By 1998 both Fred and Val were becoming quite weary – this amazing couple were now in their eighties and, after all, the theatre with its ups and downs had been running for over 25 years with increasing demands on their time – so with the house needing urgent attention it was decided to close it down. Devastating news for all of us, but quite understandable.
At the time, some unknowing people opined that after a quarter-century of taking ticket money, Fred could well afford to repair the house. Nothing was further from the truth: on every production, after small expenses were taken, the profit always went to charities. The cost of repairs to the building was borne entirely by Fred and Val themselves, with labour often willingly given by friends.
So, with theatrical pressure off, Fred could devote his time to repairing the ravages of time especially on the 1860s roofs, most of which were clad in Stonesfield slate replacements for which were by then in very short supply and staggeringly expensive. Those areas dating from the 1890s and which used more modern tiles were, ironically, in worse condition.
In almost every case the house needed scaffolding or – at the very least – a network of ladders precariously roped up to handy chimney stacks. Fred’s ever-faithful stonemason Terry Eden toiled away with him, patching and replacing rotten battens (the slender horizontal timbers upon which the slates and tiles were pegged) and so with the place resembling a building site it was anyway too untidy for the theatre patrons to see.
Even from ground level the parlous state of this roof is obvious: the line of lighter tiles in the centre of the image show where a length of battenning has failed and allowed a length of tile to slip. Fred was always very worried that a heavy snowfall could wreake havoc on such a delicate structure.The only practical access to the high roofs was via a cat’s cradle of scaffolding. Good head for heights needed, especially when considering that the scaff only allowed access to the gutter level of the roof – from then on up, one was obliged to cautiously ascend one or more ladders which were laid – not upon the surface of the roof itself – but on padded sacks of straw (termed “softeners” for obvious reasons) which caused the blessed ladder to rock alarmingly. And whilst one hand might prove useful for holding on to the ladder, t’other one would be gripping the tools of the roofers’ trade like hammers, nails and – worst of all – a heavy bucket of lime mortar if the ridge tiles needed re-bedding. Oh, and did I mention the slippery rungs during wet weather? Or the inquisitive rooks (whose generations have lived in the Grange’s gardens for oh so many decades) and who would cheekily perch nearby and caw loudly at these strange interlopers to their airy fastness?Once up there, remedial work could begin. Here, the Stonesfield slates (left) and the more ‘modern’ tiles (right) can be seen. Whilst the tiles were fairly robust, the Stonesfields were exceptionally fragile and needed careful handling.Before work – a sight guaranteed to strike terror into any householder’s heart, and this small area is a tiny percentage of the whole roof area!Hero Terry, precariously balanced upon a failed ridge: behind him a four-storey drop awaited a false move…Even where scaffolding wasn’tneeded, access was difficult. Here the “only” work needed was the removal of moss. In heavy winter rains it would wash off and block gutters – gutters needing a long ladder to reach! As usual with the Grange, even this task was laborious: bucketsful of moss and leaf debris had to be lifted through that attic window courtesy of the ladder (those of you having a nervous disposition are advised not to study its condition too closely) before being carefully carried down through the house and dumped in the nearby undergrowth.A rare glimpse across around 65% of the Grange’s roofscape taken by me as I perched uneasily on a ridge which itself was shaking a bit. Not for nothing did Fred refer to any work contemplated as “just going mountaineering again, old boy.” To get one’s bearings: this view faces west; the village lane leading towards Chippy lies to the right of the picture while the distinctive tower of the house is along (and over) the roof ridge behind the trembling photographer’s left shoulder.
No wonder he decided to close the theatre! Meanwhile though, with Fred aloft most of the time, downstairs in mission control (the kitchen) Val was having strong withdrawal symptoms and apart from her duties of supplying us with endless cups of tea, during 1999 she began quietly to adapt Dylan Thomas’s masterpiece Under Milk Wood for the stage.
To everybody’s relief and joy the closure was revoked, business returned to usual and our 97th production opened to high acclaim the following year.
In this photo album (below) are some more pictures of that time; currently some are replicated in the text above but in time we’ll sort the errors out!
And then, oh joy, the decision was taken to re-open. It had absolutely nothing to do with the seemingly constant barrage of questions from members of past audiences as to what the next production would be. Eventually the pair of them called “truce” and below are personal copies of the letters sent to those patrons on the mailing list.
Jill and Chris Lea were long-time friends of Fred & Val and, with their years of experience in professional theatre, contributed many helpful suggestions and ideas.
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By 1998 both Fred and Val were becoming quite weary – this amazing couple were now in their eighties and, after all, the theatre with its ups and downs had been running for over 25 years with increasing demands on their time – so with the house needing urgent attention it was decided to close it down. Devastating news for all of us, but quite understandable.
Jill and Chris Lea were long-time friends of Fred & Val and, with their years of experience in professional theatre, contributed many helpful suggestions and ideas.