•✦—✦•
Everything changed when I came back to Chester. Mum and Dad had an "argument"; most it came to was my mum shouting just loud enough to hurt my ears. My dad was a true professional in dealing with my mother: he heard her side in full, offering encouraging words and hugs before bombarding her with an argument steeped in logic and a fair dose of emotional manipulation. I don't think I had felt pride for someone else before I was a child after all. But I really felt proud of my dad then; he was a loving husband and father. In the end, it had come to a good question posed by Father to change Mum's mind.
"This is something Wilf really likes to do; should we really stand in the way? He might resent us for it," Dad had asked and appealed.
Mum initially didn't care about that point but, in a short time, came around to accepting it. That meant we discussed the practical elements of me going to perform in West End. Mum and Dad both had full-time jobs; my dad might not fully qualify, but he had a contract most of the year and a crew he was part of. Mother was happy to help me during weekends and even take up her accrued holidays if necessary. But it still involved too much sacrifice. There was also the fact that none of us had discussed the details of compensation with the production, as I was not fully cast yet.
That initial discussion did not yield answers until it changed after my second visit to London.
•✦—✦•
February 14th, West Croydon Baptist Church, South London
On Valentine's Day, my dad took me to London on a train with the famous "Virgin" logo on the side, was it normal to run national transportation with private companies? The good thing about the train was that the journey only took half the time, thanks to the speedy train and no impeding traffic. Because my dad didn't have to drive, he pointed out every sightseeing destination on our path. The highlight for me was the Wembley Stadium, a giant building that could host over 125,000 people and was the dream of every kid in England. This was where the footballing dream lived, and I had to suffer through my father speak about 1966, when England won the World Cup, as if he had been there. If my calculations were right, Oliver Price or whatever his last name was back then, hadn't even born then.
The two of us arrived at a now-familiar church after a three-hour journey. Even with the extra time it took to go from Euston to Croydon, it was still a time saver compared to taking the car. The church looked different from before because there were no longer a hundred people surrounding it. The audition hall we arrived at looked much the same as last time, save for the people already there and a stage at the end. Last time I had only seen the judges and the children for the role of Tommy Stubbins, whereas now there were at least eighty people of all ages in the hall.
Once we had settled into our chairs, set up in the style of a sunday church, Anne Vosser stood up on the stage and spoke to all.
"Thanks, one and all, for your patience and timely attendance." The crowd clapped while Anne tried to regain control.
"This may be a surprise to some of you, maybe old news to most, as the papers have already started printing the details. Without further delay, please welcome BBC's Phillip Schofield."
[Loud applause]
An unassuming man walked up to the stage, giving a charming smile and a wave to the crowd of actors and wannabe actors.
"If you still don't know why he is here," Anne joked to a few scattered laughter, "Phillip Schofield will be our Doctor John Dolittle."
The crowd — including me and my dad — clapped and cheered. There were famous British people, and among them Royals were easily the most famous. You might think the next most popular would be vaunted actors, singers, and athletes. In truth that would only be true depending on a person's interests and hobbies. Howeverm, there was one thing that united all British people: you wanted to watch TV? You paid taxes to the government for BBC. That meant almost the every household in all of Britain that had a TV in their home, watched the BBC. So, while Phillip Schofield wasn't as worshipped as footballers like Bergkamp, Giggs, or Owen, or as globally appealing as the Beatles or the Oasis, Phillip was a nonetheless a familiar face to all British people. After all, for over a decade, he and Sarah Greene had been weekly fixtures in the lives of every British TV viewers.
"Hello!" Phillip Schofield smiled to a roaring applause. "Thank you, everyone, for having me. Let me just say first that I am a very inexperienced actor. I can present a show but hardly play in one," he joked. "Please be patient with me, and I'm sure we'll have a whale of a time."
[More applause]
Anne cut in. "Don't let him fool you; he's already headlined in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."
Phillip waved his hands in protest and added defensively, "I was only a replacement, and it's the only play I've ever done before. Don't expect too much from me, please. Please."
People laughed but cheered as before.
"You may have all met him, but here's a legend of the industry. Please welcome Leslie Bricusse. What's he got? He's got the GOT!"
[Loud applause]
A massive cheer broke out, clearly upstaging even Schofield's. I didn't know much about Leslie Bricusse, but we were clearly in that niche group of theatre actors who knew and worshipped Leslie more than Phillip.
"What's GOT?" my dad asked a heavy man next to us.
"Grammy, Oscar, and Tony winner. He's only missing an Emmy because he doesn't do TV work."
"Oh. Thanks," Dad intoned. He wasn't alone; I had no idea the odd man was so accomplished. Odd to have met an Oscar winner without even knowing. Revelations hadn't helped with that; clearly, theatre was not a field my past self had stepped into.
"Thank you, and thank you for your commitment to making my music come to life," Leslie told us — not one for a long speech.
"Finally, I think this is what you are all excited about. She's got an EGO — and I mean Emmys, Grammy, and Oscars, not the other one, though if anyone can have it, it's her. Welcome to the stage, Julie Andrews!" Anne emceed with more flourish this time.
[Uproarious cheering and standing oviation]
The cheer was insane. Leslie was popular, but he was no Mary Poppins. We applauded for almost a minute, but no one came up to the stage. Slowly our applause became scattered and unsure.
"Haha! I apologize," Anne chuckled before we stopped our applause completely. "Julie is unfortunately busy right now as she is recovering from an injury to her vocal cords. It is one of the scariest thing that can happen to anyone from a musical theatre background, so please take care of your voice and practice after a proper warm-up."
The crowd muttered sadly and some women even gasped. Meanwhile I received a revelation that chilled me to my bones. I was already ruining my voice and would have to take precautions and change my routine. It was my only true talent in this world and I would loathe to lose it because I couldn't take care of it.
"Julie will join us in April; Leslie has cast her directly for Polynesia," Anne said. "Right, I'm sorry to introduce you after all these famous people. Please welcome your director, Steven Pimlott!"
[Small and unsure applause]
"Whoa, tough crowd." A short man said in a mock jeer, "Greetings, everyone. Looking forward to working with you!" the short and chubby man with curly hair said with a small bow before going to his seat at the side table.
Indeed, he received the least applause, but he had no chance from the beginning.
"Steven has been working on a different production with the Royal Shakespeare Company but will have enough free time to fully direct all of you in April. Make sure to perform your best so that he can see your range."
[Smattering of applause]
"Congratulations to all of you for succeeding in your first round of auditions," Anne spoke again to an enthusiastic cheer. "As much as we would love to have all of you, many will be leaving today disappointed."
The crowd finally stopped cheering, reality catching up to them.
"We have another batch of actors who cleared their second audition yesterday, so that means you're still competing with more people than you see right now." Anne smiled — did casting directors enjoy crushing dreams?
"Now that you're all appropriately in the mood, we'll do our second round of auditions…" Anne's smile this time was cat-like. "There are, however, many ensemble roles we'll be filling out, along with swings, dance and fight captains, their assistants, and more. We have plans for the animals on the stage, but there will be conventional actors we'll still need to play some of those characters."
"So without a further ado, let us begin."
I kind of forgot that I was doing an audition in the hour after that. People were called onto the stage for each role, and everyone had to do some animal noises first as sort of an icebreaker.
"This is highly unusual," John said; the heavy man, my dad had become fast friends with.
"How so?" Dad asked, still as new to the entire thing as I was.
"This part is more closed off, or rather it's just done on the floor even if in a group. The fact we're going on the stage gives a whole different feel," John remarked, tugging on his moustache, his voice almost rumbling.
"Rawnsley!" Anne shouted from the stage as a lady left it.
"That's me," John stood up.
"Break a leg!" I called out to John, he ruffled my hair in return.
"Watch and learn, lad. Watch and learn," John chuckled.
When he went on stage, he looked like a fat old man — the type you'd see in any English pub in any town. When he was given a scene selected by the casting director, his whole presence shifted. The concept of aura or presence was something people talked about all the time regarding famous people or athletes. I felt it in that moment because John Rawnsley had gone onto the stage and transformed into Albert Blossom without even taking a step. The old timer in the bar had become a showman, grumpy and full of ridicule for the things he despised — which, on a second look, weren't many. Brash would be the word to describe him, but John had a quality other actors didn't, a layer deeper to the bluster of the character. His face radiated a kindness, a warmth. I realized something important right then: you could be the best actor in the world, and all roles could still be denied to you simply because John had an intangible quality I knew the directors would go for. I hadn't read the full script, and no one had so far, but they had directed people on what the character was like. You could teach an actor to play anything you wanted, but you couldn't teach their face to be a certain way. The world had given John Rawnsley a smile that looked non-threatening, warm, but paired with a voice deep enough to put on brashness and sing opera.
John turned away from the casting directors on the side of the stage to address the auditioning actors.
He mimed holding out his hand clutching an imaginary walking stick. He cleared his throat dramatically with the other hand.
"Welcome!" His voice boomed, projecting out to the entire hall. "—Ladies and gents! Albert Blossom, your master of marvels — step up, folks, and see the fabulous Pushmi-Pullyu — the wonder of this age!"
I saw the way John moved: his movements were dramatic yet subtle, selling him as the proprietor of the circus. His mimed walking stick and top hat, which he lifted to welcome people, could almost be seen in our imaginations.
The next lines he delivered were quick and to the point. He portrayed one of those auctioneers on TV — fast-spoken and often telling tales with exaggeration to sell a product — Blossom introduced his animals to the crowd. There were times he went on about how expensive a journey was to bring an animal from Brazil, land of the savage jungles: lines I hadn't heard from other men who had portrayed Blossom that day. His improvisation made us, the audience — unknowingly playing the audience for John's audition — think that losing ships and animals was a danger of the industry. Then John spoke slower, more to the point, about the cost of an experience at this marvellous place. John had sold the idea of the experience being luxurious and thus wouldn't hear grumbles about prices if we were a real crowd come to see his mammoths.
Today was more of a lesson for me in how to act and how not to act than an audition. Outside of acting, there were also things to learn: singing, dancing and even taking direction from people to change your performance. John got a scene partner in Phillip Schofield at Steven Pimlott's suggestion. So far, this had happened only once, with a blonde woman auditioning for Emma Fairfax. The audience of actors murmured; it was plain to see John had all but been selected for the role.
"I want to learn how to do that!" I told my dad, my eyes blazing.
"You will, son. We'll take that lesson your mum was talking about. But only if you are successful!" Dad chuckled. I didn't think he was serious, judging by his tone.
But still, our family wasn't really rich. How many acting lessons could they afford for me-One or hundred? How many drives or train rides to London could we pull off before Mum and Dad were destitute? £50 was a lot if you had to pay it every single time. My upper lip stiffened, a worry hidden under my face that had turned into stone.