Memories of an eccentric charity shop and jilted brides

With the publication of the magnificent trip down memory lane that is the Bath Arts Workshop 50th anniversary book (available from www. tangentbooks.co.uk and most good bookshops) I started thinking about the charity shop I helped run in Walcot Street.

This eccentric emporium gets several humorous mentions in the book, and indeed, as well as raising funds for the Arts Workshop’s myriad projects, it provided a neverending source of costumes and props for the Natural Theatre Company.

A quartet of white cable stitch knitted cricket jumpers inspired an instant street theatre scenario, as did the plethora of huge hats, and most notably the regular supply of unwanted wedding dresses. Slinky ones, frothy ones, creamy net creations with enormous trains and even a couple of daring off the shoulder numbers built up into quite a collection.

I don’t know why former blushing brides were so happy to give their most treasured garments away. Better maybe to be used rather than festering in a drawer or being torn to shreds by excited little girls in over-sized shoes.

Little did the kind donors know, but these dresses formed an essential component of one of the Natural Theatre’s trademark performances, The Weeping Brides. From Ipswich to Ipanema via Brisbane and Bogota, the frocks were paraded before astonished shoppers around the globe. A bevy of hysterical jilted brides would throw themselves at unsuspecting passers-by, their mascara pouring down their tear-soaked faces, while the grooms, wearing nothing but vest and pants and a smart top hat, posed and postured further down the street.

Critics discussed the performance’s inner meaning. Was it a searing indictment of macho masculinity, a sly comment on women’s rights or an attack on the outmoded idea of marriage itself? It was none of these (and all of these if you wanted it so). It was a way of causing a sensation, a hilarious interruption in the course of everyday life the world over.

‘Marry her, you bastard!’ cried a bus driver in Melbourne. ‘Marry me, all of you!’ pleaded a shopkeeper in Rio. ‘Very large confetti they have round here’ said one wag as we were pelted with cardboard boxes by the stallholders in Dublin’s produce market.

All that screaming and throwing oneself into puddles took its toll. In

Quito, the highest capital in the world, lack of oxygen caused one of our number to turn blue and faint. ‘They love you, do more’ begged the organiser as a pile of brides lay gasping in the gutter!

And of course, the dresses wore out. The Naturals trademark is to appear immaculate, at least at the start of a performance. It looked like the end of our naughty nuptials. But no, the mother of all donations came in. A wedding business had closed and shop full of brandnew dresses came our way. The jilted brides could live another day!

Ralph Oswick was artistic director of Natural Theatre for 45 years and is now an active patron of Bath Comedy Festival