"THE LIGHTS 0' LONDON."

NZ Truth, Issue 71, 27 October 1906, Page 8

"THE LIGHTS 0' LONDON."

HOW THE PLAY WAS WRITTEN.

George R. Sims' Experiences.

Towards the close of the '70 's there was a great revival m long-distance .walking from the sporting point of view. Six days' walking matches became I recognised fixtures, and the Agricultural Hall was on such occasions packed during the week with enthusiastic spectators. • When Vaughan, of Chester, m 1876, made such a gallant struggle against O'Leary, an American, £1,200 m gate money was taken on Saturday alone. . '.',.' Sir John Astley, affectionately known on the Turf as "the Mate," was the promoter of this memorable contest, m which the victor,' O'Leary, beat the record of, another American, Edward Payson Weston, and accomplished 520 miles. ' The start for these six days' "wobbles,': as they used to be called, took place about 1 a.m. on Monday. So it came about that shortly after midnight on Sunday a number of sporting journalists and a few speoially-in- 1 vited spectators would assemble' m the vast, dimly-lighted hall, and wait for the signal to be given which would start the competitors on their lone; and weary journey. I was living" at the time at 30 Lons-dale-square, Islington, and, being interested m all forms of sport, I gladly accepted the invitation to accompany Henry Sampson, the founder of the "Referee," to the midnight start of Sir John Astley's big contest. • ■ As the clock struck one on the morning of March 18, 1878, the pistol was fired that started O'Leary and his rivals on their six days' tramp, and me on the long journey that was to lead me at last to "The Lights o' ■London." Watching the walkers day after day, I became interested m pedestrianism. I read it up. I turned up the records of the past, and revelled m the derails of the feats of Captain Barclay, the grea<t amateur who was the first man to walk a thousand miles m a thousand hours on the hard-high road. I wondered how far I could walk on the hard high road, and I started to try. In order to be sure of all the comforts of a home at the end of my journey, not knowing how I should finish, I began by taking the 5.15 newspaper train to places 15 and 20 miles out, and starting straight away back to London on foot. My most ambitious effort was five and twenty miles on the . Great Northroad. About ten miles out of Highgate, late m the afternoon— l had been delayed by heavy weather— l fell m with a couple of sturdy fellows who had tramped from the far North, and .were making their way to the goldpaved city. One of them was m search of work, and the other m search of a relative. I made friends with them, and we Jtrampcd' together. They told me stories of their trials, troubles, and Edventures., It was pitch dark when iwe came tcT the, heights of HigbgateJ

and there before us lay "The Lights o' London." Before we got to the Archway I bade my companions good night. They were pleasant enough . on the lonely road, but I did not fancy tramping on with them through the crowded streets. I stopped by the Archway for a few minutes, and looked out upon London as it lay before me, dim/ vague, mysterious, haloed m yellow light. It was then that the idea came to me for some* verses upon "The Lights o' London Town," and that, night,, tired as I was, I sat down after I got home and wrote them. , , THE LIGHTS OF LONDON TOWN. The way was long and weary, But gallantly they strode, A country lad and lassie; Along the heavy road. The night was dark .and stormy, But blythe of heart were they, For shining m the distance ' The Lights of London lay. O • gleaming lamps of London ,that gem the City's crown, What fortunes lie within you r O Lights of London Town. . The years passed on and found them Within the mighty fold. The years had brought them trouble, But brought them little gold. Oft from their garret window, On long still summer nights, They'd seek the far-off country Beyond the London lights. j O mocking lamps of London, what weary eyes look down, And mourn the day they saw you, O Lights of London Town. With faces worn and weary, That told of sorrow's load, One day a man and woman Crept down a country road. i They sought their native village, Heart-broken from the fray ; Yet shining still behind them, The Lights of London lay. O cruel lamps of London, if tears your light could drown, Your victims' eyes would weep them, O Lights of London Town. These words were a short time afterwards set to music by Louis Diehl, and sung by Miss Orridge at the Ballad Concerts. They have since then appeared m programmes or newspaper advertisements, or on wall posters m every town of Great Britain, America, and Australia ; yet last year someone wrote to "Notes and Queries," quoting one of the verses, and asking the editor if he could say who the author was. The required information was, I believe, supplied by a gentleman residing m a remote corner of wild Wales. . The song was not a success— l think it was only: sung once. But the words suggested to me a pathetic subject for a play— a country husband and wife, poor, persecuted, and unb«»>vr. *• the jtreat .city A

Round this idea I .constructed the scenario of a melodrama. The Adelphi was at that time m the hands of the Messrs Gatti. I wrote to them, asking if I might submit a scenario to them. I received a polite reply that they had completed their arrangements for some time to come, and were then busy with the rehearsals of "The Crimson Cross," a play by Mr Clement Scott and a collaborator. "The Crimson Cross," m spite of its magnificent cast — the principal j parts were played by Adelaide Neilson, Hermann Vezin, Henry Neville, and Forbes-Robertson— was not a success ; but m the meantime I had gone to Mr Walter Gooch, the manager of the Princess's, a nd mentioned my scenario to him. The Princess's were then, playing "It's Never too Late to Mend," with Charles Warner as Tom Robinson. Mr Gooch invited me to his house m St. Andrew s-place, Regent's Park, where on two or "three occasions I dined with him, and we discussed my play and went into the question of production. He walked with me one evening to the Serpentine, to see if the villain could be thrown over the bridge there and 'rescued hy the hero, and he went with me one afternoon to the bridge across the canal m Regent's Park to see if that would make a better ocene. But about this time he produced "Drink," : while Charles Warner's marvellous impersonation, of Coupeau, and my melodrama slipped out of his immediate calculations. I saw that he was no longer keen upon it, and accepted the situation. fii the meantime Mr Ashtori Dilke, M[p. for Newcastle-on-Tyne, the brother of Sir Charles Dilke, had suggested ; that I should ''edit a weekly family paper he was. thinking of bringing out, "l accepted' the offer. Mr Dilke was then proprietor of the "Weekly Dispatch" and part proprietor of the "Referee"— with both of which I was connected— and we brought.. out "One and All;" for which I undertook to write a serial story. I had rather short notice, and not having a plot ready for a long novel, I thought I might . take the scenario of my play and use a portion of that for the groundwork of the story. I did so, and the serial appeared m "One and All" under the title of "Rogues ; and-. -Vagabonds . " The. advertising of "One and All," Tjy-rthe-^bye, Was a. new departure. We -Ki"S-'a troop of 'knights m armor who rode about the streets of London w,f|h "One and All" banners, until the police protested; 'But though I had made a story of my plot,' I had hot abandoned the idea of placing the play that had grown out of my taking to lonjt distance walking and seeing "The Lights o' London." I told a good many of my colleagues on the press about it, and one of them mentioned it to Miss Helen Barry, who was trying' to get a theatre. Helen Barry had been the heroine of "Babil and Bijou," a phenomenally costly production at Covent Gardens, of which probably all that is remembered to-day is Riviere's delightful "Spring Chorus." She was a handsome woman of magnificent proportions, and had acted m strong drama, notably "Led Astray," by Dion Boucicault ; but I did riot quite see her as my confiding and long-suffering heroine. However,, . I called on Miss Barry. We discussed the play, and the actress thoughtthat it would not quite suit her. It did not ■•'-■•- contain the "star part" for which she was looking. So I took my MS. hdine .to 85 Camden-road, where I was then living, and put it back m the desk where it had rested off and on for two or three years. I had, however, by this time produced one comedy, arid got a commission for another. The comedy was "Crutch and Toothpick." It was .commissioned by Mr—now Sir Charles — -Wyndham. I wrote— or rather adapted— "Crutch and toothpick" for Wynd-hain-it was H. B. Farnie who recommended me to him-and he leased it to Edgar Bruce, who took the Royaliiv and produced it. , The stage manager at the Royalty at that time-Easter, 1879-was Augustus Harris.- He also played small parts, and was then writing a burlesque with Edward Rose. This buries-

que— Venus— was produced, and followed the performance of my comedy. After the show I frequently went across to Kettner's and had supper, and Harris would sometimes join me. Walking home together one night we discussed the stage and ourselves. Harris told me the rough idea he had for the plot of a melodrama. Then I told him my plot, and he liked it. |But ha was always fancying himself I as the manager of Drury Lane, and he thought his plot would be better than mine for that big stage. He was. quite right. The plot he had m his head was used afterwards m "The World," the first melodrama he produced, when his ambition had been gratified, and he had passed at a bound from the stage managership of the smallest theatre m London to the lesseeship of the largest. But to return to "Crutch and Toothpick." Mr Alfred Hemming, of the Hemming and Walton family, had acquired the country rights, and m 1880 went on tour with the play. He made a large sum of money, and asked me to write him another piece. He was engaged for Christmas for the pantomime at the Grand Theatre, Leeds, and early m February I went there to see him about the new\ comedy, "Mother-in-Law." I arrived m Leeds on Saturday afternoon and m the evening I went to see the pantomime. ' . Mr Wilson Barrett was at the time the lessee of the Grand. He" was known then principally as the husband of Miss Heath, whom he toured with and starred, modestly taking a back seat himself. But it was known that he had great ambitions, and I heard a good deal about his performance m "East Lynne" and m "Jane Shore," and I was glad to have an opportunity of meeting him. He gave me a box, and sat m it with me through the show, and at the end asked me to come to his house to supper on Sunday with Mr Hemming. Quite incidentally at the suppertable, Hemming asked me if I had done ~ anything . with the melodrama I had told him about. Wilson Barret^; listened, but apparently without any serious attention. He was interested m painting at the time, and took me over his charming house to show me several pictures he had purchased, and one or two he had painted himself. But when we shook hands that night, as I prepared to turn oi.it in.to a real Yorkshire snowstorm, he said, "I must have a talk to you one day about that play— l am trying to get a London theatre, you know." Some time after that Wilson Barrett took the Court Theatre, where he acted with Modjeska m Willis' "Juanna." Then he produced "The Banker's Daughter," by Bronson Howard, call-, ing it "The Old Love, and the New." He found the Court too small for his broad views, and began to negotiate for the Princess's, the theatre that was later to be the scene of his many triumphs and his many trials. And then one morning he sent for me. I read to him the play. He liked it, all but the last act, and suggested for that a complete change of locale. I had gone back to the country. He said, "Finish m London." I saw he was right, made the alteration, wrote up the hero's part, gave the heroine a stronger scene m the last act, and then Barrett said he was satisfied, and he would do the play. If Barrett had offered me a sum down I would have taken it. I hinted at it. Barrett demurred. "It wouldn't be fair to me if it turns out a failure," he said ; "it wouldn't he fair to you if it turns out a success. I will pay you by results!" We discussed the terms, and the next day he handed me the following contract :— ' Princess's Theatre, Oxford-street, W., June 20, 1881. , It is agreed between us that you cede to me and I take from you the sole right of producing your new play j entitled (provisionally) "The Lights of, London" m all English-speaking countries on the following terms : I agree to produce the said play at the Princess's Theatre and elsewhere and will pay you the following fees as cqnsideration of this agreement. 1. In London.— lf the sum taken as receipts do not exceed £600 per week of six performances, £2 2s per performance. If over £600 up to £700, 5 per' cent, of "the gross receipts. If over £700 up to £800, 7s. per cent, of the gross receipts. ,. If. over £800, 1.0 per cent, of the gross receipts, 2. In the Provinces.— s per cent, of all sums up to £50 per night, and 10 per cent, of all sums after £50 per night have been taken -by the theatre. 3. In America, the Colonies, etc.— The profits to be equally divided between us. 4. This agreement to remain m force for three years after the first production of the play .—Yours, truly, Wilson Barrett. G. R. Sims, Esq. The play was produced on September 10, 1881. I was very glad after the first week that I had not taken a sum down. The success was immediate at the" Princess's. Byron, Burnand and Boucicault— the busy Bs whose domain I had invaded— sent me the most charming and genial messages of congratulation. Thousands of nounds were paid down on account of fees to secure the American and colonial rights. When the play went on a tour of the provinces it remained for three weeks and a month m many of the big towns, and played to splendid receipts. In America it had record business m New York, and companies were organised to tour it through the States, north and south and east and west. It was produced just upon five and twenty years ago, it has been playing m some parts of the world ever since, and it is now m its 24th year of tour through the English provinces. That is the story of "The Lights o' London." It owed its great success at the outset to the admirable stage management of Wilson Barrett, and the perfect playing of the artistes he selected, many of them unknown to London. So the lone; walk on which the midnight pistol shot at the Agricultural Hall started me m 1878 ended, you see, m a long run.