Joseph Arch and The Wellesbourne Tree

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In 1975 Robert Leach, a young lecturer in drama at Birmingham University published The Wellesbourne Tree: A Musical Documentary Play about Barford born Joseph Arch who, in 1872, founded the National Agricultural Labourers Union, spent his Sunday afternoons as a Methodist lay-preacher, eventually became a Liberal MP, and (probably most proudly for him) was crowned Champion Hedgecutter of England. I knew about Arch of course (he’s still something of a hero in these here parts of Warwickshire), and had even heard about Leach’s musical play, but had never read it, or seen it. In fact the work has only ever been produced once I believe.

Then in a small bookshop in North Wales, I came across a copy of the play and realised (after reading it in the pub next door) that it is, on the one hand (as bad history lecturers say much too often), a very powerful work – with a musical element that is appropriate and effective – but which, on the other hand, could not (even with the help of Cameron Macintosh’s millions, the combined directorial experience of Peter Hall and Trevor Nunn, and the advertising brilliance of Saatchi the Elder) stop a show (with a cast of 31, nineteen scene changes, filmed backdrops, a warehouse full of costumes, at least ten musicians, a pompous musical director, and an extremely camp choreographer) from becoming a huge financial landfill site. Which is a damned pity because it’s a piece of work that deserves to be seen again, even though Leach (mistakenly in my opinion), avoids
the effectiveness of recitative, and the creation, especially with Arch’s long speech under that bloody chestnut tree, of some wonderful revolutionary anthems of the kind that make Les Miserables so memorable.

I think, with some re-writing, an amalgam of characters, and a cast of no more than ten (with some actors doubling as musicians) the piece might find a life. Sadly, Robert Leach now seems to spend most of his time writing obscure academic books about other playwrights, so maybe he’s not interested in his own dramatic work anymore? Pity.

I grew up not far from that old chestnut tree in the centre of Wellesbourne (just five miles from Stratford) and heard stories from my grandfather – told him by his father – of that rainy night in February 1872 when over 3,000 farm labourers, their wives, and children gathered around that tree (the lower branches hung with oil lanterns) to hear the barrel-chested Joseph Arch – stood on an old pig killing bench – make his historic speech. The following extract is taken from Leach’s play: