Press Clippings for the week ending
Saturday, 30 November 2002

A random selection of cuttings
from newspapers and magazines

* * * * * * * * Kate Santley and Company at the Royalty, London, 1879, in An Injured Female and Tita in Thibet.

Kate Santley

(photo: The London Stereoscopic & Photographic Co Ltd, London, circa 1875)

La Marjolaine, with all its suggestiveness and indecency, failed on its revival to attract anything like remunerative business, and a brief closing of the little house in Dean-street [Soho]was thought judicious. The establishment was reopened on the evening of Wednesday last [1 January 1879], and was about half filled by an audience that very plainly bore the stamp of paper. The crowd in the gallery seemed to be on the most familiar terms with their hostess. They greeted her with cries of, "A happy New Year to you, Kate!" and Miss Santley appeared rather to relish, than to resent the liberty. The programme opened with a farce, by the late Mr H.T. Arden, and called An Injured Female [first produced at the Park Theatre, London, 6 November 1876]. In this clever and versatile Miss Caroline Parkes appeared, and sustained three characters, meriting and winning genuine applause. These three characters were named respectively Miss Cleopatra Fitzgerald Montague, Mr Percy Fitzgerald Montague, and Mr Alphonse Muggins; the scene being the stage of the Theatre Royal, Puddletown. Miss Parkes was supported by Mr Charles White, Mr L. Grey, and Miss Rose Roberts. The farce was followed by what the bills called an original comedy, the said bills, or those responsible for their preparation, being thereby guilty of an abuse of terms. Little Cinderella, by Mr Palgrave Simpson, is not a comedy, and it is not original. It is a farce, in two acts, and a very poor farce, too. We search through it in vain for a single redeeming quality. Its "business" is stupid and puerile, and its dialogue is weakest of the weak. We can imagine that Mr Simpson wrote Little Cinderella before he was well into his teens, and that "for a consideration," or let us say for the purposes of "Royalty," he has been induced to drag it out from among the trifles cherished in remembrance of his boyhood days. We are introduced to Lackacre Hall. The impecunious Sir Lawrence Lackacre has three daughters – Clarina (Miss Harriet Coveney), Emily (Miss Rose Roberts), and LOTTIE – in big letters, please, Mr Printer – as they are on the programme, for LOTTIE is represented by the modest Manageress of the Theatre, Miss Kate Santley. And now we shall see how the author has modernised the people of the nursery legend. Lottie is the little Cinderella of the household. Her good fairy is old Foxglove, the gardener of the establishment, who is on very familiar terms with everybody, and who thinks it quite the correct thing to walk into the drawing-room carrying his garden tools with him. He is determined that his protégée shall win the hand of the "Prince," who in this prosaic piece is called Major Mortimer. The wicked sisters Clarinda and Emily would like to hook this worthy, for he is rich; but, determined not to be off with the old loves before they are on with the new, they are pleased to receive the attentions of a couple of fortune-hunting boobies called Molehill (Mr W.H. Seymour) and Tootes (Mr C.A. White). When the Major turns up after a long absence he is disguised, and in the character of the Major’s agent finds himself very much snubbed by all except Lottie. Later, when his disguise is abandoned, he is eagerly angled after by Clarinda and Emily; Lottie meanwhile having contrived by an exchange of notes to create dissension between them and their lovers, whom in the writing of their amatory epistles we have previously seen indulging in horse play which would hardly be tolerated even in a Pantomime. Foxglove is sounded by each as to his views concerning the disposal of the Major’s money. He promises to tell them if they will gratify his whim. He wants to hear Toots play upon the flageolet, with which we have already seen him serenading Emily, and he is anxious to see Molehill dance a Scotch sword dance. And so there, in the "Grounds of Lackacre Hall" – these grounds, by the way, are at the Royalty covered over with baize to protect them from the snow – we see the sorry antics of the gentlemen named. The business is not funny – it is simply stupid. Having learnt that the Major’s money will go to Lottie, each determines to turn his attention in her direction, the said determination leading to their exposure before Clarinda and Emily. And now comes a very old expedient. The Major suddenly announces that through the failure of a bank he is ruined. Again all turn from him but Lottie. He thus proves her sincerity, finds that she loves him for himself alone, and, of course, offers her his hand and heart. We have wasted over this piece more words than it deserves. It is one big yawn, and those engaged in it merit commiseration in being employed upon such poor material. The other novelty of the bill showed some improvement upon its predecessor. It is a two-act comic opera called Tita in Thibet. The Libretto, we are told, is by Mr Frank Desprez. The name of the composer of the music is not thought worthy of a place in the bills, although there is more than one "number" of a pleasing character; but in truth it must be said that these find themselves in company with airs which are given a place in the production to satisfy, we suppose, the Music Hallish predilections of Miss Kate Santley. The story professes to take as its text the following extract from an article in a well-known periodical: "There exists in Thibet one of those extraordinary marriage customs which are to be found in out of the way parts of the world." The scene of the first act shows us the outside of Brum’s house in Lum-ti-Foo. Brum is a European who has established himself among the natives as an idol merchant. He has a jealous wife whose name is Tita. To try her he has placed in his pocket a packet of letters, which she imagines have been addressed to some fair rival. She would like to be revenged, and presently comes her opportunity. Chin-Chia – a mandarin of second class – has long cast loving eyes on Tita, and he reminds Brum of the custom of the country, which permits every wife to have four husbands. He points out the economical advantages of this system, and he proposes to become a co-husband with Brum, much, of course, to Brum’s disgust. No sooner has his proposal been made than a similar one is put forward by Po-Hi, a mandarin of the first class, and by Young Hyson, who is described as an impassioned young tea-gardener. "For the fun of the thing," and to punish her husband, Tita pretends to be charmed with the idea, and it is arranged that she shall meet her suitors in the Temple of Fo for the completion of the necessary ceremonies which are to give each a fourth part of a wife. What wonder that Brum in his rage strangles somebody! He takes refuge in the Temple of Fo – the scene of the second act – and, finding there the Great Bonze and the Little Bonze, lamenting that their idol, which has been sent to Brum for repairs, has not been returned, and that the proposed ceremonies cannot go on, he determines to turn idol himself, and to take its place. In this character he presently has to listen to the amatory declarations of his rivals, who are gulled by Tita, seeing that by the use of feminine attire she causes Chin-Chin to be made love to by the other two. The necessary reconciliation with Brum is thus brought about, and the time arrives for the fall of the curtain. Miss Santley appeared as Tita, a part which seemed to please her immensely. Her singing, like her speaking, was spoiled by affectation, although it is only right to say that in "I wish I was a man" and in "Poor Mrs B." – both songs of the Music Hall class – she was vociferously applauded by the youths in the gallery. In the second act Miss Santley wears a dress which gives a very liberal display of personal charms. Mr W.H. Fisher played the part of Brum with considerable "go," and his acting in the idol business of the second act was decidedly funny. Mr Charles Groves exhibited some dry humour as Chin-Chin, but the everlasting talk about the umbrella which he carries may be modified with advantage. Very comical indeed was the Po-Hi of Mr Frederick Leslie, whose method of indicating mental anguish called forth considerable merriment. Miss Alma Stanley made an imposing young Hyson, and was of service in the interpretation of the music; the Great and Little Bonzes being respectively represented by Mr C.A. White and Mr W.H. Seymour. To those in search of a good and refined entertainment we certainly cannot recommend a visit to the Royalty.’ (The Era, London, Sunday, 5 January 1879, p.12c/d)

Alma Stanley (1853-1931), English actress and singer
in Little Don Caesar de Bazan, Gaiety, London, 26 August 1876

(photo: The London Stereoscopic & Photographic Co Ltd, London, 1976)

* * * * * * * * Too Lovely Black-Eyed Susan Strand Theatre, London, 11 April 1888

Fannie Leslie (née Frances Leslie, 1857-1935)
English singer, burlesque actress and music hall serio-comic

(photo: unknown, circa 1888)

Too Lovely Black-Eyed Susan, which was produced last week at the Crystal Palace, and on Wednesday submitted to a London audience at the house which more than any other is associated with burlesque, is very humorously devised, contains plenty of brisk and funny lines, and is in many respects capitally acted; but it is mounted in a manner showing that its producers have no great amount of faith in it. Mr. Horace Lennard, the author, has done his part of the business very capitally, and some five or six of the actors engaged in it help to give every importance to the test; but the whole scheme is wet-blanketed by indifferent mounting. Miss Fannie Leslie makes the most sprightly of Williams, speaking her lines with every point, singing her songs most sweetly, and dancing her jigs and hornpipes as no other burlesque actress could dance them. Miss Dot Mario, who plays dolly, has not been given very much to say, but she says that little uncommonly well, and, in addition, sings most tunefully and dances with admirable neatness. Miss Kate James, too, is an excellent all-round actress to whom nothing seems to come amiss. She speakers her lines humorously, and gives much significance to the songs allotted to her. Mr. Frank Wood, as Hatchet, acts capitally, and his mock-melodramatic "business" gives much value to the performance. The Susan of Mr. Dan Leno suffered on Wednesday from the hoarseness which clouded this actor’s performance. This, however, could not conceal his humorous conceits, which were fresh, and not the stereotyped article. Some of Mr. Leno’s rapid movements forcibly remind one of Mr. Arthur Roberts, and certain is it that Mr. Leno with his great resources should become a most valuable burlesque actor. His dancing is quite phenomenal. The acting of the remainder of the cast scarcely warrants anything like description. The music of the burlesque has been furnished by that good, practical, and experienced musician, Mr. Oscar Barrett, and is exceptionally good. Mr. Barrett has written in his time many popular melodies that have done good service at the music-halls; some of these are utilised in the present venture. Supposing that Too Lovely Black-Eyed Susan were produced as are the Savoy skits, it would surely be attractive; but with the indifferent mounting which is at present enjoys, a very brilliant future can scarcely be expected for it. Seeing that the burlesque had been running at the Crystal Palace, we expected to see it presented here with every smoothness. In this hope we were disappointed.’ (The Entr’acte, London, Saturday, 14 April 1888, p.5b) * * * * * * * * Tragic death of music hall comedian Pat Cashan, Great Yarmouth, 1899 ‘DEATHS… ‘CASHAN. – On Aug. 7th [1899], at Yarmouth, suddenly, from heart failure, Patrick Martin Cashan, music hall comedian, aged fifty-six.’ (The Era, London, Saturday, 12 August 1899, p.14d) ‘A painful sensation was caused at Yarmouth on Monday evening by the sudden death of Mr Pat Cashan at Chappell’s Concert Ring on the beach, whilst the entertainment was in full swing. It appears that the deceased, an Irish comedian and dancer, had just finished his turn, when he retired to his dressing-room at the rear and sat down. One of the attendants saw him gasping for breath, and then, without any further warning, and without having spoken a word to anyone, he expired. Dr. Mayo was sent for, but his services were not required, the unfortunate artiste being quite dead on his arrival. Police-constable Legood, who was on duty near the ring, procured the hospital ambulance, and conveyed the body to the mortuary. The ring was crowded with people at the time, but Mr James Chappell took every precaution to prevent any tidings of Cahan’s death leaking out, and until the end of the concert very few people were aware of the sad event. An inquest was held on Tuesday evening, when a verdict of "Natural causes" was returned. Mr Chappell, with characteristic considerateness, did all that was possible under the distressing circumstances. ‘Pat Cashan was well known and greatly liked among the music hall profession. He started work as a porter [in London] in the Borough market, and having an aptitude for comic singing found employment in the singing saloons, which were the vogue in his youth. He obtained engagements at the Old Winchester, Southwark, the Jolly Tanners, Bermondsey, and the Rosemary Branch, Peckham. About eighteen years ago he was a recognised star at the London Pavilion, staying there as long as a twelvemonth at a time. He also fulfilled with great success engagements at most of the principal music halls in the provinces. He was a great favourite at Leicester, Birmingham, and Nottingham. At Yarmouth he was always welcomed. He has appeared at Mr Chappell’s concerts for no less than fifteen consecutive seasons. Among his most popular songs were "The School-Board Man" and "The Bumpologist" [about Phrenology]. These songs were his own composition. His style was of the true comedian type, and never failed to win the heartiest applause. ‘Mr Pat Cashan’s death in its awful suddenness carries one’s mind back to the Great Vance’s death at the now defunct Sun Music Hall at Knightsbridge [London] on Boxing Night in 1888. The building was crowded, and Vance had given two songs with more than usual spirit, and had rendered three verses of "Are you guilty?" for which song he dressed in the wig and robes of a judge, and was walking off the stage to his dressing-room, when he suddenly fell at the wings. He was lifted up, but the voice had died away for ever.’ (The Era, London, 12 August 1899, p.19b) ‘On Tuesday evening [8 August 1899] the Deputy-Coroner held an inquest at the St. john’s Head public-house, Yarmouth, touching the death of Patrick Martin Cashan, whose painfully sudden death in the Singers’ Ring on Yarmouth Beech is recorded in our gossip columns. ‘Nellie Whiley identified the body as that of Patrick Martin Cashan, fifty-six years of age, a comedian, belonging to 41, Somers-street, Queen’s-road, Peckham [in London], whilst following his calling at Yarmouth residing at 71A, Nelson-road North. Deceased was engaged by Mr Chappell to sing in his ring on the beach. He came home to tea at 5.30 on Monday evening, and appeared quite well, and was in good spirits. Witness was sent for to go to the ring at about 8.45 p.m., and there saw the deceased in one of the dressing-rooms quite dead. He had suffered from severe indigestion brought on by over-study of his parts, but never complained of the heart. Deceased was perfectly sober on the occasion in question. ‘William Leslie Reed, comic vocalist, of 16, Rodney-road, engaged by Mr Chappell, said that deceased sang with him as recently as the previous evening, his last turn taking place about 7.25 p.m., when he left the platform and went into the dressing-room, sat down on a hamper belonging to witness, and doubled himself up as if in pain. In about three seconds afterwards he fell forward without uttering a sound. Witness went to his assistance, and lifted him up, and called to Mr Riley (manager of the ring), who came, and together they got deceased on to a seat outside the dressing-room, and applied restoratives and otherwise attempted to revive him. In the meantime, two members of the company were despatched for a doctor, but could not find one at home. Witness had to leave deceased to do his own turn, after which he went back to the dressing-room, and finding that a doctor had not arrived, went himself to Dr. Mayo, who, having an urgent engagement, sent his son, who was fully qualified, to act in his stead. Deceased had only recently complained of indigestion. Witness had known him by reputation for twenty years, and for nine years they had worked together in Yarmouth. ‘Thomas Alfred Mayo said that he was called on Monday evening to the beach to see the deceased, and found him in one of the dressing-rooms at the Singers’ Ring, lying on a bench, quite dead. He had made a postmortem examination, and found that deceased had died from sudden heart failure, following upon signs of old heart disease. Over-excitement and over-study would be likely to bring on heart failure. ‘A verdict in accordance with the medical evidence was returned. (The Era, London, Saturday, 12 August 1899, p.18d) * * * * * * * * Rosario Guerrero at the Alhambra, London, September 1902

Rosario Guerrero (fl.1895-1912), Spanish dancer

(caricature, left: S.H. Sime;
photo, right: W. & D. Downey, London, circa 1900)

‘The star turn at the Alhambra on the occasion of our visit was that of Señorita Guerrero. The señorita is a lovely dark-eyed damsel from the sunny south, but it is, of course, not for these qualities alone that she has been engaged at the Alhambra. She is a specialist in fandangos and pretty frocks, and besides she is a very capable actress. When she knits her brows and starts her eyes in fine frenzy rolling, as the bard said in a heated moment, you observe that her features are of queenly beauty, and when she stands open-mouthed in fear it is pleasant to not that her pearly teeth are regular and all her own. I regret that I lack the poetic gift to express the señorita’s charms in the flowery language that is their due, but I may at least venture the opinion that in any open competition she would scoop the pool for looks. ‘The señorita’s entertainment does not consist merely of song and dance. It is served up as it were on the half shell, this last being a kind of romantic melodrama in one act and several exciting scenes. The curtain rises on a room in an inn, the landlord of which is described on the programme as "Montesinos (a Bandit)." This is a rather forcible epithet, but I conclude that the author of the drama has been staying for a few days at a fashionable hotel this summer and has formed his opinion accordingly. The entertainment opens with a violent thunderstorm, and the señorita, who, as the Americans say, evidently knows enough to go in when it rains, seeks shelter at the bandit’s inn. At the conclusion of the storm she rises to go; and then the bandit, seeing a valuable ring on the lady’s finger, commands her with two waves of his arms and a jerk of his head to hand it over. Instead of this, however, the señorita just fascinates the bandit with her beauty and her dancing, and as a final effort she fascinates his knife out of his hand and stabs him to the heart. This is a short and easy way with extortionate landlords, but I have no hope that it will be legalised in this country in my time.’ (Arnold Golsworthy, ‘At the Alhambra,’ The Tatler, London, Wednesday, 1 October 1902, p.31) * * * * * * * * Betty Farnol in South Africa, 1920

Betty Farnol

(photo: Foulsham & Banfield, London, circa 1918)

‘The many friends of Miss Betty Farnol, the beautiful and talented South African-born musical comedy and cinema star, will be pleased to hear that she arrived from England by the S.S. Briton, on a short visit to her mother, who resides at Krugersdorp, Transvaal. Born at Graaf-Reinet, C.P., Miss Farnol began her stage career in musical comedy in South Africa, and subsequently appeared with Oscar Asche when he was here. She afterwards married Major H. Vesey Wells who served on General Botha’s staff during the South-West African campaign, and who was afterwards killed in France, whilst serving with the Royal Fusiliers. Miss Farnol went to England in 1916, sang at Queen’s Hall, London, and toured the Provinces with W.H. Squire. She afterwards understudied Miss Lily Elsie [probably on tour in Mavoureen] for a period of four months, and has since appeared in films for the Gaumont, Cairo, and Cairns companies. In the recent "Golden Apple" competition for the most beautiful and attractive woman in England, Miss Farnol has been placed in the first 50 in the preliminary judging, out of 27,000 competitors, and, just before leaving London, was filmed by the Gaumont Company as one of the probable winners. A woman of charming personality, voice, and beauty, it is to be hoped that Miss Farnol will not leave South Africa again, without first appearing here.’ (The Pictorial, Duban, South Africa, Friday, 31 December 1920, p.270b) * * * * * * * *

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© John Culme, 2002