There was considerable uncertainty as to whether we would have a 1939 season at all and, although it did materialize, it was in many ways a strange one and the feeling of unreality was enhanced by Beecham's latest passion for sound equipment and amplification personified by Mr. Perkins, "the man from Marconi" as he liked to call him. The harpsichord for the recitatives in "Don Giovanni" was to be placed in the scene dock instead of in the pit, together with four string players who were to sustain the chords in harmonies realized by Basil Cameron and the whole exercise, conducted by Signor Cimara, one of the repetiteurs, was to be relayed over loud-speakers to the auditorium. Of course, any scene-shifting noises or comments from rude stage hands came out loud and clear as well, while in the scene dock poor Cimara could see nothing and hear very little; before closed-circuit television this sort of thing was virtually impossible. The wind and trombones who accompany the Don's dinner invitation to the statute of the Commendatore usually play backstage but in this last mad season we were placed behind a gauze in an alcove in the pit; on the opening night Beecham forgot on which side we were hidden, turned the wrong way to give us out lead - and we never came in. The supper music is normally played on stage, (13/6d extra then) and one had to memorize it, which I found difficult, so I was relieved at first when Charlie Moor decided to put us at the side of the stage but behind the scenery it was pitch dark so we couldn't read the parts and once again the long-suffering Cimara had no contact with the maestro in the pit. << less