"The players are come hither my lord..." and what a collection of ancient-looking ghostly figures we were. Almost like anaemic zombies in Renaissance garb, including the pictured ruff, which I remember itched constantly, as did the straggling (or struggling) moustache. In some of the scenes in which I appeared it was important to remain absolutely still, but the urge to scratch or sneeze made this a task of Hercules. I had a cold at one stage, and a runny nose, which was an absolute nightmare to try and contain –the moustache (and probably the audience) suffered as a consequence. Also all our costumes were covered with powder, adding to the impression of a dusty troupe of traveling players, and every move or gesture was accompanied by a little cloud. Despite all this it was a very successful production, running for over 100 performances, with a revival the following year, and it taught me a great deal about Shakespeare... and moustaches!
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