MY EARLY LIFE

From about the age of ten, 1 was quite undecided on alternative career paths. Acting or broadcasting? They were my choices. Not my father’s, mind you! He wanted, right or wrong, that I should go to University and study to become an electrical engineer. I had already tasted the heady joys of treading the boards with minor roles in some Dickens productions including Oliver Twist and David Copperfield, staged in the city, and some slightly better roles in suburban productions of Shakespeare. I had my mind quite set on a life in that direction and had already had over a year's elocution training, considered essential if one was to use one's voice as a means to earning a living.

But the pull of broadcasting was also very strong. At about 8 years of age I had recited a poem, "The Little Black Hen" on 2UW’s Children's Session, and had become a devotee of Jack Davey when he did a radio breakfast session.

Whilst in High School, I was introduced to a producer who was looking for a junior talent for some radio productions. He thought I could do the job. Imagine my surprise and delight when I reported to the studio for an audition to find that the production house was run by no less a person than my hero, Jack Davey. It was a purpose built studio on the roof of the Manchester Unity building in Elizabeth Street, Sydney, and there they produced quarter hour stories for distribution to radio stations throughout Australia.

I got the job. Paid five pounds an episode too!! Not that you could earn a living from it for you may only have a part once a fortnight if you were lucky.

Radio plays proved to be quite different from stage work. You did not have to learn any lines or any movements. No make up was required. There was no tricky lighting. And there was no audience to applaud! A single microphone on a stand in the middle of the floor was the "centre stage", and the actors took up positions around it as their part came up in the script, standing back when not immediately involved. After stage work, it was somewhat of a let down. But the tension that goes with a performance was there, making sure you came in on cue, that your position at the microphone was correct, and, most important of all, that you did not "fluff your lines”, that is, make a mistake. This latter aspect was vital, for these were the days before tape recorders had been thought of and recordings of the performance were cut onto an acetate disc. If a mistake was made, the whole thing had to be scrapped and started all over again, and that was expensive. So if you made too many mistakes, it soon became a case of "don't call us, we'll call you".

These plays were action dramas, and called for plenty of sound effects. A blazing fire was made from crunching cellophane paper in front of the mike, horses were coconut shells clapped together at rhythms appropriate to walking, trotting or galloping. If they were on soft ground the right sound was achieved with cupped hands. And somehow it was discovered I could do a good scream, so when someone fell from a height, I was placed in a small pantry like room with a microphone. A firm cushion hit with a rod made a satisfactory thump as the body landed.

However, in the end, broadcasting won the day. But that is another story.

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