Drama

A play in the Dell 1949

 L-R: B. Poole, 2, Val Manning, 4, 5, 6, Terry McCroakam

School Plays

Staff Plays

Other

School Plays 1920s

Staff Plays 1920s

Theatre Visits 1940s

School Plays 1930s

Staff Plays 1930s

Theatre Visits 1950s and 60s

School Plays 1940s

Staff Plays 1940s

Drama Group 1961

School Plays 1950-54

Staff Plays 1950-54

- 

School Plays 1955-59

Staff Plays 1955-59

-

School Plays 1960-64

Staff Plays 1960s

-

School Plays 1965-68

-

-

 
Year Plays April 1940
Clever acting and sound production were to the fore when the staff and scholars of Hemsworth Grammar School gave their annual plays on Wednesday and yesterday.  The plays were augmented by musical items by the girls' choir.
 
Eighteen boys and girls took part in the Third Form's play, " Robin Hood".  The title role was taken by Birley, who gave a good performance, although he could have put a little more vitality into his lines.  The Knight, who twice came to the rescue of Robin Hood and his men when they were outnumbered by the sheriff's and Prince John's men, was well played by Fox.  Hollingworth was good as Prince John, a haughty aristocrat trying to win the hand of Maid Marian ( I. Stokes) in marriage.  Jenny, Marian's maid, was played by J. Barker.  The prologue was given by B. Longfield, and rustics, outlaws and Prince John's men were taken by D. Hardy, R. Thompson, Needham, Jones, Conway, Oakland, Eyre, Courtney, Noble, Bannister and Horbury.
 
The most interesting, and perhaps the best acted of the plays was "Michael", given by the Fourth Form.  Michael (an angel who had disobeyed God and was sent to earth as a man to learn the three truths of man) was skilfully played by J. Mozley. Lighting effects played a great part and the scene at the end, when Michael eventually learned the truths, was striking.  He was well supported by Chapman, K. Fenton and M. Duckworth, who took the parts of Simon, a Russian cobbler, Matryona, his wife, and Anuiska, their daughter, respectively, Mugglestone, a Russian noble, Lawton, his servant, P. Morris, a woman, and I. Ventom and P. Rowley, twins.
 
The Morning After
 

The play had made a successful impact on the world. Even the harshest of critics had been reasonably complimentary, and so all the members of the cast, from the leading lady and leading man downwards were wallowing in the luxury and excitement of success. Meanwhile, at the theatre itself, the cleaners were arriving - a very different crowd of people from those who had assembled there the previous evening. The building was silent, stripped of its laughter, conversation and rounds of applause. No longer a fairyland of shimmering light and colour but just a dishevelled, lonely, drab building. Discarded programmes lay where they had fluttered; empty chocolate boxes, cigarette packets and cigarette ash were strewn about the floor; gloves and dainty handkerchiefs were to be found - dropped in the excitement of the moment, probably never to be seen by their owners again. Flowers which had been placed in every conceivable spot for the glittering first night, wilted. This feeling of abandonment seemed to prevail throughout the building. However, the cleaners worked wonders, and in a comparatively short time the theatre had regained its former air of splendour, and over everywhere settled that feeling of anticipation, not as intense as the previous evening, but still, as before every performance, there was the question of "Will the audience like our play?"
Carole Margaret Oates, 4A. Holgate
(1960)
 
That Last Thirty Minutes


Half an hour to go, and everyone, despite the fact that they are wearing make-up, is looking very white and nervous. Try as one may, one cannot stop that butterfly fluttering in one's stomach. Although everyone is rushing round, there is a queer silence which falls upon the actors, enabling one to distinguish an actor from a stage-hand or helper. One hears the braver actors muttering their lines to themselves, while the not-so-brave dare not go over their lines for fear of discovering that they have forgotten some of them. They just trust to luck that they know them. It's most extraordinary, but when one is fully made-up and ready to go on the stage, one always has the inclination to sneeze or blow one's nose, thereby smudging the make-up. Quarter of an hour to go." That infernal call-boy!" Why does he keep reminding me? One feels fidgety, hot, sticky and bad-tempered. One is not encouraged by the fact that So-and-So and his mother are in the audience. Then there's mother and dad. One must not make a fool of of oneself in front of them, or else. "Five more minutes to go." Those last five minutes! They simply fly by. Very soon, one is rushed from the Domestic Science Room on to the stage. Well, here goes! The curtains are opening; one hears the first lines vaguely, then one seems to wake up. The nervousness has been swept away with the curtains, the play has begun, and, with a sigh of relief, one realises that everything is going to be all right.
Wendy Toone, 4A, Guest
(1952)