I was nudged into acting by a bolshie schoolmaster. He came out of Hitler’s war, still wearing his army fatigues, and revived play-acting at my grammar school. There was a small foreigner’s part in Sheridan’s play The Critic and Mr Urwin – George Urwin was the teacher’s name – heard I wasn’t English (still had a slight accent) and pounced on me to play a dancing master.
You can read a full account in Are You Going to do that Little Jump? so I’ll cut to the chase.
The north of England, Cheshire, where I went to school was thick with drama. Even small towns had vibrant amateur dramatic societies, and one of the very biggest, not very far from where I lived in Sale, was the Altrincham Garrick. In fact, the members were so rich, they’d built their own 400-seat theatre.
While I was still at school, I had the luck to be put on their ‘acting list’ and waited, earnestly, longingly, for the summons to perform which always arrived by post, emblazoned with the Garrick’s striking logo.
