It is a well-known fact that Assistant Stage Managers are at the bottom of the pile in the theatre and particularly in rep. In her entertaining book about rep called “Exit through the fireplace”, Kate Dunn has gathered together a multitude of anecdotes by famous actors who were introduced to the profession in this humblest of capacities.
The luckless ASMs were called upon to perform as many menial tasks as the Stage Manager could dream up including such things as cleaning the loos. The job also entailed sweeping (and sometimes scrubbing) the stage, tidying up dressing rooms, making the tea, striking and building the sets, finding the props as well as setting and striking them, controlling the lights acting as prompt and generally being a dogsbody. The pay was almost non-existent and so you had to have a burning desire to be an actor and be part of that magical circle who tread the boards in order to put up with the misery and the grinding labour involved.
It wasn't all grind however, as most of them were young and romantic at the time and now when they think back become nostalgic and declare that this was the happiest time of their lives Bernard Cribbins, however, says there is a tendency to over-romanticize what it was like. He says, “I don't know what it was about the good old days, because they weren't good old days when you think about it, it was bloody hard work.”
The prop list was one of the things they dreaded. Bernard said, “I remember you used to get your prop list on a Tuesday morning. I used to have to get some strange things like a goat.There was a farm up on the moors above Oldham and more by luck than design, I managed to borrow a goat and I used to have to bring it to the theatre on a bus. The driver used to make me go upstairs. I'd ask for one and a goat to Rose Bank, which was the nearest stop to the theatre.”
Some of the items that ASMs were asked to procure were bizarre in the extreme. Michael Kilgarriff was once asked to get a mole trap. He says, “I thought to myself, where in the heck do you get a mole trap in Jersey”. In the end he went into the local ironmongers and said, “Have you got a mole trap? I'm from the theatre and I want to borrow one,” expecting him to snigger at me and tell me not to be daft. With a straight face and without moving a muscle, he said, “Large or small?” Taken aback, but still thinking theatrical, I said, “Large!” and he slammed this great thing down on the counter, teeth and all”.
Michael Cochrane really had his work cut out for him. His first production was a thriller which had four sets, a bathroom, a lounge, a kitchen and a bedroom. On the opening night he hadn't got the bath in which the murdered person was found.He hadn't got the cooker into which another person had his head shoved. He hadn't got the sofa under which they had to hide the murderer and he hadn't got either the dagger or the revolver. So he was fired. They then had second thoughts and decided there wasn't much point in firing him as it was only two and a half hours to curtain up, so he was reinstated. He was threatened with dire circumstances if he didn't come up with the goods in time. He says he rushed around Bexhill on Sea as if he was demented. He found some items, but the bath and the cooker eluded him.
In desperation he returned to his digs which were owned by a postman, found him at home and told him of his plight. The postman said, “I'll tell you what I'll do, I was a plumber at one time........”. To cut a long story short, he got his bath out of the bathroom, his cookeer out of his kitchen, put the cooker in the bath and put them both in the back of his van and took them to the stage door of the De La Warr Pavilion. Michael was not fired and lived to tell the tale!
As well as the local farmers and private individuals, local shops and businesses were happy to lend a hand in exchange for a mention in the program and the spin-off benefits of seeing their goods displayed on stage. Nowadays things are different as more and more local shops are driven out of business by the chain stores and the hypermarkets. When the managers of these stores are approached you are now more than likely to get the 'jobsworth' speech.
Furniture was another problem even when they had the item in the prop room. Some items had the upholstery recovered to give a 'new' look to every production. Simon Williams says that a vital tool of the trade was a staple gun. Everything possible was done with this tool. Curtains up, carpets down, upholstery fixed, even hems on costumes. Liza Goddard, on the other hand says that she still sticks braid round her chairs with Copydex, as this is a legacy of her rep days.
If food was eaten on stage, the responsibilty of providing this rests with the poor benighted ASM. Alison Steadman still remembers the play “Roots” as an ASM's nightmare. It starts off with a meal which had to be cooked and left ready. One of the characters makes a cake, then they have a tea party. She says, “I was so frightened I'd forget something I had lists everywhere, in my pocket, in the dressing room, back stage. It was terrible. At the end of one of the meals they had ice cream, so I went to the props master and said, “How do you expect me to have a realistic Neopolitan ice cream which has to be knocking around the set from seven o'clock?” It was a revelation! You use Cadbury's Smash potato and you colour it in the three colours cut it into sections and make it into a block.Nowadays it must be much easier, as most theatres have got a fridge or two.
Clive Francis, who was at the Bristol Old Vic, says that he doesn't know how he got by as he was always forgetting to set props. The actors must have dreaded me doing that job, as I was forever handing props to actors about to make their entrance, saying “Would you mind putting this over there?” Once I had to hand the murder weapon to the policeman who was about to go on and discover it in a drawer. It was a dagger and he had to secrete it in his raincoat pocket and sneak it into the drawer when no one was looking. I don't think any actor ever went on stage without having to take something with him.
Peter McEnery says that the job did have its perks, as one of his jobs was dishing out the cigarettes that the actors smoked on stage and there was a lot of smoking in those days. Generally they would only take a few puffs and put them out, then he would take great delight in going around all the ashtrays and collecting all these cigarettes which were enough to keep him going the whole week.
Most hated doing the electrics which were sometimes vast old consoles. In fact the last of the old fashioned electrical systems was at Derby and there the unfortunate ASM had to wear rubber gloves and plimsoles to avoid getting an electric shock. So much for Health and Safety at work!

Ray Smith This article is largely based on Chapter 2 of Kate Dunn's book of the great days of Rep, called EXIT THROUGH THE FIREPLACE, published by John Murray at £18.99.
The photographs are Bernard Cribbins, Alison Steadman and Liza Goddard