Memories surface in the run up to Christmas. This year more poignant than ever.
When I lived in the north I was involved with several dramatic groups, not least The Summerseat players. Every year we put on a Christmas show which had a short rehearsal time but involved everyone. My gifted daughter was always involved. We sang carols and she improvised on her flute and kept us in good musical order.
One year I wrote a play. It had adults and a child. Naturally Roz was the child. My son was always at the rehearsals but his talent lay in keeping out of everyone's way. He took up position about five rows from the stage where no one would spot him and drag him in.
Roz was different..she enjoyed everything to do with acting, singing and entertaining.
By the week before the performance she knew all her lines. The adults did not. She, then around nine, was condemnation personified! I told her they would be alright on the night and of course they were.
We sang our carols and then I took up my position on the curtains and I slowly opened them. All went well till someone dried. The pause was then filled by an elderly cast member being obliging.
Roz was highly indignant and said in ringing tones , "That's my line" and then did it all over again. The adults and audience laughed. She paused and then laughed too.
All went well after that and the little story became often repeated , mostly by her brother in one of his wind up moods .
Thank God for memories.
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