In 1962 when we produced The Lady's not for Burning, a local paper printed a leader under the title 'We Accuse'. In this article, the editor asked what the schools were doing to allow a performance of such a standard to be played to such meagre audiences.

Over the years I have, at great trouble, endeavoured to analyse the opposition to, and the disregard of, the Theatre and its work by the people of Stretford and the surrounding districts.

I have come to the conclusion that it can be classed under three headings: utter apathy; ignorance of the Theatre and its aims as carried out in its work; jealousy.

Apathy about the arts among the bulk of the population is without question an established fact. In all districts there is a complete disregard of artistic effort, which, when present, and it does exist in every county, has to be kept alive by the converted few.

Locally, many residents hardly know we exist, and perhaps our name, Children's Theatre has not attracted people to see shows. In many minds we are a group of young people cavorting about in the sort of Sunday School entertainment popular at the beginning of this century. We have often been asked to change our name, but like the captain of a ship, I do not like the idea.

One lady said to me recently, 'Candidly, I have no intention of coming to hear Shakespeare murdered by young stars.' It is impossible to reply to such people. They suffer from hardened mental arteries. They are not prepared to go to even one show to see if their sweeping assertion is true. But they do not refrain from condemnation based on complete ignorance. Jealousy is everywhere, whatever the work to hand. What has surprised me is that it has been conspicuous among people whom one would have thought too big to be so niggardly.

In the ranks of the teaching profession there are some of the finest people alive. Selfless, dedicated, undervalued and underpaid, they continue to do their duty and help thousands of young citizens to lead full lives, often without a simple 'thank you' from anyone. It has therefore surprised, disappointed and hurt me to think that much of the opposition we have suffered from has come from people in the education world.

In 1950 we realised that the Theatre was growing so much that it would be impossible for me to fill successfully the roles of both chairman and director. The Executive Committee felt that it would be a good thing for the Theatre to enlist the aid of a well-known local person to act as our chairman. We looked around and thought of various people. Our Education Officer expressed an interest in the post. He was asked and accepted.

He came to a meeting and a few days later I went to see him to discuss certain matters. He informed me that I could not expect the head teachers to support the Theatre unless they were put on the Executive Committee.

As a lover of fair play, I pointed out that when I was contemplating the founding of the Theatre, I had approached head teachers, cap in hand, and been rebuffed. I felt therefore that if they had now changed their minds and wished to join our ranks, the method was very simple. The fairest way from every point of view would be for them to join the Theatre as supporting members, as we all had done, help in whatever department they felt inclined, and then put up their named for election to the Committee at the Annual General Meeting and be voted in. Surely a fair and straight-forward manner. Our new chairman resigned after three months.

When we were looking out for suitable premises for a headquarters, I was taken into the Conservative Club by our Treasurer one Saturday morning. As we sat enjoying a drink, he brought up this subject of a headquarters. He was telling me that he knew of a house owned by the Council, that was empty. He wondered what they intended doing with it. Suddenly he said, 'Why, there's X (pointing to a local worthy) I'll ask him.'

He approached the said gentleman, and said, 'You know that house by the park, belonging to the Council, what are you going to do with it?'

'Why?' was the immediate rejoinder.

'Well, it would make a grand headquarters for the Children's Theatre.'

'We don't want the Children's Theatre to have a home,' came the spirited reply.

Then the speaker spotted me. His face changed colour like someone flicking through the pages of a bulb catalogue.

I said not a word, but I am human. I would dearly like to know the reason why some of our local people did not want us to have a home.

The late Dr J. Robinson , one of the finest workers for education Stretford has ever had, was for several years the Chairman of the Education Committee. He and Mrs Robinson were for a long time ardent supporters of the Theatre. Suddenly, with no comment, they stoppped coming.

I have always believed in going straight to the point. I wrote a letter telling the Doctor that I had heard they were not coming to the Theatre again, and politely asked him if he would kindly give me the reason.

I received a full and courteous reply. Simply put, it was to the effect that someone in the educational world had said that the Theatre was educationally unsound. It taught our youngsters to be precocious, it seduced them from their work and was all in all harmful to them. These are the arguments which are levelled at us by ill-wishers.

I most strongly refute them. Remember I speak after forty-five years' experience in youth drama. Let us look at the accusations, one by one.

When Mr Percy Lord, the Chief Education Officer for Lancashire, opened our 1962 season, his opening words were, 'Anyone who has the least interest in education should support this venture.'

When we presented one of our musicals with a cast of something like seventy, a lady came to speak to one of our stewards at the end of the performance. Offering a donation and her membership fee, she explained that she had attended several of our shows, and had been trying to make up her mind whether to join or not. That night had decided her. The steward asked her why that was so.

The lady then explained that when the curtains had opened, she saw one of the little girls of eleven in the chorus, singing as if her life depended on it, with a beatific smile on her face. The family of the little girl was well known to the lady. She said this little girl in the chorus was the only member of her family who had not been in prison. 'If this Theatre can give her such happiness, and keep her out of the hands of the police,' said the lady, 'then it is more than worthy of the support.'

A few years ago, a girl of thirteen joined the Theatre. She was rather shy, and chatting to her on the first night she attended at Headquarters, I found out she did not want to act. I introduced her to the youngsters and suggested she brewed the tea ready for tea-break. This she did, and was soon chatting freely and handing round the tea.

About three weeks later, a lady called to see me. Holding out a cheque for a guinea, she aid, 'I am not a wealthy person, Mr Holland, but I would like you to accept this for the Theatre with my sincere gratitude for what you have done.' Naturally, I asked what this was, as I had no idea to whom I was talking. This was the shy girl's mother. She then told me the story.

Her daughter had been a psychiatric case from an early age and had been under treatment for a considerable time. The father died very suddenly, and the shock to the girl aggravated her condition. Nothing could seem to be done with the girl. She refused to do anything, but just sat there weeping. Her school was powerless to help. The child refused to associate with any other children. She would not read. The mother was nearly demented with anxiety.

Then she had an idea. The girl had seen one or two of our shows. The mother said, 'Would you like to join Mr Holland's Theatre?' the child thought she would.

This girl had been a member for only three weeks and her mother said the change had been amazing. Her daughter was smiling again. She had had some girls from the Theatre to her house for tea. The mother was thrilled at the change.

The psychiatrist who was dealing with the case was full of surprise and admiration. What had we done? Simply given the girl a chance to expand in our friendly atmosphere where young people of her own age were doing something they enjoyed. Later the girl became an active member on the stage, and is still with us, a valuable, energetic, happy unit of our organisation. In 1964 the psychiatrist came to see our production of Julius Caesar. He sent me a message backstage. 'Tell Mr Holland he does not realise how much good his Theatre is doing.' But say our detractors, this drama is bad for the children.

The question of homework is easily settled. If a child wishes to work at the Theatre, he will find time to do that and his homework also. I did, and I had a long distance to cycle to school. Both at Headquarters and backstage during the run of a play, we provide space for members to do their homework. It is a common sight to see a boy in Roman outfit or a girl in a crinoline wrestling with quadratic equations!

I recently asked a head teacher who, to the best of my knowledge, has never brought a party to see one of our productions, the reason for this. The reply was revealing. 'The chairs are so hard.' Another head who likewise had very seldom patronised us sent a booking for nearly a hundred. I was curious to know what had caused the change. When the party arrived at the Theatre, I met the head and expressed my pleasure at seeing them all.

In a manner that made me think of a stiletto dipped in honey, the comment came, "Well you see, we couldn't get seats at the Library Theatre, so rather than disappoint them we brought them here." So sweet.

A friend of mine has an aunt-about fifty years of age- who is a teacher. She was bewailing the lack of adventure in our educational methods. My friend then pointed out how the teachers as a whole in the Manchester area had not supported our Theatre. 'Oh,' said the aunt, 'That is understandable. It's not education.'

I think the Archangel Michael would feel annoyed to receive a pat on the back with the words, 'You're doing a grand job, old man. Keep it up,' and then to find the speaker had gone straight off expressly to disparage the work he was doing. To say this is a common experience to all pioneers does not make it less palatable. Nor does it make it right.

I have also noticed that some of the schools who have taken advantage of the various services we provide have not patronised our shows.

On occasions when I have required artists of a certain size or age to fill a cast to my standard, and I have been assured verbally that I could count on full and wholehearted co-operation, it has just not been forthcoming in certain quarters. I frankly admit that there have been other schools which have done everything in their power to help, to our mutual advantage.

After the Mayor's outspoken criticism at the opening performance of Richard III many teachers were offended. I was told a questionnaire was sent out to all schools concerning the work of our Theatre. I was never shown one of these. At that juncture I was asked by a headmaster if I would be willing to meet head teachers to discuss the Theatre. I readily expressed my willingness to do just that. This has never been mentioned to me again. But I will say that the 1965-66 season showed a definite improvement in attendances.

To play to capacity for the four shows that we normally give each production, we would have to sell 1,680 seats. Some individual schools in the district play to over a thousand when school plays are given. Our watershed of potentials should enable us to play two or three weeks if we so desired.

When the Pegasus Theatre of Sheffield give their shows, for a run of three weeks, they are booked to capacity within twenty-four hours. Doncaster Technical College Children's Theatre can play to ten thousand youngsters per show.

Frequently from two junior schools in our area we receive some nice letters containing praise and criticism of our work. This criticism is usually very shrewd. You cannot pass of rubbish to these little imps and get away with it. When we played The Young Dick Whittington, every one of these juniors who had seen the show wrote to point out that although the milestone to London pointed off right, Dick and his cat, Samantha, had gone left.

One headmaster is such a sport and so understanding that when any of his pupils are in a show, he excuses them all homework for that week. They do it in their own time the next week, and they are excused should they be a little late in the mornings. He tells me that so sporting are the youngsters that very seldom is one of them late for school that week. Mutual understanding and trust are the secrets between teacher and pupil. When it happens it is one of the most beautiful things in this muddled, cacophonic world in which we live today..

A typical example of the apathy found within the teaching world, the sort of attitude I abhor, concerns the marvellous open-air theatre built at a school in Grimsby. It seats 1,000 to 1,500 and cost approximately £500, plus thousands of hours of loving labour on the part of its originator, Mr Colin Laycock, a teacher, and gangs of the much maligned teenagers. This theatre was opened on 23rd September 1959, by Dame Edith Evans, DBE.

I learnt that after Mr Laycock left the school, the theatre has hardly been used. Would the sports masters have so neglected a sports stadium?