And So To Bed

Book, music and lyrics by Vivian Ellis, adapted from the play by J. B. Fagan
Original London cast: Leslie Henson, Jessie Royce Landis, Keith Michell, Betty Paul, Dudley Jones, Hazel Jennings, Stella Chapman, Alan Duffy. Musical director: Mantovani
SONGS: And So To Bed; Bartholomew Fair; Amo, Amas; Gaze Not On Swans - Madrigal; Love Me Little, Love Me Long; Sarabande; Beauty Retire; The Oaths

'Small is Beautiful' said Vivian Ellis of his little musical about Samuel Pepys that opened at the New Theatre in October 1951 and ran for 323 performances. Written as a vehicle for his friend Leslie Henson, Ellis's score is the skilful work of a sound professional that manages to sound authentically seventeenth century, employing sarabandes, gigues, rigaudons and madrigals, and a subtle orchestra of ten directed by Mantovani. The effect is charming and never less than tasteful, even if nothing particularly memorable emerges from it beyond a beguiling title song. But And So To Bed seems to occupy a place of its own in the genre, claiming its place as a sort of chamber operetta of genuinely gentle qualities. It has an authenticity about it that is rare indeed: I can only think of one other musical, Virtue in Danger, as comparable in its period integrity. Ellis makes no attempt to provide an extractable hit number. The big romantic duet 'Love Me Little, Love Me Long' makes no concessions to modernity, especially when delivered (opposite Dudley Jones) with such lingering care by Betty Paul as Mrs Pepys. Of Paul, Ellis wrote that 'to hear the way she put over every inflexion in my lyrics and music was one of my most heartening experiences.' Sadly, she is under-employed in these recorded excerpts. Keith Michell (briefly) makes his recording debut here, playing King Charles, while Jessie Royce Landis as Mistress Knight warbles effectively through 'Beauty retire'. Henson does not have much to do with the recording. The ensemble singing and vocal arrangements are excellent. It is a pity that so intelligent and well crafted a piece should have fallen into total neglect. In 1951, a year in which the British musical theatre offered up George Formby in Zip Goes a Million, Sonnie Hale in a mid-European mish-mash with music by Robert Stolz, (Rainbow Square) and Arthur Askey in Bet Your Life, Vivian Ellis's contribution should have been hailed as a masterpiece. Ellis would have been much too modest to claim as much.

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