Page 22 - From Breton Cove and Boston: Conversations with Josie Matheson BredburyPublished by Ronald Caplan on 1991/1/1 (198 reads)
ful life. That's what I always said. The house wasn't always warm, like we have to? day. But we wore warm clothes all winter. That was one thing, we never froze. We nev? er complained about the cold. The kitchen stove was always on. And we'd never starve. We never knew what hunger was. We'd be hun? gry for the meal, you know. But to go with? out meals, more than one meal a day or any- University College of Cape Breton ANNUAL FESTIVAL OF PLAYS 1984, Festival's guiding lights Liz and Harry Boardmore on the set of Elephant Man. This fall the UCCB Board renamed the Playhouse. It is now known as the Boardmore Playhouse. University College of Cape Breton Extension & Community Affairs P.O. Box 5300, Sydney, Nova Scotia, BIP 6L2 Celebrating 20 years of Communify Theatre thing like that--we never did. There was always plenty to eat. Plenty to eat.... And they raised it all on the farms. Every single thing. And the fish was there. And there was plenty of meat all winter. My father used to kill about 3 sheep. He'd cut those up in roasts and things, and pieces for stews. And then he'd put it in I the milkhouse. We used to have a lit? tle house in the back of the house there. Mama--all her milk stuff out there. And he'd hang them there. He'd have a burlap bag wrapped around them. And then they'd kill a cow. And we'd have the beef--we'd have the corned beef. And we'd have the fresh roast. And they'd have to take the sawdust--sawed the leg off or whatever! And then in the fall of the year, she'd be killing her hens off, because there's no warm place for them to be. She'd save a few, maybe a half a dozen, and put them at one end of the cow's stable --the warmth from the cows, you know. She could keep them for awhile. (When you say "she killed," your moth? er...?) Oh, my moth? er didn't kill--my father always did the killing. And they'd have, all along the way--maybe Urquhart would have a day for slaughter? ing his, what he was going to kill. And then there'd be 3 or 4 men come down and help him. And the same, maybe the next day they'd be over at our place. And you know, they worked like that together. It was really beau? tiful. And there was no complaining. No complaining. The 1991 Festival of Plays marks the twentieth anniversary of the Festival. The Festival is significant not only for its longevity but for its dedication to community-based production and committment to indigneous theatrical writing. The Festival has been a training ground for countless writers, actors, di? rectors and stagehands. It has counted among its participants the likes of Rita MacNeil, Max Mac Donald, and Beatrice MacNeil. Many alumni have gone on to make professional careers in the theatre or related arts; others have continued their involvement as teachers; still others like Gary Walsh and Marion Mancini continue year after year to lend their considerable talents to the Festival itself. Behind all the activity - perhaps we should say "hovering above" like guar? dian angels - have been the Board- mores, Harry and Liz. They have played as many roles as the actors themselves, serving as producers, writers, directors, and even stagehands heaving about the ac? coutrements of theatrical illusion. They have been coaches, exhorting their players to excellence, and friends helping out friends, but above all they have been teachers. Their skills, knowledge and experience have been passed on to hundreds of individuals and, in the process, have greatly enriched the social, cultural, and economic life of the Cape Breton community. The 20th Anniversary of the Festival of Plays is a milestone in community theatre in Canada. We salute the ac? complishments of the Boardmores and we celebrate the contributions of the hundreds of talented people who have participated in the Festival over the years. We invite you to join us once again this year. For further information on the 1991 Festival of Plays please contact the Box Office of the Boardmore Playhouse, UCCB. Telephone (902) 564-1351.
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