The Performance : The Sylvan River (2)

It was the day of the first performance of The Sylvan River - A Musical Journey.

Darcy Fielding had arranged the transportation to Calico New City and the passengers were all excited to be going on the bus. Our driver was Everton Hopkins, experienced in long-distance journeys and dedicated to keep his passengers happy.

Speaking of passengers, here is a list of those who went. Mayor Ramsay Nettlefield and Mayoress Caprina Nettlefield had acquired VIP seats in the theatre. Darcy was in the Press Area, of course. Figwort Ivory had kindly been given a seat with the artist Maudie Fox-Brown, so his parents Rowan and Angelica were going, not to the theatre but purely on the bus journey. That left me and Christian Snow-Warren as the reason for going (!) accompanied by our lovely wives Cecile and Charity.

I won't dwell on the journey as that's not the point of this tale. I'll just say that Everton made the hours on the road an enjoyable experience. A sing-a-long, a quiz and travel games were preplanned so we arrived at the car park quicker than we anticipated.

It was an experience seeing the front of the theatre; the Palladium Theatre had the name of the musical displayed for all to see. 

Figwort was delighted to point out where my name was shown alongside Chris's. 

He was chatting about this until he left with Maudie Fox-Brown and the Nettlefields. Darcy left us and we went to find our seats.

o 0 O 0 o

We had settled in our reserved theatre box and Cecile and Charity were looking at the show programme, discussing the actors and singers documented therein. The orchestra were tuning their instruments, adding to the anticipation.

Chris nudged me. "Excited, Jack?"

"It is a pretty good experience, pal. Let's hope they sing in tune."

He laughed. "Trust you. Well, we won't have long to wait."

Our wait was interrupted when the door to our theatre box opened and our producer Grant Foxworth entered. He seemed a little flustered. 

"Sorry to bother you, but there's a better view from here."

Chris and I exchanged glances.

Grant moved to the front of the box and peered down into the stalls. His muzzle twitched as he scanned an area of the audience. My curiosity was piqued but Cecile was the one to speak.

"Who are you looking for, Mister Foxworth?"

"I heard there was someone in the press section..." he muttered.

 

I moved to his side and followed his gaze. I saw Darcy down there reclining in his seat, and by coincidence he was looking around the auditorium. He must have seen me as he waved a greeting. I pointed him out to Grant.

"That mouse in the yellow clothing - the one waving - is my friend Darcy Fielding. He is representing our local newspaper. Is that the press section?"

Grant looked in Darcy's direction and he obviously found the subject of his searching nearby.

"Oh no. Bertram Coldwater. It's true. The Sylvanian Times has engaged Bertram Coldwater as a critic. This is dreadful..."

He left the theatre box with his head in his paws. Charity inclined her head in his general direction. "A bit theatrical, isn't he?"

Chris chuckled. "Goes with the territory, love."

"Who in Sylvania is Bertrand Kowalter?" I asked no one in particular. Chris poked my ribs.

"That's Bertram Coldwater, Jack. Wash out your ears. Professor B J Coldwater. Author of 'A psychological analysis of epic poetry'. I'm sure I've mentioned him to you."

"One of the books you read when researching the Sylvan River?"

"See? You were listening."

I pondered this as we settled back into position. "So why is Grant tearing out his whiskers about him?"

The orchestra had finished tuning up and an expectant hush had fallen over the audience as the theatre house lights began to dim.

Chris sat back in his seat. "I'll tell you later."

 

o 0 O 0 o

I had no need to worry about the quality of the singing. I'd heard most of the performers in an earlier rehearsal and their tentative vocalising had been workmanlike and showed promise. Now, their voices resonated around the theatre with strength and confidence that showed no evidence of first night nerves.

From the first song they had interpreted our songwriting efforts better than I could have hoped. Chris mouthed to me, "in tune," and I grinned like an idiot.

I'd not really been involved with the acting element of the production but I was impressed. As were Cecile and Charity. They were perched on the edge of their seats during the dramatic moments. The writers had done an amazing job and the performers were reflecting the narrative with a whole gamut of emotional displays. Credit was due to the director for linking the two.

I became aware of my breathing. Maybe I was excited after all! The analytical part of my mind was saying, "you're part of this," and the other part was saying, "wheeee!"

From time to time I noticed Cecile smiling at me - an expression I recognised as pride. Usually bestowed on our children for their little successes, this time her pride was firmly at my door. This was a memorable evening.

o 0 O 0 o

I should - at least - mention the parts of the production that stood out to me. Redwood Robinson was a charismatic lead playing the Traveller, providing a link between the wonderful singers on his journey.  It is a buzz when I hear my melodies performed by fine musical voices, faithfully interpreting the meaning behind Chris's lyrics. Some parts exceeded my expectations.

The young actor singing the role of Paulus Pigman (the apprentice dredger) brought out the intended humour of his song and punctuated it with a hilarious jerking dance that appealed to the audience.

"I dredges smelly stuff, I dredges mud.

I shifts the silt so that the banks don't flood.

I gets quite messy from the gook down there...

Icky sticky quicky slicky - I don't care!

No. Oh. Oh - 'cause I...

Keep the water flowing. I keep the current going.

Part of me is knowing

that I show my expertise. 

My boss's trust is growing. My self esteem is glowing

For to keep the water flowing

Is a way of life for me."

With the one-time interest of the famous baritone Corbett Mulligan, I could not help but visualise him in the role of Anton the Woodsman. When the actor (Bernard Grizzle) portraying the character appeared and he opened his mouth to sing with a rich tenor voice I knew my original pitching of the song had been well conceived. I became aware of Cecile watching me and smiled at her.

"The river is a friend to me; it shares my heavy load.
Oh, take me through the greenwood, past the weeping willow tree 
The woodland watches over us - an ever-changing road.
Oh, take me through the greenwood where my lover waits for me"

We had accentuated the role of John the Fisherman, and when we saw the bear cast in the role, he more than fulfilled our hopes. His deep voice resonated with the warmth of a calming mug of cocoa. 

"I'm John. I fish. I take my time.
I settle down. I cast my line.
I wait until they nudge my bait
But bide my time, I need to wait.

 

In darkness I will go upstream
To wait; for some - an age it seems.
I know the salmon will return to spawn.
Caught in my paws before the dawn."

o 0 O 0 o

There were more highlights but, suffice to say, I was so happy I was in a haze. I had forgotten about Grant Foxwell's earlier worries and Chris hadn't mentioned it during the interval.

It was after the brilliant finale and three curtain calls when the curtain had dropped for the final time. We had decided to remain in our box until most of the audience had cleared. Chris and I had received warm hugs from our wives, and then Cecile and Charity had insisted on a post mortem on various aspects of the production. We didn't care. In our eyes it had been a success.

To be continued...

o 0 O 0 o