PAUL:	The lights, the greasepaint, the songs, the dance, the 
	social cliques and bemused self-indulgence, these are the aspects 
	of theatre that disgust me.

	In 1970, what did any of us know about theatre ?  The only theatre 
	we knew played movies, or Shakespeare.  Until we discovered guerrilla 
	theatre.

	That struck the fancy of a bunch of disaffected, disillusioned, 
	self-described revolutionaries.  We were not satisfied with anything.  
	We thought theatre might be a good way of expressing our hippie / socialist 
	ideals.  And not a bad way to meet women, either.

	We liked the late nights, the eternal discussions about reality, perception, 
	soul, life and after-life.  The poetry of youth.

	But the "stage set" in those days was doing English bedroom farce, or 
	unintelligible "new Newfoundland plays" by imported Englishmen who couldn't 
	write farce.

	It was all terribly over played and totally in the mainstream.

	Being liberal-minded dope-addled hippies, we wanted more.  Or less.

	So with only a couple of courses in philosophy under our belts, we sallied 
	forth under the guise of The November 3rd Revolutionary Council of 
	Anti-theatrics, or the N Three RCAT, as we called it.

	Bill Murphy was one of my buddies who got involved, looking for free dope 
	and free love.  Neither of which, by the way folks, exists.

	We wrote and produced several ... works.  Our first was "The Occupation 
	of the Student Complex Lunch Counter and Liberation Therefrom of Several 
	Sandwiches As Nourishment for Soldiers on the Cultural March."  Reviews 
	were mixed and all charges were dropped when Dad paid for the lot.

	A more successful foray into Che territory was our take on "The Mummers", 
	what had been foisted on an unsuspecting and culturally barren society 
	as its Christmas tradition.  

	I shouldn't be telling you, really.  What's the statute of limitations on 
	stuff like this ?  Ah, shag it, I've started now.

	Chris Brookes's Mummers Troupe had been making a fair buck off the guilty 
	conscience of the St. John's middle and upper classes. 

	The Revolutionary Workers Christmas Panto, we dubbed our exercise. It was 
	Bill's idea, really, but it looked like a natural to us.  We posed as 
	Brookes's Mummers, visiting some of the city's richest mansions.  A few 
	songs, grab some food and a couple of feels, knock back all the wine, 
	beer and liquor we could, then the Turkish Knight and Old Balls the 
	horse would find their way upstairs and clear the place out of underwear, 
	sweaters, leather jackets, and jewelry.

	This was also the beginning of our next foray into the theatre world - 
	a fund-raiser.  With the proceeds from the fenced Christmas loot, we 
	got our hands on some ... Nicaraguan agricultural futures.

	No profit was realized on this venture, however.  We went on temporary 
	hiatus and smoked most of our investment.  Neither theatre nor Christmas 
	meant anything to us for a while.

CD    Maddy Prior   God rest ye merry gentlemen