When you walk into Leicester’s Curve theater you might think gravity is playing tricks on you. “You just walk around and see someone spinning on their head,” says Jim, who regularly encounters breakdancers practicing in the foyer. “Every time I walk by, they say, ‘Would you like to try it?’” He shakes his head. “I’m pulling a muscle just looking at it!”
Jim, 64, has been a volunteer at Curve for four years. He checks tickets, gives directions and helps people to their seats. “The show starts as soon as they come in,” he says warmly. “I know that just by smiling you can make someone’s day.” Theaters all over the country are brightened up and supported by volunteers like him, an all-too-often uncelebrated group of individuals who donate their time, effort and energy for free.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” said Lizzie Owen, 45, one of 15 volunteers at Curve. “I loved theater as a child, but as a wheelchair user, a career in theater was not really possible at the time.” Volunteering has revealed skills she didn’t know she had. “I thought it would be hard to talk to people I didn’t know,” she says, “but there’s something about me being here. I feel lighter, have more self-confidence and can talk to anyone.” This sense of generosity seems ingrained in the building. During the pandemic, Curve’s artistic director, Nikolai Foster, became a volunteer vaccinator, protecting the community while the stages were dark.
A theater belongs to the people who make it more than just a building. That includes the volunteers as much as the stars, staff and audience. Jim and Lizzie both describe volunteering as a mutually beneficial experience; in return for skill and effort, a well-managed theater can return a vibrant sense of belonging. “It’s so friendly here,” confirms 78-year-old Pete Brookes, who is wearing a T-shirt proclaiming he is Battersea Arts Centre’s longest serving volunteer. “They seem to be picking the right people.” He taps on the table in a bright office at the top of the room. “There were only a few people I didn’t like,” he lowers his voice, “but they got rid of them.”
For over twenty years, Pete and his wife Joan helped out at BAC together, having visited the building since the 1970s. They aged paper in coffee for Punchdrunk, lit fires, fed Pluto the cat, worked on the doorstep and wrote letters to save the building when it was in danger of closing. In 2008 they were presented with an award at Wandsworth Town Hall. Near the foyer of the old town hall hangs a framed dedication to Joan, who died in 2021.
Following the catastrophic fire in 2015, which severely damaged much of the Great Hall, volunteers played an extraordinary role in BAC’s recovery. Support from the local community came in, providing space, equipment and time. “It wasn’t about money,” artistic director David Jubb wrote in the weeks after the fire. “It was about your acts of kindness, it was about your volunteerism. Our recovery is yours.”
Volunteering is not just an activity for later life. For the past two years, 28-year-old Chanté Frazer and 24-year-old Diogo Varela, both actors, have supported the Talawa theater company as young trustees. Varela applied for the role wanting to learn more about what was involved in programming a theater, but didn’t know what being a trustee entailed. “During the first board meeting, I didn’t understand most of what was going on,” he admits. But over time he has grown in confidence, knowledge and skills. “It has given me the opportunity to grow enormously as an artist.” Plus, he adds, he likes being the first to know what shows are coming up.
Talawa is a champion of Black theater, with a focus on work from the Caribbean diaspora. “A lot of people in our community don’t feel like we have access to theater,” Chanté says, “partly because of the price, and partly because some people don’t feel like they’re seeing people who look like them in the theater. What Talawa does is break the stigma, help people understand that theater is also accessible to us.” As young administrators, she and Diogo have a hand in influencing the theater’s marketing, the types of stories they tell and the expansion of their audiences. “Of course volunteering is not paid, so it is a choice,” says Chanté, “but the reward you get is the knowledge, trust and voice you have. As a trustee you can really be in the middle of it.” Diogo agrees: “It’s an exchange of energy and knowledge… and free tickets! What else do you want?”
While organizations like Curve, BAC and Talawa are supported by volunteers, others rely entirely on them. When 81-year-old Jan Bland moved, the first thing she did was find a local theater to join. Fifty years later, she is one of the longest serving members of the Harborough Theatre, a space run entirely by volunteer members. “I’ve done just about everything here,” Jan says proudly, before repeating what I hear almost every other volunteer say: “It’s almost like a second home.” When we spend enough time with a building, it seems to settle into our bones and becomes much more than just a stage for the stories of others.
Ten years after Jan, Marilyn and Ralph Holderness performed at the Harborough theater. Their two young daughters wanted to be in the pantomime, so Marilyn was brought along as a chaperone for two weeks. When they wanted to do it again the following year, Ralph insisted that he would not be left at home. “So you came over and asked if anyone needed help backstage,” Marilyn says to her husband, who nods. “That was the start of my internship,” he says. In the third year, Marilyn, a former hairdresser, fired the chaperone to join Ralph as stage manager. “We became known as the A-team,” she giggles. He is now 80 and she is 76. They are still an important part of the Harborough theatre, being stage managers, working front of house and generally messing around.
The three of them have seen and done it all: Ralph has dropped endless objects from the walls, while Marilyn has been the rearguard of both a camel and a dragon. They have also encountered people from all walks of life. “I had some funeral directors in a play I directed,” recalls Jan, who still teaches. “Apparently they learned the lyrics in the hearse.” The team continues to sell out most shows in their 115-seat theater. There are performances every day for a week, except Monday. In the adjacent church they practice ringing the bells.
It’s not just about the plays. At Curve, Jim recently helped with the graduation ceremonies held in the theater, and on Christmas Day Pete volunteered at BAC when the building opened for a community meal. “It was beautiful,” he says. “They set the tables like a banquet and piled the meals on top of each other.” Everyone was welcome, as long as his or her name was on the list. Even then, he whispers, they didn’t turn anyone away.
Theaters are extremely fortunate to benefit from the generosity of volunteers across the country, these good neighbors who help out of love above all. But with the right support structures in place, these buildings can give a lot back. With friendships, love stories and self-confidence built through years of volunteer work, the walls are embedded with meaning and memories. “You take so much and you can also give so much,” Diogo confirms.
But from what they all say, volunteering should be approached with some caution; Once you get in, it seems like it can be very difficult to get out. “I’ll stay here as long as I’m useful,” Jim nods dutifully. Lizzie completely agrees. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Pete has lived across the street from BAC for forty years. After living there without Joan for three years, he has decided it is time to move to a new place. “But I don’t want to be too far,” he says, knocking on the table, “because I don’t want to leave this place.”