A Mystery Play in York

It poured and poured and although the cast of the 2012 York Mystery Plays were perservering in their performances it was the decision of a headset-clad producer to call them off until the storm passed.

In true British fashion the audience clapped and cheered as the beret-clad centurions, whirling dervish angels and 1940's styled main protagonists dashed for the nearest stage exit. We looked around nervously in case Sir Cliff Richard was lurking and intent on an impromptu recital of his back catalogue.

At three rows back in the south grandstand we remained dry and warm although the row just in front was receiving a bit of wind driven rainfall as it hit the roof above. It was a dilema whether to offer our scare supply of umbrellas to rows 1 and 2 if their predicament worsened. I fiddled wih the velcro fastener on my black executive type brolly just in case the elderly couple directly in front showed signs of succumbing to the torrent.

The storm rumbled on.

A few persistent rumbles of thunder.

A perciptible flash of lighting above the back drop of the chapel ruins.

The sound of emergency vehicles on the nearby road.

The actor in the role of Jesus had just been in the resurrection process and was eulogising outside the tomb when the temporary abandonment was called. He was in good humour and his gesture skywards with upturned palms was appreciated by the sell out crowd who had earlier dodged a similar downpour to get into the reception area and bar for the once in a decade event. I had been at the 2002 performance in the magnificent setting of York Minster where a low pressure system would not have otherwise constituted a problem.

The enforced and unscheduled interval was about 10 minutes during which the rain intensified and then abated leaving the slatted wooden stage hellishly slippery which was quite appropriate given the theme of the plays. We anticipated the falling of a few angels under such conditions.

Another raucous ovation as the hundreds in the cast returned.

The centurions were in transparent emergency ponchos, similarly the angels but with the main characters remaining in costume and character. We were amazed at their resilience and ability to immediately assume the great emotion and pathos of the scene they had been compelled, by an Act of God, to vacate.

The ponchos did detract slightly, I felt, although I was entirely sympathetic given that the following evenings performance was now only 40 minutes away and the prospect of being in the open air in damp attire for another 4 hours was something only battle hardened survivalists would be expected to tolerate.

It was indeed a magical mystery play and I had a lovely warm and all pervading feeling but could not guaranteee that it was partly due to a wet folding plastic seat in row 3.