by Kent Mayo
New to Armidale, in early 1973 I turned up at an Armidale Dramatic Society monthly meeting at the old (now beautifully refurbished) Playhouse. There were a dozen people nattering away, (mostly UNE boffins, I learned later), and three execs at a table out front.
A few nodded at me, but nobody said “hello” as I sat down at the rear, except one bloke David Rummery (Lecturer in Drama at the Teachers’ College. He and I became firm friends a few years later.)
The committee launched into a lively discussion about their proposed new kitchenette … lino tiles, splashback, and how they’d “get a government grant”. “Excuse me” I interrupted, “There are no funding avenues for that kind of capital works”. A few of them turned, looked me up and down, then earnestly renewed the debate.
So again I raised my hand and repeated what I’d said. I will NEVER forget what came out of the President’s mouth, she a plumb-in-the-mouth Dame Margaret Rutherford: “Oh, we don’t KNOW you. Who ARE you?!”
I stood up to explain how the long-established Bathurst Players had to fund their own refurbishment of the magnificent 1880’s Bathurst Masonic Hall, “doing the work ourselves, weekends and evenings because there simply isn’t funding available for that stuff.”
The heads had turned to listen, so I also told them how I’d been President at Bathurst for three years, lots of acting experience, that then segued into the role of Director, including the two melodramas I’d written, “Fanny Phelan Forever” one of them. They were quite amused that “The Sydney Morning Herald” refused to publish our classified ad ‘because it was likely to offend’.”
When I offered to direct “Fanny …“ for them in Armidale, the President informed me that “TAS (The Armidale School) already stages a most enjoyable annual Music Hall.”
The committee devoted its attention to the next item on their agenda, the forthcoming production of Sheridan’s “The School for Scandal”. I said “cheerio” on my way out.
To my surprise (shock?) the Director of “The School for Scandal” appeared at my classroom door the following week to invite me to rehearsal because I’d been chosen to play a role. (At Bathurst we’d always held open auditions, so anybody could have a go.)
At rehearsal I was handed a script, then stood around watching actors totally undirected, play out a scene, like charades at the vicarage. The “Director” was sitting comfortably in a chair, one eye on the stage and chatting to somebody nearby. It was my time to go on.“Excuse me”, I said. “Where’s my entrance?” “From Up-Right, of course” he told me curtly. That was pretty much all of the direction I was given for the rest of the evening’s rehearsal.
Anyway, the season went ahead, lovely costumes, and everybody seemed frightfully pleased with themselves and “happy with the way things went.” No, not everybody. I wasn’t happy at all.
Later that year, Annie and I went to the TAS Music Hall, out of interest. As a fund-raiser for the school, good on’em. But the “Melodrama”, it was typical of the ubiquitous “hiss the villain” spoof. Not the genuinely moralistic, nitty-gritty plays of the wildly popular C19th British Music Hall, where the lower classes flocked to have their spirits lifted by good triumphing over evil!
Frustrated by the exclusivity of the Thespians of the “Athens of the North”, I gathered a cast of public school teachers to present “Arsenic and Old Lace” at the Dem School Auditorium and a one-nighter at Uralla’s RSL Hall.
By now Annie and I had bought a little old cottage in Uralla. Teaching at the Dem School was great, creative dedicated teachers, supportive parents, kids jumping out of their skins, but Armidale City itself somehow seemed to lack the community spirit of Bathurst.
In 1976, with outrageous bravado, Uralla Players was formed, with teachers at the core. Inclusivity is the foundation of public school education, teachers sharing the love, inspiration and opportunities with all the kids, no matter what!
The farce “Wild Goose Chase” was quite a hit on the stage at St John’s Church Hall, so Uralla Players then somehow assembled the huge team to put together “Mrs O’Malley’s Magnificent Music Hall”.
t was amazing what energy came out of that boisterous blend of experience and keen raw recruits, sheer magic. Three months of strictly rigorous rehearsals and set building, then twelve performances of “Fanny Phelan” over six weekends.
On the first Saturday evening, a coachload of (the then) Armidale Musical Society had booked, and arrived “primed” to make sport of the Uralla yokels, quite obvious during the pre-melodrama dinner entertainment which I must admit was a tad tatty.
The role of Music Hall Chairman was gruffly filled by Uralla’s Police Sergeant, who’d turned up at the casting meeting out of curiosity. As he introduced Scene One, he growled “Right, you lot from Armidale. If yez shut up yez might learn a bit about actin’!”
Predictable reaction, then the curtains opened to accompanist Fran Kaberry’s tinkling piano and revealing splendid scenery glowing under “surprise pink” lights and the heart-rending monologue from our simpering heroine Fanny Phelan. Barely an interjection from the jaw-dropped coachload crew for the next two and a half hours.
To their credit, they led the standing ovation after the explosive (literally) denouement.
Word spread about Uralla’s “O’Malley’s”. The whole community supported it because so many were involved, audiences flocked from far and wide, and all proceeds from the show went to local voluntary groups. Joyous teamwork!
In 1979, when the derelict McCrossin’s Mill became an issue, it was the core members of “Mrs O’Malley’s” who resolved to do something about it, with the same bravado, vision, prescience, call it whatever you like. Try “dedication”?
A lively public meeting resolved to form Uralla Historical Society, membership open to one and all, as it is to this very day, absolutely inclusive. The new Society issued debentures to raise the purchase price, intent on saving the Mill before worrying about the debt. Mrs O’Malley’s came to the rescue, over two years donating funds to repay the debentures.
And if you don’t know what happened after that, read my book about all the wonderful volunteers, or even go for a wander through what is now a Museum, and be surprised if not, ahem, “gobsmacked”.
And someone will say a friendly “Welcome”, not “Who ARE you?!”
