Text 1: The week the old cinema became a theatre, by Bethan Price

An original contemporary magazine article.

I volunteered to help with the first production at the town’s new community theatre, which had been an empty cinema for years. I expected to spend the week painting scenery, but on the first morning the director put me in charge of sorting costumes. By lunchtime I had found a box of hats, three coats and a jacket with a missing button.

There were twelve volunteers, including two retired teachers who knew the building from its cinema days. We worked in the former auditorium, where the seats had been taken out. The stage lights were still being fitted, so we rehearsed the opening scenes with work lamps balanced on ladders.

On the second evening, a fuse blew just as the cast began a scene. We waited in the dark while the electrician checked the wiring, then carried on once the lights came back. I was surprised by how much people laughed during the rehearsal, even when someone forgot a line.

By the final night, I knew where every costume belonged and could help the actors change quickly. I was tired, but hearing the audience applaud made the long afternoons worthwhile. I have offered to help with the next production.

Text 2: A play in the parish hall, by Edith Morgan

An original letter written in a nineteenth-century voice; a period simulation, not an archival document.

In this letter, written in 1894, a young woman describes helping his family prepare a play for a village charity evening.

My dear Arthur, I have been kept busy all week by the preparations for our little entertainment in the parish hall. Mother has altered the dresses, whilst I have painted the scenery in the shed behind our house. The blue paint ran in the rain before it had dried, and I had to begin the sky again.

On Thursday we carried the boards and painted cloth to the hall in a farm cart. Mr Jenkins, the carpenter, fixed them together while the rest of us arranged chairs for the audience. The hall was cold, and we warmed our hands around the tea urn between rehearsals.

The performance began late because one of the players had not arrived. When he did come, he had forgotten his lines, so my sister whispered them from the side of the stage. The audience seemed pleased, though I could not hear the last speech clearly over the rain on the roof.

We put the chairs away after the guests had gone and carried the scenery back to the shed. I was glad to be home at last, but Mother says we shall do it again next year, and I find that I do not object.