THE BELMONT THEATRE

Part 2 of his detailed history of the Belmont Theatre from 1938 was written By Dom Roger Hosker for the Belmont Magazine 1961 - 63. It provides a fascinating history of Belmont during the early years of World War Two. 

PART II (1941-1945): THE COMICAL FORTIES

THE THEATRE is very much a prey to fashion, and the Belmont Theatre is no exception. If the fashion in

the Thirties was Farce, and in the Fifties the Musical, then the Forties mean Comedy and Comics. Mrs.

Gwendolen Massey-Lynch, who must surely have seen more Belmont Plays than anyone else, once

remarked to the present writer that the Christmas Play always produces a Comic: “You always have

somebody to make us laugh.” This was never more so than between 1941 and 1945). From Brian

Mulcair and Alphonsus (Dom Robert) Richardson to Oliver Lanng and Nicholas Reid there stretches a

line of something like twenty first-class comedians, all equally at home in Pantomime or Shakespeare

or the legitimate drama, or the Musical. The ten years fall roughly into three phases: Pantomime until

1942; short or one act straight plays until 1945; and then, from 1946, musicals. But all these diverse

productions and actors were, in one way or another, greatly influenced by one personality, Dom Bruno

Reynolds.

Dom Bruno first appeared on the stage at the age of six, as supporting cast to his sister, who was

singing a gypsy song. Having a natural talent for waggling the top of his head up and down, he did

precisely that and, of course, stole the show. His first production was at the age of nine, a blood and

thunder affair with some puppets made out of potatoes with boot buttons rammed in for eyes. The stage

was a gas stove; the audience was another small boy who had to go back-stage to work the curtain,

which was a tea towel. Throughout his youth and into his twenties he acted and worked with several

amateur companies, and during this time gained the knowledge and skill which, with his enthusiasm

and interest, are such an influence over any boy who has the good fortune to work with him. Like his

friend Austin Herbinson, he is an old-fashioned theatre man. Nowadays theatre people are all too often

specialists; but Dom Bruno produced both music and words, built and painted the scenery, helped with

the make-up, made the props, was always his own stage manager and prompter, often wrote or adapted

the script and on one occasion capped all this by actually appearing. As a producer he was a bundle of enthusiasm and

ideas but tremendously painstaking. There was a definite Method: he would take a scene line by line, even

inflection by inflection, and insist on working at it until it was going as he wanted it. There were basic ‘stock ‘

characters (the pompous, the servile, the gormless) and these provided the foundation for each interpretation.

Dom Bruno worked tremendously hard. He was often painting and carpentering until the early hours of the

morning and generally by the end of the Play was an exhausted man. It was not surprising that boys worked hard

for him and, following his clear example, took a great pride in the finished production.

In the later forties Dom (now Abbot) Alphege joined Dom Bruno in the bigger musical productions. To Dom

Bruno’s artistic talents he added his own flair for organisation and for creating a spirit of unity in a Cast.

Together they gave the School a real pride in its theatre and established a tradition extending to the smallest

details of Play production. Three boys from their Casts in the forties who later joined the Community, are today

producing the Belmont plays: Dom Bruno himself still produces the Alderwasley plays : thus the tradition is

maintained.

December, 1941 saw the continuation of the pantomime idea with Dick Whittinglon, preceded by The Island of

Sea Dreams done by the boys of St. Ethelbert’s. The Hereford Times reported: “The part of Jack, the boy

whose bad dream “result of eating too many green apples forms the sketch, was taken by Edmund Singleton and considering his age - six years - he did remarkably. Singleton, who was nine at the time, received a great deal of ribbing over

this from his contemporaries who found it vastly amusing that one of such advanced years should be mistaken for

a mere child. John Shearburn, Tim Fanning and Brendan Travers were also in the cast and indeed were to be the

nucleus of Ethelbert dramatics for many years. Dick Whittington followed closely the pattern of the 1949

Cinderella. The music was contemporary ‘pop’ with titles which have the quaint nostalgic ring of the early

war years Forget-me-not-Lane, I’ve Got Sixpence, You Stole My Heart Away, It’s Foolish But It’s Fun,

Sleep Little Valley Where the Cornsilk Blows, All Over the Place. Willy Lane painted a very effective set of Old London; there was an opening chorus of apprentices singing Rise and Shine; Aiphonsus Richardson led the comics as Alderman Fitzwarren; Brian Mulcair (then generally known as “Auntie “) had some inspired fooling as the Captain of the Guard, ranting on about the

psychology of rats. (The rats being guinea pigs carried on in a bucket). Willy Lane astounded everyone as Harem

Miranda, an extremely realistic impersonation of a highly energetic Brazilian dancer of similar name. Other brief

glimpses that have survived are of Woodford as Felix the Cat, losing his tail; Anthony Fahy and James Moloney,

the hero and heroine, singing bitter-sweet duets like I’ll See You Again and We’ll Have a Neat Little Cafe;

Brian Mulcair and Hugh Morris as two Rustics singing I’ve Got Sixpence, with the audience joining in with

typical British embarassment. At the end the entire Company came down stage in the traditional manner to a

minuetty tune to sing The Lights of Home. One would like to think that there was a lump in every throat and not a

dry eye in the House. At any rate the Hereford Times was moved to declare “ . . . the Belmont boys have added

another to their list of histrionic triumphs.”

Dom Bruno produced the Ethelbert play of 1941; the pantomime was supervised by Dom Aiphege (the Head

Master) with the boys themselves doing a very large share of the work. This arrangement was continued in

December 1942 when The Haunted Barn and A libaba and the Forty Thieves were produced. The Haunted Barn

was written by Dom Bruno (and is published by French’s with his Smugglers’ Gazes), who has written of it as

follows “ It was azound Edmund Singleton (or ‘Titch’ to give him his nickname of those days) that I wrote for

the Ethelberts The Haunted Barn. All I remember about the staging of this was the ladders and tea chests which

dressed the stage; so far I had never attempted the painting of scenery for at that time we should never have been

granted the funds. But we had risen to the providing of a spot light, and this argues to Dom Martin’s installation

of the lighting about that time. Of the Play itself I recall very little beyond some general fun with these boys and

of having a crack at our kitchen staff whose main items on the menu were pilchards and cheese. Also I remember

becoming quite frantic with Shearburn who had one of his giggling fits while I tried to put a moustache on him.” Terry Fallon made a distinct impression as a farmer called Sam; James Clinch and Edmund Singleton were a good pair of brothers and Francki was the German parachutist.

Alibaba was in much the same vein as Dick Whittington. There was an opening chorus of Baghdad Citizens;

Woodford as a cockney Ali; Michael Fanning as an excellent Policeman. The sensation of the evening was Hilary

Oakley as a Scotsman called Macadam he produced a pure highland accent, danced a reel and whooped”

Cruachan “like a native. Dom Robert, who at this time had been in the novitiate for just three months, was

hauled out again to attend to the gas lighting for the stage; but before he could complete his task, it was decided

to run lights oft car batteries (as the hand-motivated cinema projector had been run since January 1939). it was

just sixty years since Richard D’Oyly Carte had first lit an English theatre, the Savoy, with the electric light.

1943 (after an attempt to produce The Mikado) brought two straight plays, Weatherwise, and Vice-Versa. There

were exactly one hundred boys in the School, including the Ethelberts. The senior boys produced Weatherwise

themselves under the direction of Conor Fahy. Bobby Jervis played the Lady Warple, who becomes possessed by

a dog, and Michael Chandler and Michael Pinches made two remarkably assured daughters97 Pinches as Cynthia

in a tafteta dress and bobbed wig to match. Fahy himself played the clergyman, David Bunce the Butler, with

Otto Herschan as a psychoanalyst (an interesting fact in the light of Otto’s subsequent venture into the

professional theatre). During the interval between the two plays, Moloney went out front and sang The Yeomen of

England in a fruity tenor.

Dom Bruno produced the main piece, Vice-Versa. He had actually done this in 1937 for Dom Anselm, and again

made of it an admirably polished production. David Holdsworth was a yokelly Clegg; Anthony Penfold a most

convincing and impressive Eliza; Michael Sheppard was Dick, John Miles, Shellack. But the performance which

overshadowed all was Austin Herbinson’s Doctor Grimstone. Herbinson was a remarkably mature and

accomplished actor: he had a great range of expression in face and gesture, and a most attractive

resonantly raspy voice. He exuded confidence and authority, and Grimstone gave him all the

scope he needed. An important feature of Belmont theatricals came into existence with Vice Versa. This was the

first appearance in the dressing room of Austin Herbinson, Senior. “Old Herbo,” as he became affectionately

known to everybody, really ~~as the Belmont dressing room for fifteen years. The building of scenery, the

intensifying of rehearsals, the appearance of the costumes and all the other minutiae which signify the onset of

the Play were as nothing compared with the arrival of “Old Herbo.” He was not only an expert with the

make-up stick; he was an accomplished violinist and he both made violins and composed music for them; when it

came to performing on a stage he could do anything, and he was a splendid raconteur with a fund of stories drawn

from as full and interesting a life as anyone would wish to lead. No one was more interested in and enthusiastic

for the Play and the individual actors than he. In spite of the fact that he always seemed to be making-up, giving a

youthful actor a confidential tip about some little trick, holding a group with an inimitably-told yarn about some

Liverpudlian Hebrew, all at the same time, he never seemed to miss a moment of the play and loved ruminating

over some item his sensitive eye or ear had picked out. Since ill health prevented his coming in 1958 we have

sadly missed him: although Dom Robert has maintained the high standard of make-up he set.

Three short plays were produced in December 1”4. The Nightingale was done by the Ethelberts, The Ghost of

Jerry Bundler and Holed Out in One by the senior school. Dom Bruno produced all three. The School had just

been recognised and there was a growing feeling of confidence and interest in its future. The war was in its last

year, but was making its existence felt in many ways. Otto Herschan’s Chinese garden back cloth for The

Nightingale was embellished by some vandal with a drawing of a doodle bug (the rockets which at that time were

Hitler’s last hope). It was also embellished with the artist’s initials linked through a pierced heart with the

initials of an attractive young lady who lived within a stone’s throw of the School and was much admired by

several generations of young gentlemen. The red sugar tins were still in use. Anthony Fahy, who had taken a

large part in the production of A libaba and had recently appeared as a newly commissioned Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, was shortly to be killed when his ship was torpedoed.

The Nightingale had an exceptionally good small boy cast. John Murphy and Brendan Travers as two very sharp

gardeners; John Bunce as an imposing Emperor; Howard Rowe a grotesque flunky and Terry Fallon as a

Pooh-Bah type Gentleman Usher. Geoffrey Garvey, who was an Ethelbert Monitor at the time, had done an

excellent job in teaching the cast their lines, but the performances teetered on the brink of disaster a couple of

times. On the morning of the, School performance Matron put Terry Fallon on the sick list, telling a shattered

Dom Bruno, “Maybe he will be well enough to appear the day after tomorrow, Father, but he simply mustn’t

go on that stage today.” Dom Bruno spent the afternoon walking round the woods with his script with a boy

cuing him in the part; Mr. Herbinson made him up and he appeared that night, to the great delight and fascination

of the School. Not only was he a Master, but he could hardly have learnt the part in one afternoon and there was

the delicious uncertainty of what he would do if he dried up. After this, Fallon’s return to the part was

something of an anti-climax. The second item which nearly upset everything was Dom Vincent’s laugh. Any

producer of comedy knows the value of a really infectious laugher in the audience, and Dom Vincent could set an

audience alight in five minutes once a play took his fancy. His laughter came, not in gusts, but as a continuous

fairly high pitched hoot. The Nightingale took his fancy, and he was quickly under way. The trouble was that in

the latter half of the play there is a genuinely moving death scene: Death himself (admirably played by John

Grisewood) appears and approaches the prostrate Emperor while the cast repeatedly chant “The Emperor is

dying.” By this time Dom Vincent was too well under way to stop, and on the Community night the appearance

of Death and the Emperor’s final throes were accompanied by a steady and infectious hoot of mirth. It says

much for the performance that the audience as a whole took the death scene seriously.

The Ghost of Jerry Bundler was straight drama in the W. XV. Jacobs’ vein, extremely well acted by David

Holdsworth, Frank White, Denis Wilton, John Miles and Norman Cresswell.

On the Wednesday night of Holed Out in One the lighting failed during the performance.

Power was provided now by a dynamo installed in the pumping house next to the Tennis Court, and this dynamo

suddenly ceased to function. Stage hands provided emergency power by (mircibile dictu) pedalling bicycles, in

the wings, whose dynamo lights were trained on the actors. Anthony Penfold, playing the long-suffering wife

putting up with the parasitic school-friend of her husband, carried on branch candle sticks and the action

proceeded. Dom Bruno spent most of the following morning on the telephone to obtain a substitute dynamo:

Dom Martin persuaded this to function for the duration of the play by using a motor car outside the gym. Jerry

Bundler gave scope for polished naturalistic acting from its live principals, but Holed Out in One was pure farce

dominated by Austin Herbinson’s Wellington Wombat. Anthony Penfold as the wife, Ruth, led a sound

supporting cast; Edward Campbell was a convincing Lady Stilton, Terry Fallon was seen again as the Maid and

Edmund Singleton, the original six year old prodigy, had a triumphant return to the boards as the Dog, Boaz.

There was also a genuine kitten, to keep Boaz company.

There was one incident of unexpected farce on the second night. Herbinson was supposed to tee up a gclf ball

and hit it hard through the door, whereupon there would be a piercing scream and Edward Campbell entered as

the Duchess of Stilton with a very well developed black eye. The trouble started because Campbell found it

impossible to scream female-wise, and so Fallon had to do the scream. On the second night Herbinson teed up

the ball and let fly: there was a magnificent scream off but, as the audience quickly saw, the ball was still

reposing patiently on its tee, waiting to be hit. So the procedure had to be repeated before Campbell could make

his entrance.

1945 brought the end of the war in Europe. News of the official celebration of’ VE Day’ reached the School

Chroniclers as they were rolling the cricket field. The School “ proceeded at once to the Prep Hall, where the

Head Master made the formal announcement, and thence to Church for a short service of Thanksgiving. The

following day, May 8th, brought disappointingly bad weather, but it cleared up in the afternoon and the School

helped to swell the throng in Hereford.” Archbishop Godfrey, at that time Apostolic Delegate, arrived in the evening, and intoned the Te Deum at the solemn Benediction of Thanksgiving. Eleven American chaplains were guests at dinner,

and the celebration concluded with a great bonfire in the wood at 10p.m. The American service

personnel made a great impression on the Junior School: they spent most of the evening giving free

rides in their strange vehicles to hordes of small boys who constantly and shamelessly asked, in the

parlance of the time, “...Got any Gum, Chum? “ One final item which ought not to be lost to posterity

was the arrival of Nancy and Janey Davies at the Thanksgiving Service. These two, as far as the boys

were concerned, had been Foundation Retainers of Belmont, appearing from time immemorial at the

most peculiar hours of the day and night to carry out tasks impossible to define. The boy who woke in

the middle of the night would not be surprised to find them both going through the motions of cleaning

the Prep Hall, singing tuneless and ageless Hereford-shire ballads that Cecil Sharp would have given

his ears for. But at eight o’clock the next morning some ordinary mortal would be at work on the

same job. And Nancy and Janey would have been seen in the first light of dawn tottering off to their

Almshouse loaded, like a couple of British Coasters, with any junk they could find. Nancy was known

to clean out Dom Bruno’s cubicle in the dormitory; Dom Bruno was generally acknowledged as a

very sound sleeper, and legend insisted that Nancy commonly dusted him as well as the room.

Sartorially they were fashionable, if surprise is the first essential of Fashion. They wore anything, from

rugby jerseys and Half Colour scarves to odd C.C.F. boots and discarded eiderdowns. The bigger the

occasion the bigger the surprise and on VE Day they lived up to their legend. The School was

paralysed with silent mirth when they came into Church, decked out like walking Rag and Bone

Merchants. But the item that marked the Occasion was the Hat which each wore. A splendid black

Stove Pipe, straight from a Witches’ Jumble Sale. And to make the point, they had each chalked

round the brim large Churchillian V’s, interspersed with its morse code equivalent . . . As far as the

boys were concerned, Luneberg Heath had nothing on these two. The Tempest was done for Half Term, in June. This was, in a way, a return to the abortive Tempest of 1941, when Oakley was to have been Prospero and Richardson Caliban. Now these two, Brothers James and Robert, produced a special version of the play arranged by Dom Aiphege. The cast was talented; John

Miles, Austin Herbinson, David Holdsworth, Denis Wilton, Michael Sheppard and John Grisewood were out

standing and the comic scenes especially well done and appreciated. One aspect of this production which left a

lasting impression was the singing Leo Murphy as Ariel sang I Know a Bank and Where the Bee Sucks and his

pure treble, the setting and the calm summer evening combined to produce an effect of great beauty.

December, 1”5 brought the last of the series of straight plays. The Ethelberts did Smugglers’ Caves, written

for them by Dom Bruno. Completely natural dialogue and situation made this an ideal play for small boys. Dom

Bruno has written of this performance “ Smugglers’ Cares is the only production I have ever seen from the front

and I paid dearly for Dom Martin’s indulgence of me alongside him in the lighting box. Those Ethelberts not in

the show had staged a battle in their day-room across the passage. Chairs were piled up as barricades and, though

they must have had a royal time of it, I learned, too late, that they quite wrecked the play with their noises off.

Moreover, the actors themselves raced away with their dialogue, as small boys will, so this was a salutary

experience for me, and never since have I moved far away from any junior cast in a performance.” The main

plays of the evening were The Dear Departed, produced by Brother James, and The Crimson Cocoanut, produced

by Brother Robert. Stanley Houghton’s bitingly funny satire, every bit as effective as much of the Kitchen Sink

drama of today, provided some rich performances. Penfold and Grisewood were a splendid contrast as the sisters,

but perhaps the outstanding character was Thomas Peirson’s simple, lugubrious Henry Slater. Matthew Lanng

made a notable first appearance as Victoria, and his cry of “OOOO’s gorn dead? “ became a catch-phrase in the

School. But I, for one, still relish tbe impassive stupidity of Thomas Peirson’s face.

The Crimson Cocoanut was all Tommy Higgins in the central character of the Waiter. Ian Taylor made his debut

As Madame Gliserinski but with Edward Campbell, Frank Watts .nd Michael Haigh he was

overshadowed by the bustling, toisy, farcical figure of Higgins. Haigh gained a lot of easy iughs by taking off the

character of the attractive young lady reviously mentioned, and, when trapped under the table with ;ampbell,

exclaiming in coy tones, “Oh, Otto! “ There was one further performance which must not go unnoticed, and hat

was Michael Camp’s. Although labouring in back stage obscurity, he did have one moment when he took part in

the lay. Higgins was supposed to ring down to his kitchen and, in he course of his conversation, the stage

directions indicated bat  a distant tinkle” of breaking crockery was heard. Camp ad the job of providing this

tinkle. He was an enterprising haracter and, in the days previous to the performances, athered together a vast

collection of broken crockery. At the roper time, he would hurl all this on to the floor. As Dom Robert observed,

rather than a  distant tinkle’ it sounded like n explosion in a Pottery Factory.

C.R.H.