In the Summer of 1965 I was driving over the Pennines to Sheffield from Stoke-on-Trent. I had just seen a production there at the Victoria Theatre, called The Jolly Potters. It had played to a large audience, a jolly audience, and one that had most certainly come from the Potteries. Peter Cheeseman cued perhaps by Oh, What A Lovely War, had explored with his Company the past history of the district in which their theatre stood, and come up with a show that spoke to those living in the locality. It also had that rare quality of saying something significant in a thoroughly entertaining manner.
I had just been appointed the Director of the Sheffield Playhouse. It was a difficult time: the old regular audiences were getting increasingly frustrated by changes in theatrical taste and resenting the substitution of the kitchen sink for the French window. A younger audience eager for contemporary modern work was unable to support us in the numbers which made running the theatre economically viable. A Jolly Cutlers might be a useful addition to our repertoire, I thought, as the myriad lights of Sheffield flickered into sight below. And so it proved.
We were fortunate in having a resident playwright, and I don't mean someone locked away in a room beyond the administrative offices with a typewriter, black coffee, reams of blank paper, and not an idea in sight. Alan Cullen, a schoolmaster before becoming a professional actor, had provided Sheffield Playhouse with four successful Christmas productions, and was now a member of the Company. He was giving his Fortinbras, Colonel Chesney, Roebuck Ramsden, Orsino, and David Bliss in Hay Fever. At the same time, he had written and acted in the Christmas show - Trudi and the Minstrel. In that production his talents had been combined with those of Roderick Horn, another member of the Company with a flair for composing music that was eminently singable and had a real sense of period.
The idea of a musical about Sheffield was put to them. John Hainsworth, a keen supporter of the theatre working at the University, offered some research he done on a Sheffield trade union leader of the 1860s – William Broadhead. Alan took that work further and then provided a series of scenes, Roderick set to music a number of contemporary ballads, John Hainsworth himself wrote a couple of lyrics and their combined efforts were moulded together. The links between Alan's sharp and effective episodes gave plenty of scope for the Company and director to shape and give life to the production in rehearsal. He Stirrings owes much to the inspiration and ingenuity of the actors, designers, and indeed the staff who have been involved in the production from the outset.
There are two stories in the play, the first dealing with the activities of William Broadhead, the saw-grinders leader in the 1860s. At that time the unions were not recognized in law, and the only way they could coerce their members into paying their dues was by intimidation or physical violence. It was a worrying time for the unions. Automation was raising its head in the cutlery trade: a machine could take over the work done formerly by a roomful of men, and some employers (the 'little mesters') were often unscrupulous in taking on too many apprentices to do the work of fully-fledged union members. Broadhead, with the connivance of the union committee, used his own methods to discipline both the grinders themselves and the small employers.
The second story concerns Isaac Ironside who formed the Consumers Gas Company to compete with the already established United Gas Company which was charging, in his opinion, too much for its product. It all ended with the amalgamation of the two Companies by order of the Government. But the combined Gas Company did bring its prices down, and Ironside went off to throe his enthusiasm into other aspects of civic eandeavour such as sewerage.
Stirrings opened on May 6th, 1966; it was revived that autumn, in the winter of 1968, and again in the summer of 1973. It has played virtually to capacity business since the first night, and there is something about the sheer theatrical impact of the play which is indestructible. It has survived innumerable changes of cast and has weathered the 'sea-change' from a small proscenium theatre to the open stage of the Crucible where 1,040 spectators, within fifty-nine feet of the centre of the stage, practically surround the acting area. The basic story of a group of men achieving by violence recognition for their views within a community has become tragically more topical. Stirrings, however, owes its lasting popularity not to the political implications of its theme, but to an infectious and continuously diverting mixture of elements in 'popular' entertainment - the variety sketch, the monologue, and, of course, the Music Hall.
Since it opened it has become a part of local history: there is even a restaurant, 'The Stirrings', named after the production. While acknowledging the contribution of those artistically involved, its success confirmed a hunch that cutlers, like potters (and no doubt like butchers, bakers and candlestick-makers) can provide an audience for the theatre - and most surely when in subject matter and treatment we meet them more than half-way.
Colin George