Looking back on those frustrating times, I suppose I could quite easily have capitulated. Quite honestly, I never entertained the idea. I certainly felt depressed, and sat by the hour pondering on many and varied methods of enlisting support. Then, as ever since, I had the perfect person by my side to encourage me, my wife Joyce. As keen on the theatre as I was myself and a talented pianist with much experience of professional theatre, she thoroughly understood and appreciated my aspirations.

In 1937 we had a stillborn daughter. This poignant personal tragedy brought us nearer together. Possible our greatest possession was a great sense of humour. In and out of hospital, and often in great pain, my wife never lost her rippling sense of fun. If ever I came home somewhat down in the mouth, and bitter at the frustration I was having to fun. If ever I came home somewhat down in the mouth, and bitter at the frustration I was having to endure, Joyce always had an apposite quip. We would have a good laugh, and all my doubts would disappear. I would set out for the theatre with renewed strength to continue the struggle.

From my earliest teaching days, I lectured in Evening Schools, Church Clubs, Literary Societies, and Ammateur Dramatic Societies on Literature, Drama and Craftwork. During the war I had many pleasant evenings with RAF personnel on Balloon Sites around Manchester.

One evening in early April 1945, I was busy at my desk when I received a phone call. A rather brusque voice inquired if I were Mr Bert Holland, and on receiving confirmation of my identity, the speaker said in a rather hectoring tone, 'You are lecturing to us at the Old Trafford Discussion Group in a fortnights time.'

Now a 'Yellowbelly' is in the main a decent fellow. He will be very helpful if he is asked nicely, but try to coerce him, and he sticks both feet into the ground, and an earthquake would never budge him. My ire was aroused, and I replied somewhat crisply, I must admit, 'Really. This is the firs I've heard of it.'

'I know,' said the voice, 'I'm telling you.'

'Well,' I said, 'I'm not so sure that I am. Anyway, what do you wish me to talk about?'

@Oh,' came the answer, "That is all arranged. You are lecturing on "The Council and Cultural Development".'

An icy hand descended on me. All my anger melted away. Here was my opportunity out of the blue. With a catch in my throat as I tried to hide my suppressed excitement, I gasped, 'Right, I agree, I'll be there.'

Accordingly on the 26th of April 1945, I arrived at the Old Trafford Public Library, armed with all my arguments to try to convince whoever was there, that a children's theatre was a practical possibility and a 'Must' on any future schedule of cultural activity in the Borough of Stretford.

About thirty people were present. The chairman-the owner of the voice on my phone-turned out to be a certain Mr Moir, a Canadian. He had enormous energy and soon the meeting was going with a swing. I launched out with all the vigour of a blind enthusiast, using the subject of my lecture as a peg for all my arguments.

My talk was well received. At the end there was the usual vote of thanks, and murmured appreciation. The chairman then said he thought my ideas were worthy of serious consideration. There were one or two councillors present and the chairman suggested that a practical step be taken immediately. He proposed that any person present who agreed should stay and discuss the matter. Seven people remained behind and after about a quarter of an hour, a committee was formed with myself as Chairman and Director of Productions. The Stretford Children's Theatre was founded.

 It is interesting to note that of the original committee, namely, Miss B. Williams, our present business manager, and myself.

I wen home that night slightly bemused. We were seven people, with not a cent between us, no official meeting place and a very hazy idea as to what we had really committed ourselves. Nevertheless we had faith, above all, and zeal.

Before we had time to breathe, the snags began to appear out of the mist. Within days I was interviewed by the local press. I carefully explained my plans, and a full report was duly in the paper at the weekend. One or two national papers also reported the outline of my scheme. Much curious interest was aroused and there was no attempt to disguise the shaking heads.

Feeling a little stronger now the theatre was actually established, I again went on my heavy round of head teachers. The result was, if anything, even more frosty. Each was obviously awaiting the reactions of the others. Not one was prepared to take the initiative.

What sheep we are! Why do we hesitate, when we know in our hearts that something is sound, to put forward a helping hand and help it along? Just because someone in rather an important executive position is lukewarm surely does not mean that we should stand aloof. Are we not free agents? Is it wrong to have the courage of our own convictions? This weak-kneed, indecisive attitude has always nauseated me.

One incident in those early days is etched in my memory. I was stopped on my way to school one morning by a bustling cheery-faced little man, wearing a boiler suit and cloth cap. He said he had heard of my scheme, and wished me luck. He added that he could not help us with money, but he was a bricklayer, and if he was still alive and fit when we got enough money to build our theatre, he would willingly come along and lay bricks. He was a complete stranger to me and I was deeply moved by this genuine offer. Would that I could have had such co-operation from all quarters.

I had in my mind certain plays which I wanted to produce. Realising that I should require some older girls, I arranged an interview with the then headmistress of the Girl's High School. I had thought that as well as shows given by members of the theatre, various schools would be willing to present plays which they had produced in their own schools for the parents. To my mind such shows would provide a fine example of the sort of living drama which was being presented within the borough.

I expounded these ideas to the headmistress, and asked her if she would be willing to co-operate, first by choosing a few of her girls who could help us and further by allowing her girls to put on a public performance of something they had done in school. She listened very courteously, and then said she could not see that they could help us in any way. I pointed out that there was another way by which I could enlist members, but I preferred co-operation. She asked me what I meant. I explained that I was determined to get the Theatre established, and if I could not get her co-operation, then I should have no alternative but to enlist the help of the press. I intended to put a notice in the paper, asking for applications for membership, and await results. She merely said she admired my enthusiasm, and with that I had to be satisfied.

My requests in other quarters being met in the same manner. I sent a notice to the papers, and amid a shoal of applications, the first six were from High-school girls.

I then wrote to their headmistress and told her what had happened. I said I felt justified in making arrangements between the girls, their parents and myself.

I must admit I felt bitterly disappointed and not a little perturbed. For fifteen years I had taught in the borough, and well I understood that persistence with a scheme which had not the support of the majority could have serious consequences.

Indignation at the nerve in proposing the Theatre at all was being evinced in certain quarters. Jealousy is a very powerful emotion, stronger than the largest generating station in existence. I felt now, anyway, I had burnt my boats. Had I given in under these first rebuffs, I would forever have despised myself.

During these months when these comings and goings were taking place, dozens of young people were contacting me and flooding me with eager requests to be doing something. This enthusiasm was so uplifting after the apathy and antagonism of the adults.

I do not wish to imply that no teachers were interested, but fear of what heads might say kept many younger teachers from coming forward to give active support.

My own headmaster was most sympathetic. He was the secretary of the local branch of the national Union of Teachers. When I was considering ways and means of letting more teachers know the details of my venture, he suggested that I should address the next quarterly meeting of the Union, where most of the schools in Stretford would be represented. This I did, and asked any interested teacher to contact me if willing to help in any capacity.

I waited. Not a solitary ring on the phone, no letter, no personal approach. There was no response whatever.

Our little committee continued to hold its meetings. Some of the members began to waver. The secretary resigned.

I was fully aware that this venture was not going to be an easy job. A friend of mine in London, a man much older than I in both years and experience, rang me up to wish me luck. His experience prompted him to give me some crumbs of advice. He said, 'You will be up against it. Never mind. Don't give in.'

I have never been one to throw up the sponge easily, or shirk a challenge. Constantly encouraged by my wife I set to work with a still grimmer determination to ensure we would not fail.

The members of the Executive Committee were totally inexperienced in theatre. This they openly acknowledged but expressed their willingness to learn. I felt this was the right spirit and began to plan a concrete plan of action.

I had been to see the chairman of the Stretford Education Committee, Lady Robinson, and had asked her if she would be willing to be our first patron. This she had willingly agreed.

On my return from a Lakeland holiday in the summer of 1945, when resting on the top of the Great Gable after a strenuous climb, I had sat formulating plans, I found a letter from the BBC. It was to say that they had of my scheme, and were of the opinion that it merited some notice on the air. They suggested a short talk on the Home Service Programme, from the Manchester studio. I went to see them and the result was that I broadcast on 9th November in the North Countryman programme.

As I left the studio, Miss Norma Wilson, who had announced the programme, asked me if I could spare a minute for a chat. We adjourned to the canteen, where over a cup of coffee she asked me many questions about my plans. She was most interested, and gave me some valuable advice. She said that if we wanted the scheme to be a success, we would have to advertise ourselves. She pointed out that if we did not let people know what we were doing, we would be completely swamped in the rat race.

I saw fully the strength of her argument, but I have a very independent spirit. It was my aim to do some work of a high standard, and let the world see that our claims were sound. In other words I wished to prove our worth.

It was a foggy Manchester night, and as I crossed Piccadilly, the isolation of our position struck me forcibly, making the chill of the fog more intense.

Here we were well and truly launched, with no money, no home, and a wall of opposition to face.