Village Squire, 1975-02, Page 15Memorial Hall, Blyth, the old lady has some life in her yet.
Memorial Hall
She was dirty,
disheaveled
and -forgotten.
Now she's
back
BY KEITH ROULSTON
When the amateur actors of the Blyth Little
Theatre hoof their way across the worn floor
boards of the old stage at Blyth's Memorial
Hall early this month, or later, when Dave
Broadfoot and Carole Robinson perform Take
a Beaver to Lunch revue on the stage it will
mark the successful conclusion of a long
struggle to have the remarkable old building
put back into use. There were many times it
looked like the theatre would never again
hear the applause of audiences.
It was just over three years ago when I first
saw the theatre. It was like scuffing along the
street and finding a 50 cent piece lying in the
dust when you were a kid (and 50 cents still
meant a lot). You'd see it and immediately
the gears in your head would start going
round as you thought of everything you could
do with it.
It was much the same when I walked into
the old hall one November night in 1971 for a
local talent night. I was expecting one of
those normal town hall auditoriums. Instead
it was like one of those Hollywood musicals
where a group of enthusiastic young
entertainers discover a mouldering old
theatre and through hard work and their own
talent fix the place up and put on a hit show.
There it was, a large stage, a raked floor
sloping down toward the stage, sturdy but
comfortable molded veneer seats, good
accoustics and great sight lines. Besides the
main floor seating, there was a balcony that
was close enough to the action that even from
the back seats the performers were easily
visible.
But though there were a couple of hundred
people in the old building, it somehow
reminded one of an eerie movie where people
went into an old house that had been locked
up for 50 years. It was as if the clock had
stood still. The stage looked like it must have
looked in the days long gone when minstrel
shows and touring magicians were in their
heyday. The old roll curtain and the canvas
backdrops were sadly faded relics of the era
before television.
Paint was peeling off the walls. Old Flags
hung forlornly and long -dead monarchs
smiled down from pictures on the walls. And
a sense of dustiness hung in the air so bad it
could keep a hayfever sufferer sneezing for a
week.
The talent of the evening I'm afraid didn't
get much attention from this one viewer at
least while I alternately imagined what this
place might have been like in its better days
and thought of the potential of the building
for the future if it was cleaned up and
painted.
The building had me, a newcomer to the
VILLAGE SQUIRE/FEBRUARY 1975, 13