The Winds of Change

In 1947, a six-part radio serial was produced by the BBC on the lives of Gilbert and Sullivan, including extracts from the operas themselves. It was broadcast from the old Camden Theatre in North London, and my father, who was acting in it, got permission to take me along with him. I was thirteen, and I was bowled over. The following summer saw me standing for two or three nights a week in the gallery queue (one shilling and sixpence) at Sadler’s Wells, for the D’Oyly Carte Company’s eight-week residence.

There I was again at the company’s triumphant Festival of Britain season at the Savoy, marvelling at the delicate artistry of Martyn Green and the sheer huge gusto of Darrell Fancourt.

I watched a little sadly as over the next few years the productions lost some of their gloss, the company’s traditional audience began to fall away, and they tremulously awaited the 1961 enquiry of copyright. Since then, of course, we’ve been offered every kind of interpretation of Gilbert and Sullivan; but the recent re-emergence of Carl Rosa Opera, with its policy of imaginative production faithful to the spirit of the original, means we can again look at what the operas essentially are, without feeling the need on one hand to produce a carbon copy of Gilbert’s stage directions, or on the other to search desperately for a way of being “available” to modern audiences.

So now, with a clean slate, we can examine what – for instance – HMS Pinafore is really about. Whenever I have to work on something that’s terribly well-known, and which has been seen produced in every conceivable way, I give the script to my friend Graham for his off-the-cuff reaction. Graham is not real unfortunately, he’s a myth, but he’s perfect for my purposes because he’s completely ignorant about the theatre and the opera, and when confronted with a text will know nothing about the piece, the writer, the style, the date, or anything else.

Passing him, in my imagination, a copy of Pinafore, I say, “Just run your eye over this Graham, there’s a good chap, and tell me what you think is actually happening here.”

His analysis perhaps might go something like this: “It feels like Hurrah for the Royal Navy. A salute to Nelson, HMS Victory and all that traditional stuff. But hang on – by 1878 every new warship was steam-powered. So things are changing, aren’t they? Staffing is changing, too, what’s this, a solicitor’s clerk at the head of the Admiralty? And he’s an awful snob, but he keeps banging on about his humble beginnings. That sort of appointment is going to make itself felt right down the chain of command. I mean, look at this man Rackstraw! Stirrings of Marxism there, am I right?

And come the Revolution, mark my words, that Boatswain’s going to be right there beside him.

“Then there’s your man Deadeye; all right, he’s a bit of a Tory, but all he wants really is to get back to a reliable code of discipline – he can feel everything slipping away from him. The girl – she’s got a comfortable home in Gosport or somewhere, and she’s thinking of giving it all up just because she fancies that hunky sailor. That’s not very Victorian, is it?And her poor Dad – he feels in this changed climate he’s got to be dead democratic and lean over backwards to be matey with his crew. They’ve all been caught in the winds of change.”

I agree with Graham. It is the Winds of Change that fill the sails of HMS Pinafore, and steer her on her dramatic course.

I hope you all enjoy the voyage.

Timothy West