“Journey’s End”

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 852, 21 December 1929, Page 33

“Journey’s End”

Modest Playwright and Original MS. WAR PLAY MAKES £50,000 Mr. R. C. Sherriff flipped over the d£50,000 worth of cheap foolscap, tossed it to one side , and blushed. “I might have taken more trouble with it,” he said, shamefacedly, “if I thought anybody would want it.” That is like Mr. Sherriff. He wrote “Journey’s End,” the war play which in a few months, with its book rights, has made £50,090, and he looks not so much like a young man who had written a masterpiece as a little boy w r ho had been stealing jam! 1 was looking (writes a London “Daily Express” special representative), at the original manuscript of “Journey’s End,” -which is to be

auctioned in aid of the League of Nations Union at the Guildhall. In Spidery Hand The play began on cheap paper, the 5 kind upon which a third form boy . writes his examinations. It was written in a spidery hand with a pencil, which was too hard for the paper. It was crossed out and re-crossed out, and packed with marginal notes and j one word additions. Mr. Sherriff squirmed. “I wrote j the first act in three months, and the i last in an hour,” he said, uncomfort- | ably. “I just scribbled and then typed, of course,” j I turned over a page and noted a | tea stain and the marks of fingers which had held buttered toast. “It’s rough,” said the modest Mr. j Sherriff “I cut out whole pages of dialogue and scarred it about until it j seemed just right.” i I noticed that lines which seemed far j cleverer than the lines in the present I play had been cut out. “I just wanted to write what I • knew my characters would say,” Mr. Sherriff explained. I flipped over some more pages.

“Did I ever tell you how we used to sell the hall when I wrote plays years ago?” said Mr. Sherriff. in a magnificent effort to get me away from that early manuscript. Playing Their Parts “I used to hire a hall, count the seats in it, and then tell people who asked for a part in the play that they could have one if they sold —say—ten seats. Sometimes my plays had thirty characters. One old man only had to say ‘Cupboard’s shut,’ but he sold ten rows. “We are reheasing companies downstairs,” sa.id Mr. Sherriff. as if to wean me away from the manuscript. He looked so unhappy that I went. On the stage man after man was being rehearsed in the part of Osborne for the many companies going on the road. I stole a glance at the producer’s “Comment Book.” It ran: “Too old,’’ “Voice to light.” “Bald, old and satanic,” “Isn’t he a dear, sweet darling boy —Bah!” “No voice—go home,” “Too fat.” They are careful whom they pick for “Journey’s End.”