The magic of live theatre

We get up early again at six thirty, so I can take the dogs out and still make the Poppy Seed for half past ten, later this morning. I use the last of the cream cheese, with smoked salmon on rye toast for breakfast and Norman has his usual Baker's again, although I feed him snippets of salmon trimmings, which he wolfs down in one go. My back and shoulders are still a little stiff from last night's swim, butterfly stretches the latissimus dorsa muscles all the way to the buttocks. It is a fair but windy morning on the Westwood and our walk goes without incident until we approach Black Mill, where a herd of cattle are grazing, for some reason Teddy decides to round them up, and I have a hairy couple of minutes, until I persuade him to stop and then put him on the lead. For the last three years he has walked past the cows with just the occasional bark or growl, their return this year has probably been interpreted as an invasion of his turf. Tomorrow I will let him off first in the woods, as Dolly never bothers about them. We drop the terriers back in Cherry and drive to Beverley, parking at North Bar and walking the hundred yards or so to the Poppy Seed. As we arrive, Hanne appears on her bike and we enter the cafe together to find Felicity sat at the table by the window. She has been there since ten and is not in a great mood, but we manage to cheer her up and a few minutes later Thelma walks in as well. She asks how Felicity is and she tells her that she still has the district nurse coming twice daily to inject insulin. Hanne falls into the same trap that I did last week and asks when Felicity will take over injecting herself again and receives a blast of anger. The old girl is feeling sorry for herself and I suspect likes all the attention she is receiving, but is in danger of relinquishing her independence. The coffee morning unfortunately doesn't recover and I go to fetch the car to take her home, while she pops across the road to an ATM to withdraw some cash. When I return, Hanne waves me on, she is walking Felicity back to Albert Terrace. I drop Norman in Tickton, bring in some washing that I hung out after breakfast and then drive back to Beverley to collect Sam for the trip to Riverside School in Goole, where we are going to see Rebecca in their production of the musical "Oliver". Sam's dad, Mike, is also coming and we pick him up from his house, round the corner, before driving over the Wolds, through Etton and down Arras Hill to Market Weeton. The Vale of York spread out before us and the church on the hill at Holme on Spalding Moor, prominent to our southwest. We pass the hill later and follow the road to Howden and over the old Boothferry Bridge, that used to lie on the main road to Hull, before the M62 was constructed. I remember breaking down here on my way to the Ferry to Rotterdam, over thirty years ago. Once across the old bridge we have to drive under the huge Ouse Bridge that carries the motorway and then carry on to the village of Hook, Riverside School lies just beyond this village, on the outskirts of Goole. We are directed to park on the playing fields and then make our way to the auditorium for the show, buying raffle tickets for a prize draw as we enter. All the children at Riverside have special needs of some kind, although the range of disability varies widely, most of the audience are parents or relatives of the pupils, all of whom are involved in the production. The lights go down at about two o'clock and the show begins with an overture and then leads into the first number, "Food, Glorious, Food", which is sung with great gusto, I notice some movement behind me and see the choreographer, a blonde female teacher, stood on a bench demonstrating the dance movements, which the children on the stage can see, but the audience can't. The show rolls on at a lively clip and there are some inspired performances from the kids playing the Artful Dodger, Fagin, Bill Sykes and Nancy, and bucket loads of enthusiasm from the chorus line as well. The great thing about live theatre is the interaction between cast and audience and the magical spell it casts on both when it works well, melding us all into a single living entity. Perhaps it is the generosity of spirit extended by the audience and repaid many times by the performers, that made this a really special occasion. At the final number an encore was demanded and given, before the show closed to rapturous applause. While the children changed in preparation for home time, the headmaster drew the raffle, none of our party were in any luck, and then it was time to collect Rebecca, who was one of the orphans in the chorus and wore a white mob cap. I have never seen more happy children leaving a school, and the teaching staff had obviously enjoyed the production as well and must have put an enormous amount of effort into it. We drove back chatting about the show and singing some of the numbers, Rebecca correcting me when I got the lyrics out of order. I dropped them off about four o'clock and then drove back to Tickton to let Norman out and then make dinner. The marinaded chicken from yesterday was baked in a hot oven for fifty minutes and oven chips added on a tray with fifteen minutes to go. I ate it with tossed salad again and the last of the Chardonnay. The chicken was piquant, but not excessively spicy and the meal went down well, as I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Norman was too hungry to wait for me to cook and so had a dog tin earlier, but still managed to scrounge a little of my chicken. Around eleven o'clock Sarah texted to confirm arrangements for tomorrow, she is leaving Beverley at five thirty to drive to the airport, so I will need to be at her house for seven thirty, in order to make breakfast and take Louis to school. I turn in at eleven thirty and set my alarm for six.