No 2 -- April 1975 Edited by Michael Walters
[I have decided to begin a new feature in this issue called "How I got hooked on G & S", in which various correspondents will explain how it all began. In this way I hope readers will get to know more about the other readers whom they see referred to in these pages. The first contributor (by my request) is Peter Mills, comic baritone lead with Imperial College Operatic Society, and it seemed to me appropriate to make him no. 2. in the PEOPLE series. It will not necessarily be a standard policy to make the subject of these two series the same person in future issues. Ed.]
I first saw Peter as The Duke of Plaza Toro in one of the very few I.C. productions which is, on the whole, best forgotten. For me, Peter's performance was one of the things which made it worth while. It cannot have been easy for him to step into the shoes of the forceful and ostentatious Jon Bass (his predecessor in these roles) and to make an impact in a poor production. Indeed there was some criticism from those who were expecting another Jon Bass, but for me, though his Duke was far from perfect, it seemed to promise great things to come. Peter's next role was Mr. Wells in a production which proved to be musically the finest amateur G & S production I have ever heard; and Peter proved to be the finest Mr. Wells I have ever seen. Though it was played largely in the "cockney" John Reed style it somehow succeeded where John Reed failed. There is a quiet determination in all Peter's performances, and surprisingly (I mean surprisingly for an actor) off stage he is one of the most modest and retiring men I know. At least, that is my opinion, I hope, after you have read his own account, you will agree with me.
My involvement with G & S dates really from one summer which Jan, my wife (then my girl friend) and I spent apart. I was in America for two and a half months, and she was in Budleigh Salterton for a fortnight [ Budleigh Salterton is a small town in Devon where I.C. do a G & S every summer. Ed.]. She and her flatmate were there to swell the numbers of the female chorus of PIRATES invited by Colin Davis of Imperial College Operatic Society. As I, three thousand miles away, followed Jan's progress with the show (and, even more pertinently, with the male chorus) I began to realise that ICOS and G&S were no mere sets of initials: together they spelt Grand Passion. That's why, the next February I was to be found in the blue and gold (yes, blue) under the command of Colonel Calverley in Patience, and I've been in the colours of ICOS ever since. I'd had a moderately G & S upbringing, being taken to see the D'Oyly Carte whenever it came within range. The "talking bits" had always interested me most the music not so much till later and the antics of the "funny man" Now, performing the pieces, I saw them in a completely different light. I admired the skill and coolness of the Principals in rehearsals, then, with the floodlights in my eyes, was thrilled by the knowledge of the live audience, and reacted for all I was worth on the end of the second line of dragoons. ICOS is an unlikely blend of enthusiasms and talents; the average age is low (about 2023), and the personnel always changing. So when I got the chance to do a principal part myself, as The Duke of Plaza Toro, I began to learn about what always fascinates me in performing G & S: the strange chemistry and infinite variety in the relationship between actor and audience. And once begun, I imagine the process of learning this mystery never ends. For me, the pleasure of doing G & S is, first of all, that of acting for an audience; the singing comes second to that (as anyone who's heard me perform will readily testify'), and so, in a way, does the expert "Savoyard" fun. G & S is also the means of enjoying the company of a lively group of friends in ICOS (old members never die they retire to the audience). And finally (and let Noone underrate this aspect of G & S's appeal) it means that Jan and I spend our spare time, and our holidays, together.
Web page created 11 September 1998