Much discussion takes place, mainly geared by the wish to save money, about the desirability of dispersing with money in amateur productions and playing to curtains.

There are pockets of Theatre in the Round devotees in various parts of the country who are unanimous in declaring that scenery is unnecessary. They argue that it distracts the attention of the audience. They say that a good play, well acted, should be strong enough to hold any audience.

I can appreciate this point of view, but I consider that few plays, however well acted, unless specifically written for Theatre in the Round, could stand up to the stark nudity and untidiness of this form of theatre.

I am aware of the artistic and powerful effects one can evoke by subtle lighting, but the messy array of cables, spots and paraphernalia distracts me, as does the brushing of the actors who pass by my seat on their way to the central arena. I was irritated when I watched the television show TW3. The whole thing was undisciplined, untidy and muddled. Further, however cleverly the lighting is arranged, when I am watching Theatre in the Round, I am aware throughout the performance of a row of eggheads sitting facing me. An actor's thigh, thrust into my sight line, can ruin my view.

I can see nothing to be sneered at in having an artistic setting, well-lit, with good grouping, within a frame, as a story is unfolding or a problem presented. The grimness of a kitchen sink is all very well, but there is beauty in life, and I cannot see why we should wallow in dustbins or sewers all the time.

The technological background of our modern world has a beauty and poetry of its own, but some of us are aware of other and more profound beauty. We value this warmer and more penetrating kind, and I consider we should put some of it into our drama. More important still, those of us who have a moral duty to the young should do anything we can to introduce beauty of every kind to the eager, vital, developing minds of our pupils.

Granted, a person who can see beauty in a smoky chimney is a person whose acquaintance should be cultivated, but an individual who can enthuse about the beauty of a dewdrop on a rose, or a Chopin Nocturne, should not be despised.

It can be well imagined, having this attitude, that I was determined that we should strike a happy medium between no scenery and too much. Because I was dealing with young people who lived in smoky, drab surroundings, I felt it all the more imperative that we should bring light and colour into their lives. I wanted colourful scenery and costumes.

In our early shows we used curtains and simple mobile bits of scenery. They had to be small because we were working on school stages. It was a difficult task, as, with little or no proper lighting, I could not get the effects for which I was struggling. When we started to perform in other halls, the difficulties increased. One or two elder brothers and fathers offered to help. We then met and approached the problem in a businesslike manner. Our chief problem was that we had no place to construct the flats. After I had explained what a flat was-up to this point I think the were under the impression I was calling them names-one parent said he would be willing to loan his cellar for a workshop.

By now we were staging our shows at the Civic Theatre. This meant that our flats had to be eleven feet high. To wean ourselves, we designed sets which were a combination of flats and curtains.

Our little group of enthusiasts set to work with a will. I was impressed and most thankful for their workmanlike attack. Their earnest desire to please, coupled with their cheerful sacrifice of time and effort, gave my flagging faith in humanity a facelift.

For three weeks they toiled in secrecy. Then they rang me to say they had finished the flats, and would like me to call and inspect them. They explained on the phone that they had had a most enjoyable time. Mistakes had caused amusement because of their childishness. Cuts and bruises had resulted from inexperience. Many cuss words had been used, Every evening that they had met to work had been rounded off with a little supper. Fish, chips and Guinness had cemented friendship. Their wish was now that I should be satisfied.

Their attitude recalled to my mind the lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream:

I made an appointment and turned up as arranged.

I was ushered down the cellar steps by a rather bashful parent. Fifteen narrow steps led down into their workshop. It was cramped, and lit by a single, stark light bulb. I could only marvel, as I glanced around, how five men had managed to make four flats, eleven foot by three in such a restricted area. The flats were well made, neatly covered with canvas and sized ready for painting.

With genuine feeling I complimented them on their industry. Their faces beamed with awkward satisfaction, shining palely in the wan light, as they stood around.

I glanced around, noting details. Then my heart gave a stab and plummeted into my boots.

There was one small, thickly cobwebbed window about eighteen inches square and one door smaller than the average door. These were the only outlets from the cellar. The door opened directly on to the steps which were at right-angles to the door. Facing the door was a wall. It was impossible to get the flats out of the cellar.

They saw me looking from the flats to the door. Then one of them burst out, '`Struth, how shall we get the damn things out?'

Then followed what the novelists term a pregnant silence. In those seconds many expressions remained unspoken. We just gazed at each other, speechless. Very feebly the youngest said, 'But, really, what are we going to do?'

There was only one thing we could do; dismantle the flats and get the pieces upstairs. We took off our jackets and set to work. I felt the heavy disappointment of the team myself and did all I could to boost their morale with what sounded to me like hollow clichés.

After much exertion and straining numerous natural laws, we succeeded in getting the pieces upstairs. Somewhat mollified by the result, they reassembled the flats in the dining-room, whilst young members of the family looked on with amused expressions, but mercifully refrained from passing any comment. The finished result was not too neat, but nevertheless the flats the flats were usable. We smiled when one of the team said, 'Weren't we fools? But we'll know better next time.' My heart jumped with relief. Evidently there was going to be another time. They were not going to resign.

This incident was the start of a staunch construction team, which functioned for many years. Misfortune is frequently a stronger amalgam than success. We realised that if this group was to be a success, then we must have a fair-sized room where we could make and store flats. For the time being, another parent allowed us to store the scenery we now possessed in a room which at the time he was not using.

We advertised for a room, and inspected premises as we had done for the headquarters. I remember the aroma pervading one building we visited. We felt the owner had hidden a corpse under the floorboards.

I knew there was a good cellar under the Civic Theatre. I had an interview with the Chairman of the Buildings Committee and explained our needs, making it quite clear we were prepared to pay a rent for it. It would, I pointed out, be an ideal workshop for us. He assured me that our request would be considered.

Three weeks later we were told we could use the cellar free of charge, if we observed several conditions. These we very gratefully accepted and we are still making our scenery there. Although we have some public figures who have little good to say about us, we have other fair-minded and enlightened councillors who go out of their way to help us. To these friends we are deeply indebted, and we are humbly grateful to them for their keen and [practical interest in our work.

Now the making of scenery is a messy business. All my helpers are voluntary workers, and not professional carpenters. Scenery under construction looks untidy. Some of the less friendly public figures, having no artistic leanings, look upon the work of the Theatre with a jaundiced eye. Complaints have been made against us, but up to now, fair dealing has prevailed. Of cause, many awkward situations would be avoided if we had a theatre of our own. We construct some of our smaller pieces of scenery at the Headquarters.

We have frequently had to simplify our sets more than I wished, because we have not sufficient helpers. Because we are not lucky enough to have an experienced carpenter in our ranks, we tend to take longer making our sets than we would if we could enlist more expert assistance. Certainly simple sets can be completely effective. But simplicity is not always easy, strange, as it may seem.

Our Shakespearean sets are usually rearrangements of a very stark basic design. With a few interchangeable pieces and some cunning lighting, artistic, satisfying pictures can be arranged. Some moments, for instance, in our last production of Julius Caesar sent me into ecstasies (These stage folk are so gushing, aren't they?) I had 'Electrics' to thank for that. All we had on the stage were two pillars and some steps. They were painted just off-white. The lighting was excellent and we managed to achieve some of those effects, which only seem to come our way once in the so-termed blue moon. No one who is disinterested in the art of production could ever really appreciate the great thrill a producer feels when the exact picture he has in mind appears in every detail before him on the stage. When it does, then it is the result of complete sympathy between several people.

I have not as many helpers as I would like, but those I have are loyal. They do their utmost to help me put on our stage shows of which I am very proud. Without their assistance I would be helpless. I shall always be humbly grateful for this magnificent co-operation.

In costume plays, a simple neutral coloured background will ensure that the costumes show to the very best advantage.

Any set has to be planned with the stage on which it is to be erected in mind. Our stage at the Civic Theatre is small. The width of the proscenium arch is twenty-four feet. Wing space is practically non-existent. On stage left it is about six feet. Even this small space is cluttered up with ropes controlling the barrels. On stage right the large lighting kit takes up all the space.

From the floats to the cyclorama is thirteen feet. Behind the cyclorama there is a passage two feet wide. There is one entrance on to the stage, up stage right. We cannot fly any scenery at all. To the uninitiated this means that we cannot by means of ropes and pulleys draw any flats up vertically out of sight nor lower other flats. This can be done in properly equipped theatres and enables whole scenes to changed in the matter of seconds.

Long scene changes can ruin a play. In our early, inexperienced days we transgressed in this direction. This fault has been ironed out. The Stage Manager should always rehearse his scene changes as carefully as the producer rehearses the cast. When I am preparing my Prompt Book. I make detailed notes of scenic intricacies, and discuss these fully with my Stage Manager.

All stage staff should wear rubber-soled shoes. Each member should be given specific tasks, scene by scene, and should never deviate from the scheduled procedure, once it has been decided on by the Stage-Manager. No casual, slip-shod attitude should be tolerated. One careless, disinterested member could easily ruin the show. A clumsy, sullen stage staff can undo in one performance all the work a producer has put in over weeks. This is no exaggeration. A word of advice. Do not despise female stage staff, they can be good.

Powder colours for scenery painting should be ordered from a shade card if you cannot visit the suppliers in person. Always use a colour about two shades darker than you visualise for your set. Lighting takes out some of the intensity of the colour. I like to use oil-bound poster paint for bold designs. It is bright and comes up well under the lighting. Powder colours must be mixed with size or the colours will flake off, with disastrous result to costumes.

I like to sketch out a rough design, and discuss colours with the Stage Manager and the lighting expert. This saves time because I can do my proper sketch right away. A model of the set built to scale and coloured should be made. This gives the Stage Manager an opportunity to point out any snags before his staff starts to construct the scenery. I like to see the Stage Manager once every week to find out how things are progressing.

Any member who has a leaning towards art can generally be found a job in the scenic department. Given guidance, time and a little money, a spot of elaborate scenery should not prove too much for a youth theatre. It is jolly to have a splash with something a little less austere sometimes. Certainly in this department of a theatre one sees clearly the results of effort. That is good for the soul.