DRAMA IN THE BACKBLOCKS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 4, Issue 83, 24 January 1941, Page 42

DRAMA IN THE BACKBLOCKS

(Written for "The Listener" by

DOROTHY ANN

BEAVIS

T was winter when I went to the l backblocks, officially to lecture on dramatic art, though the subsequent classes could never be described as mere lectures. Neither did they, consist of various groups of people: who met together merely for the amusement of attempting a few amateur theatricals. Rather they developed into a series of particularly active study circles, in which we all took part. They have built themselves. excellent halls, these people of the backblocks, and they are keen to use them. Keen, ready to learn, and really interested. They all came along. The farmer with his wife and family, and the "rouseabout," together with various stray members of the community, and still more various stray dogs. We fitted the dogs in where we could, but they seemed a little vague about cues. There is talent in the backblocks, unsophisticated and delightful talent. We stood solemnly in rows and did voice production exercises. We not only did them within the halls and at the actual classes, but we did them high among the sheep runs of the mountains, and in backyards; at least they did, and hereby hangs a tale. A tale destined to become one of those time-honoured, almost hereditary jokes, treasured and preserved by the district to which they belong. An old farmer, hearing strange and disquieting noises issuing from the paddock behind his house, and envisaging a certain prize ram in dire distress, betook himself hastily to the spot, only to find the oldest, most staid and reliable of daughters, glassy eyes fixed on the

far mountains and hands held stiffly to solar-plexus, ejaculating at measured intervals " BOO! BOW! BAW! BA! BAA!" " Eagerness to Know" To me, the outstanding characteristic of these very likeable people was their eagerness to know. I suppose the true measure of a man’s greatness lies not in the knowledge he has, but in his desire to attain more. I was quite astonished at their ability, not only to take the training seriously, but to assimilate it. It was such a joy to find people who didn’t think they knew everything to begin with. These people were so sure that they knew nothing. But there was much which I learned from: them. Tackling movement first, with the aid of a gramophone and some good records of Grainger and Eric Coates, we swept round those halls like the wind, or crept furtively about in villainous silence. Movement is a lovely thing. Watching folk propelling *themselves along Wellington pavements, you will not agree; but if you had seen that quite unselfconscious, quite delightful movement, at least you would have been surprised. Reading Plays Sitting round great roaring fires upon the trestles and chairs of the supper rooms, we read plays: A. A. Milne, Miles Malleson, Drinkwater, and a little Barrie; and having grasped the gist of these, trooped back into the main hall to wed action to words. We didn’t pretend that it was polished. It wasn’t, and the technique was decidedly shaky at times, but it had life! It was dramatic: Though it was astonishing how much really good stage technique they all managed to put into practice before the course came to an end.

Snow fell, and roads were bad. I would as soon find myself at sea as in the back of any modern car upon those twisty thoroughfares; and I am alas a poor sailor. But this didn’t deter us. We all turned up upon the appointed night, coming from this direction and that, stamping the snow from off our boots as we entered, breath frosty in the beam of approaching headlights, as, slipping through the snow, more car loads arrived. We tackled mime, too, and as King Midas swept to his coronation, regally attired in the best of bedspreads and the satinest and tightest of pants, courtiers bowing and

whispering around him, with white wigged and astonishingly graceful duchesses and ladies-in-waiting adorning the background, one ruminated upon the true fitness of things, and there came a catch in the throat, not for laughter, but for tears. They have a dignity these people. A dignity all their own. A dignity not readily come by in towns. Wigs to Order I have mentioned white wigs; they deserve a paragraph all their own. There have been times when I have been able proudly to place upon my programmes "Wigs by Clarkson," that master wigmaker of Wardour Street. But I believe that when I am very old it is these others. which I shall remember, together with their creator, a small wiry woman,

who came regularly on horseback through all the winds and weathers of that rigorous altitude, cars being useless over her particular bit of country. She was adamant that the coronation could not go forward without wigs, and despite a family who had to be washed, ironed, cooked and mended for, she hied her to the fences and gathered wool. Washing and combing, she prepared it, fashioned foundations of old stockings, and with those work-lined fingers of hers, placed the wool upon them in side curls and back curls, finishing them with the indispensable black bow. I shall remember those wigs and her with grave affection and esteem. In three months I taught much, but learned much more.