G'day

From 1989 – 1992 I toured with the Queensland Arts Council to primary schools around the state with a production called “World Games”. The company- Footloose Theatre Company was mine and was named after a suggestion from my father “Two young unmarried blokes touring around the state, what else could you call it?” It was an apt name. A two-hander production “World Games” had a quiz show format and relied heavily on audience participation and lent itself to a good deal of impro.

Looking back these were some of the happiest days of my life. I loved life on the road and the guys I toured with were awesome both as people and performers. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.

1989 – Anthony Simcoe
1990/91 – David Feeney
1991 (third term) – Peter Marshall
1992 – Matthew Corbett

The Story of Julie Hips

To commence each show when I had a guitar playing touring partner (ie with Anthony and Dave) we marched the kids in (see School in the Sugar) then played a couple of songs – New England by Billy Bragg and (I’m gonna be) 500 Miles by The Proclaimers were particular favorites – may I add our version of New England sounded exactly the same as the link – yup thats me singing; and had exactly the same atmosphere as The Proclaimers link provided). You should’ve seen up to 300 kids singing and clapping along – “I don’t want to change the world – I’m just looking for another girl” That was something to behold.

We’d finished the pre-show show and we’d begun the show proper when a young girl, who had Down Syndrome, at the back of the audience clearly had something she wanted to share, her hand was raised and she was calling out to us. A teacher was trying to stifle her cries but she was not to be denied.

“Ok what do you want young lady?” I asked. The teacher replied “She wants to dance ..its ok… carry on.”

“No, no… its fine” I said, following our judo modus operandi “come on down the front Miss.”

This caused quite a stir, some of the older kids groaned; there was a general atmosphere of unrest.

Anthony, picked up his guitar again as she started moved through the audience. “Whats your name?” I asked.

“Julie”

“Thats a lovely name Julie… and how old are you?”

“Nine.”

“Awesome. So… you can dance Julie?”

Without any further ado or introduction – Julie wasn’t one to stand on ceremony – she began moving. Her head swung from side-to-side, her long hair streaming behind, her knees bent swaying, her feet rooted to the ground. The motor driving her entire body was her hips – which were flying. I’m talking supersonic speed, Im talking hula hero, I’m talking in a blink they’d have done 5 or 6 revolutions. Anthony’s strumming was so fast he’d have to break to shake off hand cramping every now and then. The crowd was cheering. The teachers were laughing. Julie was gyrating and beaming ear-to-ear. Julies happy dance went on….. and on…. and on.

When she’d finished – and we are talking a good 5 minutes at hand blender speed here without respite – the audience gave her the seated equivalent of a standing ovation which lasted as long as it took Julie to return to her seat at the back. The whole return journey she received back-pats and high-fives. She was in her element. And not one of the kids at the back was groaning.

At the end of the show we’d bumped out, packed the car and were ready to travel to the next school, when the school bell rang for lunch. We had an hour to get to the next show when a group of kids stampeded us – occasionally we were asked for autographs by the kids and we would always oblige – so sweet. Just as we’d signed the last autograph and were about to head off, Julie spotted us – she ran at me, calling my name and wrapped her arms tight around me.

“I love you” she said.

I love you too” I replied, “it was so great to have you in the show, you’re fantastic! But we’ve got to go now- we have to go to another school.”

“You’re not going” she said.

“But I have to”. I explained.

She didn’t reply or release her koala hug.

A teacher spotted my predicament and came running to the rescue. “He has to go now Julie,” said the teacher attempting to release me from Julies vice-like grip without success “come on Julie let him go”.

“No” said Julie.

“C’mon man we’ve gotta go” Anthony reminded me.

“I know” , I said, giving him my best ‘what am I supposed to do’ look.

As insistent as Julie was about dancing, she was equally adamant about this hug. “Hey Julie, honey, we really have to go, we don’t want to, we just have to,” implored Ant. She wasn’t having any of it. The more I tried to move away, the tighter she squeezed. She was strong too, a couple of times she squeezed the breath out of me.

Then a thought struck me, something that should have been obvious to us all. This wasn’t really our day anyhow… it wasn’t the schools’ day. It was Julie’s day.

“Let it go” I said to Ant.

“We’re going to be late” he said.

“I know… who cares? She wants to hug.”

“We can get her off you,” the teacher offered.

“No, its okay, ” I said, thanking the teacher, “she’ll let go… sooner or later.”

“Well, I have to get my lunch” the teacher said.

“No worries” I replied, “I’m not going anywhere. Thanks for coming to my aid.”

The teacher wandered off to the staff lunch room. Anthony sat in the car impatient to go.

So there we were, nine year old Julie and me, locked in an embrace beside the Arts Council car in the middle of the school playground.

Eventually Julie did let go. I said goodbye and broke a golden rule and kissed her on the cheek as we parted – sometimes rules have got to be broken. She skipped away as though nothing unusual had happened.

I thought at the time that we were making Julie’s day and perhaps we did, but here I am nearly a quarter of a century later and as I recall her story I can still see her beaming face and feel her monster hug. Was it Julie’s day or was it mine? Or were we all touched by Julie Hips that day?

We were late for the next show – not by too much, nobody was dreadfully inconvenienced. But even if they had been – it would’ve been totally worth it.

From 1989 – 1992 I toured with the Queensland Arts Council to primary schools around the state with a production called “World Games”. The company- Footloose Theatre Company was mine and was named after a suggestion from my father “Two young unmarried blokes touring around the state, what else could you call it?” It was an apt name. A two-hander production “World Games” had a quiz show format and relied heavily on audience participation and lent itself to a good deal of impro.

Looking back these were some of the happiest days of my life. I loved life on the road and the guys I toured with were awesome both as people and performers. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.

1989 – Anthony Simcoe
1990/91 – David Feeney
1991 (third term) – Peter Marshall
1992 – Matthew Corbett

The School in the Sugar

On tour in country Queensland, it could be challenging to simply find the venue where we were to perform. On this occasion we were heading to Tully . The Arts Council provided us with a physical address – as they did for every venue. These were the days before GPS, these were the days before mobile phones even. These were the days of the refidex (for Americans – its a street atlas) and 20 cents in the car (the fee to make a phone call from a public phone booth – if you could find one).

Once we’d arrived in Tully we found the street directions pointed us directly into the cane fields that surrounded the town, there were no street signs, nothing to indicate the existence of a school out there in the endless and bewildering fields of cane that stretched as far as the eye could see. They weren’t so much roads as furrows between the fields of cane, just wide enough for a single car to fit through – God help you if a car should come in the opposite direction.

Tully canefields

We were late for the show with no idea where to go. There were 5 schools coming to the show, each school having 20 or 30 students. We attempted to call the principal of one of the schools, but they had apparently already left for the show. This was not good. It looked for all the world that we were destined to miss the show.

In an act of pure desperation I approached a local storekeeper in town and asked if he knew where we were going. I passed the address to him; after studying it for a while he said “Oh yeah maaaate, I know where you’re headed. Go down 5th street into the cane,” 5th street was the address we had, ” go down four rows turn left, then ahhhh lets seeee, two more, naooo, three more rows turn right that’ll dead end, five mooore rows another right, three moooore a left and you’ll be there.”

“You’re joking aren’t you?”

He looked at me like I was very slow. To enable the poor unfortunate in front of him, he slowed the already painfully slow delivery of his country cadence even more.

“No maaate……its eaaasy….. go into the field … four then left… three then right,” he paused to make sure I was following him, ” you’ll be at a dead end… you wont have a choice except to turn…”

“… right?”

His worst suspicions were confirmed. I was slow. His drawl drawled to a near complete stop. “Yeaaaaah thats right….riiiiight, five rows,” he held his hand up to show me exactly how many five was, “Fiiive rows right… threeeee rows left …it’ll be there on the corner”.

“The school?”

“The schoooool?”

“Ummm yeah. The school.”

“Naooooooooo maaaate. Theres not a school within miles of there.”

“Right. Then where are we going?”

“Carnt you follow directions maaate?”

“Yes I think I’ve got that bit.”

“Goood, then just follow them…. alriiiiight?”

“Okay. Just follow the directions?”

His eyes rolled. “Yeah maaaate, that’d be the go”.

“Well thanks very much for your help.”

“Yeaaah. Riiight.” and almost as an afterthought, “Good luck.”

I tore back to the car and raced down into the cane fields leaving a billowing dust trail behind as we rallied through the narrow openings between fields. Following his instructions we came across a small corrugated iron roofed shelter with 100 kids sat beneath.

“Where’ve you blokes been?” A teacher/principal asked.

“We got lost”

“What address did you have?”

“54b 5th street?”

“Yeah thats it… and you couldn’t find us?”

“No, we had a few problems, we were actually expecting a school”

“No mate, no school around here… El Arish is the closest and they drove for 20 ks to get here… Maybe you should set up?”

Imagine this shelter surrounded on four sides by cane

We erected the set in what little space remained under shelter and about five minutes into the show the heavens opened. If you’ve never heard a tropical Queensland summer rain on a corrugated iron roof, the only word to describe it is deafening. The rain heaved down – the show was a complete wash-out.

In the years to come there were many such challenges when attempting to access venues, especially in country areas. There were many, many instances of the hall key “being at Mrs.Wilsons house at number 43” or “if you lift the third brick at the front of the hall, the key should be under there” or “once you put the key in turn it to the right then lean back on the door as you lift it… that’ll open it for ya” or ” Brownie’s got the key… oh shit he’s gone to Brissie… in that case pry the second window on the right as you face the hall… ya got a crow-bar? No? Then use a good strong key… its pretty heavy… then crawl through” or ” Careful when you go in… theres a goanna likes sleeping in there… and they can be pretty aggressive if you disturb ’em. Hes not big… only about 3 foot long… but they give a nasty bite… ya don’t want that.”

Hes not big... only about 3 foot long

For all of its oddities my favorite areas to tour were always in the country. The people were so hospitable and the days were never ever boring.

Have you ever had one of those funky kinda weeks? The “a whole chapter of my life is about to end and a new fresh unwritten one is about to commence” week? Maybe a better analogy which will be familiar to travellers or those who’ve spent a lot of time on the road – when the time comes to move-on – the excitement of new adventures and possibilities mingling with the sense of trepidation that accompanies the unknown road that lies ahead. At these times do you have the urge to look retrospectively at the big picture – the whole journey thus far, take stock and plan for the future? I do and that’s the kind of week its been for me.

I’ve spent a lot of this week remembering back and finding great joy at some of the crazier events of my life – and seeing as they’ve been positive and life affirming reminiscences I thought I’d share them in a series of short anecdotal tales – the stories of events and (most usually) people that have left a lasting impression on me.

From 1989 – 1992 I toured with the Queensland Arts Council to primary schools around the state with a production called “World Games”. The company- Footloose Theatre Company was mine and was named after a suggestion from my father “Two young unmarried blokes touring around the state, what else could you call it?” It was an apt name. A two-hander production “World Games” had a quiz show format and relied heavily on audience participation and lent itself to a good deal of impro.

Looking back these were some of the happiest days of my life. I loved life on the road and the guys I toured with were both awesome people and performers. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.

!989 – Anthony Simcoe
1990/91 – David Feeney
1991 (third term) – Peter Marshall
1992 – Matthew Corbett

The wrong question

It was the very first show of the second (winter tour) of my first year touring. We were performing in a community hall for a school just outside of Toowoomba, which was freezing cold at that time of year. This particular show was a mix of ages – five to ten year-olds. For many of the first graders this was the first show they’d seen.

The audience sat packed together in class groups, youngest down the front, cross-legged at the front of the stage area which we had positioned not on the raised stage, but at audience level. The teachers sat on folding chairs surrounding the student audience.

About ten minutes into the show a first grader sitting in the front row at about centre stage stood up and, taking a good deal of time about it, lazily yawned, stretched and started walking off to the side of the stage area. The older kids started tittering.

Now, the general unwritten rule for kids shows is that you should handle them a bit like a judo bout – never oppose; always go with the flow. Unable to ignore such a bold move, I asked the boy (in character) “Where do you suppose you’re off to?” The young man sheepishly explained, “I need to go to the toilet.”

“Fair enough” I replied. More laughs from the older kids.

Here’s where I make a classic error, one that I was never to repeat.

Buoyed by the older kids reaction to my response I foolishly went on,“ Oh and while we’re at it – don’t worry about the show – does anyone else need to go?”

From our position onstage it was very easy to see, by the teacher’s reactions to my sarcastic remark, that Id made a gross error of judgment. Some teacher’s had their heads in their hands, some teachers shot me the unmistakable look of ‘I can’t believe you asked that question’, others just glared at me- horrified.

It was like watching a fast rushing tide going out. A few kids sitting close to the young man in question raised their hands… then a few more rose, soon up-shooting hands rippled their way outwards and back across the audience. Every grade one and grade two needed to go to the bathroom (as well as some of the older kids who were delighting in my unfortunate invitation). The older kids were in fits of laughter. The younger kids started to stand. We were losing our audience – quickly.

Thinking fast, Anthony adopted a military voice “Right then! E-ver-ee -body stand!” Anthony stands 6’6″ – he’s hard to ignore. The audience complied. “aaand quiiiick MARCH!”
“March on the spot! Raise them knees!”
“Left and a-right and a-left, right, left!”

Anthony Simcoe - looking more like Billy than Billy.

We marched that audience round and round the inside of the hall as the teachers picked kids to go to the bathroom and provided assistance for any younger ones who needed it. We marched high. We marched low. We wriggled on our bellies. We marched sidestep and goosestep. We marched nose first and toes first. We marched in circles and squares and squiggles.

We had the kids laughing for a full twenty minutes; as long as the marching lasted. There were only two toilets in the hall – one male, one female. There were no unfortunate accidents. Kids raced to the toilet and raced back to rejoin the marching. The hall resounded with riotous laughter.

We finally re-commenced and completed an abridged version of the show (as the next show’s audience was lining up outside the hall, waiting to come in… we didn’t want them to freeze to death.)

It was pretty much a triumph as a result of Ant’s quick thinking. I’ll never forget the kids bending over with laughter as we came up with new marching styles “Elbows in front, bum out back! …and quick MARCH!” Their flushed faces with mouths wide open. Joyful tears streaming from baby eyes. Days like this made the job worthwhile.

The improvised marching routine was such a success that we adopted it as the standard way we brought audiences into the performance space. Chalk one up for the ingenious Mister Simcoe.

Every performance for the Arts Council was reviewed in those days, I recall the report coming back from that school being overwhelmingly positive but expressed confusion trying to find the connection between a multi-cultural themed quiz show and a military style marching exhibition.

The boss at the Arts Council asked us what that was all about. “ Long story. Never mind.” we replied. The boss at the Arts Council had written “World Games”. It wasn’t very good – actually it was dreadful.

The boss and writer of World Games - he was forever playing with his tie like that.

Not to worry… by the time we’d finished with it, it didn’t bear the vaguest resemblance to the original script. This wasn’t Shakespeare and rather than have bored unresponsive audiences time after time, we figured our allegiance was with them. Our responsibility first and foremost was to entertain – and that we did.