Musings on The Pirates of Penzance: The 1971 Coatbridge High School Production.

Exactly half a century ago this evening, the curtain went up on the First Night of Coatbridge High School’s production of The Pirates of Penzance.

Since the 1920s the school had put on a yearly production of a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. Principal and chorus parts were open to 4^th, 5^th and 6^th formers only. In 1968, as a First Year, I attended my first ever opera, Ruddigore. I recall to this day how impressed I was with the transformation of the Murgatroyd family portraits into ghosts, and the genuinely scary “When the night wind howls”. It still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The following year, the production was The Gondoliers, which I remember enjoying with its sparkling tunes.

My interest in G&S and classical music goes back to early June 1970. I was whiling away time in the Physics lab, exams over. The teacher asked me to take up a document to Mr Miller, one of the stage managers. He was in the school assembly hall rehearsing Princess Ida with the cast. I carried out my commission and decided not to rush back to the class. There were some seats at the rear of the hall, so I sat down and listened and watched. What struck me was that the cast were having a great time. They were in their school uniforms but were acting and singing and dancing in such a way as to give me a clue of the action. I watched these rehearsals for a while, thinking, “I want to be a part of this.” Then back to Physics.

At that time my main interest was Railways, not just train spotting but actively helping (or perhaps hindering) in the preservation movement. Saturdays were often spent at the Scottish Railway Preservation Society’s depot at Springfield Yard, Falkirk. This Aladdin’s cave gave the enthusiast all they could wish for: steam locomotives, old coaches, diesel shunters and wagons. Every so often they were steamed or started up or moved. I lived for these days, dreaming of smokeboxes, valve gear and regulators during Maths classes, longing for the weekend.

Musically, at this time I was interested in the groups of my generation. This included late Beatles, Led Zepplin and Santana. Less frenetic pleasures (usually not admitted to my friends) were Jim Reeves, the Carpenters and Cliff Richard.  

Sometime during September 1970, the opera auditions were held. At this distance, I cannot recall what the tests included. Certainly, at that time, I could barely read music. Just a general feeling for the tadpoles moving up and down on the fence. I could sing a Doh-Ray-Mi scale, as we had done that in music lessons. Somehow, I passed the audition, and was deemed to be a tenor. I was never comfortable in that role. Rehearsals started on Tuesday (I think) evenings after school. The boys and girls were rehearsed separately. And then the parts were put together. I still have my chorus book. Only the principals were blessed with a copy of the “full score.” Slowly but surely, we learnt the music. I soon managed to pick some of it out on the piano at home. I found that I loved everything about these rehearsals. I enjoyed the timeless humour of Gilbert’s libretto, and the tunefulness of Sullivan’s music. This was so different from what I had been used to. Although I attended a church that had a choir and a good Connacher organ, the anthems heard there tended to be quite staid: John Goss, Henry Smart and John Stainer. Even the organ voluntaries were often taken from the Village Organist. At this time the minister had introduced guitars into some of the worship, which I have never appreciated.

Socially, opera rehearsals were a revelation. Suddenly, I was with a group of pupils who knew a lot about classical music. I recall been given a lift home by one of them, who had just received his provisional driving licence. He asked me if I had listened to Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E flat “St Anne” on Radio 3 the previous evening. I hadn’t, and, more to the point, had no clue what a Prelude and Fugue was. In order not to look naïve, I had to find out. In those days before the Internet, it was a lunchtime trip down to Coatbridge Central Library, and the reference section. So, by the end of the day, I was a little, but not much, wiser.

During that spring and summer, I began to pick up bits and pieces about classical music. The only records my father owned were Ronald Smith’s Piano Masterpieces, excerpts from the Huddersfield Choral Society’s iconic recording of Messiah, with Malcolm Sargent at the helm, and Kathleen Ferrier’s A Song Recital. I soon started listening to Radio 3. By the time school resumed in August 1971, I deemed myself an “expert” on music. In 2021, the learning process continues, and I now realise how little I do know about the subject. But, as Gilbert once said, “Youth will have its fling.”

Other excitements for me in the run up to the opera performance, included the day the costumes arrived, the first time I had theatrical make-up put on, the dress rehearsal and, perhaps strangely, hearing the band tuning up before the curtain-up. And then there was the Last Night cast party!

In the Pirates, the opening chorus is "Pour, oh pour, the pirate sherry" for Samuel and the Chorus of Pirates. So, we were “on stage” ready to go. The orchestra, conducted by Moffat Radcliffe, the Head of Music, struck up with the Overture. I was nervous. Butterflies in my tummy. And I was only a back row Pirate. Eventually the curtain rose, and, on Wee Mo’s beat, we began to sing…

Two more G&S operas would follow, before I went into the world of men: Iolanthe and The Mikado. The second one, about the Peer and the Peri was, and remains my favourite.

Sadly, as the world moved into a more “enlightened” era, the annual Coatbridge High G&S operas were deemed elitist, and a school concert (from classical to pop) replaced them. I would call this dumbing down; others would say it was progressive.

I often wonder what happened to them all: the cast, the teachers, the orchestra. I have managed to keep in touch with three or four of the former pupils. News filters through. One of my school friends still sings in a choir that regularly performs the Policeman’s Chorus. Some of the teachers have sadly passed away, including Mr Radcliff, Mrs Gallacher and the irrepressible Bill Russell. Perhaps, for those of us pupils who have survived into our mid-to-late sixties, this school production has been largely forgotten. To others, myself included, it was formative and has remained active in my mind. It has been responsible for leading me along a fascinating 50 years of musical exploration in many directions, but especially into British music. This includes an abiding love and appreciation of the delightful words and music of W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan. Hopefully, this is true for many former pupils who took part in the Coatbridge High School operas over the years.