Since our main aim is to interest youth, I have searched for plays attractive to the fantastic in the child mind. I detest the person who would starve the child of fantasy. Today, too many children are robbed of childhood wonderland. If this natural yearning is unsatisfied in youth, it can later develop undesirable manifestations.

Fairy-tales loom large in this section of our work. Fortunately such plays are available. Grim, unimaginative folk frown on the idea of allowing children to indulge in fantasy. I was horrified recently to hear of a Junior headmaster who allowed no fiction in his school. How such a person has ever been allowed to teach young children is beyond comprehension. The mess we are in today is largely due to stupid people with no imagination.

Such people, in charge of young children, shudder to contemplate the idea of witches and dragons being introduced to their pupils. Their argument is that it would frighten the children. They even bar good fairies. They explain that the fairy's wand, having the power to change Cinderella's rags into a glittering dress, and the pumpkin into a golden coach, fosters the idea of something for nothing.

What a stupid, barren argument! How wicked to atrophy imagination in that way! Such people cannot have the faintest understanding of a child. I cannot visualise more unattractive adults. When shall we stop such people being allowed to mould the child mind? Did these individuals ever enjoy childhood? I think if their backgrounds were investigated frustration from birth would be evident - perhaps before.

The weird, the mildly eerie, dwarfs, goblins are attractive to youngsters. Provided children do not see sadism or violence portrayed, the antics of the dragon, whilst mildly spine-chilling, are treated as fun. Another point, fantasy plays have pleasing endings. Good is rewarded; evil punished.

In this debunking age, the verities remain. Whatever humanists or any other -ists avouch, to show youth that life is a struggle, and that to achieve anything worth-while a genuine effort must be made, is surely not an unreasonable or harmful way to treat a child.

Pantomimes retain popularity up to a point. They contain music and fantasy, but are not very satisfying fare to modern youngsters. In our early days, I arranged one or two, and they were successful. Later we did a particularly interesting Cinderella. I had seen this in 1945 at Southport Rep, for whom it had been specially written by V. C. Clinton-Baddeley. The attractive music was by Gavin Gordon. My wife played one of the pianos. I was determined we should do this pantomime. It was a huge success. June Ritchie played Prince Charming. Samuel French publish the libretto and loan the score.

A most rewarding musical fantasy is The Land of the Christmas Stocking, which we have presented twice. Our patrons agree it is an ideal show for junior audiences. Older children and adults enjoy it. The composer of the music is Mabel Buchanan. I met her and we decided to join forces and write a show. Alas, pressure of work in school, plus my theatre commitments, have meant that this idea has never materialised.

The beauty of this show is that it is completely based on well-known nursery rhymes. The plot concerns two rather naughty children, Tom and Tilly. It is Christmas Eve, and they declare they do not believe in Father Christmas. Wee Willie Winkle overhears them, and when Father Christmas arrives down the chimney, Willie tells him of the children's disbelief. Father Christmas is shocked, and decides to take the children, with their nurse, back to his kingdom and teach them a lesson. There the children meet all the nursery rhyme characters, and after some exciting adventures they come to realise that Father Christmas really exists. In the last act we see the preparations for the delivery of toys on Christmas morning. In Father Christmas's workshop sacks are being filled with toys, as he watches with an eagle eye.

In this scene, on our first night, we had groups of children filling three sacks. On each sack was the name of a district in Stretford. When the curtains opened there was a roar of laughter from the audience. Fearing that something was wrong, I slipped into the back of the theatre. I had to smile myself, at the same time making a mental note to have a word with the Property Mistress. One of the sacks - the one nearest to the audience - had been placed wrong way round. Instead of the words 'Old Trafford', 'Fison's Manure' appeared clearly.

The background of cave, mountain, castle, dungeon and palace is beloved of young folk. Any manifestation of magic, however simple, is met by riveted attention. Using such a formula, I have written two full-length fantasies which we have successfully presented. In my first one, The Willow Pattern Dream, I apparently provided what the audience love. Of course I was very gratified, as it had been an experiment. Much had developed during rehearsal and discussion from the cast. The main attraction was the Emperor's favourite Pekinese dog. We used a real dog, and it just about stole the show.

The second play, Rumplestilskin and the Three Wishes, seemed to grip the audience from the opening. I used all the touches I mentioned: lightning, thunder, a horrid dwarf, a witch, and what proved a favourite, Rumplestilskin's familiar, a spider called Satan. The witch arrived on the scene via the Magic Well to the accompaniment of thunder. All these well-worn effects carried the open-mouthed audience away on the wings of fantasy. No author could wish for higher appreciation than that of a modern miss of ten years who in a gush of pleasure said, 'It was better than the telly.'

June Ritchie, playing in the West End as I write these words, with several films to her credit, and acclamations at the Edinburgh Festival, following a season at the Nottingham Playhouse, joined our Theatre when she was nine years of age. Her personality even at that tender age was sparkling. She had an open, generous disposition, and missed not one jot of instruction which came her way. When she was ten, she took the lead in the happy little musical The Windmill Man. She scintillated, a tiny star, and in that, her first performance, the whole cast was enriched by her performance.

I vividly remember the last evening of this show. I went into the dressing room after the final curtain. There I found June, sitting on her mother's knee, sobbing. 'Good gracious June,' I said, 'whatever is the matter?' With tears streaming down her cheeks, she jumped down, and flinging her arms around my neck, sobbed out, 'Oh, Mr Holland, I'm crying because it's over.'

I sat her on my knee and said, 'Now listen, June. If you will work hard, when you are fourteen, you shall play Juliet for me.' I had seen the talent there. With the quivering earnestness of youth, she gasped out, 'Oh, I will work, Mr Holland, I will work.'

She did work, and still does. Never has she dodged hard work, and the attention to detail which stamps the true artist. She is ever willing to learn. When I went into the dressing room with my notebook, after having watched an act, June's words were always, 'What can I do to improve my performance?' Too many young people today, in all walks of life want to get to the top and earn big money without the hard work.

There is an interesting fact concerning our second production of The Windmill Man. Two characters in this show are a brother and sister. They are the poor city children spending a day in the country who wander into the palace gardens. In this presentation a brother and sister did play these two characters.

A playwright who in my estimation has been able to catch the appreciation of young audiences with a series of plays based on well-known fairy tales is Nicholas Stuart Gray.

I was recently talking to a long-haired, not too clean modern who liked to think he was avant garde. He pooh-poohed my admiration of Gray's plays, and brought up his big guns. His main ammunition was sneering-the usual brash debunking with no idea of what he would offer in the place of these charming little plays. He vaguely suggested 'Creative Drama'. I have the greatest admiration of this kind of thing when it is done well, but I have seen so much time wasted with no real results, using this type of drama work.

We have produced five of Gray's writings, each one an undoubted success. Three of them we have presented twice. I consider Gray's Beauty and the Beast one of the most satisfying plays of its kind, both for young and old. The two main characters, the absent-minded magician, Hodge, and his baby dragon nephew, Mickey, are two of the most attractive characters ever conceived in children's theatre. The magic of this play is enthralling. Apart from the plot, there is a subtle undertone very attractive to adults. The eternal verities, coated with the icing of delight, lift these little dramas on to a high level without obvious moralising.

We also enjoyed presenting The Heartless Princess by Franklyn Black. In some ways it is a peculiarly written play, but it proved popular. The main character, the Fox, is a loveable rogue. The witch is a nasty piece of work whose perpetual cold causes much amusement, and diminishes her efforts to appear powerful.

I cannot get out of my mind the headmaster who allows no fiction books in his school. He would provide the material for the plot of a play. I should certainly cast him as the Ogre. I fear it would be impossible to melt his heart. Let me here plead with head teachers and English specialists in particular. Allow your children to see good plays. It will stimulate their imagination, and provide them with great enjoyment.

Fantasy plays call for fantastic scenery. How our youngsters love the weird tree shapes, and unusual patterns thrown by the shadows cast by weird costumes. Eerie music faded in to add to the atmosphere all ensure that they will revel in a glorious experience. When we play these shows, I often creep down silently into the auditorium to watch the faces of the enraptured audiences and hear the exclamations made by the uninhibited youngsters, absorbed in the magic of the moment. These are some of the most exciting moments to witness. It often acts in a cathartic manner. When we did The Snow Queen I overheard a little boy take in a lungful of air audibly, following a particularly tense moment ending an act, as the house lights came up, say, 'Cor, I feel better for that!' I wonder if our non-fiction-loving head ever experienced such a moment,