the times | Saturday December 18 2021 saturday review 15
ruddy faced, false-bearded actor wearing
a Sir Toby Belch outfit. He looked like a
cut-price Brian Blessed, if you can believe
that’s possible.
“Why?” said Ron softly. “What made
you turn on me?”
“The “thank-yous” in your acceptance
speech. Didn’t you think there was some-
one missing?” asked Old Bill, smarmily.
Ron thought back.
“That stupid award!? Is this why I’ve
been terrorised to the grave?! Because
I didn’t thank you?!”
“Not me, you berk,” Old Bill rasped fruit-
ily. “Your granddaughter. She’s the reason
you did the play, correct? That’s why I
helped you! I love kids. And then you didn’t
even thank her, so I thought, ‘Sod him!’ ”
“But.. .” Ronald couldn’t believe his ears.
“She never came, you silly old soak!”
“ ’Course she did!” Old Bill scoffed. “She’s
been here most nights at the back.
Dragging her dad along. Bringing friends
sometimes.”
Ron’s eyes turned to see his grand-
daughter standing there, holding her dad’s
hand as an ambulance crew were making
futile attempts to revive his dead body.
“Well... Maybe she just came to see that
children’s presenter?” Ronald suggested
tentatively.
“Shaddap you donut!” Old Bill roared.
“We broke Charlie Chuckles’s leg a week
ago remember? That was a fun night.
Bloody kids’ entertainers shouldn’t be
encroaching on our noble profession
anyway!”
Ron looked at his son and suddenly
remembered why they’d fallen out. Ron
had seen him acting in a student produc-
tion and tried to give him some construct-
ive criticism. “Be louder”, “Do more hand
gestures” etc.
His son had reacted badly, called his dad
“a ham” and they’d had a huge fight. His
son went into advertising after that. Per-
haps he valued his old man’s opinion more
than Ron realised, he could see that now.
Ronald walked up to his son and grand-
daughter and tried to hug them.
“Forgive me, son,” he said, tenderly. “I
was young. I did love you. By the devil I did
love you. I loved the both of you so much!”
“Too late, darling!” barked Old Bill,
callously. “He can’t hear you now!”
But Ron’s son suddenly looked up and
wiped the tears from his eyes.
“I know you did, Dad. I know you did,”
he said into thin air.
Old Bill looked shocked.
“That was a coincidence!”
The ambulance took his body away and
Ronald went with his son and grand-
daughter to the foyer of the theatre,
watched them get in a taxi and then drive
away for ever. It hadn’t been how he’d
expected it, but Ronald had succeeded in
reconnecting with his offspring after all, he
finally felt a sense of closure.
He then went back to the stage and
found Old Bill limbering up his voice. “Mee
mee mee maw maw maw! The Leith police
dismisseth us! The Benedict Cumberbatch
backlash has begun!”
“What are you doing?” asked Ghost
Ronald.
“We’re going to do a play together you
and I, right here on this stage!” he said, now
limbering up his legs.
“And what play is that?” asked Ronald.
“Waiting for Godot!” guffawed Old Bill
and laughed heartily.
“Of course it is,” sighed Ronald. “All
right. I’ll be Estragon, you be Vladimir.”
“Balls to that!” said Bill. “I’m Estragon,
it’s by far the better part.. .”
“No, no, not a chance.. .”
And the two actors continued to argue,
as the stage manager brought the curtain
down for the last time. The End.as Ronald held the (actual) bauble aloft.
That night the cast went to the Phoenix
bar on Charing Cross Road to celebrate.
In the early hours of the morning Ken
Thorne put his arm around Ronald and
slurred merrily in his Scottish burr.
“Come on, then, what’s yer secret, Ron?”
“Secret to what?”
“Oh come on! Half the time I think yer
have’nae a clue what yer doin’ and then
BOOM, you nail it!”
Ronald decided to come clean about
THE VOICE. He was expecting some
ridicule or disbelief, but Ken just smiled
a drunken smile.
“Ah. Sounds like you’ve had a wee visit
from Old Bill.”
“Old Bill?” asked Ronald woozily,
swigging his single malt.
“William Bannister. Character actor
from the Fifties. Used to play all the light
relief. You know, Falstaff, Bottom, that lot.
Died on stage playing Sir Toby Belch in
Twelfth Night. He’d been drinking real ale
on stage every night. His liver packed in
after a six-month run.”
“So... I’m listening to a ghost?”
“Oh aye!” Ken carried on. “You’re lucky
he’s helping you, mind. He’s a bit of a
prankster, so the story goes, playing tricks
on the actors and so on, messing with their
props and stuff. He can be a nightmare.”
“So... why’s he helping me!?” asked
Ronald.
“No idea,” said Ken. “Just hope tae God
he stays on yer side!”
Sadly, over the next few nights Ronald
realised he had very much fallen out of
favour with Old Bill. First, Bill started
feeding him false lines, making Scrooge
say things like “fart” and “bollocks” at
inopportune moments. Then an unseen
foot would trip Scrooge up as he walked
down the stairs carrying a candle. An
unseen hand would push him into Bob
Cratchit’s wife’s lovely bronze turkey.
It got to the point where Ronald was
drinking heavily before the show each
night, dreading what Old Bill had in store
for him next.
One night in the “argument” scene
between Scrooge and Bob Cratchit, Ron
picked up the prop book and hurled it
at children’s presenter-cum-actor Andi
Baker’s head. When the book struck
Andi’s head with a crunching thud and
knocked him out cold, Ron knew that Old
Bob had switched the prop book with a
real one. Worse was that “Andi” then fell
off the front of the stage and broke his leg.
Doctors said they weren’t even sure Andi
could go back to doing his much-lovedchildren’s character Charlie Chuckles, so
bad was the injury.
Andi was replaced for the final week and
Ronald couldn’t wait for the show to end. It
was torture! He was almost there with just
one night to go. The end was in sight. He
was going to make it! He would go limping
over the line with Old Bill pulling his wig
off and making him say “bananas!” and
“arsehole!” at inappropriate moments.
And then.
On that final night.
Ronald Carmichael died.
Not “stage-died” this time but actual,
real coronary-induced died.
It happened during the last scene when
Scrooge is running around being jolly.
Ronald just collapsed and his motionless
body lay in a heap on the stage for what
seemed like an eternity.
Someone even shouted, “GET UP YOU
DONUT!” and a slightly nervous titter ran
through the crowd. Finally, the stage man-
ager came out with the medic and the au-
dience were told to leave the auditorium.
Ronald, meanwhile, had suddenly
regained consciousness and was watching
the medic trying to revive him.
“Finally, he joins me,” said A VOICE
behind him. Ronald knew immediately it
was Old Bill. He turned to see a rotund,Hear Simon
Farnaby read
his story at
thetimes.co.uk/artsThe Ghosts Christmas
Special is on BBC1 on
Thursday at 8.30pmLAURA BARRETT @ THE ARTWORKS