07/07/2026
Tim, our President and one of our much-loved actors, recently shared a thoughtful piece in our newsletter reflecting on what it’s really like to be part of the Stretton Players — or, as he puts it, “why do we put ourselves through it?”
If you’ve ever been curious about the magic (and occasional madness!) behind the scenes, it’s well worth taking a few minutes to read. 🎭
There must be lots of noble reasons for joining a gleefully masochistic band of
stage-hands, stage hogs and old stagers, like the Stretton Players. There must
be…But I can’t think of any right now.
So, instead, I’ll tell you why it works for me. Why do I, along with a
wonderfully passionate bunch of busy people (or ‘darling idiots as Sarah calls
us) do this to ourselves?
Deep down, I think, it is all about ‘feeling good’. And feeling good for so many
different reasons.
Here are nine reasons that I have noticed over the past 15 years or so. Nine that
work for me. There are likely to be many more, different ones, for each person
involved, but these are mine. Why do I do this to myself?
1. Remembering a line. The first time I put my book down and remember what I
am supposed to be saying. All the words, in the right order. That is a great
feeling.
2. The second good feeling comes a bit later, when I remember to say those
words, at the right time and on cue. To the right person. In a way that actually
sounds like real conversation (not like it would if I was reciting a train
timetable).
3. The third wonderful feeling comes from the playfulness of the rehearsals. It is
like a bottomless packet of fruit gums. Serious rehearsal combined with a
jester’s sense of irony and fun. Not much is taken seriously here…except the
play itself. There aren’t too many places where you can face Ayckbourn or
Pinter or Christie with the gravitas of a six year old in an M&Ms shop.
4. There is the good feeling that comes from spending an evening reading the
work of one of our own writers. It is a special thing to be able to breathe life
into someone’s characters.
35. The response of the players to heroic gaffes on stage. This is a good feeling
that may well linger for years, becoming more outrageous with each retelling.
Michael Gambon once said that he is actively looking for Butler roles in the
future, because there are fewer lines to forget. I beg to differ. As Gudgeon, in
our recent (and highly acclaimed 😊 ) performance of Agatha Christie’s The
Hollow, I just had to respond to a simple cue and finish the dramatic climax of
the act with the simplest of one-liners. “Call for a Doctor, Gudgeon”, was my
cue. “Get me Doctor Gudgeon”I, was my inexplicable response. I’m not sure
how many of the audience heard the slip, but they would certainly have
noticed the curtain falling on a group of supposedly shocked witnesses to a
murder, falling about in helpless laughter.
6. It is a very good feeling to be able to join an eminent band of past-gaffers.
There is great pleasure in being able to reminisce about other glorious past
failures over a pint of Green Monkey.
7. Number seven is the sense of achievement as the curtain falls and the
audience responds. This is a shared thing and there is nothing quite like it.
Those 5 minute standing ovations (OK… the 30 seconds of good-natured
applause) feel wonderful. The fact that the actors, prompts, stage hands, set
designers, painters, carpenters, the sound designer, the Director and all the
people that have supported the play, have come together and done something
just a little magical. It is a very, very good feeling.
8. Then there is the support for our chosen local charity. Seeing Chris and
Lesley handing over a cheque to the wonderful folk at Mayfair and the Beacon
Project is a good feeling at quite a different level. Over the years the Players
have generated thousands of pounds to support good people doing great things
in the local community.
9. And lastly, no set of reminiscences would be complete without some
reference to self-abuse. November looms large in our minds. The anticipation
of another few months of self-flagellation in the form of line-learning agony,
of unheard conversations with families and colleagues (as partially
remembered scripts crowd our heads), and of having to look into the panicked
eyes of our fellow players in rehearsal as they realise that they have spent days
preparing the wrong scene. Unlike banging your head against a wall, the good
feeling comes when it starts.
So that’s it. This is why we do it to ourselves. It feels good. Come along and
have a go. There are heroic gaffes with your name on, just around the corner.
