My mother, Joyce Adcock, began writing the book and lyrics for her musical about the 1888 Matchgirls’ strike in the spring of 1961. Rehearsals, at the Leeds Arts Centre, began in spring of 1962. She and her partner in the venture, composer Gordon Caleb, had collaborated on revues and musicals, which they staged and directed together, since the early 1950s all to enthusiastic reviews from the local press.

Writing for amateur dramatic societies had its pitfalls. The disproportionate number of women in these societies to the women’s parts in published plays, (ie approx 1-3 in favour of men) meant that in anything she wrote women had to vastly outnumber men. The Matchgirls’ Strike was the perfect vehicle. Plenty of gutsy parts for women with the added bonus of being able to highlight one of the most pivotal moments in British history…..the sparking of the Trade Union movement.

“The Match Girls” at The Civic Theatre, Leeds, was received with huge enthusiasm and, I’m proud to say, I was part of it. At 15 I had earned my stripes as a musical performer and was part of the chorus, belting out songs about soup for the starving poor, the flashy Vesta Girls, triumphant victory etc etc and feeling the love pouring back from the audience as they absorbed the rhymes and melodies of two very special artists being performed by a raggle-taggle bunch of grubby, coarse, blatantly confrontational women giving their all. The reviews next day were sensational. The show was brought back for two more weeks by public demand. West End Managements vied with one another for first dibs at options. Adrenalin reached explosive heights. This was going to be IT. FAME!!

And then came the crash.

Treated as naïve hicks from the sticks the full force of Professional Theatre was thrown at my mother and Gordon. One West End management after another took up an option, arranged re-writes, demanded blood and then failed to renew the option. Jack Hylton renewed three times but seemingly without any intention of actually staging the show. Eventually, patience stretched to the limit, “The Match Girls” was signed up with impresario Peter Bridge, after he visited our house in Leeds with Dora Bryan and William Chappell where I was co-opted to sing the songs with a view to interesting Dora in the part of Sarah Chapman, the female lead and leader of the Strike Committee. (She loved the idea but was unavailable in the end).

By this time it was the early part of 1964 and my mother decided that long distance negotiation was hampering the proceedings so…..she gave up her job, left my father and moved into a flat in Chiswick where she was joined a few months later by Gordon. A difficult time for one and all.

However, Peter Bridge began steaming ahead with plans straight away.

Directors, theatres, writers, (inevitably it seemed, West End productions had to be given a slick gloss. Raw enthusiasm and a dirty face in 1960s UK wasn’t commercial!) all were approached and several engaged. Soul destroying for my mother as her script and many songs were ripped apart, changed and ultimately scrapped. Jeannie Carson agreed to de-camp from the US to take the lead, John Fraser (a heartthrob of mine at the time!) was to play Tommy, Sarah’s love interest, and Evelyn Laye, too old and with a musical style more suited to 1936 than 1966, was to play the part of Annie Besant, the social reformer the girls turned to for help.

Dates merge very much for me at that time. I was 18 and working as an Assistant Stage Manager, otherwise known as ‘hey, you!’, at Harrogate Opera House and had other things on my mind but the dramas and disasters percolated through to me.

How the production company could drag out the West End first night to two years I shall never know. When rehearsals began it was obvious that various egos would require soothing, some with more sympathetic characterisation, others, additional dialogue, and all with new songs written for them by relatives and friends at the expense of cherished numbers that broke my mother’s heart to lose. All this to the detriment of the play as a whole, and with a general dumbing down into a frothy, tawdry, inconsequential romp instead of the grit and grime of the original. Two directors were engaged and sacked, having cheapened a fine original into a sad mish-mash of its former self, losing the essence of what the Matchgirls themselves had fought for. A third was given the hopeless task of rescuing it from the ashes. He never managed it.

A protracted tour of the country was undertaken to “iron out some of the problems” including, as a last resort, re-naming the show 'Strike a Light'.....a more 'snappy' alternative.' The opening night at the Piccadilly Theatre, July 5th 1966 was received with a standing ovation and shouts of “More, More!”, according to my diary entry for the evening! Shirley Bassey attended as did Elspeth Gray; my mother looked “rather marvellous” in a long black skirt and white blouse and I, apparently, wore purple!

But the critics didn’t agree with the audience. They panned it. And sadly, by this time we knew that “Strike a Light” was fools’ gold by comparison to the jewel that had been my mother’s original conception and with a sigh and a whimper it folded. By August 13th 1966 the Piccadilly was host to another hopeful and my mother’s dream lay like a deflated dirigible at her feet.

She never wrote another musical, in fact she didn’t write, full stop. The whole episode had drained her of her magnificence and she lived the rest of her life endeavouring to re-invent herself, becoming a countrywoman in Wales, gardening, cooking and caring for her many animals.

She died in 1996 at the age of 77.