Jonah sends his apologies once again. I can vouch for the fact that his problems, at the moment, are immense. Apart from having to find enough food to fill six beaks, his preparation of this column collided with the annual maintenance programme of the theatre’s air-conditioning system. The grill was replaced over the A-C vent into the theatre office, leaving his notes marooned beside the computer, Luckily, I recognised them for what they are and took them into my personal custody, so it is for various reasons that Jonah cannot contribute the next episode about my directing master-class.
So... apart from the arrival into the owls’ nest of two girl owlets and a boy, Cara gave birth to another bloody parrot in the most embarrassing circumstances. She was representing the Malcaster Players at the Lady Mayoress’s charity coffee morning, when... I leave the rest to your imagination, but it was necessary for me to insist – when Edna refused to accept her maternal responsibilities - that the chick was placed in the care of the proper authorities: Pet’s Corner at the supermarket.
Then... right out of the blue, a most welcome guest arrived. It was my old pal, Sam Adams, with whom Cara and I used to form a teenage foursome, completed by Gwyneth, whom you met in the master-class. In those days, Gwyneth was not averse to our exploratory rummagings, but several decades of spinsterhood have had an unusually desiccating effect on her soul. Sam and I, however, enjoyed a rumbustious reunion in which he impressed me by being just as much fun as in days of yore.
It was while we were reminiscing that Sam reminded me of a remarkable incident that took place some fifty years ago, not long after Sam and I had taken the roles of Kate and Bianca in a traditional production of ‘Shrew’. I feel it my duty to place these true facts on record here, where nobody is likely to read them.
It was on a Saturday evening, late in the November of 1952, that the life of Luke Adams (Sam’s father – a minister of religion) changed for good.
Just after an early lunch on that day, Luke excused himself from the presence of Conny, his wife, and walked the short distance from the manse to the chapel, fists thrust deep into the pockets of his heavy black overcoat, his head bowed under the weight of his thoughts. In this posture and at that pensive pace, he made his way around the side of the chapel and let himself in, directly into the minister’s retiring room, his office.
Solemnly, he removed the overcoat and hung it up behind the door to the chapel itself. This done, he stood towering in the tiny room, his eyes steely in the thoughts that wrinkled his brow under the cap of golden curls. He lowered himself into a kneeling position on the prayer stool that faced him toward the eastern wall. A simple wooden crucifix provided a single feature on the pristine whitewash of that wall, For a few seconds, Luke’s eyes focused on the cross. He propped his elbows on the upper tray of the prayer stool, wherein lay a black-bound copy of the Holy Bible, open at the gospel according to St.Matthew, Chapter Six. His head dropped onto the fists he had made out of anguish and he began to pray.
“Oh Thou, the lord and captain of my soul, my guide, my guard and my protector, our Father omnipotent...” no mumbled apologies for Luke, ever; it was his custom to address The Almighty resonantly, in the echoing cadences of the operatic bass-baritone that he should have been “... I come before thee in the midst of my troubles. It was before thou, Lord, that I set forth the problems of this world that beset my ministry and my life. It was thou that pointed me toward Vernon’s Football Pools as the answer to my problems and it was in faith, Lord, that I filled out the coupon and posted it – with postal order for the required amount - off to Liverpool, believing that I was doing Thy Will. Oh Lord, how my conscience has troubled me, knowing in my heart that gambling is sinful, yet it was thou Lord that bade me do it in pursuit of the establishment of Thy Holy Kingdom here on earth, in this humble building and the manse next door. By this means, Lord, we will pay off the mortgages and settle the electric and telephone bills, not to mention leaving a few bob for my own personal survival. So it is, Lord, that I come before thee now, on my bended knees, to beseech Thee – to implore Thee... oh Lord, thou knowest my selection and I have confided to Thee my need for seventy-five hundred pounds – I repeat: seven and a half thou - AND NO MORE!” The last words rumbled to silence and Luke continued to pray.
When, later that day, he checked the results, it appeared that God had heard his prayer. The crosses in the single column of his coupon-copy had been placed against every one of the only eight matches that had ended in a draw. Luke rejoiced that he had followed God’s Will and had been wise enough to tick the “no publicity” box. God had been as good as His Word and had provided him with his £7,500.
The following day, being Sunday, provided Luke with several opportunities to inform God of his thankfulness for the present relief. His congregations saw a dynamism and zest in their minister that they had not seen for some time. Among the prayers for early victory in the Korean War and defeat of the Mau Mau in Kenya were several expressions of gratitude and remorse that none of them could even pretend to understand, but it was during the Monday afternoon, after the formalities of identification and proof had been completed, that Luke discovered a heavenly error.
Some celestial clerk had inadvertently inserted an extra nought on the end of the prize-winning amount. Luke alone, among Vernon’s myriad sporting investors, had selected those only eight drawn matches; he had won a first dividend of, not just £7,500, but of seventy-five thousand pounds. An award of ten times the amount he had requested left him confused and concerned. He could think of nothing in the scriptures that might explain this aberration. He resorted to his prayer stool to inform God of the mistake as soon as possible after its discovery.
When no audible response came as to a possible restitution of the extra funds, even though he strained his ears for the faintest whisper, Luke opened his eyes and, there before him, in the open bible, were these words: “...thy heavenly father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” He telephoned the gentleman at Vernon’s Pools who had tried so hard to persuade Luke to accede to the company’s need for favourable publicity, and asked for his winnings to be delivered to the vestry in cash. Reluctantly, the man agreed and an appointment was made for delivery on Wednesday.
Among Luke’s detractors in Malcaster was a prominent town councillor named Carl Maxwell. Maxwell – a jealous man and a spiritual doubter - was frequently in Luke’s thoughts as he struggled with his conscience throughout every minute of the time that passed so slowly before the money arrived.
Luke desperately wanted to tell his wife, Conny, about his good fortune, but knew she would condemn him for gambling. Neither could he confide in any of his church elders for the same reason, though he knew that the arrival of the convenient sum of £7,500 must eventually be explained to them. It was the additional £67,500 that posed a far greater problem. Luke knew it had been placed in his trust for onward transmission to others in far greater need, but whom? The prayer stool was in almost constant use as Luke sought the answers, and he was confused by the frequency with which an image of Councillor Maxwell presented itself in his mind, during prayer and during the nightmares that troubled his sleep. Conny noticed his restlessness and his lack of appetite, as did their younger son, Sam, a practised opportunist.
The problem with Sam was that he had a burning and specific ambition that was not shared by his parents. He desperately wanted to become an actor, while Conny was determined that her younger son would learn a proper job, especially since his brother had escaped from the manse to the regular army, where the discipline was slacker.
On Saturday afternoon after lunch, Luke persuaded Sam to accompany him to the vestry. “Son, I have a small task for you to perform,” he announced.
Some time later, Sam was riding his bicycle across Malcaster with an enormous brown-paper package, tightly sealed and thrust safely into the pannier-bag of his bicycle. He was aware of an animosity that had insinuated itself between his father and Councillor Maxwell, an animosity that had come to a head when Maxwell tried to purchase the small and redundant Anglican church on the Porton Manor housing estate for conversion into a skating rink, which would have provided a profitable business venture.
The more Sam thought about Maxwell’s resentment of the victory God and Adam had scored against the forces of Mammon, the more curious he became about the contents of this parcel his father was sending to the corrupt councillor.
Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he braked the bicycle to a stop. scrabbled the parcel out of his pannier-bag and tore open one of its corners.
“’kin’ ‘ELL!” he exclaimed when he saw all the wads of higher denomination banknotes. They were tightly packed into the parcel. Then he saw the letter in his father’s handwriting. It explained that the enclosed money had come into Luke’s possession in result of an unparalleled act of generosity. “I have been tempted to commence my own scheme to benefit the poor, but have been aware of your own efforts of a charitable nature among the needy of Malcaster...” and so it went on. Sam observed not only that the amount of money was not stated in the letter, but that his father’s donation was accompanied by a request for anonymity and for no further mention to be made, ever, to this present transaction, in conversation or in writing,.
Sam made a detour to the home of his best mate, Oscar, and together they discovered that the parcel contained enough money to purchase at least thirty three-bedroomed houses. Together, they decided on a more equitable distribution of the funds so conveniently available to serve their own career ambitions.
Councillor Maxwell divided up the £5,000 he received according to the dictates of his conscience. Luke’s generosity attracted a quietly mouthed expression of his thanks when next they met.
Jeremy Akehurst, however, had – during the production of ‘Shrew’ (in which Jeremy was employed to play Petruchio and to train the boys) - taught Sam and Oscar so much about the actor’s craft that they decided to make him the administrator of their unexpectedly available Training and Investment Fund.
And that is how it was that the financial problems of Porton Chapel and its minister were solved, that certain elderly and needy Malcunian were treated to a few days sufficiency of comestibles, that Councillor Maxwell was entrusted with a beautiful new Jaguar motor car, that Jeremy Akehurst was persuaded to take up residence in Malcaster, that Sam and Oscar were able to pursue their chosen ambitions and that the Malcaster Players were able to move from their precious little theatre down by the riverbank and to take possession of that noble granite structure, the town’s granary. Not only that, but, thanks to the generosity of their benefactor, who later became SIR Jeremy Akehurst, the Players were able to fit out the granary as a superb theatre and to safeguard their future with shrewd investment.
I therefore extend my sympathy to those theatre groups who struggle for survival from production to modest production and recommend to you the power of prayer.
Jonah was a very experience director, teacher and writer who sadly passed away in February 2006. He was also the author of the highly successful "Playmaker - The Craft of Directing Plays (The Way I Seen It)".