Shakespeare in Southwark

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12181, 4 July 1925, Page 12

Shakespeare in Southwark

Commemoration in London April 25th 1925.

(WRITTEN FOR THE “TIMES’ r )

Oh a late April day of sunshine and' ehoWer, arid cold winds more seasonable in March, I found m.y way down towards Southwark, and crossed London bridge, . with dust and chaff swirling and eddying, and paused a moment to look down the grey river, Which brightened as the clouds parted, and a- shaft of sunlight l lit up fhe smbke-blackefled beauty of Tower Bridge. Then I turned to look across to tire Southwark Cathedral, now almost hidden by the warehouse* and tail, ugly brick buildingsalong' the river side. ItS tower, With a’ bright flag blowing in the Wind’, was all T could see, and I hastened toI wai'ds it", arid down l the Stone steps into the old paved churchyard. I was date for the beginning of the birthday’ corinriemoration _ service, arid did ; not hear the organist playing the music of the Elizabethan composers— Byrd, Mcslv, Bull and Gibbons—-all contemporaries of Shakespeare, whom a‘ large congregation had gathered' there that daw to honour. . Southwark was where Shakespeare lived and worked through the busiest and vividest years of hi* life, and .in the changed Southwark- of to-day with ife warehouses of blackened brick, its narrow, jtoisy streets, echoing with heavy traffic,- the old cathedral stand*, redolent still of memories of Shakespeare, of Fletcher, and of .Beaumont, antV the great days of Elizabethan drama; for only a few hundred yards aWay stood the Globe Theatre, the “Wooden O’,” and near it, too, “The Rose\” So it was. a seemly thing, to commemorate the great poet’s birthday (23rd, as all knew) by a service in tho great grey cathedral, where his marble monument is-—a cenotaph where: some enthusiasts hope his bones will one day rest. To quote the Rev, StevCns, Who spoke that afternoon.:. “Shakespeare vas a Londoner, rind would ; never have been what he was if he had never had the privilege Of rubbing shoulders with- men of London.”. So! he Contended that the poet’s bones should rerit in the’ parish church Of the district of London in Which lie lived and wrote, rather than in Stratford. But that contention seems, to me an idle one. Shakespeare W£nt ,;ba:<sk r impelled by. the homing,.instinct, to the 1 little toWn where l;e, was born, and there he lied bupied whefe’ be wished' ttf bei And it is beautiful and simple, and. right, that it should be so’. ’ - - The-service that-morning, except, t-f course, the music, was not as effectiveas it should have been, owing to the great space of the cathedral, and the consequent Straining of one’s- ears to catch the words .of the preacher and tije readers of the lessons. The latter were both-actors—Neil Curtis, formerly of the “Old Vic’.’ Shakespearean Company, and the well-known Fewlass Llewelyn, who ha» a rich and resonant yoieq. During the last- hymns- a picturesque procession wended its way down the aisle:, and wreath* and flowers were laid upon the Shakespeare monument In the procession, behind the great crossi walked cherubic little- Choir boys with high ruffs round theit necks.

Then came’ the Mayor and aldermen of Southwark, in their civic robes of scarlet acooinpanied by thcS* mace-bearer. After them walked the readers and clergy, and Professor Lascelles Abercrombie (looking very uncomfortable), and lastly tho stately figure if the Bishop of Kingston in full robes and with mitre on head. When the procession was over the congregation streamed out into the sunshine and hurried- and scurried through dark, narrow streets and- alleys, under arches, past tall Warehouses and tenements, coming out finally by Barclay’s brewery in Park street. A tablet on the wall marks the spot as tbe site ol ; the old Globe Theatre, though the correctness of the site is disputed, and a rival on© is pointed out at th© Nectar Tea Warehouse on Ceylon wharf. Standing by the bronze tablet on the grimy wall Professor Lascelles Abercrombie, poet and man of letters, delivered hi* panegyric or laudatory discourse on Shakespeare, i

, With hia meche blanche and clever face . (slightly l reminiscent of W. B. Yeats-) the professor stood at bay. as it were, back against the wall, .and surrounded by a huge crowd of enthusiasts, and gazed down upon from the tenement Windows by the amused and wondering inhabitants; while women of the Belt cher type stood at theit doorways haggling with a coster setting vegetables, and on a wmdow-srtt.—oiimoved, aloof and self-absorbed a lean black cat Washed its face aiijd licked its pawe.* The professor’* panegyric was a Sheer delight) There was nothing commoriplape, nothing tritei‘nothing stodgy about it, and, mercifully, he never referred to Shakespeare as “the immortal bard.’’ A fine sense of Word fitness, a happy turn of phrase, a keen enthusiasm, and sincere, ungushing love for

his subject, Made his speech one to ponder on, to savoui, as it were, upon one’s tongue. He touched but little on Shakespeare’s life, made a light but poignant thrust at the Baconian heresy, and paid his greatest tribute to the “chief of poets and most fortunate of men” in that he showed him as ono who mirrored, for us “ourselves” ; who seemed to know all that it implies to lie men and womer:--our dreams, our thoughts, our acts, and who did' this in such completeness that he has made a world for us almost as real as that in which we move. In the afternoon there was a most interesting pilgrimage jhrough Southwark, starting from the cathedral, wliero the Rev. Stevens, ex-precentor, r gave a- delightfully informal, witty address packed with knowledge and fired with enthusiasm. He led us over a thousand strong by the narrow streets traversed in the morning to the ; “Clink.” into Winchester Square where the old palace of the Bishops of Winchester used to stand, some of the ' palace’f beams arid windows now incorporated in Barclay’s breivery.. He gave us a Succinct and vivid account of tho Globe Theatre (we visited both alleged sites),, and fascinating stories of the Brirbidges and Henslow, and the players of the tiihe. And as we stopped in tile “Bear Garden” and opposite “Rose Alley,” and down at Ceylon wharf he recreated for us the scenes of olden times when Shakespeare wanaered there. Then, tin ihe site tif the Globe, by the brewery wall, a trolley was drawn up, and the “Overian Players” (working men arid clerks of Southwark) gave us th© grave-diggers’ scene from Hamlet. Ift that great crowd it was hard to hear them, and harder to see them

properly, and the people at the tenement windows—now lii shirt sleeves; who smoked and spat, tousle-headed women arid wriggling children—certainly had the best of it. Rain set in just as th© scene was ending, and then a move was made to the old George Inn for a scene from “As You Like It.” The whole days celebrations—tbe solemnity and dignity of tbe church ceremonial; the Worker-players in the street; the enthusiasts (some depressingly “high-brow”), and the slum children and casual onlookers—all of it In its incongruous and happy mihgling, would have delighted the heart Of our wonderful Shakespeare could he have been there to peep at it! MARJORY NICHOLLS. London.