Back-cloth and Gallery
Footlights and Stage Folks
The Drama in New Zealand

(By O. N. Gillespie )

Three months ago I was sitting in a second-class smoker, and the young man sharing my seat was reading “Riders to the Sea.” He was a sun-tanned, strong-jawed, open-air type, and I found that he was going to take a part in this subtle and great play of J. M. Synge, the production being run by a Drama League group in a hamlet twenty miles from the nearest railway station.

Some quirk of memory caused my mind to slip back to thirty years ago, when three or four of us were discussing the chances of the return to New Zealand of a Grand Opera Company, and a very similar young man said—cheerily, “Well, you know, the best opera I ever seen was the Flying Jordans, at Gisborne.”

Those two sets of remarks, divided by the period of only about one generation, represented an astonishing change. I thought it might be interesting to see what happened in the old days about our evening entertainments, and just why such a contrast in outlook had come about.

In an area of our community life as wide as the recreational methods of our people, the only safe way is to dredge from the depths of one's own personal recollections. I recommend this exercise of memory to all readers for it is an astonishing experience.

I had the good fortune to be born near a country town, and to have lived a goodly portion of my life, up to thirty years of age, in small places.

The first two shows at actual theatres that I personally can recall were “Ali Baba” and “Djin-Djin.” I can remember the two songs in “Djin-Djin”—“Sammy, My Old Friend Sam,” and “I've Chucked up the Push for Me Donah,” as if they were yesterday.

We did not know in New Zealand that Bert Royle's genius in the writing of the words and lyrics of this first combination of spectacle and comic opera, had saved the great J. C. Williamson firm in the period of the Bank crashes in Melbourne. But it was a rich and colourful presentation. I had been at the Christ-church Show all day, had a pair of new shoes, and assembled a burning and blistered heel. I slipped the shoe off during the performance of “Djin-Djin” and poked it under the seat. In the tumultuous excitement of the general exit, I left it there, reaching the vestibule in a dot and carry run. I went back to get the shoe, the lights were out, “the glory had departed,” and I was overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness and disillusionment.

In the country town where I lived, those were the days of touring companies with musical glasses, the Lynch Family of Bell-ringers, the touring lecturer with the lantern slides, and visits from the Carl Hertz type of illusionist. There were also stock companies playing “The Worst Woman in London,” “The Secret Crime,” “The Forger's Wife,” “The Count's Revenge,” and “Loving Hearts.” There were comedy companies also. I can remember away back in 1894, Frank M. Clark's Alhambra Company with Harry Shine and Charles Fanning in “Muldoon's Picnic.”

But, as can be expected, New Zealand had its stern and strong dramatic shows from the very beginnings of the settlement. We reproduce here the first theatrical poster put out in Auckland, in 1844. The Fitzroy Theatre was the place and the drama was called “The Two Gregories.”

“Mr. Buckingham begs leave to announce to the public of Auckland that the First Theatrical Performance in this town will Take Place on Tuesday Evening Next.”

Other highlights were these: “To ensure the comfort of the Ladies, an Elegant and Commodious Dress Circle” was to be installed, and the admission prices were on sound lines: “Double ticket, 10/6; Dress Circle, Single, 7/6; Pit, 5/-”; but it must be recalled that page 15

(Leslie Hinge collection.)
Old-time show posters in Christchurch in the early 'seventies.

in addition to the play there was a “Musical Olio.”

Those itinerant players of those early days were of the stuff of heroes, especially the women players. The leading lady had to be a village girl Monday night; countess, Tuesday; barmaid, Wednesday; and a down-trodden wife next day. Transport was troublesome, but somehow I seem to remember much excellent, sincere and capable miming among them. The whole of this cannot go down to the credit of the trailing pink clouds of past memories, either.

There is something else I would like to place on record here. New Zealanders of those far-off days would take an endless amount of trouble to see a famous show, or a well-known artist. Special trains were run, and in my part of the South I can remember the hundreds who bicycled twenty or thirty miles to see Grand Opera in Christ-church.

So that it becomes clear that the New Zealander of to-day round about fifty years of age, who was at all theatrically inclined has a brilliant diadem of memories of the world's greatest artists. In spite of all the difficulties of transport and the other forms of comparative hardship, the world's great ones came here. I can remember when Nellie Stewart, after a career of light and whimsical musical comedy parts and other light and airy roles, startled us over thirty years ago with an astonishing performance of “Camille.” It was recalled by Harcus Plimmer, I think, that in New Zealand we had already seen the great tragedy played by four world figures: Janet Achurch, Mrs. Brown Potter, Nance O'Neill, and Janet Waldorf.

It would be idle to attempt in the space of this article to enumerate the great ones of the earth who called in to play to New Zealand audiences. In my personal highlights I would certainly place Robert Brough and his beloved wife, and their high-class cast of polished London artists, “Beauty and the Barge” and “Pygmalion and Galatea” are jewels in every playgoer's memory.

It is more than thirty years ago that Anderson's Dramatic Company played the exciting “Ladder of Life,” George Marlowe was running what the Sydney “Bulletin” called “Marlowdrama,” and that titanic master of spectacle, Bland Holt, shook grown men and women to their emotional foundations with “White Heather” with its verisimilitude of a diver's fight under the sea; and “Sporting Life,” with its real race with real horses on the stage.

By the way, I saw every Bland Holt show per medium of a special train, crowded almost to the smoke-stack of the joyous engine.

Another integral portion of this background is Pollard's Lilliputian Opera Company. What a constellation that was, with benevolent old Tom Pollard as presiding genius, and the golden names of May and Maud Beatty, Marion Mitchell, the Carkeek girls, and a score of others. The night that Tom Pollard announced in Christchurch that

(Leslie Hinge Collection)
the old theatre royal in christchurch, showing als the palace hotel, the homo of may and maud beatty

he had won the double on the Melbourne and New Zealand Cups was a carnival in the Cathedral City. Ernest Fitts, as the bass in “Djin-Djin,” striking sparks from his breastplate with a metal gauntlet, W. S. Percy, Albert Whelan, and Charles Albert, are other giants of that remote epoch. And for how many years did we in New Zealand have a royal and regular feast of well-done Gilbert and Sullivan from the Lilliputians onwards?

Then from the Williamson's companies came all those gay musical comedies, especially the “Girls” (“Girls of Gotten-burg,” “The Shop Girl,” “The Circus Girl,” “The Dairymaids,” and so on, ad infinitum). I remember, as a very slight youngster, visiting Wellington in my school holidays, and seeing “The Geisha,” with Miss Perry in the lead and W. S. Percy as the incredibly funny Lung Hi. I can see, as if it were yesterday, Percy's innocent look of bland astonishment when the stolen alarum clock hidden in his flowing Chinese gown, gave the show away by striking.

Those, too, were the days of Fuller's Vaudeville with Will Watkins of “What Oh, She Bumps” fame, and Will Stevens, the “Sad-eyed Shriek.” Later we were to see dainty Irene Franklin, and the incredible “Ferry the Frog,” and a hundred other wonders. Healthy, happy and hearty days they were. The freedom of the pit was a real thing. Its occupants had the right of caustic comment on both players and the dress circle audience. “Going Over the Top” was a mild exercise of courage compared with the risk taken by a clerk if he appeared with a sweetheart in the circle when the rest of his fellow boarders were in the pit.

However, to sum up, the surprising and unique feature of this ramble at random down Memory Lane is the richness of the artistic treasures brought to us then. It is astonishing, when voyages were weeks long, that we should have page 16 had so many large dramatic companies and even Grand Opera. In 1907 I can remember the biting criticism of the orchestra which accompanied one grand opera company of distinguished German singers, by the “Triad” because it lacked

Ernest Fitts, the bass singer of “Djin Djin” and many other Williamson operas.

numbers and strength. They brought to us “Tannhauser,” “Carmen,” “Lohengrin” and others, and the chorus was splendid. I remember, though, in one of their shows, the Venusberg scene went wrong and Venus, instead of floating off on her couch had to paddle herself along.

It is rather a jolt to remember that it is forty years since Alfred Hill took the country by storm with “Hinemoa.”

Here is an item that is arresting: Just at the time of the rage for “Hinemoa” there appears this note in an Auckland paper, “The cinematograph is being produced in various stages of perfection and imperfection. To those who have not seen the invention it may be described as similar to the camera obscura, but giving set scenes.”

I wonder what the writer of that terse paragraph would say if he saw the sixty or more cinema palaces that today adorn Auckland.

Before I finish with this roving account of the past I must point out again the outstanding distinctiveness of New Zealand in this arena of human activity. A citizen of such towns, for instance, as Timaru or Palmerston North, and many other much smaller places, in the view of many a visiting artist until the amazing box office figures came in—saw a continuous procession of world figures. In country town theatres, I have personally seen H. B. Irving, Nance O'Neill, Sybil Thorndike, Robert Brough, Dion Boucicault and many more of the world's great names; I have seen Pavlova and Genee dance; heard Paderewski, Mark Hambourg, Heifitz, Madame Carreno, Heerman and a dozen other virtuosi play; Trebelli, Chaliapin, Nordica, and a score of other great singers, heard Sousa's Band and the Besses of the Barn, and much of the best of comic opera done by large and expensive companies.

But enough of history.

In those past days, it was unusual to hear of any New Zealander becoming distinguished as an actor or actress. Tom Pollard's juveniles were crowned heads in miniature, but the first legend I remember about a stage success surrounded a young man from Dunedin. He was a handsome young blacksmith named Harry Jewett, who foresook the striking hammer for the footlights in the 'eighties. He eventually made his way to America, became a great star, and was rated in U.S.A. as the best “Spider” in that unbeatable melodrama, “The Silver King.” There are a few other “Harrys”—Harry Plimmer, of course, Harry Roberts, and Harry Diver. Then from Christchurch, a good-looking schoolmaster, Winter Hall, went away to become a firmly established character film actor in Hollywood.

But the growth of any general habit of taking part in plays, of actual mumming, was slow at first. Of course, every town had its amateur company, mostly confined to doing musical comedy, but now and again essaying “Box and Cox,” or the like.

New Zealand had already developed a selective taste which was rapidly diverging from the Australian. The success here of “Peter Pan” with the adorable Lizette Parkes, in 1909, was in sharp contrast to its failure in the Australian cities, and there were many other instances comforting to our native pride.

Here and there were little groups of people studying dramatic art seriously. Thirty years ago, for instance, there was a Shakespeare Society in Auckland which was courageously producing Bernard Shaw's plays. I went to see them in 1911 when they visited Wellington with a splendid performance. In Christ-church, too, at this time, there were strong and growing circles, vigorously alive.

The Great War intervened, making a cultural desert for more than five years. In the next decade, the great change took place. The Little Theatre or Repertory movement had blossomed into vivid life in England, and in the way which has always been so inevitable with us, this essentially English development soon found its counterpart here.

The first Repertory Society was formed in Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch following, and soon the whole country was studded with societies having similar aims.

It is worth while getting our dates in perspective. It was in 1926 that the Wellington Society was formed. Auckland had then been in existence for three years and Christchurch was to follow much later. However, there were workers in the field in many parts of New Zealand. Of the many distinguished names who adorn the movement we can select Professor James Shelley, who had started a Little Theatre at Canterbury College and lectured in various parts of New Zealand under the auspices of the W.E.A. There was in every city a wealth of experience in actual playing and a reservoir of sound actors and actresses. It only needed such active producing personalities as Leo Du Chateau, the late H. J. Bentley, and others in those days to bring the chaos into working order. To-day we have the supremely fine performances of Arnold Goodwin in such striking experiments as Capek's “Insect Play” and “Lefty” to show us where we have arrived.

But the most spectacular development took place when the British Drama League made its appearance. As has been so often the case with cultural

(S. P Andrew, photo.)
Professor James Shelley, the dynamic personality to whom Christchurch owes its Repertory Theatre movement.

movements in New Zealand a woman was the active ingredient. Miss Elizabeth Blake, the wife of a New Zealander, Mr. C. H. Natusch, entered the fray with true missionary zeal, and this

(Continued on page 49.)