Edinburgh

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In fair Verona where we lay our scene...

...or in this case, Edinburgh. There is a labyrinth in Edinburgh called the Royal Botanic Gardens, and deep within its tactile bushes and imposing oaks is Innverleith House. Here is the final resting place for our tour’s camper-van. Behind the clustering trees that frame the hilltop, we can make out Edinburgh Castle and the Scott Monument. It’s a fittingly regal place to finish the tour.

The space is wide open to the elements and a dampness in the air suggests that we may not be in for an entirely comfortable week. To be honest, it would almost be disappointing to finish such a tempestuous tour in clement weather. That said, our green room is a tent at the bottom of a dripping cellar. Swings and roundabouts.

I think it’s safe to say that we are all pretty much in shambles. Our voice-boxes have been put through the proverbial cheese-grater, our lower-backs are fusing us into Richard IIIs, and our immune systems are screaming defeat like a Montague at a brawl. But here we are at the final hurdle, and the ferocity will come.

The town is like bedlam with the babbling hordes of the fringe, and our little Romeo & Juliet seems like a gentle hermit-mouse sat atop a box of mewling cats. We’re just far enough away to not be caught up in the madness of the festival. And, as an Edinburgh fringe veteran, I’m happy to discover that the Globe won’t have us flyering the Royal Mile.

Our first performance is a trial for a few reasons. On the second day we lose our Nurse to a spell of poorly health, and an emergency decision is made. Our AD Caleb Marshall —a stout, Canadian, erm, man— is to replace the character of the Nurse for the next show.

I can’t quite put it into words what it is to lose a cast member with whom you’ve been touring for three months. It’s like losing a limb. As much as the show must go on, we’re all hurting at the substitution. But here we go…

And it is a baptism of fire. Or, more appropriately, a baptism of thundering water.

Performing open-air Shakespeare in June is fine and dandy. But on a cold, wet, August at the top of a Scottish hill it feels like lunacy. The clouds disgorge their heavy load, and from the moment of Mercutio’s death there is a wall of water sloshing across the stage. Shirts rip open as bodies slip and hit the floor and a bittersweet mix of comedy and pain sets off the absurdity of what is probably the most difficult show since the tour began. I realise there’s a serious problem at hand when the (male) Nurse has to go onstage for the lament with an umbrella and Juliet, sodden and uncomplaining, waits until she’s back-stage to give over to uncontrollable shivering.

Somehow we get through it, and the Globe treats us to French black pudding and liquor-soaked cherries for dessert.

The next day, our beloved Nurse is still unwell, and so we choose to keep our AD as her understudy for the final three shows. It is a fitting decision, and keeps the play within the family of the company at least. It is, however, truly beginning to feel like a cursed week.

Perri Snowdon

Have you seen the show? Post your thoughts on the Romeo and Juliet blog.

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