The Old Bordenian Association

Phil Goldacre was at Borden from 1965 to 1970. Below are stories from the acting world, provided by him following pressure from one of his peers!  Do we have any other Old Boy actors?

Phil begins: Just a couple of stories that I thought you might like. I can talk some more about actual performances if you like [Ed's note - leave a comment at the end of the story if you'd like to hear more from Phil] but I think people might be more interested in the “off stage” bits.

1. I now get a warm feeling whenever anyone mentions Bradford. That’s strange, I know, but there’s one thing I feel quite proud of.  Christmas 1983, panto, Babes in the Wood, Bradford Alhambra.  During the ‘get in’ week, the theatre manager told me that this was going to be the last show at the  theatre. It transpired that the Labour Council had decided to close it as it needed something like £9m to keep it open. I said to several people, including the mayor, on several occasions, “that’s ridiculous, this is one of the foremost theatres in the north. It’s a Grade 2 listed building. They can’t knock it down, It’s going to cost millions to keep it in mothballs and that’s just wasted money with no prospect of a return. They should spend the £9m and generate some income from continuing to stage shows.”  As a result, everybody in the theatre got behind the idea, got Yorkshire TV involved, collected thousands of signatures to a petition in one day and the Council reversed the decision. The Alhambra is now back to its position as one of the premiere theatres in the north of England. A very good feeling.

2. While I was in Bradford, I was invited to audition for Brookside as they needed some people for one episode who could play football (I used to play in the German leagues when I was in the Army). I went to the audition with a load of other blokes and, at the end of it, they sent everybody else away but asked me to stay for the afternoon to audition for an ongoing character. So I thought about it for 2 to 21/2 seconds and agreed. They called me the next day and told me I hadn’t got the job, but they still wanted me so had decided to write in the new part of a local copper. Would I like to play it? Another 21/2 seconds’ thought lead to my saying yes. On the first day’s filming, we were out on a dual carriageway shooting some scenes where I was sorting out a breakdown with Amanda Burton and Paul Usher. They’d given me a normal, hired, white, Ford Escort with a Police sign and blue light double-sided taped to the roof. It was also automatic. With a double width brake pedal. So, being used to driving a manual, when I was required to drive up and stop on a mark, I, automatically, put my left foot out to press the clutch. And hit the brake pedal on which I was already pressing with my right foot. So it stopped a bit sharpish. There were then several “ker-doonk” noises as the Police sign went down the windscreen and across the bonnet, finishing up on the road in front of me. After several cries of, “Save that for the Christmas tape”, they then put the sign back and we did it again. Thankfully, I got it right the second time. At coffee break, I was happily sitting in the prop car in police uniform with a sarnie, a coffee and a fag (it was cold) when there was a knock on the driver’s window. I looked up and there was a truck driver asking for directions.
“Hi, mate, can you tell me where xxxxxxx is?”.
“Sorry, mate, I can’t.”.   He showed me his delivery note.
“Look, here’s the address.”.
“Look, I’m sorry. I can’t help you. This isn’t a police car and I’m not a police officer. If you look behind me, there’s film crew there. One of them should be able to help you out.”. 
There followed several seconds when the poor guy looked very uncertain indeed and he walked off in the direction of the crew. I looked up and there was his truck parked on the pavement on the other side of the dual carriageway. He’d been lost, seen a police car and thought, “I’m saved.” He’d parked, negotiated 4 lanes of dual carriageway on foot and then been met with the most unhelpful copper in history. Poor sod.

3. When you’re on tour, it’s very difficult, first thing in the morning, to remember where you are. So you just tend to put on the first thing that comes to hand. The next thing in the drawer one morning was my England rugby jersey, so I put it on. Forgetting, of course, that we were in Glasgow. I was touring with the Royal National Theatre production of Arthur Miller’s Broken Glass in 1995 and that week we were at the Glasgow Theatre Royal. I drove into the theatre knowing I needed some cash but didn’t know where the nearest cash point was. It turned out, when I asked at the Stage Door, that it was in Sauchiehall Street. The single most Scottish street in the UK. So off I wandered to get my cash completely oblivious of what I was wearing. I got all the way down there and got my cash and nobody said a word. Walking back I passed a group of people at a bus stop. A very heavily accented voice rang out, “Hey you! Jimmy! Do you know what DAY it is?” Completely bemused, I just replied, “Thursday” and carried on. It was only later when I got into the dressing room and saw myself in the mirror that I realised what he’d meant.

4. Every now and then you get to work with some seriously well known people. I got a job in a TV movie called The Vision with Dirk Bogarde, Lee Remick, Helena Bonham-Carter, Eileen Atkins and lots of other people very well known in the business both in the UK and the US. Frankly, when we were all sitting round a table for the read-through, I thought to myself, “bloody hell! I’m the only actor here I don’t recognise!” It was scary. In fact, I was so nervous that, when I was sent the date, time and location of the read-through, I decided I would get there an hour early so that I’d be first into the rehearsal room. That way, I thought, I would be able to cope with being introduced to them one at a time when they all came in after me. Good plan. Unfortunately, there was one member of the cast who was even more nervous than I was so, in fact, I was second into the room. I walked into the huge rehearsal room at the BBC in Acton and thought, “Oh, hell. What do I say?” So I walked over and said, “Hello Mr Bogarde, I’m Phil. I’m playing Richard Jenkins.” Thankfully, he was a really nice bloke and we had quite a chat before all the others arrived. It seemed a bit easier after that.

I hope I’ve avoided detention. Come to think of it, if I’d done the chit, I’d probably have written less

Phil Goldacre