Fault in the Structure

was considerable, she should have been given the part of Desdemona, but who had been fobbed off (as she expressed it) with Bianca, mistress to Cassio, in favour of a younger, prettier Desdemona. ‘Of course we must take part in the Festival. What about doing Blithe Spirit?’ (Mentally she cast herself as Elvira.)

‘Not possible,’ said a young man who was responsible for the lighting and stage effects. ‘The effects for that are a pro. job. We’d never be able to pull off all the ghost stuff and the rest of it. It’s out of the question.’

‘What about…?’ began another voice. The chairman rapped on his table.

‘Please, please!’ he said. ‘This is not the time. The secretary will convene another meeting if members want to put on a special play for the Caxton Festival. Will someone propose? – Thank you. Seconded? – Thank you. Those in favour of a Festival play? Carried. I declare the meeting closed.’ He glanced at his watch and hurriedly gathered up his papers. ‘The secretary will convene a special meeting.’

The special meeting took place at the end of a fortnight, during which time there was much private canvassing, especially on the part of the women members, most of whom had a favourite part (the leading one, of course) for which she fancied her talents fitted her. Nobody was anxious to boost a rival’s claims, however, and no agreement had been reached. The members, armed with arguments and scripts, assembled in the school classroom which had been booked for the meeting and there was an air of uneasiness mixed with hostility abroad.

The gathering was a smaller one than the annual general meeting. The president, the secretary, the treasurer and Mrs Blaine were present and so were those members who thought they stood any chance of a part in the Festival production. So also were Laura Gavin and another recently joined member, a lecturer in music and drama at the Chardle College of Education. His name was Denbigh and he had been invited – in fact, almost begged – to join the society, and had decided to do so.

Cyril Wincott, the secretary, was a rising young schoolmaster who had set his sights on a lectureship at the College and thought that a friend at court would be an advantage. The treasurer, Ernest Farrow, was equally anxious to take advantage of Denbigh’s membership, but for a different reason. Ever mindful of the society’s finances, he thought that perhaps Denbigh could see to it that a rehearsal room at the College would be placed, free of charge, at the disposal of the society in place of the school classroom for meetings and the school hall and stage for rehearsals, where both room and hall had to be rented.

Laura, who was almost as new a member as Denbigh himself, did not anticipate that she would be offered a part. She had come to enjoy the fun when the fighting started and the vested interests began to clash. Denbigh was there because, although he had brought no script, he was prepared with a suggestion if it should be called for.

Clarice Blaine, in her new capacity as entertainments’ secretary, made a spirited bid to take charge of the proceedings.

‘Well,’ she said gaily, ‘if everybody will take a seat, we can get on without wasting time. I think Hamilton is ready to open the meeting. There seem to be a good many books and scripts in evidence, so that means plenty of suggestions, I hope, for the Festival play. Of course, the subject matter must not compete with my ideas for the Guild pageant, but I shall be able to put the brake on there, as the Guild plans are almost complete. Now, Hamilton, I think we are all ready to begin.’

‘Thank you, Clarice,’ said Hamilton Haynings angrily. ‘Well, I am open to – I mean, I declare the meeting open for any suggestions. First of all, we have to decide whether we are to do a Festival play at all. Most of you seemed to be in favour, but some may have changed their minds.’

‘Of course we’re going to do a Festival play,’ said Melanie Cardew, that haggard, intense spinster of twenty- nine. She received a chorus of support from the women members. The men were less enthusiastic.

‘I thought I’d mentioned at the last meeting that we’d settled on our next production,’ said Rodney Crashaw. ‘I repeat that we have settled upon Othello and that I’ve already learnt half my lines. Why go back on our arrangements?’

‘I never agreed with Othello,’ said Melanie, still sore that she had not been offered the part of Desdemona, although this was for reasons obvious to everybody except herself.

‘Neither did I,’ said Stella Walker, a dark-haired, pretty, witless girl of twenty. ‘Look what a frost Hedda Gabler was! The classics are all very well, I suppose, but you don’t want to overdo them just because royalties don’t have to be paid.’

‘If you had to manage the finances of this society,’ began Ernest Farrow.

‘Please, please!’ said the chairman.

‘I agree,’ said Sybil Gartner, who was studying to become a professional singer. ‘Othello was a mistake. It isn’t a play for amateurs, any more than Hedda, and Hedda was a complete mess. Why can’t we do a musical?’

Marigold Tench, who had taken the name part in Hedda Gabler, got up and walked out of the room.

‘Oh, dear! Now I’ve put my foot in it, but, honestly, I meant nothing personal,’ protested Sybil, who was often in rivalry with Marigold both in the interests of Melpomene and Eros. ‘Hedda was a flop. We couldn’t fill the hall any one of the three nights and those people who did come hadn’t a good word to say for the production. Anyway, what about a musical? I mean, what’s the use of calling ourselves an operatic society if we never get a chance to sing? The last three shows have all been straight plays, so wouldn’t it be a good idea…’

‘The members know quite well why we can’t often do a musical,’ said the treasurer desperately. ‘It’s the expense. We have to hire an orchestra and a conductor. When we did Rose-Marie we were in the red for three years. I ought to know. I had the accounts to do. We had to borrow from the bank to pay most of our expenses, and if…’

‘Yes,’ said the disgruntled Crashaw, a bearded, dark-haired, saturnine man, ‘I agree. If Ernest hadn’t worked like a beaver to sell the tickets and cut our losses wherever he could, and if I myself – although I hate to remind you – hadn’t guaranteed us…’

‘Please, please!’ shouted the chairman, rapping irritably on the teacher’s table as a chorus broke out. ‘We have no time for these arguments. And,’ he added, looking at Crashaw, whose elegantly bearded chin was elevated in purposeful fashion, ‘you may recollect that it was also my influence which caused the bank to tide us over. We all know what an excellent treasurer Ernest is, and that Rodney is, apart from myself, our most affluent member, but do let us forget all that for the moment and get down to business. I declare the meeting open for suggestions and general discussion. We must