Embedded Files
Volume 1 | Issue 1 - Conflict
Article by Charlotte D’Arcy. Edited by Liam Geoghegan. Additional Research by Ellie Veryard.
‘Here’s something I’m not sure is for the record’, he laughs, ‘but when we were a little older, Brian [Way] used to cast us in the same roles he did when we were young. It was an interesting sight to see fully grown men prancing about on stage acting as adolescents. It didn’t quite have the same effect!’
One day, while browsing through my university email account, I happened upon a message that requested interviewers for a project that wanted fresh perspectives on post-war British Theatre. When I was growing up I frequented the theatre with my mother and developed a love for it, going to drama school at a young age and continuing my studies up to Performing Arts A-Level. However, I gave it all up for History and missed the excitement and spontaneity of it all; becoming part of a venture like the Theatre Archive Project (TAP) seemed like the right way to get back into the swing of things. I readily applied and was pleased when I was swiftly notified that I could partake. After a meeting about the project, interview techniques and how to use the recording equipment we were sent on our way to await our interviewee. It was all quite exciting; not knowing whom I would meet, when, or what they would have to say. Soon enough there was a memo informing me of my match…
It was a mild London day when I first met Brian Cooke. We had made contact numerous times before “the big meet” and had generally conversed about our theatrical interests and how they developed. Having been described to me as a ‘fount of information’ I was eager to interview this gentleman and extract what information I could from his extensive and fascinating career. Yet, at the same, time I was anxious; I’d never given an interview and my knowledge of theatre is strictly limited – what if he started talking about a theatre, actor, director that I didn’t know? Furthermore I had no idea what he looked like. I was, so to speak, throwing myself in at the deep end.
So, dressed in an easily distinguishable purple pencil skirt and long grey trench, I awaited his presence in the foyer of the grand, exuberant British Library – a structure far more contemporary than my imagination had allowed for. In my own true nervous style I floundered about looking (admittedly) a little lost, hoping that I had provided a sufficient description of myself for him to identify me. Thankfully I had and, after watching him hesitantly flit about for a minute or two, he approached and stretched out his hand by means of introduction. Upon encountering him I quickly appreciated that this man in his smart grey trousers, white shirt and tie was every bit as effervescent and outgoing as our brief exchanges had advocated.
After a short introductory session we presented ourselves to one of the friendly library curators who led us through a labyrinth of passageways, doors and lifts into the inner recesses of the great structure. We found ourselves being escorted into a small whitewashed room that contained a sizeable MDF table with accompanying chairs and a very awkwardly placed plug socket. Formalities aside, we proceeded with the interview; ‘I don’t want to blast it’ Brian blasted into the recorder. The process went slower than I’d imagined; although I’d made notes, I stumbled over my words and paused, so it wasn’t a simple conversation, as I had imagined it would be. Yet Brian was open and friendly and took the discussion in interesting directions. The information he shared exceeded my expectations; he’d studied at RADA, become an actor, director, head of drama at one of the country’s most influential arts colleges and was now ordained into the Church of England no less! We talked of his early days as a child theatregoer, his fond memories of ‘the late, great Brian Way’, finance and funding and even how television has changed the nature of British Theatre. It was absorbing, to say the least. In hindsight there were so many more questions I should have asked, so many more roads to navigate – I’m no Jonathan Ross! So next time – and I hope there is a next time – I’ll learn to pick up on anything interesting that obliges further probing.
When the interview was over, I had to telephone out in order to let someone know – it was all very formal – and very soon the same kindly curator stewarded us round the same maze of corridors to the same vast entrance. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. The most important thing now was to make sure that the interview had actually been recorded, which it had. A few weeks later I received a CD with the recording on – I know it’s a cliché, but the first time you hear your own voice on tape is quite weird, a feeling that doesn’t diminish as you listen to it repeatedly in order to transcribe an interview.
I entered into the Theatre Archive Project with interests both as an historian and a lover of theatre. I hoped to gain a new and very individual insight into the fascinating world of post-war British theatre, not from a textbook, but from a man who had actually experienced it from a variety of perspectives. Brain didn’t just tell me “what I wanted to hear”, he wanted to share his personal perception, which is what the project is all about. I learnt a lot about Brian himself, about the British Theatre, the Archive Project and my own questionable skills as an interviewer. Although it’s daunting to travel to the grand metropolis of London and have a personal chat with an older gentleman whom you’ve never met, it is an extraordinary experience that comes highly recommended; you learn more than you might imagine and it is a excellent day out! I’d definitely do it again, because you can never meet enough interesting and inspiring people. I hope that the interview between Brian and I will complement to and provide a new angle on the growing treasury of information that the project will continue expand. I hope researchers will use it to construct a picture of a diverse and fruitful post-war culture shown through the eyes of ordinary individuals, a luxury which historians rarely have.
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