Mr Campion's Fault by Mike Ripley Page B

– the church, the Methodist chapels and tabernacles, the Mission – and we also have a vicar as our physics master, so Bertie – Mr Browne – was sure that someone was bound to be offended by a play where somebody conjured up the Devil and traded his soul for earthly knowledge and the sins of the flesh.’
    ‘Not to mention the sins of Helen of Troy – the face that launched a thousand whatsists,’ Banville mugged lasciviously, getting in to character.
    ‘Oh, grow up, you great clot!’ snapped Roderick, waving a fist at his co-star.
    ‘“Oh, good Faustus, stay thy desperate steps”,’ Perdita declaimed loudly, only to be met with a surprised and surprisingly vacant set of young faces. ‘“I shall be the angel hovering over your head ready to pour a vial of precious grace into your soul …”’
    She paused, knowing from bitter experience that she had lost her audience. ‘I suppose that bit’s been cut as well,’ she sighed. ‘Never mind; I’ll go through what’s left of the text over the weekend and we’ll have a proper run through on Monday.
Faustus
really is a very Christian morality play, you know, though that’s not all it is, of course. I hadn’t anticipated this much bowdlerization.’
    In front of her Mephistophilis, assuming a double-entendre, let out a high-pitched giggle but every other young face remained as calmly blank as a mill pond.
    ‘You have heard of Thomas Bowdler, haven’t you? Early-nineteenth-century chap who edited the plays of Shakespeare, taking out all the naughty bits and since then anything that has been expurgated has been “bowdlerized”. Normally it involves getting rid of anything people find a bit rude.’
    Perdita was pleased to see a questioning hand rose from the front desks, though instantly suspicious when she focussed and saw it belonged to Mephistophilis. ‘Yes?’ she said carefully.
    ‘Did they try and do this boulder thing with that nudey show in London last year, Miss?’
    ‘Do you mean
Hair
?’ Perdita realized she had their full attention.
    ‘That had more to with theatre censorship and the abolition of the Lord Chamberlain’s office, I think, but speaking personally …’ Now her audience was spellbound and, as one, leaning forward in their seats. ‘I have never appeared on stage in the …’
    Perdita extended her comic timing for as long as she dared, even though this was never going to be her toughest audience.
    ‘… West End, so I really I can’t comment.’
    A classroom of youth, as one, deflated around her.
    ‘Now can we get back to my earlier question, please? I’m still not clear exactly whose religious feelings are we likely to upset with our performance of Christopher Marlowe’s classic and highly respected tragical history.’
    A new hand rose unsteadily. It belonged to an angelic boy with blond curls who looked no more than twelve years old and had a face which, in a previous age, could have advertised Pears soap. Perdita nodded permission for the cherub to speak.
    ‘I’m Lucifer, Miss,’ the cherub sang sweetly.
    ‘Oh, I very much doubt that,’ Perdita encouraged.
    ‘His name’s Philip Watson,’ said Mephistophilis helpfully.
    Lucifer glared at Mephistophilis briefly, in a most un-angelic way, before continuing.
    ‘They are all a bit bell, book and candle around here, Miss. The vicar, Old Twiggy, doesn’t approve of any summoning up the Devil or spirits and things, and all the Methodist ministers and lay preachers don’t like the idea of seeing the deadly sins on stage, especially not Lust – which was the first to go. In fact, some of them are opposed to the whole idea of theatre and plays. Mrs Cawthorne is a staunch Methodist, which is why she won’t allow Mr Cawthorne to have anything to do with the production, even though he’s the music master. The Reverend Stan – that’s what we call him – who’s our physics teacher and supposed to be a man of science has to disapprove of the show because he still