Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

Review of Cold Comfort Farm directed by Ruth Ahmed

The play opened in the Starkadder’s dusty, expansive farm kitchen by the light of a single candle. Trestle table, bench seat, mangle, clothes airer hanging above the glowing woodfire stove, a truly rural scene. Enter young Flora Poste, to a loud clap of thunder and a scream.

A well-educated orphan of limited means, she was seeking sanctuary with her, soon to be confirmed, rather weird country relatives, the Starkadders. Both elegant and eloquent in equal measure, Flora, played superbly by Savannah Congdon, illuminated the stage amongst the milk churn, mangle and mollocking (best google that one). The contrast between her and her in-laws was indeed stark. One by one, with brilliant comic eccentricity, clear anxiety, and in whirling emotional turmoil, the hapless family revealed its individuals and its secrets.

Flora’s narration, supported by a bizarre chorus of colourful rural characters aged 12-85, had us wondering why the family and assorted retainers made no effort to escape their assorted miseries. Enter Great Aunt Ada Doom, brought to powerful, maniacal and gloriously comic life by Viv Raeside. Ah, so that’s why! The matriarch ruled with an iron hand and saw no reason why the family should ever leave her, or Starkadder farm. Why indeed, when the threat of hellfire and damnation hung over them – the first act ended with the hysterical Quivering Brethren (you had to be there).

Flora however, could see a way out for her trapped relations. Act Two transported us to the ballroom at the country pile of the Hawk-Monitors. The whiff of sileage gave way to the potpourri of society life, and we were to see Richard claim the sublime Elfine for his bride. As for the others, in varying degree but with total success, Flora enabled their release too from the shackles of their former lives. Even Aunt Ada succumbed to the freedoms proposed, appearing in flying jacket ready for a trip to France and adventures to come.

And for Flora, the hum of a plane’s engine announced the return of Charles, the man she loved. What started with a clap of thunder and a young girl with a suitcase, ended with a rousing chorus and a standing ovation.

The play was elevated to the sublime by the musical underscoring of the Leakin’ Lentils vibrant music; the costumes – mad, ragged, strawcovered, mud-spattered rural clothing contrasting with beautiful, stylish 30s fashions; and the imaginative staging, using every inch of Tilford Institute’s charming hall. Everyone’s performance was vivid, powerful, yet strangely real. Well done Ruth Ahmed and the whole team, another belter!

by Alan Goodchild