare in an effort to gain independence from Britain, after being informed by the super power that this would not be granted. Their aim to gain independence by violent means was also a result of the British Middle East headquarters having been moved to Cyprus at the end of 1954, signalling a level of permanence that rang alarm bells.

In November of 1955, five British military men had been killed in one week. By December the following year, British troops numbered 20 000 and, at the height of the conflict for independence, troop levels were at 40 000. It was probable that some of the troops we entertained in Kenya and Egypt were billeted at the various camps here as the crisis in both of these countries had come to an end, with surplus troops sent to assist in Cyprus.

It was a war of propaganda, with leaflets dropped regularly by both sides. The British leaflets proclaimed that the EOKA were terrorists, while the EOKA stood their ground as patriots. Both sides printed leaflets that were both graphic, such as a photograph of a murdered man bent over in a pool of blood, and derogatory.

1958 began with rioting in Nicosia. By April, a general strike brought the island to a standstill. Fifty bombs were dropped by EOKA in the first 10 days of April. Rioting culminated in a battle between British soldiers and Turkish youth, resulting in the deaths of seven Turks and the injury of 12 soldiers.

In August, while walking with his two-year-old son down the main shopping street of Nicosia, Ledra Street, Sergeant Hammond was shot and killed. In October, the street was nicknamed ‘the murder mile’, following the death of Mrs. Catherine Cutliffe. It was little wonder that British Command placed so much restriction on our movements.

It was October 3. Catherine, the wife of a senior NCO, her 18-year-old daughter Margaret and Elfriede Robinson, a young German national married to a British sergeant, stepped out of a bridal store after choosing Margaret’s gown. Gunshots were fired by two EOKA men, killing Catherine outright and injuring Elfriede.

The British troops in Cyprus were enraged and called for the interrogation of Greek Cypriot males over the age of 16. They were taken by force and rounded up in a camp at Karaolos. A number of Cypriots died as a result of the ‘rounding up’ and many were injured. More riots had broken out with a number of vehicles burnt out and shop windows smashed, the contents stolen. We arrived in the midst of the furor.

It felt strange to have an entire hotel to ourselves and the restrictions on our movements—warnings sent to us each morning from British Command—were more confining than

Cape Greco 'Theatre', Cyprus

previously experienced. The soldiers spoke of the assassination with bitterness and anger and we felt their resentment. The knowledge of this recent event was frightening and contrasted with the beauty that was Cyprus, including its wonderful orange blossom that seemed to fragrance the air wherever we went. It is a beautiful island that has suffered so much conflict.

Despite this, thankfully, we were able to perform there without incidence. We travelled, as before, escorted with armed soldiers and remembered to get down onto the floor while passing through villages.

(Incidentally, while doing a talk in the Adelaide suburb of Elizabeth a few years ago, I spoke of the Combined Services Tour and, once finished, a voice rang out from the back of the room. “Where is Kyrenia Castle?” the man asked. Immediately I responded with “Cyprus”, and was delighted to hear the same voice say, “And, yes, I was one of the boys listening to you sing as we sat on the hill outside the castle!”. I spoke to him afterwards and learnt that he'd been there as a very young soldier, conscripted at 18. "We were so scared. We were young kids and you people performing for us...it was something from home.” He went on to say "I remembered your voice when you started to speak. I have such memories of when you came out to perform to us.")

We did many trips back to Cyprus, Malta, Gibraltar, Libya, Kenya, Nairobi and Malaya.

Sudan also featured in our itinerary—but only as a stopover. As meals were not served on the plane, we would land in Wadi Harpa, a small airstrip with a barrack-style hotel, for nourishment and, once or twice, for a night’s rest. My first view of Sudan from the plane reminded me of a Peter O’Toole film—a desert scene with Arabs dressed in white robes astride camels. On the roof of the hotel, were dozens of dark, aggressive-looking vultures, waiting to scavenge their next meal. I didn’t like the thought of soon walking beneath them.

Upon disembarking, we were ushered in by the Arabs, their camels standing idly by. Often it was a breakfast meal as we left either Kenya or Malta, depending upon which direction we were travelling, at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. Despite the Peter O’Toole scene, what greeted us inside was a fabulous spread of a full English breakfast with the potential to keep us sustained for the rest of the day. Returning from Kenya, we stayed overnight in the hotel, which was very comfortable although small and very basic.

El Adem was another very memorable stopover, and not a particularly welcome

A makeshift theatre

one. We were forced to stay here for almost a week due to a sandstorm which made visibility impossible. El Adem, situated about 30 kilometres out from the Libyan port city of Tobruk on the eastern Mediterranean coast, was a Royal Air Force camp where the main operation was the testing of jets, maintenance and refuelling. We stayed in the military cabins on narrow cots. El Adem, meaning 'the end' in Arabic, lived up to its name and most, if not all, of those stationed there agreed with the sentiment in that name. It was surrounded by dry, sandy desert and we had nothing to do but talk. If we ventured outside, the hot wind was fierce and sand gusted and whistled wildly around us, irritating our eyes and filling our hair. We were relieved to awaken on the sixth day to relative silence and knew that we could continue our journey.

Tobruk was memorable for its many reminders of World War Two. While the harbour town was neat, although virtually treeless, with its many two-storey buildings and wide streets lined with low, concrete walls, many of the war-time trenches were still in evidence. Burnt out tanks could be seen every now and then on our way into Tobruk and camels had been blown up by the many landmines left behind.

Back home, and the whirlwind began again. Working in Cissie William’s variety show, and travelling again, we were working with top of the bill entertainers including Benny Hill, Norman Wisdom and Harry Seacombe. It was around this time that we began working with Dave Gray, to be known famously as Ugly Dave Gray, and so began another lasting friendship.

References

www.psywarrior.com/cyprus.html

Cited 5/6/2013

www.britains-smallwars.com/cyprus/Davidcarter/aftercutliffe/aftercutliffe.html

Cited 5/6/2013.

www.britains-smallwars.com/cyprus/war.html

Cited 5/6/2013