Andorra Embarrassment Story, 24 February 1978

I’m pretty sure my parents came to see Andorra on the middle (Friday) night of the run.  And I’m fairly sure the following dialogue (or something like it) took place on the drive home after the show.

 

MUM: I wasn’t very impressed by some of your school chums in the audience behind us.

ME: What happened, Mum?

MUM: Well, during the interval one of them said to his pals, “I’m looking forward to the bit where Harris has to run around the stage yelling ‘I’m not a Jew, I’m not a Jew.”  Then they were giggling.  I wasn’t going to let that pass without comment.

ME: Oh, God, Mum, what did you say to them?

MUM: I turned around and asked them why that was so funny.  One of the boys explained, “because Harris is a Jew.  But he has to run around the stage saying “I’m, not a Jew”.  Then the boys giggled some more.

ME: …and then…

MUM: I said, “I’m well aware of all that.  I’m his mother and I’ve helped him to learn his lines.  I’m just trying to understand what makes it funny.”  They went very quiet after that.

ME: Oh, Mum.  I’m going to get mercilessly teased on Monday when I get back to school.  Or worse.  Why couldn’t you just let it go?

DAD: I knew it.  I could have told you he’d be upset.

 

To be fair on the poor boys involved (and I do wonder who they might have been – any confessions?) it was an ironic, rather funny matter.  Indeed, with the benefit of hindsight, my casting in the role of the Innkeeper might well have been based more on physiognomy than stagecraft.  In any case, we cast had all had a bit of a laugh about the irony of me yelling “I’m not a Jew” during rehearsals and I saw little malice in the remarks as reported by my mum.

 

But to be fair on my mum, although I did get some serious ribbing on the Monday (as recorded in my diary), it was not at all to do with my mother’s intervention.  Indeed the poor boys who got my mother’s tongue-lashing were probably more embarrassed than I was about that matter.  No, the ribbing I received resulted from reports of my drunkenness at the after show party on the Saturday.

 

As to the exact details of my ribbing-inducing party antics, I recall very little.  I do remember drinking far too much cheap party cider – a once-in-a-lifetime mistake (drinking cheap cider, not the occasional over-drinking).  I think the party was at Tiggy’s house, mostly in a rather large garage/out-house.  Or perhaps I am confusing the Andorra party with the 12th Night party.  Others who were a bit older (I was only 15-and-a-half) and a bit wiser (everyone else who was there) might recall the after show party better.

 

Still, it was a pretty cringe-making parental intervention.

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