Days of Future Past: Profanity and propaganda accusations levelled at play

Saturday, 11 July 2026

On 30 September, 1942 two letters to the editor were published in the Waikato Times. If you assumed these were centrally concerned with the war effort, either the poor progress of the Allies or some relevant issue about the home front, you would have been well off the mark. Of far more important, pressing - and indeed, moral - interest, at least to a certain Hamiltonian mindset, was the annual theatrical offering of the town's minority, amateur production company.

The Plough and the Stars, by Sean O'Casey was first performed at the Abbey Theatre in 1928, where it provoked a riot. A heavily bowdlerised version was made by Hollywood eight years later, contemporary screen censorship doing little to enhance either the material or the reputation of director John Ford. This film played briefly in Hamilton toward the end of the first week of July, 1938, gracing the State Theatre at the North end of Victoria St, without causing undue distress.

Hamilton's People's Theatre, in their fourth year of existence, were disinclined to censor or in any way muzzle or misinterpret O'Casey's drama, set against the backdrop of Ireland's 1916 Easter Rising and featuring a prostitute among its characters. In its official programme, they made their philosophy clear, declaring, 'the main object of 'The People's Theatre' is to produce drama which is real and sincere in its presentation of life'.

At a time when a significant portion of the town's male population were overseas, fighting, cursing and undoubtedly cavorting with prostitutes, Hamilton's self declared moral guardians were in no mood to embrace life as lived, particularly when presented upon the stage of the Theatre Royal, the largest and most prestigious venue of the day.

In the manner of such things, few of these critics signed their actual names to the missives of complaint. Like today's keyboard warriors, virtue was largely signalled anonymously and reasoned argument secondary to emotive response or outright insult.

A person signing themselves 'Entertainer' led the charge, so apoplectic that he or she could not bring themselves to name either the play or the specific vocation of a certain female character. 'Sir', the letter began, 'may I take very strong exception to the propaganda in favour of Communism and the Irish Republican Army put over by the players on Monday and Tuesday evenings?' As a 'professional entertainer' of 'many years experience' the writer '…wish[ed] also to refer to the unnecessary use of profanity which was extensively used throughout the production, also to the disgusting part allotted to one female member of the cast'.

A concluding point had greater weight, given contemporary events: 'I think it is safe to say that the British Army was held up to ridicule'. No doubt this was O'Casey's point, for good reason in an Irish context but perhaps not a priority to express in wartime, with New Zealand forces largely at the disposal of our colonial masters.

A second letter, published beneath and signed 'O'Shaughnessy', also lamented language and extended the criticism to the choice of playwright. O'Casey's The Star Turns Red had been produced in 1941 and in the opinion of the writer was equally objectionable. If theatre should 'enlighten, entertain and uplift', not to mention 'mould public opinion' why, came the rhetorical question, were plays 'studded with obscene language and which at best could scarcely have a good influence on Hamilton' being performed? 'The same language employed on the public street', claimed O'Shaughnessy, 'would render the user liable to arrest and punishment'.

Today, when every conceivable cuss word is heard at maximum volume, ad nauseum on Victoria St, to the utter indifference of authorities, such a reaction is altogether quaint. Even in 1942 though, in the context of war and mass suffering, the general public must have had a wide lexicon of curses. One can readily imagine, say, those brave New Zealanders who had tasted defeat in Greece and Crete the year before, using expressions that went well beyond the alleged profanity of O'Casey. The Plough and the Stars' 'bitch', 'bloody', 'ass' and 'cow', or an ironic 'God Save the King' would hardly suffice in the heat of battle or, indeed, if one hit one's hand with a hammer or stubbed a toe.

O'Shaughnessy argued that the 'public reaction' to hearing the name of a female dog said aloud should be 'sufficient warning' to the company to select better - or cleaner - playwrights in future. Indifference was shown to the literary reputation of O'Casey or the critical standing of his work overseas, 'for this is New Zealand with its own sense of the fitness of things and with standards that most people wished to see upheld or improved'. An eloquent defence of provincial narrow-mindedness if not outright prudery. 'Heaven preserve us from the consequences if The Plough and the Stars were accepted as a tolerable standard of conduct', concluded the writer. One might have supposed that heaven and its master had larger concerns, not least, contemporaneously, in Guadalcanal, Stalingrad and the Middle East.

Subsequent letter writers, for there were many in the days that followed, often touched on the purpose or meaning of art by way of sustaining criticism of the production. 'Artless' was the nom de plume of one O'Shaughnessy supporter who felt artists should aspire to being entertainers exclusively, stating 'one finds so much morbidness and coarseness in this world at the present time that it is more than a little depressing to go to a play for enjoyment only to have these qualities 'dished-out' under the so-called name of art'. Why not present something 'wholesome and inspiring that will lift us above and not drag us down to the world's present level?'

Having thought of more to say, 'Entertainer' followed up his initial effort with a personal attack on the play's director, featured player and principal author of its programme's notes, Ronald L. Meek. The motive for presenting O'Casey's political agenda, one deemed sympathetic to the Irish Republican Army, was thought transparent. Topping even his first letter for pomposity, he concluded, 'the people of Hamilton see enough of Mr Meek's so-called 'real and sincere drama' every day and attend a theatre for education and entertainment, not to wallow in filth presented by actors who chose not to produce something decent and up-lifting'.

Such reasoning, if pejoratively presented, did touch on the philosophy of the Hamilton People's Theatre. First established in 1939, its opening production Clifford Odets' Till the Day I Die, the company defined itself in some ways in opposition to the populist Hamilton Playbox, presenting serious drama with a leftist slant. With the 1940 arrival of Ronald Lindley Meek, an avowed Marxist economist who had achieved a measure of publicity as a satirical playwright whilst at Victoria University, these founding sentiments were if anything furthered or at least solidified. However, the degree to which the company embraced its reputation as 'the Left Club' tended to vary, with even Meek playing coy - or meek - at times. A disclaimer published in the Waikato Times as their second production, Odets' Golden Boy, starring and directed by Meek, was in rehearsal, claimed that 'The People's Theatre has no connection with any political organisation, being concerned solely with the fostering of significant modern drama in the Waikato'. It was the type of protest-too-much statement unlikely to convince Senator McCarthy or any red-baiting New Zealand conservatives of his ilk.

Space was found in The Plough and Stars programme to decry the type of entertainment that Hamilton Playbox specialised in and that those writing critical letters were crying out for. The People's Theatre would not demean or betray itself by putting on 'drawing-room comedy… depicting the antics of the rich that only arise on an income of 2000 pounds a year'. It would not settle for 'pure spectacle'. 'At time of war', wrote Meek, 'there is always a tendency for good drama to be neglected and for trifling and showy offerings on the stage to receive the greatest applause'. Rejecting escapism however, did not mean rejecting humour or humanity, for it was argued that 'the fullest kind of enjoyment and indeed of consolation can be got from presentations of life itself'.

In the pages of the Waikato Times the controversy rolled on. Daring to publish under his or her name, F.A. De La Mare, who claimed neither to warm to the play nor the production itself nevertheless took issue with O'Shaughnessy's moral grandstanding, declaring The Plough and the Star's 'perfectly clean inside', a turn of phrase which equated with respect for its intentions if not its achievement. By contrast De La Mare found much prurient material at the cinema and suggested he or she with the Irish pseudonym turn their energies in that direction.

A fuller defender of Meek, published under the name Euripides, drew comparisons between the numerous critics of the play and the attitude of Herman Goering, said to have uttered the immortal line 'when I hear the world 'culture' I reach for my revolver'. This was a serious charge during World War II itself. The writer suggested that drama's prime purpose was not to 'uplift' but rather 'to present a real and sincere picture of life on earth' which would 'naturally contain comedy, tragedy, suffering and coarseness in the normal proportions in which these are mixed in life'.

For Euripides, The People's Theatre was 'to be congratulated in its courage in maintaining this fundamental principle in the face of inevitable criticism…' It was likewise encouraged not to 'waste its talent on frivolity and fantasy'. With some confidence it was stated that 'a very considerable section of Hamilton people appreciate fully the fine work produced by this organisation'.

Sitting well outside this group was a person of faith going by the assumed name of 'Theatrelover'. Whilst the term 'Christian right' was decades from being coined, sentiments which anticipated such a movement, if not Patricia Bartlett or Sam the Eagle from The Muppet Show, were evident in a sentence much in support of moral tightness: 'at a time like the present, when an earnest endeavour is being made in the Campaign for Christian Order to combat looseness of all sorts, and raise the standards of the people of New Zealand, the choice of such a play as The Plough and the Stars, with its sordid realism… must have an adverse effect on all who see it'.

Of the opinion that their letters section had become too one-note, the Waikato Times drew play-related correspondence to a formal close after publishing a beautifully sarcastic letter signed by a certain Elizabeth Grundy. This writer, posing as a Christian so pure that she had not hitherto experienced drama of any kind, claimed to have recently discovered Shakespeare. Dismayed by the 'sordidness, shameless and filthy language' of Macbeth, she concluded 'that the drama, from the first play written to The Plough and the Stars should be banished forever from the face of the earth'. The final paragraph, which the paper sincerely wished to be the final word on the matter, skewered the Hamilton Philistines with evident joy: 'I understand that this man Shakespeare is England's national playwright, and that his works are actually read in our schools, and to think of the tender and innocent minds of our infants being polluted by wallowing in such filth causes me great grief; and that I sincerely trust that many other respectable women, of both sexes, will lift their voices in protest against this hideous crime being perpetrated against our future citizens and some abler pen than mine will take up the cudgels'.

Reference to 'respectable women, of both sexes' uncannily anticipated today's debates around transgender issues, so much so that perhaps Meek himself, the noted satirist, was responsible for this letter. In any case, the following day, the paper allowed him a right of reply. Noting that claims of propaganda were so contradictory that they had collapsed under their own weight, the director expressed greatest dismay over the charge that the production lacked humour, arguing that 'two-thirds of the play is sheer and unadulterated comedy' and that the players 'literally had to stop on occasion because of the laughter and applause'. He likewise found beauty and lyricism in O'Casey's text, suggesting that his critics had remained blind to it because they were 'too busy watching for the next swear word' and soundly rejected shallow arguments pertaining to the 'uplifting' mission of art.

Lost in the debate, strangely enough, was the Waikato Times' own review, one which pre-dated the controversy so was not, therefore, intrinsically bound to it.

The paper identified 'a large audience' on opening night and praised the People's Theatre's 'stimulating performance'. The anonymous reviewer felt the company 'had a strength and sincerity about their work that can be felt by an audience and in their choice of play… they get away from the stereo-typed and the merely 'pretty-pretty''.

The notion that the play was propaganda was rejected out of hand. Instead, O'Casey was said to present 'a study in Irish life', one in which 'much Irish humour lightens the tension of the more dramatic incidents'. The production was deemed 'a very fine one, reflecting the greatest credit upon the producer (Mr Ronald Meek) and players'.

No mention was made of coarse language. The fact that prostitution was acknowledged to exist warranted no comments either. Rather more relevant was that profits were to be donated to the war effort.

Hamilton's People's Theatre took the controversy in their stride. On 4 November, 1942, the company met for the first time since the production for a play reading, attendance as full as ever. It was noted that 'the financial results of The Plough and the Stars were extremely satisfactory and that a substantial cheque would be handed to the Home Guard'.

There would be further personal happiness for Ronald Meek the following month with his marriage to Rona Stephenson. On balance 1942 was a banner year for the emerging Marxist writer as it also saw his first published monograph, Maori Problems Today. Whilst his marriage to Stephenson would last less than 24 months, his future, well beyond Hamilton, was assured. By 1946 he was in England, by 1949 he had completed a doctorate at Cambridge University. Meek would go on to become one of the most internationally respected and influential Marxist economists of the 1960s and 1970s.

They Came to a City, by J.B. Priestley, was Meek's directorial swansong, the People's Theatre's 1943 production. The company itself would continue at least until the early 1960s, offering serious but not necessarily humourless theatre to the city's more discerning audiences.