Alleyn’s – Page 4 – Ian Louis Harris

Working With National Theatre Cast And Crew “Workshopping” Extracts From The Double Dealer, Curtain Theatre, 22 September 1978

A simply wonderful experience through the school, spread over two dates. In October we had a backstage tour at the National Theatre and then saw a matinee of The Double Dealer at the Olivier Theatre.

But firstly, on this September day, several of us visited the Curtain Theatre, a place the National Theatre must have been using as rehearsal space at that time, where we had the opportunity to work with understudies and assistant directors, “workshopping” some scenes from The Double Dealer.

Friday: Went to Curtain theatre (acted through restoration) Fantastic time there

That’s all the kid wrote, folks. And so far (writing more than 40 years later, 12 December 2018), my shout out to my fellow pupils has drawn a blank on this element of the experience, but has confirmed that this experience was part of a Drama AO level course several of us were taking with Michael (Mike) Lempriere.

I have a strong recollection of girls from another school (I think Mary Datchelor? or was it St Martins Girls?) being involved on that initial workshop day. The actors/understudies, who were getting us to workshop bits of the play, were trying to get us (and to some extent succeeding in getting us) flirting in a Restoration style, mostly by telling the boys that the girls really did fancy them and vice versa.

I was allocated the part of Brisk in a fairly short scene (a minor subplot in an otherwise fairly linear play) in which Brisk reveals his (formerly only faintly disguised) passion towards Lady Froth and finds that the physical attraction is reciprocated.

I shall attempt to replicate below the dialogue between a 16-year-old me (at that time only fairly recently acquainted with the physical pleasures of tonsil-hockey and fumbling with girls in the real world) and the actor who was helping me with my costume and preparing me / egging me on, before I tried out the scene with the mystery girl from another school.

ACTOR: Have you noticed the way she’s been looking at you all morning?
ME: No?
ACTOR: I think she must really fancy you.
ME: I don’t think so?
ACTOR: Oh yes, I really do think so. Anyway, she’s a lovely looking girl.
ME: Do you think so?
ACTOR: Oh yes, a buxom wench with a touch of the gypsy about her if I’m not at all mistaken. You should have some fun acting out this scene with her…

I mean, honestly, if the political correctness and #MeToo movements got hold of this stuff, all the institutions and individuals involved would have a lot of explaining to do.

Here is the scene I acted out with the mystery school girl, who was doubtless being egged on by her actress/dresser as much as I was. The extract below is extracted from and linked to the Project Gutenberg version of the play; a project which I commend to anyone who wants to retrieve and read out of copyright texts for free:

SCENE VI.
[To him] Lady Froth.
BRISK [Sings, walking about.] ‘I’m sick with love,’ ha, ha, ha, ‘prithee, come cure me. I’m sick with,’ etc. O ye powers! O my Lady Froth, my Lady Froth, my Lady Froth! Heigho! Break heart; gods, I thank you. [Stands musing with his arms across.]
LADY FROTH. O heavens, Mr. Brisk! What’s the matter?
BRISK. My Lady Froth! Your ladyship’s most humble servant. The matter, madam? Nothing, madam, nothing at all, egad. I was fallen into the most agreeable amusement in the whole province of contemplation: that’s all—(I’ll seem to conceal my passion, and that will look like respect.) [Aside.]
LADY FROTH. Bless me, why did you call out upon me so loud?
BRISK. O Lord, I, madam! I beseech your ladyship—when?
LADY FROTH. Just now as I came in, bless me, why, don’t you know it?
BRISK. Not I, let me perish. But did I? Strange! I confess your ladyship was in my thoughts; and I was in a sort of dream that did in a manner represent a very pleasing object to my imagination, but—but did I indeed?—To see how love and murder will out. But did I really name my Lady Froth?
LADY FROTH. Three times aloud, as I love letters. But did you talk of love? O Parnassus! Who would have thought Mr. Brisk could have been in love, ha, ha, ha. O heavens, I thought you could have no mistress but the Nine Muses.
BRISK. No more I have, egad, for I adore ’em all in your ladyship. Let me perish, I don’t know whether to be splenetic, or airy upon’t; the deuce take me if I can tell whether I am glad or sorry that your ladyship has made the discovery.
LADY FROTH. O be merry by all means. Prince Volscius in love! Ha, ha, ha.
BRISK. O barbarous, to turn me into ridicule! Yet, ha, ha, ha. The deuce take me, I can’t help laughing myself, ha, ha, ha; yet by heavens, I have a violent passion for your ladyship, seriously.
LADY FROTH. Seriously? Ha, ha, ha.
BRISK. Seriously, ha, ha, ha. Gad I have, for all I laugh.
LADY FROTH. Ha, ha, ha! What d’ye think I laugh at? Ha, ha, ha.
BRISK. Me, egad, ha, ha.
LADY FROTH. No, the deuce take me if I don’t laugh at myself; for hang me if I have not a violent passion for Mr. Brisk, ha, ha, ha.
BRISK. Seriously?
LADY FROTH. Seriously, ha, ha, ha.
BRISK. That’s well enough; let me perish, ha, ha, ha. O miraculous; what a happy discovery. Ah my dear charming Lady Froth!
LADY FROTH. Oh my adored Mr. Brisk! [Embrace.]

It was fun and I recall rather well what the good-looking girl looked like. I also recall that she and I had a friendly conversation afterwards, got on quite well, but I think we both realised that the play was the thing and we didn’t actually fancy each other. Predictably hilarious results averted, no thanks to the mischievous National Theatre team.

In my case, it was probably as much a useful lesson for my next real world teenage wooing experience (which was becoming a more regular feature of my leisure time by that time) as it was a lesson in how to act.

Sadly, I cannot find any information online regarding the “modern” Curtain Theatre – i.e. the place that the National was using as rehearsal space in the late 1970s. Nothing to do with the Tudor/Jacobean period Curtain Theatre. Perhaps someone who knows about it will stumble across this piece and fill in some details.

One other extraordinary thing (to me) that I have discovered about this day, is when it happened. Because according to the Theatricalia entry for the National Theatre production of The Double Dealer, 22 September 1978 was the first preview night for the production.

It seems to me extraordinary that the National Theatre made so much resource available on the day of the opening night for a bunch of schoolkids from a couple of South London schools. Perhaps this was due to the connections that Alleyn’s had or perhaps that was the way of things – by opening night a lot of people had completed their role with the main cast and could move on to sub-projects such as trying to make sixteen-year-old boys and girls even friskier with each other than they would have been without help.

It really was a most memorable day and it made the subsequent experience – seeing The Double Dealer, including Nicky Henson and Brenda Blethyn act out the scene I had worked on a few week’s earlier – all the more special and thrilling.

I already had the drama bug to some extent, of course, but this was one of the main experiences that cemented my lifelong enthusiasm for and love of the theatre.

An Unusual French Lesson, Alleyn’s School, c5 June 1978

I had a strange Alleyn’s School memory flash this morning (26 April 2017) while walking between meetings.

It must have been triggered by a conversation over the weekend in which a French gentleman named Bertrand was mentioned. I started to refer to the gentleman as Plastic Bertrand, unwittingly. (Yes, I know Plastic Bertrand is Belgian).

Then the memory flash. Summer 1978. A few weeks before our French ‘O’ level.

Our French teacher, the late lamented Trevor Tindale, had clearly become aware that the song “Ça plane pour moi” by Plastic Bertrand was riding high in the pop charts.

Naturally our ‘O’ level chances would be enhanced if we understood the idioms in the lyrics of that song. Also our grades might be enhanced if we thought carefully about improving the lyrics’ dodgy grammar and Franglais.

So we spent a few minutes in class deconstructing Ça plane pour moi.

Please don’t quiz me now on all the nuances of all the words and phrases. I don’t want to shame other less able students.

But still I should in all modesty report that I’m pretty sure I still know what “wham, bam, mon chat splatch” means. I can also make a pretty good fist of translating, “you are the king of the divan”.

I’m guessing c5 June 1978, as the song didn’t reach the top 10 until the preceding (half term) week and I’m fairly sure Trevor didn’t lighten the tone of the class this way just before the ‘O’ level.

If anyone else remembers this happening, I’d love to read some comments on it.

To jog memories further, here is a video of Plastic Bertrand singing the song with the lyrics all over the screen:

Andorra, 23, 24 & 25 February 1978

I got involved with “proper drama” at Alleyn’s for a couple of productions. Andorra by Max Frisch was the first of them, when I was just 15. Here are my diary extracts.

The first block, from January, shows little emotion or detail at having got a decent part in a Bear Pit production:

Friday 13 January 1978, Got a talking part in the school play – I’m the innkeeper – V pleased,

16 January 1978, should have rehearsed – cancelled,

17 January 1978, first Andorra rehearsal,

20 January 1978, rehearsed for Andorra, 23 January 1978, rehearsed for Andorra,

24 January 1978 Andorra rehearsal,

26 January 1978, rehearsed for Andorra,

27 January 1978, rehearsed for Andorra,

30 January 1978, rehearsed for Andorra,

31 January 1978, Andorra rehearsal.

Two weeks in, by the start of February, I’m a critic as well as a performer. Didn’t I know about hubris? I was way overconfident anyway – “perfected” is not a term I would ever use now:

Thursday 02 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra – OK,

03 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra – OK,

05 February 1978, first Sunday rehearsal for Andorra – not bad,

06 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra,

07 February 1978, Andorra rehearsal – good,

09 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra – good – seems to be OK,

10 February 1978, rehearsed in evening for Andorra,

12 February 1978 rehearsal for Andorra in afternoon – a good one,

13 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra – not bad,

14 February 1978, scene 11 of Andorra perfected.

Matters were bound to take a turn for the worse after that and so they did:

Friday 15 February 1978, Dennis [Galvin] rushed to hospital last night with colitis – Mick Lemp [Michael Lempriere] has taken over,

16 February 1978, rehearsed for Andorra – not bad rehearsal but still looks poor,

17 February 1978, field day and rehearsal,

19 February 1978, rehearsal cancelled as Mick Lemp visits relatives in Exeter,

20 February 1978, Mick stuck in snowdrift, Dan [Shindler] in bed with flu, disaster for play,

21 February 1978, Rehearsed all day for Andorra – Mick & Dan & Den all absent,

22 February 1978, flop dress rehearsal this evening – does not look good.

But the show had to go on:

Thursday 23 February 1978, Yesterday’s flop dress rehearsal lead to an almost empty house [tonight] watching a great performance,

24 February 1978, 2nd night of Andorra – even better than last night – 3/4 house – enjoyed it,

25 February 1978, Last night of Andorra – 7/8 house – performance good – party afterwards – got drunk.

I suffered more than my fair share of embarrassment on the last two nights – written up and available by clicking here or through the link below:

Andorra Embarrassment Story, 24 February 1978

With thanks to Mike Jones, who rescued a copy of the programme, here are scans of the pages:

Andorra Embarrassment Story, 24 February 1978

The story of my selection, hubris, decline, fall and this production of Andorra’s resurrection can be seen by clicking here or below:

Andorra, 23, 24 & 25 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 my physiognomy than my 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-one would relish a tongue lashing from my mum. Cruel spectacles and cut glass voice to go with them.

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 am I am confusing the Andorra party with the Twelfth Night party?…

…on reflection the Twelfth Night one, which was differently embarrassing, was held at the school, in the dining room if I recall correctly.

Twelfth Night, The Aftermath, 17 December 1978

Others who were a bit older (I was only 15-and-a-half) and a bit wiser (almost everyone else who was there) might recall the Andorra after show party better.

Still, my mother’s parental intervention was a pretty cringe-making one.

Oh mum!

Welcome To 3BJ, The First Three Weeks Of My Third Year At Alleyn’s, Ending With My First Sighting Of Fawlty Towers, 7 to 27 September 1975

Mike Jones ponders our imminent arrival in his class – thanks Mike for the photo

I’ve been finding it difficult to start writing up my third year at Alleyn’s; 1975/1976. My diary for the 1974/1975 academic year was full of juicy details of my activities.

But it seems, after all the excitement of my 1975 summer, I returned to school in September 1975 in a different mood – at least in the matter of keeping my diary. I’m needing to rely more on my fading memory for this period of my life and hope for some informed comment from readers.

For example, whereas I wrote down the “cast list” for my 1S and 2AK years, I had “grown out of” doing that by the 3BJ era – which is a blithering shame.

Also, I think I was under the parental…by which I mean maternal…cosh, having made a mess of my year end exams that summer and finding myself in a B stream class. “Get the back up to the A stream,” was the familial message, with some new rules at home to encourage homework and discourage loafing.

You wouldn’t have messed with my mum either. Cruel spectacles.

I’m not convinced that sparse diarising was entirely necessary in my mission to do better at school that year. But the diarising was more sparse and the school results were better.

Here are the first three weeks of September:

I realise that most of that is beyond legibility and/or interpretation, so here goes with my best efforts.

Sunday, 7 September 1975 – Rosh Hashanah [Jewish New Year, day two in this instance].

Monday, 8 September 1975 – uneventful day.

Tuesday, 9 September 1975 – last day [of school holidays. Not the end of the world.] Stuart and Andy [both from our street – Stuart Harris was not a relation and was a Whitgiftian, Andy Levinson was a fellow Alleyn’s pupil].

Wednesday, 10 September 1975 – first day [of school]. 3BJ. Mr Jones.

Thursday, 11 September 1975–1st proper day at school.

Friday, 12 September 1975 – school good. TV Dad’s Army, Liver Birds.

Saturday, 13 September 1975 – school morn. After library. TV Gambit, Dick Emery, Kojak.

Sunday, 14 September 1975 – Kol Nidre [evening prayers to herald the Day of Atonement] in evening.

Monday, 15 September 1975 – Yom Kippur [Day of Atonement].

Tuesday, 16 September 1975 – catching up only today.

Wednesday, 17 September 1975 – uneventful day. Good results school.

Thursday, 18 September 1975 – more good results. TV $6 million man, Two Ronnies, Man About The House.

Friday, 19 September 1975 – uneventful day. TV Dad’s Army, Liver Birds, Stanley Baxter III.

Saturday, 20 September 1975 – school morning. TV Generation Game.

Sunday, 21 September 1975 – no classes. Dined at Feld’s. TV Upstairs Downstairs.

Monday, 22 September 1975 – school OK. TV Goodies, Angels, Waltons etc.

Tuesday, 23 September 1975 – did swimming good. Telepathy. TV Pink Panther

Wednesday, 24 September 1975 – swimming. Went to Aviv meeting [one of mum’s charities. I cannot imagine why I went with her, unless dad had something on that evening and mum didn’t want to fork out for a sitter!].

Thursday, 25 September 1975. Got CCF [Combined Cadet Force] kit. TV Two Ronnies, Man About The House, Morecombe & Wise.

Friday 26 September 1975 – uneventful. TV Invisible Man, Dad’s Army, Liver Birds, Fosters Tower [sic – that can only be Fawlty Towers]

Saturday, 27 September 1975 – school morning. TV Dick Emery, Kojak.

Hard to believe that I didn’t even register the name Fawlty Towers correctly when I first saw it.

It was the episode about The Builders and I remember it tickling me no end. My parents didn’t like it much. Dad found Basil Fawlty irritating, reminding him of some of the twerps he had to deal with in running his business. You can decide for yourselves, if you hadn’t made up your minds already – see embed below.

An Uneventful Week (Apart From Watching The Test) Before Starting My Third Year At Alleyn’s, 1 to 6 September 1975

So much wrong with that technique – but the enthusiasm is there for all to see

After all the excitement of my summer, I went into a very subdued diary mood for some weeks/months after our return.

This diary page, which covers the week between returning from Europe and school restarting, sets the tone.

It barely needs transcribing, but I am a diligent transcriber:

Monday, 1 September 1975 settled in. Watched test. Went to library. [TV] Angels, The High Chaparral.

Tuesday, 2 August 1975 – uneventful day. TV Tarzan, New York, Quo Vadis.

Wednesday, 3 August 1975 – uneventful

Thursday, 4 September 1975 – uneventful

Friday, 5 September 1975 – uneventful

Saturday, 6 September 1975 – Rosh Hashanah [Jewish New Year].

I think we need to do some more forensics on that cricket photo. Here’s a link to the test match scorecard. The umpires were Tom Spencer and Dickie Bird (whom I had the honour and pleasure to meet once – some 40 years after the events of this piece):

A Visit To Leeds For Yorkshire v Middlesex, Headingley, 8 to 10 June 2015

I’m 98% sure that the umpire on the TV screen is Tom Spencer and I’m 100% sure that the wicket-keeper was Rod Marsh, who kept all day that Monday.

The unmistakable stoopy stance of Umpire Spencer on the TV screen.

But who batting? Yes, me, obviously, in front of the screen. I mean on the screen. I have narrowed it down to being John Snow or Barry Wood and I think the answer is John Snow. Cricket lovers – chime in with your thoughts.

It was an unusual match, as they had put aside six days for that Oval test match, used all six but still ended up with a draw.

I sense that even I lost interest after a burst of watching (and having my photo taken), probably quite early on the Monday.

As an only child, one of my favourite pastimes was working out how to play solitaire versions of the board games in my collection. I have no idea what this game was, let alone how I had worked out a solitaire version of it. My favourite solitaire game was my very own version of Cluedo – the conceit of the solitaire version is long-since forgotten but I remember being fascinated by it for some while.

I suspect that the test match was on the TV while I was indulging in this additional activity. In that respect, I don’t suppose I have changed much, although the additional activity has changed.

As for the TV viewing – I don’t remember the TV drama Angels about student nurses at all. But I certainly remember The High Chaparral. My dad was very keen on it too. Do you fancy getting the theme tune stuck in your head – only click the YouTube embed if you do.

On rehearing The High Chaparral theme, it sounds very much like Joe Meek’s extraordinary instrumental Telstar (famously performed by the Tornados), in the style of Elmer Bernstein’s wonderful theme music for The Magnificent Seven.

I learn, on doing a little further research, that the resemblance between The High Chaparral theme and Telstar has been discussed at length over the decades. One surprising thing, to me, is that I didn’t notice the similarity when Paul Deacon first played me Telstar, which must have been around or very soon after my High Chaparral watching era.

Ironically and tragically, Joe Meek never saw the royalties for Telstar, as a French composer, Jean Ledrut, sued Meek for plagiarism – without success but to some extent understandably – on account of La Marche d’Austerlitz.

Meek died just three weeks before that law suit was found in his favour. Thus he never got a chance to test his own claim against David Rose, who composed The High Chaparral theme, if indeed Meek would have chosen to try such a claim.

Thoughts on these matters will, as always, be much appreciated, whether from my contemporaries or indeed from anyone who stumbles across this page and has a view on any of these topics.

Breaking Up Isn’t Hard To Do: The Last Week Of Term In My 2AK Year At Alleyn’s, 6 to 12 July 1975

Me & Grandma Anne A Few Weeks Later

So much happened in that week, which was the last of my second year at Alleyn’s. Here’s the diary page.

Naturally, readers are already writing in to complain that they cannot read my scribble, even though I haven’t even finished writing up this piece yet. Here’s a transcript:

Sunday, 6 July 1975 – Went to classes. Grandma Anne gave me £100. Great.

Monday, 7 July 1975 – more relaxing. Fives good. TV Sportstown, Star Trek, Waltons, Horizon.

Tuesday, 8 July 1975 – classes good. No bar mitzvah class. Uneventful.

Wednesday, 9 July 1975 – we won cricket. I got a hat-trick and eight runs. TV The Ascent of Man.

Thursday, 10 July 1975 – classes good. Picking up mix-up. TV Jacques Cousteau, Comedy of Marriage.

Friday, 11 July 1975 – broke up from school hurrah. TV Walt Disney, Celebrity Knockout. England flop in first test.

Saturday 12 July 1975 – shule in the morning, Andrew in the afternoon. Aussies dish out more punishment. Susan’s wedding.

£100 was a princely sum in those days. This was my bar mitzvah present. Of course I was allowed nowhere near it – straight into a savings account where it probably ended up making a small but significant contribution to the first deposit I made on a flat nearly a quarter-of-a-century later.

Still, no wonder I have a dreamy expression on my face in the headline photo, which was taken at the bar mitzvah party a few weeks later. I have previously written up one quirky aspect of that party. It was Candappa’s fault, sir…

My Very Brief Junior Career As A Limbo Dancer, The Peacock Club, 10 August 1975

I have also previously written up my hat trick taking heroics in the cricket at Alleyn’s school. A relatively common topic of my conversation, even 50 years later, when talking about my own cricket playing “career”…because there’s not much else of note to talk about.

The Day I Took A Hat Trick At Cricket, Alleyn’s School, 9 July 1975

The phrase, “broke up from school hurrah” sounds like something out of a Billy Bunter book and doesn’t read like me – but it does indicate my enthusiasm for that Alleyn’s school year to have ended – an annus mirabilis (by my standards) in sport but annus horribilis academically.

I had been eagerly anticipating the opportunity to follow England in the 1975 Ashes. I had not fully engaged with cricket aged 9/10 when Australia had previously visited, in 1972. By 1975, I was a proper cricket-mad youngster.

The remarks “England flop” and “Australia dish out more punishment” read like headlines from tabloid newspapers that I couldn’t possibly have seen. Here’s a link to the scorecard from that first test.

I suspect that I spent more time than was good for me watching that cricketing road crash unfold in slow motion. 50 years later, I realise that my habits, in that regard, have not changed much.

I didn’t much follow popular music back then, but I do recall that Van McCoy’s The Hustle was riding high in the charts that summer and was my earworm around the time we broke up from school.

Can you listen to and watch the following vid without trying some of the moves and getting the whole tune stuck in your head as an earworm? Of course you can’t.

The Day I Took A Hat Trick At Cricket, Alleyn’s School, 9 July 1975

Ascent of Man photo ESO/H. Dahle, CC BY 4.0

On 23 September 2016, I was honoured to witness live Toby Roland-Jones taking a hat-trick for Middlesex, sealing the County Championship for my beloved county – naturally I Ogblogged about it – here…

…but that wasn’t the first time I had witnessed a hat-trick live. Indeed, it wasn’t the first time that month, September 2016, that I had witnessed a hat-trick live – I saw Middlesex on the wrong side of one at Trent Bridge, Nottinghamshire – Ogblogged about here – just 17 days before the day of glory…

…but that Trent Bridge one wasn’t the first hat-trick I had witnessed live, although it was the first professional one.

The first hat-trick I witnessed live (and the last one for more than 40 years) was, remarkably, my own.

I don’t have many glorious feats of cricket to report. Let’s be honest about it; I’m not much good at playing cricket. I love it, but I’ve never been much use at it. But on 9 July 1975, the last match of 2AK’s trophy-winning season, I reported with little ceremony in my diary the following:

The irony of having watched The Ascent Of Man after such an auspicious sporting achievement is not wasted on me.

I remember the hat-trick remarkably well. I am pretty sure we were playing up on Alleyn’s top fields – not the very top one but the large, “lower top field”. That was mostly used as the second eleven pitch, but for the juniors I recall that field was divided in two, with a couple of strategically located mini-squares, so all four classes could play at the same time.

I can’t remember the name of the master who was umpiring. I do remember that my first wicket was a clean bowled and the second was a caught and bowled. The master and I then had the following conversation:

“Do you realise that you are on a hat-trick, Mr Harris?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are you proposing to do about it?”

“I’m going to try and bowl the same ball again, Sir.”

Which I did.

The “same ball” being pretty much my only ball. A moon ball, ludicrously slow, with an attempt at spin on it; probably a bit of top spin but nothing else in its favour other than being straight.

You see, I was very keen, so I used to practice bowling in the back drive against the garage door for ages. I didn’t get much better at bowling, but I was usually at least able to bowl the ball straight in those days.

Clean bowled.

In my memory (undoubtedly a falsy) the master was rolling on the floor laughing when I took the third wicket in three balls. I’m sure he really did laugh, anyway.

9 July 1975, a truly memorable date in (my personal) cricket history. The ill-fated 1975 Ashes series started the very next day; I don’t think this fact is even faintly relevant to my story, but I wanted to write it nonetheless. I can write what I like on Ogblog.

A lot of very good bowlers have played an awful lot of cricket without ever taking a hat-trick. I know that I’m not and wasn’t ever a good bowler. My hat-trick was at a very elementary level and only has significant meaning to me. But it is a memory I have carried with me all my days since and I shall continue to cherish that memory until I am gaga and/or dead.

I wonder who the hat-trick victim was? That much has slipped my mind completely. His too, almost certainly.

The Production We Didn’t See – Entertaining Mr Sloane by Joe Orton, Duke of York Theatre, Possibly 7 July 1975

Mum sporting cruel spectacles

Michael Lempriere had arranged for our drama class to go and see Entertaining Mr Sloane by Joe Orton. It would have been the mid 1970s Royal Court revival production (probably the West End transfer thereof), with Beryl Reid as Kath, Malcolm McDowell as Sloane, James Ottaway as Kemp and Ronald Fraser as Eddie.

Here is a link to some good resources and reviews of that production. Good reviews from that source, naturally. It seems that the Spectator hated it though; a harsh paragraph at the end of a lot of stuff about other productions here.

Anyway, when my mum got wind of it that we were going to see THAT play, she went into high horse mode, for reasons I cannot quite work out. I think she just felt that we were far too young for…whatever it was…not that she really knew anything about it, other than the fact that she probably mentioned it to a friend and that friend looked horrified at the thought. perhaps a sample of two priggish friends.

Mum was probably in a grumpy mood generally at that time – she was in and out of hospital for the first half of that year, culminating in a hip replacement in May. Anyway, she decided not merely to ground me from this one – I might have got away with just minor embarrassment for that. She got on to the school and got the outing cancelled. How un-hip was that?

Several of my drama pals were mightily unimpressed with this, as was I. We were all very disappointed as much as anything else. Michael Lempriere handled the matter with great dignity I’m sure, but that couldn’t prevent the ribbing. In particular, I recall Bob Kelly giving me a hard time; not least suggesting my mother’s physical as well as behavioural similarities with Mary Whitehouse. As my mother had chosen to go down the cruel spectacles line during the mid 1970s (illustrated with a 1977 picture below) this was a difficult charge to deny.

I’m not entirely sure when the theatre trip that never was should have happened. My diary is silent on the whole matter. I am guessing it was supposed to be an after exams jolly at the end of my second year, but it might just have been a start of the next academic year jolly for our drama group. If the latter, we didn’t miss out on Ottaway and McDowell, we missed out on Harry H. Corbett as Ed and Kenneth Cranham as Sloane.

I did eventually get to see a production of this play, but not until January 2001 at the Arts Theatre. My moral compass was not adversely affected by witnessing the play, as far as I can tell, nor was Daisy’s, although we were to be seen sunning ourselves in South-East Asia only a few weeks later…

Entertaining Mr Sloane by Joe Orton, The Arts Theatre, 27 January 2001

Meeting With Triumph And Disaster At The End Of My 2AK Year At Alleyn’s School

Triumph on the cricket pitch meets disaster in the exam hall

By my mediocre standards as a sportsperson, my second year at Alleyn’s was an annus mirabilis. Actually, the success all seems to have come in a rush in the final term, so it was possibly no more than a terminus mirabilis.

Tony King: “Even yer Latin was pretty shite, Harris!”

No week better sums up the peaks and troughs of that particular period of my school life than the one depicted and described here.

I know, the words need transcribing. Here goes:

Sunday 29 June 1975 – Went to classes sports. Got certificate for second place in the 4 x 80 m relay – very enjoyable time.

Monday 30 June 1975 – the swimming gala. We came ↓ [bottom, presumably]. Getting some [exam] results, some not too good. TV Star Trek, Waltons, Horizon, Anaesthesia.

Tuesday 1 July 1975 – classes good TV

Wednesday, 2 July 1975 – We’ve [2AK] won the cricket league by beating to 2BM 86-80. TV The Ascent of Man

Thursday, 3 July 1975 – uneventful day. Preparation for concert. TV Jacques Cousteau, Comedy of Marriage.

Friday, 4 July 1975 – Day of concert. All went well. On to Grandma Anne. Don [Donald Knipe] kicked up a fuss. 24th in class.

Saturday, 5 July 1975 – had an exeat. Mum in peeve all day. TV Canon, That’s Life.

I cannot believe it. That certificate for coming second in the 4 x 80m relay failed to avoid my mother’s cull of my juvenilia and memorabilia. I do recall it had pride of place with my pile of near-irrelevant certificates for many years.

As for the swimming gala – the “we” in that comment was presumably 2AK. Our year had some cracking good swimmers in it, but, looking at my 2AK names list, we lacked most of not all of our year’s swimming and water polo heroes. Swimming was not one of my strong suits.

I had far less excuse for my dismal performance in class. Suffice it to say that my myriad extra curricula activities that year, combined with my mother’s diminished influence while in hospital/rehabilitating much of the time, had drawn my attention away from the business of learning stuff that gets results in school exams.

But who cares? 2AK won the league in the interclass cricket that year, no doubt strongly influenced by my voice-captaincy.

Parenthetically, I still have no recollection of any duties performed by the vice-captain in such circumstances, nor do I recall who our captain was. I’ll guess that the captain was Ian Feeley or Dave French. It’s hard to tell who was deemed to be captaincy material back then. I mean, we ALL went to the right sort of school, didn’t we?

Jumbo Jennings did not play cricket for us that season, I am 99% sure, because when he broke through in house cricket the following year, he surprised everybody…including himself probably, as I don’t think he much liked cricket.

I have copious, near-illegible notes about performance scribbled at the back of my diary. Perhaps THAT is what a vice-captain is supposed to do. The stats. I might scan those and add them as a appendix here for my completist readers and for cricket historians of the future.

As for the lower school concert on the Friday…

…my role is neither mentioned in my diary nor in the quaint, comprehensive write up for Scribblerus by Mr Kingman, which is linked here.

I’m pretty sure that I had been elbowed out of the lower school orchestra by the end of the year, by dint of being so very, very awful at playing the violin. My mother never really got over that, coming from a family of virtuoso violinists and multi-instrumentalists…

Turn It Up To Max & Spit: The Baltic Origins Of My Mother’s (Marcus) Family Revealed

…how come Andy Levinson, from a family of medics, was making so much better a fist of the violin than mum’s little darling? Jovito Athaide is also mentioned in that concert write up and I do remember him as being a musical talent. It was so sad to learn that his life was cut tragically short through heart failure.

I do vaguely remember the Tom Sawyer dramatization, which is also mentioned. I don’t suppose my deep south accent cut the mustard then, any more than it would now, so I’ll guess that my role in that concert was to be a gopher/fixer for the teachers.

Don Knipe “kicking up a fuss” at Grandma Anne’s place is part of a long and very peculiar story. Edwina Green, Don’s wife, was our family doctor. They were great friends of my grandma and indeed the whole “Streatham branch” of our family. The story is set out in the following linked piece, if you like reading weird:

Strange Case Of Dr Green And Mr Knipe…And Beluga Caviar And Scotch Whisky And A Bust Of Hitler, c22 December 1981

Moving on, I wonder whether I made the connection, back then, between “24th in Class” reported on the Friday and “Mum in a peeve all day” reported on the following day. That connection is certainly clear to me now.

The word “peeve” makes me think of Andy Levinson’s vocabulary more than my own. Do you still use that word, Andy? I certainly don’t…or at least didn’t. I might start using it again, now that the diary has brought it back to the front of my mind.

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