Roger Windsor

Golden Hare Books in Edinburgh is the most delightful bookshop with very friendly staff: it was the perfect place to launch ‘A Vet in Perú’, and a great place for a Peruvian party. David not only did all the carrying and lifting he poured out the pisco withy élan. A goodly crowd turned up although attendance was reduced by ill health and personal problems. I read out the publishers blurb on the book and spoke about farming in Perú and a little about the British aid project. Aurora Salazar, the Peruvian secretary to the project, was then introduced to the audience. I presented a copy of the book to her and to Joan Taylor, the widow of the project administrator. Aurora then read an extract from the book in which the laboratory team travelled up into the Andes to report to the campesinos the results of a research project on improving the productivity of their animals. I then read about one of the battles that I had with the Ministry of Agriculture vets, in which I lost my temper and was so rude that I thought I would be deported: however, my barbs had struck home and the Ministry staff realized that I was right. I was not deported. I concluded by telling the audience about my feelings for the beautiful country that is Perú and the party continued as the pisco flowed.

Those who were unable to get top the launch should head to Golden Hare Books to obtain their copy of the book. I must thank the staff of the bookshop for helping everything go with a swing.

“More Sherlock Holmes than James Herriot – The Veterinary Detectives” I describe mounting a production of “Cry the Beloved Country” by Alan Paton and bringing all the Botswana school children studying the book for their school certificate to Gaborone to see the play.  The idea was not new to me: when I was working in Kenya, the Theatre Group in Nairobi regularly staged the “set book” so that children educated in rural towns, where there was no theatre, had an opportunity to see the play before they had to take their examinations.  I had the good fortune to secure the part of Guildenstern in Hamlet when it was staged in the National Theatre, Nairobi, directed by John Eames, who had modelled his production on that by Trevor Nunn in the Stratford Memorial Theatre. The set and cast were basically black and white and at the back of the stage were these three “Toblerones” which could present a total black, white or mirrored backdrop. We did 21 performances: on Monday to Friday we played to school audiences and on Saturday there was a matinée as well as an evening performance for paying customers.  

The play was an artistic triumph for Andrew Warwick as Hamlet as well as for John.  But it was an unlucky show: at the dress rehearsal Claudius made a lunge and tore the ligaments in one knee; by the second night Polonius had lost his voice to a fungal infection and was informed that if he went on the stage he would permanently damage his vocal chords: we were able to find a replacement at only a few hours’ notice. On the second Friday night my foot was so painful that I was unable to put on my boots and so played the show in my stockinged feet. That night I was in severe pain and so on the Saturday morning I went to the doctor. He informed me that I had an infected jigger under my big toenail, (a jigger is a burrowing flea that bores in under a toenail and deposits its egg sac: as the larvae develop the increasing size puts on pressure and it becomes very painful).  The doctor, cut back the nail and removed the sac, dressed and bandaged the wound.
“You must not put your foot to the ground for 48 hours or you might get sepsis.”

I phoned John to say that I could not go on but would sit in the wings and say my lines while someone walked my part.  John had a better idea and from where he got a Victorian basket wheel chair I never found out,  but it enabled Rosencrantz to push me round the stage.  Nobody thought it odd.  By the following Tuesday I was able to get my boot on and gave up the wheelchair.

I enjoyed being part of the team and was often on the stage with little to say and I was able to watch the audience.  Many of the children knew the play well and I could see them mouthing the words.  There was no need for a prompt; should an actor dry up then a voice from the audience set him on his way. I like to think that our productions for the African children helped them with their studies and possibly imbued them with a love of Shakespeare.

I am a great traditional jazz fan and when Louis Armstrong and his All Stars came to Britain,I went to Earls Court and after a wonderful evening I knew I had to go and meet this man and so went to the Stage Door and after about 20 minutes the group of us were shown into his dressing room.  I was amazed at how small he was in his white dressing gown with a towel wrapped round his head.  He was charm and grace personified and I have that signed programme to this day.  Louis was coming to Nairobi and would be playing in the New Stanley Hotel.  I got up a party and about a dozen of us went off to dine and hear the cabaret.  Among our party was Don deTray, an American vet working on the rinderpest campaign.  Louis and his band arrived on stage (A low cabaret dais really) to tumultuous applause and started to play.  Don turned to me and said

“Do you know that I used to play with Louis when I was a student in Chicago;  I was always broke and playing second cornet to Louis paid a lot of bills.”

“You must go and say hello to him” I said.  After much exhortation from all the party, Don, finally went up to the stage.  Louis took one look at this unexpected figure climbing up onto the stage.  “Duuuuuunnnnnnn”  he exclaimed,  flung his arms out and embraced Don and dragged him off to the dressing room and returned with Don bearing his second cornet and they played together for the rest of the evening: Don was not in practice and his lip was not up to playing much at a time but it got better the longer the evening went on.  It was a wonderful evening.  Louis Armstrong died while we were in Kenya and the East African Standard gave him a marvellous editorial obituary which ended with those memorable words “Blackbird Bye Bye.”

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this is a test post written by my son Guy, who is helping set up the website for me. We are just getting started, but stay tuned for some stories of the bad old days…