Writer CAROL CLEWLOW describes a historically-linked drama project in Blyth with which she has been involved.
ROYAL jubilees have a terrible habit of appearing at exactly the wrong time, and never more so than with Queen Victoria's 1887 Golden Jubilee.
Affection for the Queen had dipped to an all-time low. The feeling was mutual. Victoria frequently threatened to abdicate, starting in 1880 when Gladstone become prime minister.
Just how open anti-royalist feelings were can be judged by the fact that it was not uncommon in the country's Liberal Clubs for members to refuse to stand for the loyal toast, and even hiss and boo during it. Sir Charles Dilke, founder of the Republican movement, could quite happily tell a large meeting in Newcastle that the sooner the monarchy was abolished and a republic set up the better it would be for everyone.
There were a number of reasons why the Queen had become unpopular, not least the way she closeted herself away for more than a quarter of a century in the orgy of grief which followed Albert's death. There was also the financial aspect: the cost to the nation of five princesses and four princes, the latter including Bertie, the Prince of Wales, perceived to be especially frivolous and spendthrift; and all this at a time when there was serious unrest due to deflation and massive unemployment. In Pall Mall, as investors drowned their sorrows in their gentlemen's clubs, a passing procession of the workless ran amuck, smashing windows.
Jubilee year was a particularly bad one for Blyth. The town suffered a measles epidemic which carried off its children, plus a miners' strike in which 17 weeks out of work succeeded only in reducing a 15 per cent cut in wages to 12.5 per cent.
The People Must Pay - a new musical play - deals with Blyth's deliberations on the subject of whether or not it should jubilate.
Taking its title from Victoria's chilly response to Gladstone when he suggested that the royal hand might dip into the royal pocket to help pay for the Jubilee, the action takes place at a meeting in the town called to vote on the matter.
Among those in favour of the town marking the occasion are Sir Walter Gray, enthusiastic empirist and owner of the local shipyard plus much else in the town. On the other side are radicals like Carter Jones, the organising staithesman, and 'Scribe' Fraser, publisher of the town's weekly gossip sheet.
You could say that it's John Fraser - one of the 'real' characters in the play - who got us started on this Heritage Lottery-funded project. It was his mock jubilee programme, discovered in Blyth library's local history section by a writers' group from the Blyth Resource and Initiative Centre (BRIC), which provided the inspiration for this play.
His programme - sold for one penny and supported, interestingly, by advertisements from local businesses - lampoons in no uncertain terms the pomp and pageantry proposed for London's Jubilee Day, for which Parliament had granted £17,000.
Director of The People Must Pay, Piers Ibbotson, rehearses with the cast at the Phoenix Theatre, Blyth.
Real anger bubbles away beneath the satire, along with the republican sentiment. There are sarcastic references to the “gilt and gingerbread of royalty”, to the “very small income of the Queen”, and to her “generosity in the large sums of money Her Royal Highness forgot to send” to the striking miners. Blyth's proposed equivalent of the banquet at Buckingham Palace for the gathering of European royalty, consuls and ambassadors from around the Empire is to be a feast including “beetle pudding” and “bug tarts” - a reference to the Duke of Norfolk's suggestion that the poor who could not afford to buy food (and some 100 people had starved to death in London alone that year) might try eating insects instead.
But while Blyth may have been poor, the discovery most evident from subsequent historical research has been just what a vibrant, cultured community it was. It enthusiastically supported its local theatre, and among other characters in the play taken from history are the Tearle brothers, Edmund and Osmond, well-known Shakespearian actors of the time. They brought their company frequently to Blyth, performing a punishing schedule of a different play every night. So much did Osmond enjoy his visits to the North East that he retired here and is buried in Whitley Bay churchyard.
The theatre, the Octagon, was owned by Richard Fynes - another name from the time who appears in the play. A former miner, thrown out of the mines for organising, he become a highly successful businessman - something for which his radical colleagues never forgave him.
The pillorying which Fynes suffered for voting against the strike is just one of the issues which turns up in the play. We've drawn a great deal on the history of the town at that time, while at the same time taking some liberties with it. Always, though, we've treated that history not just with respect but with enormous affection.
Inspired by that initial research, BRIC and Blyth Valley Arts Development committed to secure funding and develop a community project that would do justice to and raise awareness of the town's rich and colourful history, the result being a year-long community history project of which the play, The People Must Pay, is a key event. There will also be workshops and activities relating to this period in the town's history taking place in the autumn in schools and community venues across the borough, using both the play and the research that went into it as source material.
Meanwhile, the play itself is highly entertaining, both poignant and witty. It boasts some wonderful, often hilarious, songs produced by local songwriters led by singer-songwriter Pete Scott, well known for his work on Joe Wilson songs. It is being directed by Piers Ibbotson, a former Royal Shakespeare Company actor and director who now has his own company in London, and David Garrett, Blyth Valley Arts Development Officer and Director of the Phoenix Theatre. •
* THE PEOPLE MUST PAY will be staged at the Phoenix Theatre on July 20, 21, and 22. Box office: tel 01670 367228.