In this category I include all 'straight' plays. Romantic dramas, however we argue to the contrary, are still popular. They have a special appeal to the teenager, in spite of the latter's tough façade. Romance may have a different appearance today. Basically it is the same. Realising this we have always included romantic plays in our plans.

Because of my youthful experience I had always felt I would like to try The Scarlet Pimpernel. No acting edition was available, so I had to contact Miss Phyllis Neilson-Terry who controls the rights of this play. She graciously gave us permission to present it and furthermore loaned us the scripts.

Immediately we received them, we cast the play and started rehearsals. We all decided that this must be a special production. Each department of the Theatre set to work with a zest. A friend of mine, a clever artist, designed us some striking sets. The Wardrobe Mistress surpassed herself. In the ballroom scene, the Prince of Wales was in midnight-blue velvet, Sir Percy in apricot satin and all the ladies were exquisitely gowned.

We decided on a lavish publicity campaign that included a personal appearance of Miss Terry. Three of the committee met her at the station, and after dinner with the Mayor and Mayoress of Stretford, Councillor Frederick Matthews, J.P., and Mrs Matthews, at the Town Hall, we went on to the theatre. Miss Terry was introduced to our Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney. She watched the performance, and at the end was introduced to the audience. We gave her an album of photographs of our principals to take to her mother, Julia Neilson-Terry, the original Lady Blakeney. Miss Terry also paid a moving tribute to our work. We then had a buffet supper in our large dressing room, where she met the rest of the cast and signed autographs. Our youngsters were delighted and it was a memorable evening in the history of the Theatre.

Daddy Longlegs was one of our early shows. Sentimental? Yes, but wholesome. A healthy human incident that brings a lump to the throat should not be debunked. Had Hitler and his thugs had a touch of sentiment, they would never have sent millions to the gas chambers. Nor would today's hooligan hang up a dog to die in agony, or beat up an old lady, if he could feel a qualm of conscience.

Some of our critics who applaud violence and praise the products of sick minds would not betray humanity if they had enough integrity to say a decent word about plays with a sincere, human story illustrating that kindness is better than a warped nature, showing that the latter causes only suffering and misery. To show crime and violence as something not to be abhorred is complete betrayal of all human decency.

We are often asked to do a thriller. I am not averse to thrillers. I do not agree that really unsavoury subjects should be dealt with in children's theatre. I am not narrow but I do think adults have a moral responsibility to the young. A point, which makes thrillers less attractive to us, is the fact that most thrillers have very small casts.

In 1956 we did Agatha Christie's Ten Little Niggers. The day after we decided to, the Manchester Evening News rang me to say they had a call from a member of the public who said he was a patron of the Theatre, and was disgusted at our decision to do this thriller. I was asked to comment. I agreed to do so provided the paper would publish. I told them to tell their readers that whatever we decided to do, whenever we decided to do it and wherever we decided to do it, someone was disgusted. So to keep our sanity, we made our plans, and went straight ahead.

One of my most exciting productions was the modern Passion Play, A Man Dies. I saw the blurb about it in the TV Times, and as I am always interested in seeing anything of an unusual nature, I prepared to watch it, but feeling certain I should not like it. To my surprise and delight I was very impressed. The impact remained with me, and I felt an impelling urge to produce it.

I was then invited by the Chester Diocesan Youth Committee to do a show for them. They had heard of this controversial and evocative play and suggested I did it. We gave two performances at the Chester Training College and two in Altrincham. It made a strong impression, on our audiences, and I knew then we would just have to do it at the Theatre.

As a general rule Theatre in the Round does not please me. But it can be effective. Here above all was a play that demanded this method of production. It was the only form that would bring out the full power of the structure.

To produce this play you need a fair-sized arena, and steps from it to a platform. We arranged the audience on three sides of the arena, the fourth side being the stage. No scenery was used. The bareness added to the atmosphere. A centre gangway led from the back of the theatre to the arena. On the cyclorama was directed a blue flood-bordering on purple-and from stage left a beam of light from an ordinary slide projector was directed across the stage, hitting the cyclorama up right in an oval shape. In the projector was a slide showing three crosses in silhouette. Spots were directed on the arena, on centre stage, on the Reader, on each of the two singers. Each spot was connected to a separate dimmer.

The cast was in modern dress. Christ, played by a nineteen-year-old boy, wore jeans and a mohair pullover. The guards wore leather motorcycling jackets and crash helmets. The rest were in their own clothes.

On the stage, up left, were two boys playing guitars and a third on the drums. Just inside the proscenium arch left was a girl singer, and on stage right was a boy singer. In front of the proscenium, on the left was a boy reader. Down in the arena the crowd was massed.

From the first rehearsal it was a most exciting venture. We had forty-five in the cast, varying from seven-year-olds to one of twenty-two.

There were moments of exceptional poignancy. Probably the greatest was when the crowd split up into groups. Two small boys were blowing up a football. Two tiny girls were dressing a doll. Three older girls were fitting on a dress. Four fifteen-year-old boys were filling in football coupons. Another lad was drinking from a bottle, on a bench a boy and girl were spooning. One group was playing cards. Others were jiving.

Christ appeared at the top of the steps holding a chalice. A beam of light picked him out. As he stood there for a moment, Walford Davies's 'Solemn Melody' was faded in, played on an organ. Christ looked sadly on the motley crowd beneath him. Then, as the lights came up on the kaleidoscopic picture, Christ slowly came down the steps, and gliding among the groups, each busy with its own preoccupations, he offered the chalice to each group in turn. Not one paid the slightest notice, but continued with what they were doing, not even turning a head. Having approached every group, he solemnly turned, climbed the steps, and followed by the spotlight, passed out of sight. At the same time light and music gradually faded out. Then followed one of those pregnant silences that producers dream about.

One lady, who came to see all four performances, assured me that, when this scene ended, she had to go out of the theatre to compose herself, she was so moved. Three of our smaller boys in the crowd were most impressed because four elderly ladies in the audience openly wept.

I was asked to take part in a one-day conference on Drama in Education at Sedgeley Park Training College about ten days before we presented A Man Dies. It was suggested that I take along with me a group from our Theatre, and let the delegates see some of our work. I explained that all I could offer would be an uninterrupted rehearsal of A Man Dies.

As Sedgeley Park College is a Catholic College, I was a little hesitant, feeling that this modern idiom might not go down too well. I put forward this view but was assured that they would welcome the performance. So we duly gave the performance. It was a thrilling experience for my youngsters. The audience, mostly teachers, many of them nuns and priests, sat engrossed by the play's message. After, many who had watched came to express their appreciation.

When we presented it in our Theatre I noticed in the audience a group of girls from a well-known Catholic school in Manchester. On talking to the teachers in charge, I found that the principal of their school had seen the performance at Sedgeley Park. She had told her staff that when she found we were doing it at the Training College Conference, she had turned up prepared to hate it. So impressed had she been that she wanted her senior girls to see it. As I look back on this play, I feel it was one of the most satisfying productions I have ever done.

We did Ian Hay's The Housemaster. This proved a most enjoyable effort since it has such a gay atmosphere. It deals with the upset caused in a boys' boarding school, when three young girls arrive unexpectedly to live with the housemaster. The situation is such that any young person either in the cast or in the audience will revel in the hilarious events on the stage. To present this with a young cast gives the make-up department an excellent opportunity to display its talent.

We had the pleasure of doing an original play by a local playwright. It was The Green Planet by Frank Harris, an amusing piece about space travel.

A rocket is released before it is due to start, and much amusement ensues. The crew land on the Green Planet where illness is unknown, and find themselves in some awkward and dangerous situations. The main humour is supplied by a slick American film producer, Washington P. Schnitzel, and his cameraman.

Mr Harris has very kindly agreed to donate fifty percent of all royalties to our Theatre.

There is often an outcry that there is a dearth of plays suitable for youth theatre. It is usually made by people who have a preconceived notion of what young people ought to like. This, to my mind, is the wrong way to look at the problem. Introduce all kinds of plays to young people, and you will be amazed at the response. Furthermore, at the present time many good writers are working in this field, and I am confident that in the near future we shall have some excellent plays to tackle.

Alice, Thomas and Jane was an amusing, exciting little play. The story concerns the three children of a scientist. The Spanish onion boy steals some important papers belonging to the scientist. The children find out and decide to get the papers back. The chase leads them to France. Excitement and humour mount up to a fine denouement.

The lead was a tiny Irish girl of nine. She had a most bewitching smile and a vivacious personality. Within two minutes of appearing on the stage she had the audience in the palm of her hand. She never let them go until curtain fall. At the end our little Alice received a richly deserved ovation for a delightful performance.

Those sour, clever pontificating know-alls who declare that such an experience as Alice had does harm should have seen the humble way in which she accepted the applause. She remained the same sweet, shy, pleasant little girl she always had been. At the moment she is doing well in the sixth form of a very good school, and is likely to a teacher. She will be all the richer for her happy experience in Alice, Thomas and Jane.