From: Tripe in
the Marsh
by Graham
Burchell
“How often do you
think we should rehearse?” asked Martin, a
little nervous on hearing his own voice ring
through the hall for the first time that evening.
“Once a week,
Wednesdays!” stated Tommy. “I has
karate on Thursdays and I always plays dominoes
down the Dutch Elm on Tuesdays.”
“Wednesdays will be
good for my Trace as well,” said Angie
Tibbins.
Alf Glover leaned
back in his chair and laughed. “You
don’t do no Karachi,” he mocked.
“Yes I blooming well
do,” Tommy snapped back, “and it’s
karate, not Karachi you daft old bugger.
Karachi’s the capital of Egypt or Bangla-whats-
its-name or somewhere.”
Danny Rae, a young
teacher at the Marshminster Primary School, stood
up. “As some of you know, I am a member of
the Centre Players in town, and we are always
expected to rehearse at least three times a week
if we are to give a really polished performance.”
“I’m not so sure
we’re really looking for that much of a
polished performance,” responded Henry
Newcombe of Tangled Vine Cottage.
“Aren’t we in it just for a bit of fun?”
“Well a bit more
than that I hope,” said Jenny.
“How about two
nights, say Mondays and Wednesdays?” offered
Ricky Tripe. He made a point of standing again as
he spoke.
“I’m afraid I
can’t make Mondays,” complained the
short chubby lady that nobody else knew.
“That’s because
she be rehearsing with that Frogleigh lot on
Mondays,” giggled Alf .
“No she doesn’t,
Alf Glover. She goes to ‘Weight
Watchers’ same as me on Mondays snapped a
slightly overweight Paula Partridge of Redwing
Crescent.
“Well why don’t
we start off with just Wednesdays then, if that
seems such a good day,” suggested Linda
before the poor plump little lady was made to
suffer any more. The noises around the room
seemed to indicate approval.
“Quick! Move onto the
next topic!” Jenny hissed at Gordon behind a
cupped hand.
“Very well, the
next topic on the list is.” He studied his
list at arm’s length. Gordon was in denial,
but he needed glasses. “What are we going to
call ourselves?”
“Actors,”
yawned Tommy.
“No, I mean we need a
name for our Pantomime group. For example, the
Frogleigh group is called ‘Frog Act’.”
“Well we could call
ourselves Marsh Act or Minster Act, although it
doesn’t really sound that good,”
announced Barry Leat as he shook something from
his mop of frizzy brown hair. Barry was seventeen
and the eldest son of Roy and Lesley Leat who ran
the Dutch Elm pub.
“Sounds good
enough to me,” grunted Tommy.
“How about
something a bit off the wall?” suggested
Gregory Tapp of 1 Barnwell Cottages. He was
thirty-seven with the mind of a ten year old and
more than a bit off the wall himself.
“Give us some
suggestions,” said Linda.
“Well I don’t
know, maybe something like ‘The Red Tractor
Panto People’, ‘The Canal Bank
Players’ or we could go in for a bit of
alliteration, ‘The Prickly Potato Panto
Crew’, yeah.” He clicked his fingers.
“I like that one with
the tractor,” said Tommy. “What’s
next?”
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