Miriam Margolyes: My love letter to Adelaide

BRITISH stage and screen star Miriam Margolyes has fallen for Adelaide after working here earlier in year. She tells us how the city has stolen her heart.

FOR a 73-year-old woman to send a love letter to people she doesn’t know personally should be considered both ill-advised and on the edge of “tarty”.

But I have to risk that; I had such a wonderful time recently performing Neigbourhood Watch at the State Theatre that I felt impelled to write and thank the whole city for being so lovely.

I’d been before a few times, I knew it was an attractive town with lovely surrounding countryside and fine public buildings.

But this time, because I was able to stay for longer, I could discover more and I realised slowly that my allegiance to New South Wales, where I have a home and a life, was gradually shifting to South Australia.

It always starts with the people. And it should; people are what make a place, what gives it substance, variety and power. And here I was exceptionally lucky.

I was employed by the State Theatre Company, lured by an invitation from Rob and Geordie Brookman with the fine script, written by Lally Katz and first performed in Sydney in 2012.

There was a gorgeous part for me and it was a new Australian play, not an English classic, which (with my Pommy voice) is usually what I get offered here.

May I point out that I am now an Australian citizen, so please no jibes about English actors taking work away from local talent?

Terror was the prime emotion; big part, new people to meet, probably high expectations from the Company and lots of lines to learn. And then I made the sensible decision to go to Goolwa for two weeks and get them into my head.

I’d never heard of Goolwa, but my friends Sue Mitchell and Mary Beasley very sweetly went down to the Birks Boathouse and checked it out. And once I was there, I fell in love.

The peace, the sunsets, the walks, the birds, truly I had fallen into Paradise.

The main fear about growing old as an actor is not losing the looks. I never had any to speak of and what I had I’ve still got, but losing the memory is another matter.

It turned out Goolwa was the perfect place to immerse myself in the text, sitting on the deck, staring over the still waters, mercifully free of the hateful jet skis, which should be banned worldwide and their users confined to a tiny area of the Gold Coast forever!

Goolwa is a state of mind, rather than a place; I long to return.

The State Theatre Company is housed in a part of Adelaide now dominated by the Stadium; it’s fearsome when the town is taken over by the Aussie Rules (I still cannot understand the lure of this game) and the rehearsal space is a large, windowless, airless box deep in the bowels of the building.

Clearly, architects have no clue what actors need. How we manage to create anything in such a lifeless structure beggars belief.

But we had a secret weapon — Julian Meyrick! Our director, mercurial, always in shorts, passionate about the play, patient with me as I slowly found the role, I am champing to work with him again.

And my beloved fellow-artists, so welcoming, gifted and funny, putting up with farts and forgettings, comforting me in my bleak moments; they’ve become friends for life.

Those of us who work in theatre are deeply privileged; we get the plaudits but the people backstage are the skilled saints. My hair, my clothes — these are what make the character. Life is unfair.

I would burst out of the theatre after rehearsal and plan a supper; there are so many gorgeous places to eat.

I suppose my favourite is Chianti Classico on Hutt St, but then I also loved the Korean restaurants on Bank St with sumptuous takeaways of missed veggies, rice and noodles, open on Saturdays after morning rehearsals.

And I was taken up to the Adelaide Hills to places with fine views and fine dining — slightly wasted on me because I don’t drink wine and so miss out on the joys of the great South Australian wines.

My home in Adelaide was the Adina Hotel. I love that place, it’s quiet, very comfy and the staff are angels, from Ben Shelton, the youthful manager down to Peter, the maintenance man whom I’d see every morning as I tottered to the swimming pool.

On my first Sunday, they invited me to their Staff Picnic. I have never felt such joy as they rescued me from a nervous solitude with complete kindness.

I ate voraciously of their food, brought nothing to the picnic, but I’ll carry the memories of that happiness for a long time.

And when I think of Adelaide, as I often do, planning my return, I have to include one of its most unexpected treats — the Hungarian Club on Osmond Te.

I was playing the part of a Hungarian immigrant, and it was a perfect place to do my research.

Every Wednesday I attended the pensioners’ luncheon and joined in the conversations and ate the delicious food voraciously.

We are served by the cook (a lovely man), two courses at long tables.

Two glamorous sisters over 80 sit at the door and take the money (it costs $11 and is worth every cent).

I took home jars of soup to eat in my hotel room after the show. One thing I learned is that Hungarian ladies are always immaculately turned out; I was easily the shabbiest of them all.

They loyally came to see the show and waved Hungarian flags at the curtain call.

Adelaide’s charms are compelling. It’s not a huge place; the size is manageable, the traffic absurdly light.

The streets are wide, the buildings noble, dignified and full of Victorian confidence, built by free settlers untainted by Sydney’s corruption and violence.

I did hear about the Adelaide murders with interest. There is an underbelly to the city which I did not find, but I know it’s there.

The magnificent State Library and Art Gallery have delighted me many times and the parks which surround Adelaide are gracious, soothing, beautiful. And the houses are without doubt, the most beautiful I have seen in Australia.

Sydney has taken my money, Melbourne has my respect, but Adelaide has taken my heart; I shall return.