I have tried in the foregoing chapters to tell the plain facts: the story of the Stretford Children's Theatre. It has been my aim to describe what we do, how we do it, and perhaps most important, why we do it.

I feel most emphatically, that in spite of all our frustrating difficulties, bitter disappointments and regretful financial losses the whole project has been, and is daily proving, immensely worthwhile. I hope my words will have strengthened the converted, encouraged the faint-hearted, and stimulated those who have hitherto not been interested in children's theatre to think about it.

To those who refuse to listen, because they do not want their prejudices disturbed, I say nothing. If I said what I think about such people it would be too strong for publication, even in these days of four-letter words. That such people are a brake on progress is, of course, universally acknowledged.

Generally speaking, more people are interested in children's theatre than was the case twenty-one years ago when we founded our Theatre. Every year youth theatres of every kind are launched. Pockets of fierce, dynamic activity exists all over the country. This is exciting and magnificent. But time is appallingly short. Technological knowledge is progressing at an alarming rate. It is dazzling our younger generation with its icy, slick efficiency and precision. When we are in the presence of death, the sense and the appeal of life become heightened. So, as we see the massacre of all lovely things which is going on all around us, their value to the world becomes increasingly apparent to the thinking minority. We are the products of the pseudo-intelligentsia who unfortunately have commandeered the attention of the mass media.

'. . . wrecking what our age cannot replace

To our sensitive spirits this state of affairs is sheer agony.

Between the blind entry into this world, and the nebulous land which we enter at death and from which there is no certain return, we may choose, by means of free will, many ways of using the fleeting minute. Mechanisation means that we are going to have increased leisure. What are we going to do with it?

We, in our Theatre, are actively busy in what is proving to be a pulsating revival through the ranks of our younger generation, and a renaissance of a passionate interest, but, what is even more thrilling and beneficial, a personal involvement in live theatre. I would like here to express an ardent wish, nay a strong plea.

The thought I know is in the heart of many pioneers in the field of youth drama, but perhaps because of a delicacy of spirit or a innate shyness, it is unspoken. This plea is that in all this feverish activity where we are experimenting and founding theatres of every type , we should not allow jealousies and rancour to creep in to mar our efforts. We are shouldering a great responsibility. Nothing should jeopardise our work. Earnest work of any kind should be encouraged, and it ill behoves any of us to belittle what someone else is doing, just because it does not happen to be to our personal liking.

Some of us have had to fight long and hard to get where we are. A little practical help, nay just an encouraging word at the right moment, instead of envy and carping would have made all the difference. For those who have had generous help, it would be noble to look upon the struggles of the zealous with a kindly tolerance.

The simple Nativity Play, with Mary and Joseph dressed in curtains and the Wise Men wearing cardboard crowns, but presented with sincerity can mean as much to its audience as a play dressed by the Royal Shakespeare Theatre's wardrobe, and produced by Tyrone Guthrie means to a National Theatre assembly. To the five-year-old watching his friend playing Joseph, the impact may be beyond expression, as he watches, mouth open in sheer ecstasy. To sneer at it, as was done in one school of which I know, where a member of the staff was heard to remark that it was much ado about nothing, seems to me to be despicable.

It was a surprise to me recently to hear Mr Michael Croft telling the watching thousands on television that he was bringing his excellent Youth Theatre to Manchester, the main reason being because there was no youth theatre in the north.

At that very moment I was writing some notes that had been asked for by the press about our Theatre's twenty-first birthday then almost upon us. I wondered what the Rhyl Children's Theatre, the Todmorden Children's Theatre, The Brighouse Children's Theatre and several other youth theatres in the north thought as they listened.

The idea that the northerner is a numbskull who has to await the arrival of the enlightened southerner in order to learn how to do things dies hard. The northerner often has the initiative to attack the project with bare hands and an empty coffer and by sheer grit and intelligence get the job done. I know I would have little hesitation in starting any project with the northern teenager.

I feel that thoughtless remarks can often build up an antagonistic atmosphere. This is a pity. Any such movement is liable to dissipate much valuable energy in an unfriendly aura. We who believe in our work in youth theatre must get together in a co-operative spirit and learn what each group is doing. We must help each other in any way we can. Drama teachers must stick to their guns, and show reluctant head teachers and scornful colleagues that drama has a right to be considered side by side with other subjects on the curriculum.

Miss Jennie Lee, opening the British Children's Theatre Association's Conference, Easter, 1966, said she looked forward to the day when every Education Authority would have a Drama Adviser. At present a little more than one quarter of the 162 authorities in this country employ full-time drama advisers.

I maintain that a well organised children's theatre where children act is not harmful to the children. I have had twenty-one years' experience with our Theatre, and what we have done has been of inestimable benefit to our members.

A children's theatre is not an easy organisation to run. It means hard work, disappointment and frustration. But what worthwhile project does not? There will be mirages on the way, and opposition will loom large. Meet it with vital, positive plans. This means labour and sacrifice. A children's theatre of any kind requires a team to run it. We have always been short of adult helpers, but those we have had, have always been a marvellous, loyal team. And loyalty is what a director must have or his efforts our in vain.

We have had a long line, a pageant of colourful personalities, who have enabled us to progress. They have helped in every capacity imaginable. In my memories I recall individuals and groups.

The Stretford Council, as a body, has valued our contributions to the cultural life of the borough, and has shown its appreciation in a very practical way which I have mentioned in another section of this book.

Percy Lord, Chief Education Officer for the County of Lancashire, has on many occasions proved our very good friend. The interest of our genial and enlightened chief has always been of great moral assistance when we were in dire need will ever remain a landmark in our history.

Of our Chairman, Alderman Harry Lord, and the late Mrs Lord I have already spoken. Harry, as he is affectionately thought of by us all, has ever been ready to help us on many valuable ways. Since 1950 he has never ceased to put in the necessary word, at local, county, and national level. The word has always been lucid, and if necessary acid, but he has always been a power with which to be reckoned.

Then there is 'Blod', Miss Blodwyn Williams, our Business Manager, the only person who has been with me every foot of the way since 26th April 1945. She has laboured for us with a selfless devotion.

Following closely behind is Phillis, Mrs Phyllis Buxton. It is to our deep regret that Phyllis cannot do much for us at the moment, as she has work, which keeps her busy until late in the evening. For several years she was our Business Manager. Many were the times that Phyllis rushed straight from work to take over the Box Office and sacrifice her tea. Furthermore she was manager for the Top Five Rhythm Group when they were functioning. We all remember Phyllis with affection. Such loyalty as hers is priceless

Our Catering Committee, Mrs Alice Hargreaves, Mrs Bullock and Mrs Fildes must have made thousands of cups of tea, both for our casts and our audiences. They have saved my life many a time at dress rehearsals by quietly slipping into my hand the cup that cheers.

Mrs Veale, Betty to us, Mrs Walmsley and Miss Jones, who sit by the hour and iron and plan in the Wardrobe, are pearls beyond price.

A kaleidoscope of names and occasions flash through my mind. Colin, as he concreted the floor of the Coffee Bar, covered in soot and grime as he helped to clear the Headquarters when we bought it. Philip, Peter, Pat, Stuart, Shelagh, Sheila, Ann, Jennifer, Mary, in whose lap an affectionate cat gave birth to three kittens as she engrossed, watching June Ritchie rehearse a scene in Romeo and Juliet; Barbara and Alan Frost, joint secretaries; the late Mrs Taylor; my late comrades Bill Parkinson and Lorna; the late Ferney Leverett; the late Steven Browne, a staunch friend and Stage Manager; pianists Hilda Bone, Lily Jones, Ida Scentlebury and Beryl Millward. I could go on for a long time. The line of devoted helpers stretches over twenty-two years.

To each and everyone, mentioned and unmentioned, I offer my gratitude. No words could ever convey my real feeling. I look upon my young members as my family. Fate decided I should never have a family of my own. My young artists have become my sons and daughters. No one could have a more fascinating brood. Rarely have they disappointed me.

Seldom is it given to a man to have a more understanding wife. The support she has given me over the years I have already related. It has never been stronger than at the present time. I am filled with gratitude.

There must be no lessening of effort in the days ahead. Rather it must be increased, particularly now we are aiming for that theatre. My war cry throughout this book has been that the arts must be saved at all costs. At the moment warmth seems to have gone from life. There remains only an unresponsive hardness. Because we have cluttered up life with man-made irrelevancies, the core of warm expansive kindness has become encrusted with a shell of cynicism and pessimism. Only by a constant labour of honest endeavour can we, by means of the arts, thaw out life, as it seems, to life as it really is, rich, wonderful, ecstatic, rewarding. This enthusiastic endeavour does blossom, sometimes in the most unexpected places. It is sometimes apologetic. People have been to bashful to enthuse about it. If they had been bold enough to voice their zest, then the earthy, torpid boor has looked upon them as madmen.

How I long for more of these enthusiasts! I would rather dwell in restless argument with madmen of this calibre than I would live in brotherly deadliness with a husk of a human being whom the anaesthetising thousands would call 'sane'.

Thank heaven there are signs of an awakening of an artistic awareness. A handful of shining personalities like John English and Peter Slade are convincing some of the heavy eunuchs and acidulated vestals of the education world that this artistic passion is the glorious expression of life. It is not an escape from life, as the gross materialist would have it, but a glorious escape into life. The power which such an escape will generate will knock the emasculated, dreary existence which so many people endure into the middle of the next century, and inject a new meaning into his world.

The sparks are spluttering. Let us supply the draught which will fan the raw material into one huge, glorious combustion of creative effort.