The Pink Green Room

Far be it from me to gossip - as you all know I am discretion personified - but I was being a bit of a silver surfer the other day and stumbled across quite an interesting theatrical titbit online. You didn't hear it from me but it is  rumoured that, in his youth, the esteemed Irish actor of the last century, Micheal MacLiammoir ,  had an affair with General Eoin Duffy who, during the 1930s was the head of the quasi-fascist Irish blueshirts. Fancy that? Although, there is no evidence to substantiate this claim, other than idle gossip and tittle tattle, this got me looking back at the career of MacLiammoir and his partner Hilton Edwards. What follows, is a brief account of their story. If you care to pull up a pouffe, pour yourself a tipple of your choice and light yourself a well deserved fag, I'll begin... *** The Gate Theatre in Dublin has long been heralded as a mecca for the arts in Ireland. If I was to walk on its hallowed ground today, or any day over the last year or so...

 Sir John Gielgud was, without a doubt, one of the finest actors of his generation. With his silky smooth tones and polished delivery, he was the archetypal classical actor of the last century with a cerebral quality to his performances which contrasted with the physicality of his contemporaries (such as the much revered Larry Olivier). Despite his own international acclaim, this much admired knight of the realm was in fact arrested for cottaging whilst he was at the pinnacle of his acting career. Naughty, naughty Johnny G! Tut, tut, tut. Whist there was indeed much scandal at the time, this incident failed to blight his career, his reputation or his legacy which lives on - in fact the whole debacle has more or less been confined to the annals of forgotten theatrical history. So, what actually happened? How did dear Sir John comeback from it?   Let me set the scene. It's 1953. It's the 21st of October. Chelsea. Midnight. After a long days rehearsal and a few drinks afterw...

 "Put on Radio 4 now!" - a request that sends a shiver down my spine. Maybe I'm odd but I have no interest in the state of modern GM farming; the records Ed Miliband would take to a desert island; or who stole Fallon's bunting from the village green in Ambridge. Anyway, this was the message I received from my partner last Friday, just as my arthritic wrist characteristically clicked as I began to unscrew the top of the gin bottle. I sighed deeply as I put the bottle down and turned to twiddle the knobs on the wireless. Well, blow me down with a feather! What I heard was not the usual monotone monologue from a former politician that I was used to! I could hear Richard Wilson...I could hear Antony Sher...I could even hear Ian Mckellen! Music to my ears! What was going on? What was this gold mine of the cream of English theatre? And, more importantly, what have I been missing whilst I've been listening to my beloved Round the Horne, Beyond Our Ken and Stop Messing Ab...

'The Green Room at Drury Lane Theatre', by George and Robert Cruickshank It's October. It's cold. It's wet. It's boring. Four things that I have been saying to myself incessantly and we're only five days into the month! With the virus still prevailing over our social lives, and much else besides, I have been persuaded, by popular demand, to transpose the junk shop of historical camp gossip and theatrical tit-bits, that I have been boring my friends and family with for years, onto the web. What follows on this blog are random, and probably sporadic, jottings to keep me occupied and out of everyone's hair. The posts are likely to delve into the arts and culture, both high and low (and not forgetting the lowest of the low) of the LGBT community in the last one-hundred years or so. Sound any good? Well frankly, whether you enjoy reading this or not is something that neither concerns nor interests me particularly - as the late, great Kenneth Williams once sai...