The magical Cathedral of the Heart – our theatre, place of dreams. How many hearts were won and broken here, how many tears and moments of triumph, how many long nights grappling with rehearsals, practicing over and over the step, the move, the pirouette? How many silent movie reels, lipstick kisses, Saturday afternoon matinees, sweeping from the wings, the smell of makeup, the fumbling in the stalls, the lines of many fine plays, uttered in mellifluous tones? Oh our Roxy Theatre. You are a Cathedral of the Heart… your backstage as secret as a confessional. Prepare, for the King is Coming….
So many memories of shows past – the old brick walls behind the velvet curtains – how many bodies pressed together here? The faces peering from the darkness to an auditorium full to the brim with a humming of people, await the curtains’ swishing, dramatic rise? The thrill? The imprint on the mind.
All the people down the ages who were the Leeton M&D Society. So many names – the greasepaint and glory, the songs and the stories – a Hall of Honour to name them all, the legacy they gave us – the seed that grew Henry V out of ether and blood and memory.
Oh poignant sight – the secret backstage exit stairwell. The light is like a beacon to the past. Did you kiss me by the stairwell in the dark, darling?
The ghosts of all who came before, who hover everywhere the day we take the stage to scope the scene, to drink it in, to imagine what is coming – The King, the King, the King is coming….