Curtain Up (24 page)

Ten Little Niggers
opened at Wimbledon on 20 September 1943 and Mathew Prichard, Agatha's grandson, was born the
next day. Both productions were a triumph and received excellent reviews.

On 1 October Agatha wrote to Max, ‘You will have got my wire and also my letter telling of the safe arrival of Master Mathew Prichard . . . Yes, R's baby is a great relief. And Ten Little Niggers has been such a success at Wimbledon. Full houses and likely come to London in about 6 weeks – so I am pleased and happy – only nothing can take away that ache inside that is wanting you.'
²⁹
For once, the schedule didn't change, and at the end of the month Agatha confirmed, ‘It is coming on at the St James Theatre on the 17th – I went up to Oxford with the producer [i.e. director] Irene Hentschel and her husband Ivor Brown (whom you would like – very silent and devoted to Oxford . . .) and Barbara Toy – and we really had great fun.'
³⁰
Agatha's faith in Barbara Toy seems to have been restored following the disastrous dress rehearsal; the superstitious Hentschel herself doubtless subscribed to the old theatrical adage that a bad dress rehearsal usually results in a good opening night. The Oxford day trip group of Agatha Christie, Irene Hentschel, Ivor Brown and Barbara Toy was an interesting one indeed, and one wonders whether Agatha was fully aware of what distinguished theatrical company she was keeping in Hentschel and Brown.

It seems likely moreover that it was Hentschel who created a link between Bertie Meyer, Farndale and the third major party responsible for co-producing the project. J.B. Priestley's
They Came To a City
, directed by Hentschel in April 1943, had been co-produced with Tennents by the newly formed People's Entertainment Society (PES). This extraordinary organisation was the brainchild of East End MP Alfred John Barnes, a leading light of the co-operative movement and a founder of the Co-operative Labour Party. He was to become Minister of Transport in the post-war Attlee government, masterminding the nationalisation of the country's transport infrastructure.

The People's Entertainment Society, founded by Barnes and others in 1942, was conceived as nothing less than the theatrical production wing of the co-operative movement, and by
rights should take its place in theatrical history alongside the well-documented work of CEMA and ENSA. Like most such enterprises, the PES was a stickler for constitutions, rules and regulations. The ‘Rules of the People's Entertainment Society', printed by the Manchester Co-operative Press, state that the organisation's remit was to produce and co-produce plays and films and to run theatre and cinema buildings; all of which, if their annual reports and accounts are anything to go by, they went on to do with a remarkable degree of success. Their proud aspiration was that ‘The business of the Society shall be conducted . . . to foster and further the art of the drama in accordance with the principle that true art, by effectively presenting and truthfully interpreting life as experienced by the majority of the people, can move the people to work for the betterment of society.'
³¹

The society's Annual Report and Balance Sheet for the year ended 4 December 1943 states, ‘We are associated with Farndale Pictures Ltd and B.A. Meyer in the production of Agatha Christie's play
Ten Little Niggers
. After a short successful provincial tour, this play is now running at the St James's Theatre. We have every reason to believe that it will prove to be a financial success.'
³²
Sadly there are no detailed records as to the size of their investment in the production or the returns that they achieved, but the society's overall accounts appear to be buoyant, and it seems safe to assume that their investment in Agatha Christie's play got them off to a good start. The first year's trading having been conducted without a loss, and in anticipation of a successful outcome on
Ten Little Niggers
, the organisers campaigned to recruit further investors, wisely warning: ‘We desire to emphasise that there is a considerable element of risk in creating an entertainment organisation governed by democratic principles and practice; consequently we would prefer numerous small investments rather than a few large ones . . . we have reasonable grounds to believe that, with widespread public support, we shall eventually make the PES a steady and profitable investment.' It was, in effect, an early experiment in theatrical ‘crowdfunding'.

According to the literature accompanying a 1944 share application form, the society had a ‘capital interest' in J.B. Priestley's
How Are They At Home?
at London's Apollo Theatre, and in the tours of
Ten Little Niggers
and Terence Rattigan's
Flare Path
. It had also ‘been associated with' successful West End runs of
They Came to a City
and
Ten Little Niggers
, a Wigmore Hall recital by Australian soprano Austra Bourne and a provincial tour of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. The PES had also ‘provided artistes, and given advice to many Co-operative Societies', purchased the Theatre Royal in Huddersfield and set up a film unit.
³³
The following year it was to add to its West End repertoire
Duet for Two Hands
by Mary Hayley Bell, starring her husband John Mills and co-produced with Jack Buchanan at the Lyric Theatre. After the war it would create a ‘National Theatre Club' based at the Royalty Theatre in Dean Street (Agatha's friend L.E. Berman's old stomping ground).

In the 1944 leaflet, ninety-one co-operative societies from around the country are shown as being shareholders, as well as various other affiliated groups such as the Crompton Boot Manufacturers and the Co-operative Press. The society's publicity material described its supporters as ‘Individual members, democratic organisations, and those engaged in providing entertainment, being bound together for the purpose of securing the best performances under good conditions for the common people.'

The
Co-Operative News
of 2 February 1946, reporting on the Society's AGM the previous week, ran the headline ‘HOPES AND CONFIDENCE IN PES HAVE BEEN JUSTIFIED' and announced that an annual honorarium of £100 to Alfred Barnes, MP, had been unanimously approved in recognition of his ‘invaluable' services to the society since its foundation. Barnes had resigned from the society in 1945 upon his appointment as Minister of War Transport.

The Co-operative Society's December 1946 edition of its
London Citizen
magazine announced on its front page, ‘SWITCH FROM WAR TO PEACE GOES SMOOTHLY – ERA OF SOCIAL
SECURITY STARTED', and included inside a double-page article headlined ‘Ringing up the Curtain. Democracy makes a hit on the stage.' The text ran:

In its mission of providing millions of people with the essentials of life, democracy has never lacked courage. The vast Co-operative movement, with its millions of capital invested in countless factories and shops, is an impregnable example of the organised strength of the little man.

It is true to say, however, that although for many years some of our first-class brains had realised that food for the mind can be as important as food for the body, no real attempt had been made to gain a footing in Shakespeare's own profession.

That was until 1942, when there was formed a body under the title the People's Entertainment Society, now familiarly and affectionately referred to as the PES.

The PES financed itself in a simple and direct way. Co-operative societies, Trade Unions and other democratic organisations were invited to take up shares in the society up to £200. These shares not only carry the usual right of democratic control, but entitle the holders to beneficial block-bookings in the Society's theatrical ventures in London and the provinces. Individuals may also take up £1 membership shares and may hold shares up to £200 and participate in any surpluses.

This was the cash side of one of the most successful efforts to break into what had hitherto been a mysterious capitalist ‘closed shop' . . . Despite scepticism about the Co-op's lack of experience in this field, they went to JB Priestley, who agreed to work with them.

‘Oh!' said the critics, ‘Intellectual highbrow stuff, eh! That will soon cure 'em when they back a flop. JB can't turn out plays to order. He's not the type.'

So to show the complete Catholicity of their tastes and to live up to the creed plainly set out in their charter, ‘To provide for the People the best entertainment
in all its most
infinite variety
,'
the PES associated itself with the famous detective thriller writer Agatha Christie in the presentation of Ten Little Niggers.

With her endorsement by the PES as the populist antidote to the ‘highbrow' Priestley, Agatha Christie had, in a very real sense, been adopted as the people's playwright, and in
Ten Little Niggers
was to give the PES its first big commercial success, with a substantial West End run followed by an extensive national tour. By the time of its West End opening, the production had collected another co-producer, the classical music promoter Jay Pomeroy. So it was under the auspices of Farndale, Meyer, the PES and Pomeroy that it finally opened at Prince Littler's St James's Theatre on 17 November 1943. When Agatha arrived home that night she wrote to Max, ‘Just back from first night of Niggers – I felt
awful
of course – It
is
an agony – but Stephen came again and was very kind and soothing and he and Rosalind pulled me through. I
do
wish you had been there.'
³⁴

Stephen Glanville who appears also to have seen a previous performance, had clearly enjoyed himself and wrote the next day:

Agatha darling –

Last night was really something to remember – in Vera's words, ‘until I die'. The whole thing was FUN – it was lovely to watch the play without half an eye on a wilting child and be able to revel in its mounting horror without misgiving, and it was exciting to pose as a dramatic critic and compare the two performances; it was delightful to make a party with so many altogether enjoyable people, with the spice of meeting some of them for the first time. But best of all was the diverse experience of Agatha: Agatha really nervous (as she must be till the show is over) – not just shy – even in the midst of close friends; Agatha in the moment of triumph, quite radiant, but still asking only for her friends, and incredibly un-egotistical; and last, and perhaps most precious,
Agatha still quietly excited, but beautifully poised and content, balanced between the success of the immediate achievement and the purpose to achieve more, and blessing the moment with the intimacy of friendship.

Bless you and thank you, my dear, for a never-to-be-forgotten night.
³⁵

I like this letter from her infatuated friend because it beautifully captures Agatha's excitement at her achievement; the publication of a book would never occasion such intense emotions in relation to her work. This is why Agatha loved theatre.

The critics were unanimously supportive.
The Times
remarked that ‘This is not a play. It is a kind of theatrical game, with Miss Irene Hentschel pitting her wits as a producer against our natural tendency to weary of flagrant absurdity prolonging itself through three acts. She has some admirable actors at her disposal; the stage action she invents for them is unfailingly ingenious; and she wins her game very comfortably . . . the company as a whole is splendidly responsive to the producer's adroit ideas.'
³⁶

Ivor Brown, inevitably, felt it best to avoid such direct praise of the director in his
Observer
review, but clearly enjoyed the play a great deal more than he had
Black Coffee
:

Miss Agatha Christie does not stint on things. Like Hotspur, who could kill six dozen Scots at breakfast, complain of his quiet life, and then ask for work, she is not one to be concerned about a mere singleton corpse. But she can add quality to quantity in her domestic morgue. In
Ten Little Niggers
she shows an intense ingenuity in adapting that very lethal rhyme (so oddly deemed a nursery matter) to modern conditions . . . they are guilty parties lured to an island off Devon where it seems that some President of the High Court of Summary Justice is to have his sport with them; this he intricately does, thus giving abundant sport to the audience.
³⁷

Amongst a distinguished cast, those singled out for critical praise included veteran stage and screen actor Allan Jeayes as Sir Lawrence Wargrave, and Linden Travers (Bill Travers' sister) as typically feisty Christie heroine Vera Claythorne, the character mentioned by Glanville in the first line of his letter. Christie's own verdict was that ‘I don't say it is the play or book of mine I like best, or even that I think is my best, but I do think in some ways that it is a better piece of craftsmanship than anything else I have written.'
³⁸
It is hard to disagree. Putting aside the issue of the ending, the play is a masterpiece of dramatic construction, set in one room on the only house on the island and taking place over two consecutive nights. The dialogue is not her best, and the play lacks the wit and character development of some of her other work, but the potentially laboured conceit is handled with great skill and unfailing theatricality. The ever-diminishing row of figurines provides a compelling dramatic focus; and brilliantly, just as the tension becomes almost unbearable, the remaining house guests all simultaneously run out of cigarettes.

Amidst the carefully constructed thrills, though, Christie takes time to explore various issues of morality, and to make known her own views on them. Most notable is the following exchange between Vera and the embittered spinster Emily Brent:

       
EMILY: Now that we are alone, I have no objection to telling you the facts of the case – indeed, I should like you to hear them. It was not a fit subject to discuss before gentlemen – so naturally I refused to say anything last night. That girl, Beatrice Taylor, was in my service. I was very much deceived in her. She had nice manners and was clean and willing. I was very pleased with her. Of course, all that was sheerest hypocrisy. She was a loose girl with no morals. Disgusting! It was some time before I found out that she was what they call ‘in trouble'. It was a great shock to me. Her parents were decent folk, too,
who had brought her up strictly. I'm glad to say they didn't condone her behaviour.