A few groans and expectations of cancellation. But what Sir Trevor had to say was that despite strenuous efforts all round, the previous evening's opening performance had been called off and though the dedicated cast had worked long and hard, they had, as yet, not managed to have a dress rehearsal of the play. What we were about to see, therefore, on this June 19 matinee performance, was the first dress rehearsal. It would be an anything-can-happen event and we were warned that proceedings could come to a halt at any time if things went wrong and there needed to be a re-think.

So happy expectations of calamities on stage added immeasurably to audience interest and we settled back to await developments.

As it turned out, there were very few fluffed lines and no calamities, other than the near toppling of a very tall, wheeled canvas prop, which looked like it could have ended up in the laps of the audience, had it not been for some supporting action by Patsy Palmer, the quick-thinking former Bianca of EastEnders.

So we were spared technical disasters. Dramatically, however, that was not to prove the case.

The play, written by actress Imogen Stubbs – now appearing as Gertrude in the Old Vic production of Hamlet – is inspired by the wartime experiences of the Osiris Players, a group of women who toured Britain in a Silver Ghost Rolls Royce putting on plays, mainly Shakespeare, in village halls and theatres, thus doing their bit for King and Country by brightening the lives of the culture-deprived masses.

Juliet Stevenson is the confidence-brimming, indefatigable, determined, resourceful Hetty, the leader of the troupe. You felt that if Hitler had been brought to see her, he would have simply given up, realising that defeat of such people was impossible. Stevenson is brilliantly effective and yields such charisma and presence that the stage seems almost empty when she is not on it.

That said, there is very strong support. Marcia Warren gives a flawless performance as Flora, the warm, endearing, sensible mother-figure, contrasted by Kate O'Mara's Helen. O'Mara has a face that almost demands she is cast as a world-weary bitch and the part of Helen obligingly offers her the chance to fulfill the role, one that she slips into with ease and conviction. Happily, this bitch has heart, too. Patsy Palmer, all teeth, chat and cheer, brightens up the proceedings, while Cat Simmons, with a delicious Midlands accent, draws sympathy and affection as Ivy, the maid turned actress.

They are joined by Caroline Blakiston, whose long list of credits range from The Forsyte Saga to Return of the Jedi; former Royal Shakespeare Company award-winning actress Rosemary McHale; Emma Darwall-Smith, who recently played Eugenie in the highly acclaimed Vincent in Brixton; and for good measure, a couple of token males - Paul Bentley, both comic and pompous, and Adam Davy, who showed that if he decides to give up the acting day-job, he can always make it as a serious saxophonist.

So the stage was (just about) set for a pedigree performance - top-drawer cast, acclaimed director, fascinating story. And in the first half, all went well. Stevenson dominated all as she set about assembling her troupe, brushing aside objections, difficulties and obstacles to achieve her single-minded vision. Lots of enjoyable Shakespearean allusions and the pleasure of watching enlightenment come to the unenlightened as the unsurpassable language of the Bard was explained and opened to them.

So far, all's well. Then came a long, long interval. And then came the disaster that we had half expected might befall us, thought it came not from any mishap on stage, but from the content of the play itself. Shakespeare was all but forgotten as the story turned from the activities of the troupe as a whole to the nitty-gritty of individual members' past lives. And it all became so dreary. When, for example, Marcia Warren's Flora, embroiled in a drawn-out account of some childhood trauma, paused and suggested to the listening Stevenson: "But you don't want to hear all this...." , it was almost irresistible to call out: "Hear, hear!" Sadly, Stevenson, seemingly for the first time -and like the audience - bored out of her brain, politely encouraged her pal to continue. Incidents in the past lives of other characters were equally interminably revealed. Did we care? Did we want to know?

And so the second half dragged on and on, leading eventually to a couple of set-piece Shakespeare speeches, which only the dimmest would have failed to see coming.

The play needs major surgery, principally in the second half, and one wonders, with all respect to his artistic prowess, whether Trevor Nunn, being so close to his wife's wood, is the right man to see the trees that need to be ruthlessly felled. Perhaps Imogen, watching this first performance half-hidden by a curtain in her box and witnessing some members of the audience leaving early, may have been having similar thoughts. Any may even have been reflecting on Horatio's words in Hamlet: "In the gross and scope of mine opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state."

R.S.

(paterfamilias@fastmail.fm) - USER: Whatsonstage.com (217.44.137.150)