The Day I Mistook My Wife For A Hat Stand
John Shedden was a much respected actor, director and playwright, living in Edinburgh. He had appeared in a large number of productions, on stage as well as on Radio, and he had a small number of films to his credit as well. True artist, he encouraged others in the profession, however modest. We were surprised when my little group, The Citadel, contacted him for a part which would have brought him little financial benefit, and but few plaudits, he gracefully agreed. The photograph shows Shedden at the side of the famous Firth of Forth Railway Bridge, embarking on a project organised by The Edinburgh City of Literature to celebrate the Robert Louis Stevenson Day, series of shows, talks and walks, culminating by the presentation of a one-man play based on the life of the great Scottish writer called The Laird of Samoa.
A few years ago the Storytelling Centre of Edinburgh used to be the Netherbow Theatre, and Citadel had often benefited from their hospitality for rehearsal purposes, and occasionally showing our work to the public.
We were due to start our next production (of 3 one-act plays) with a reading of a play of mine, with the cast, including Shedden. Liz Hare is the manager of Citadel, and she sometimes produces and directs the plays as well. I was one of the writers and used to help Liz in her manifold duties. As the theatre has only a small permanent staff, in the early afternoon it was closed, and when we were given permission to use its space, we were trusted to manage by ourselves, and given a set of keys. We had arranged with the cast to show up at a certain time, and as there were 2 or 3 yet to arrive, we climbed to the third floor to set up our rehearsal. We remembered in time that the doorbell worked erratically, so I went down to stand at the door and wait, more specifically for John Shedden who was going to play the tramp. I had never met him before and asked Liz how I was to recognise him. She said that he would be outside the Netherbow of course looking for the entry, and knowing him, he would probably already be in character. You can’t miss him, she said.
I am outside waiting, and it does not take long for someone answering the description of the actor to appear. I smiled at him, and he winked at me. He made directly for me. John? I asked. Aye. John Shedden? I insisted. Ach, he said, I never answer the question about my second name in the absence of my lawyer. Typical actor’s wit, I told myself. Come up man, we’re waiting for you to start. He followed me and on the stairs I asked him what he thought of the script. More than one, I hope, he said, would be good, with a hamburger or three. He had cleverly made script sound like chip. I laughed.
I led him to the part of the rehearsal room we would be using and invited him to a chair. I say, he began, I’ve worked myself quite a thirst climbing all those stars, haven’t you got a can of summat. We usually bring a few cans of beer to give to the cast after their hard work. Well, I said, he’s John Shedden, after all. So I gave him one. He was halfway through it when Liz came in from another room and saw us. Can I have a word? she said. We both moved away a bit. Who’s this chap drinking our beer? That’s John Shedden of course, I replied. She bit her lips and started shaking her head. At the same time the bell rang, and I dashed downstairs, where the real John Shedden had just arrived.
Sadly John Shedden died shortly after having performed the RLS
