After this he was much in demand by the festival organisers,
and by the press for group photos with the sponsors. There was
a large crowd there, swelled by all the musicians and singers
from the church. We had just a couple of minutes talking with
him, but it was all I had wanted or expected, and he seemed genuinely
pleased that we had come to see him. We both know that we made
the right decision in going to Halesworth. |||
'Twas in the year of 1887, which many people
will long remember,
The burning of the Theatre at Exeter on the 5th of September,
Alas! that ever-to-be-remembered and unlucky night,
When one hundred and fifty lost their lives, a most agonising
sight.
The play on this night was called "Romany
Rye,"
And at act four, scene third, Fire! Fire! was the cry;
And all in a moment flames were seen issuing from the stage,
Then the women screamed frantically, like wild beasts in a cage.
Then a panic ensued, and each one felt dismayed,
And from the burning building a rush was made;
And soon the theatre was filled with a blinding smoke,
So that the people their way out had to grope.
The shrieks of those trying to escape were
fearful to hear,
Especially the cries of those who had lost their friends most
dear;
Oh, the scene was most painful in the London Inn Square,
To see them wringing their hands and tearing their hair!
And as the flames spread, great havoc they
did make,
And the poor souls fought heroically in trying to make their
escape;
Oh, it was horrible to see men and women trying to reach the
door!
But in many cases death claimed the victory, and their struggles
were o'er.
Alas! 'twas pitiful the shrieks of the audience
to hear,
Especially as the flames to them drew near;
Because on every face were depicted despair and woe,
And many of them jumped from the windows into the street below.
The crushed and charred bodies were carried
into London Hotel yard,
And to alleviate their sufferings the doctors tried hard;
But, alas! their attendance on many was thrown away,
But those that survived were conveyed to Exeter Hospital without
delay.
And all those that had their wounds dressed
proceeded home,
Accompanied by their friends, and making a loud moan;
While the faces and necks of others were sickening to behold,
Enough to chill one's blood, and make the heart turn cold.
Alas! words fail to describe the desolation,
And in many homes it will cause great lamentation;
Because human remains are beyond all identification,
Which will cause the relatives of the sufferers to be in great
tribulation.
Oh, Heaven! it must have been an awful sight,
To see the poor souls struggling hard with all their might,
Fighting hard their lives to save,
While many in the smoke and burning flame did madly rave!
It was the most sickening sight that ever
anybody saw,
Human remains, beyond recognition, covered with a heap of straw;
And here and there a body might be seen, and a maimed hand,
Oh, such a sight, that the most hard-hearted person could hardly
withstand!
The number of people in the theatre was between
seven and eight thousand,
But alas! one hundred and fifty by the fire have been found dead;
And the most lives were lost on the stairs leading from the gallery,
And these were roasted to death, which was sickening to see.
The funerals were conducted at the expense
of the local authority,
And two hours and more elapsed at the mournful ceremony;
And at one grave there were two thousand people, a very great
crowd,
And most of the men were bareheaded ad weeping aloud.
Alas! many poor children have been bereft
of their fathers and mothers,
Who will be sorely missed by little sisters and brothers;
But, alas! unto them they can ne'er return again,
Therefore the poor little innocents must weep for them in vain.
I hope all kind Christian souls will help
the friends of the dead,
Especially those that have lost the winners of their bread;
And if they do, God surely will them bless,
Because pure Christianity is to help the widows and orphans in
distress.
I am very glad to see Henry Irving has sent
a hundred pounds,
And I hope his brother actors will subscribe their mite all round;
And if they do it will add honour to their name,
Because whatever is given towards a good cause they will it regain.
|||
Our
weekend in Halesworth went very well: reliable train connections,
fine weather, autumn colours, a good choral concert in the church,
and of course seeing Alan again. We have just returned, having
stopped off at the attractive harbour town of Woodbridge, down
the line from Halesworth, for two hours' exploration. I thought
you would like to hear about Alan and the details of the opening
ceremony. 
Alan was not present at the concert
and arrived at The Cut about 9.15, staying for about an hour
before departing. Apparently he had travelled up the previous
evening and had a private tour of the building during the morning.
Alan told the audience
that he had not been able to decide on a reading suitable for
the occasion, and so he had decided upon an unsuitable one, written
by a rather bad poet. He took out a little book from his pocket
and proceeded to read (in a Scottish accent) 'The Burning of
the Theatre at Exeter' by William McGonagall, Victorian Scotsman,
self-styled poet and tragedian and master of bathetic verse.
This absurdly gruesome narrative poem, concerning a true event
which had resulted in the death of many theatre-goers, was read
with great relish by Alan, to rapturous applause and laughter.
