From St Filica News of July 2026​

'HABEAS CORPUS'

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   The summer solstice was almost upon us and rain had been threatened but the clouds duly parted and the sun shone – God smiling beneficently from above on our innocent human pleasures. In days of yore we Filkins village folk would have been leaping over fires to ward off evil spirits and encourage a plentiful harvest. However, more in keeping with our 21st century age-profile, we settled down instead to witness an Alan Bennett farce which the All-Knowing Being might have filed under the ‘not so innocent’ category.

   Steve Jobs, the former CEO of Apple, is often quoted as saying: ‘the only way to do great work is to love what you do’ and it was apparent from the outset that every member of Filkins Theatre had taken that to heart as this production, from its very first scene, exuded a gusto and sense of fun that at once communicated itself to a responsive audience. Indefatigable Director Jeremy Irwin-Singer had correctly identified that Trevor Milne-Day, on a triumphant return to our Filkins players, exuded just the right degree of rather seedy cynicism to play lusty GP Arthur Wicksteed who appeared to have ‘mislaid’ his Hippocratic oath at some time during his first week of medical studies. Not that this really mattered, as it rapidly became apparent that, with one or two exceptions, the entire cast were struggling to suppress equally fierce primordial passions.

   What we are witnessing is England of the ‘swinging sixties’ a much more self-consciously class-based society than we live in now. Julia Neame, convincingly playing the rather acid cleaner Mrs Swabb, popped up throughout to provide a cold douche of working-class commentary on the ridiculous antics and posturings of her so-called betters who, characteristically of the time, ignored her plebeian presence. Knowing something of Bennett’s own background (admirably sketched out by Richard Martin on the back page of a beautifully-produced memento/programme), she clearly manifested some of Bennett’s own social insecurities and resentments – he a working-class lad from Armley, Leeds adrift in an Oxbridge sea of more self-confident peers.

   The play calls for a manic turnaround of scenes resulting in a flood of non-stop action and a requirement on the audience of firmly fixing each actor and their relationships with each other as the merry-go round spins relentlessly on. Dr Wicksteed’s stiff and respectable but sexually-frustrated and understandably uptight wife, Muriel (amusingly well-observed by Teresa Irwin-Singer), is painfully aware of his infidelities and is intent on wreaking her revenge via a liaison with Sir Percy Stout (Jeremy Irwin-Singer) president of the BMA. Forever skilled at playing characters noticeably pleased with themselves, Jeremy/Percy seems destined to exhibit his effortless superiority over the fuming Arthur until a sudden shock revelation towards the end that is characteristic of this genre.

   Dennis Wicksteed (unfortunate son of the above couple) was played by Barry Heath who evinced a tangible gormlessness as the unexciting, hypochondriac son of disinterested parents. To add to his troubles, he is targeted by the conniving Felicity Rumpers (her wide-eyed innocence convincingly played by Heather Atkins) when she identifies him as a suitable stop-gap husband as she is pregnant and Dennis has confided that he will die soon as a (fictional) sufferer from Bell’s Palsy. Felicity is the much-cherished daughter of the formidable Lady Rumpers (Sue Ashforth-Smith) recently returned from the Colonies, Addis Ababa and other points East. Fresh from bringing civilization to less favoured nations and now surveying the Britain of the swinging sixties with a personal behavioural code more akin to the 1930s, her eyebrows are permanently raised in horror. This part was tailor made for Sue who can deliver haughty upper-class disdain like no other.

   Extra layers of farce emerge as Dr Wicksteed’s spinster sister, Constance (Avril Payne), decides that she will considerably add to her allure and thus be able to dispense with her long-term engagement to the cloying and ingratiating Canon Throbbing (an excellent portrayal of lust tempered by servility by Paul Molyneaux) by significantly enlarging her ‘embonpoint.’ This is to happen courtesy of a pair of ‘falsies’ purchased mail order. The arrival of these enhancements puts a definite spring in Connie’s step and promotes a sudden burgeoning of self-confidence which Avril communicated with great aplomb, strutting across the stage with an air of coquettish abandon only mildly constrained by the need not to take out someone’s eye. Sir Percy Stout, the object of Muriel’s lust, is the first witness to this sudden blossoming forth, his swingometer registering instant approval rather like an over-excited Peter Snow on election night.

   The arrival of Mr Shanks (Charlie Payne radiating energy and employing a wonderful Brummie accent that never faltered) who is there to make sure that the ‘falsies’ are fitted correctly sees the situation collapse further into farce as he mis-identifies Constance for her mother Muriel and begins to manipulate what he thinks are mechanical contrivances rather than flesh and blood. Muriel’s enthusiastic response to Shank’s ministrations is then witnessed by Sir Percy Stout who misreads the situation and injects a hypodermic syringe into Shanks’s neck. Meanwhile, Connie has assembled her padded breasts and emboldened with newfound confidence and a sense of empowerment encounters Sir Percy who she mistakes for the ‘falsie’ fitter and then invites him to run the rule over them. Sir Percy is aroused and having removed his trousers is discovered déshabillé by Canon Throbbing whom he also tries to tranquillise.

   At this point of the play so many men were running around in their M&S smalls that one half-expected Brian Rix to take a posthumous bow stage left. In the end the irreproachable Lady Rumpers is exposed as having had an affair on the point of leaving Britain for the colonies with Sir Percy Stout. Dennis Wicksteed, who is threatened with being struck off by Sir Percy, is reprieved. Felicity goes ahead with her marriage to Dennis who is to die shortly after it is revealed that his imagined illness is actually real.

   All standard farce fare I suppose except there was the comical/disturbing sight of Mr Purdue (Ian Grey well done), a seriously ill patient of this swinishly negligent Doctor, attempting to variously gas himself in an electric oven, overdose on laxatives and then hanging around in the background - noose around neck. So actually, standard farce it was not. There was a lot of audience laughter throughout so it succeeded as a comic farce. The Quiz of the evening as per the programme hinted at another level of understanding. Was it really about human frailty? Whilst Purdue cries out for attention to be paid to his genuine sickness and frailty all the others are selfishly consumed with their own lusts, status, ambitions and desires. To quote Mrs Swabb: ‘the world is just an abattoir for our rotting lumps of meat’. As a bespectacled lad from Leeds might have said – "think on’t".

   Thanks to all the players for yet another highly entertaining evening. Thanks also to Jane Martin (Costumes), Lorraine Chitty (Props), Andy Hoad (sound), Richard Martin for the posters and programmes and our Filkins shop staff for the bar. Finally - get well Paul Floyd.

   David Heslam