To be fair, it is a universal and inescapable truth that encouragement fosters self-confidence, and without the opportunities offered by the village stage, undoubtedly a barrow-load of talent would go unnoticed. And that would be unjust, as well as an eternal shame. Not just for the budding artistes, but also for the supporting cast of doting parents, suspicious siblings, fond aunties and adoring grannies. (It is an unexplained mystery why the female side of families features so prominently in this self-esteem building exercise.)
And so it is a fact of life we have to live with, that Christmas productions especially will feature largely the peachy-cheeked vizier, not yet up to growing that grizzled beard which so often spells the outward badge of office for so venerable a personage. That the fairy who talks of thousands of godchildren, among whom she couldn't possibly remember Cinderella without jogging her crusty memory via a dusty tome, is actually preparing for her O-levels. That the Queen might not actually have reached child-bearing years yet (step- or otherwise), and the witch vents a very youthful cackle, although Little Red Riding Hood might put interesting dents and bulges into her costume that were surely never intended in the original story… Yes, am dram societies have to live with that, and happily-ever-after we do!
I would draw the line at animals, though. Even if children are highly predictable in their behaviour (you just know they'll turn up late and leave early, making a shambles of Act II, chatter as if their lives depended on it - and who knows, perhaps they do - instead of listening, spellbound or otherwise, to the various renditions of grown-ups' lines, missing their cues in the process, and get helpless fits of giggles at the most dramatic moments), animals are in a class of their own. To be honest I've so far only had 2 experiences of witnessing feathered or furry friends in action live on stage, and both of those have been of the four-footed variety. The first one was intentional. A beautiful and docile Labrador, she featured as an essential part of a skit, and I marvelled at the exemplary behaviour, and the no doubt biscuit-induced, but nevertheless lovely, example-of-coaching. In fact, so well-trained was she that one might be tempted to reconsider the adage.
The second was somewhat different. One of those soulful-looking, ever-inquisitive creatures who had to accompany her owner for practical reasons, she would indulge in the habit of wandering seemingly aimlessly among the actors, and appeared to have a penchant for high drama. I can assure you it adds not just an unexpected, but even surreal element to a scene of murder and mayhem, to have a honey-hued hound suddenly appear, wandering the forest of cast members' legs during moments of supreme tension. That's why I would still say: "Never work…" Sorry, got to go now, my 7 year old has her one line to rehearse!
the Hart