A VETERAN ACTRESS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 70, 21 March 1908, Page 10

A VETERAN ACTRESS.

LONDON, February 7. The Australian actress, Aliss Dolores Drummond, whose name is a household word among play-goers all over the world, celebrated her 72nd birthday last Monday, February 3rd, at her pretty little home at Twickenham, where she has resided since she retired from the stage after iyl years of theatrical life. The old lady has now entirely recovered from the severe illness which brought about her retirement, and anyone meeting her casually would hardly* credit that she was even approaching the three-score years and ten. Her snow white hair is really the only thing about her that suggests age. Her heart is still young, her complexion fresh and clear-, her I merry eyes bright, and her temperament i genial as ever. "A charming, sweet, gentle, old lady" is the description of Airs. Sprague (that is her name oil the stage) given by a "Daily Chronicle" interviewer in an interesting account of a gossip he had with the actress on the eve of her birthday. He writes:— ''Miss Drummond has not only made her own living, but brought up a family, such as she may well be proud of, upoii her never extravagant earnings as a hard-working actress. Although her husband died many ago, and she was left entirely on her own resources, she struggled on, touring round the provinces or round the world as the case may be, in all sorts of companies and all sorts jof parts. She now has the satisfaction that her son is a famous architect, her daughters have married happily, and she herself, in the evening of her days, though not overburdened with material wealth, is rich in 'honour, love, obedience, and troops of friends.'" Concerning her career, Miss Drummond said:—"l never bad any outside training for the stage. When I was a child we went to live in Melbourne, and I used to read Shakespeare aloud while my mother worked at her miniatures. I knew my Shakespeare practically by heart after a while, and when the leading lady of one of the touring companies fell ill 1 was able to play the part of Ophelia, after a fashion, at a moment's notice. However, my genuine entry into the profession was in a much humbler capacity. It was in 1856 at the Latrobe-street Theatre, in a sort of pantomime called 'Timon, the Tartar.' I had to enact a 'thinking part.' Since then there is hardly a single kind of part that I have not played—from Shakesperian heroines to a walking gentleman in a farce. While still in Australia I played with. Charles Kean and many other well-known managers. But the great hero of my girlish clays was that grand old Irish actor, G. V." Brooke. He wns a splendid fellow, with a majestic personality yon could never fonxet. and had the kindest heart imaginable. On the other hand, Brooke had a regular Irish temper and not a little Irish pride. I never saw him more angry than on one occasion when we were playing 'Richelieu.' He, of course, was the Cardinal. Whenever possible Brooke used to employ Irish supers. This timo a janitor, who had one line to say, had not been rehearsed. Accordingly, in the great scene, the doors were swung open, and Richelieu was announced with a' brogue you could cut with a knife. 'Way for his Imminence, the Cardinal, Duck de Rio-kellew!' Poor Brooke delivered the 'eurse-of-Rome' speech to finer effect that evening than ever before or after!" "So far as English is concerned," Miss Drummond continued, "my memories are, of course, comparatively recent. My first hit was as Hortense, the French "maid, in the original production of 'Joe' at the Globe, but I had previously played a round of Shakesperian parts at the Standard. Since then I have acted with nearly every manager— lrving, Hare, Wyndhara, Alexander, Forbes-Robertson, and Bourchier among others. Altogether, I don't know that there is so very much difference between the stage now and then. Times were harder then, of course, and salaries less. We used to be satisfied j with from £3 to £0 a week, making our : own dresses into the bargain. Many is the time I have sat up all night with ' a vet towel round my head, making my dress and learning my part at the same time. Nowadays "we have gorgeous dresses from the management, and some people have big salaries, but in the end it is' the same talent and the same training ' that tells, and I have generally noticed < that it is the very folk who get the big salaries that most often come to grief."