The Bridge 
The Bridge, Milford On Sea 
Darren Funnell 
29 May 2025
I never thought I would walk into an Anderson Shelter. It is an undeniable “wow” factor turning up at The Bridge in Milford on Sea to see And A Nightingale Sang and be immersed in the authenticity of life during the Second World War. To celebrate VE Day, the production team have had a blast as they handle everything from unexploded bombs (don’t worry, just props!) to front of house costumed in the period, collated British Legion artifacts carefully positioned, and wartime public information in the foyer and the loos. The whole vibe is spot-on — packed with a wartime atmosphere that makes you feel like you’ve stepped back in time and is a perfect set-up for the play. An air raid siren for your five-minute call – yes, please. It’s a fun, lively tribute that must have taken so much organisation, is heartfelt, and the team’s dedication to bringing history to life by celebrating in this way gives a tremendous lift to the experience.
So, as always in Northern (if not Geordie), the kitchen. The cramped, familiar space designed to great effect by Grahame Goodyer and Wendy Mason. Its clutter and constancy offer a small anchor in a period where the world was constantly shifting. The production team, across all disciplines have done a fantastic job, helping the audience feel how lives are rooted in that room— from tins of spam, the smell of Oxo (or fish), the toilet paper rescued for the air raid siren procedure, the simply splendid Hair and Make-up (Joe Hopker), evocative costumes, and dramatic lighting and sound, wrapped up with some excellent character-driven direction from Wendy Mason that gets to the absolute heart of what this play is for. It is about what it means to keep living – loving, worrying, joking, coping – when the world beyond your front door is falling apart.
At the centre is Helen Stott (Judit Tuenissen Barnard), the elder daughter and narrator. Judit drives the narrative brilliantly. Wry, intelligent, and observant, Judit plays Helen as having long accepted a quiet life: single, overlooked, yet the one who holds things together. When Norman (Michael Deacon), a young somewhat awkward soldier, enters her life, something shifts. Unfortunately, even the gentlest beginnings carry a weight. Michael plays Norman a bit like ‘Pike’ in Dad’s Army, so you can see how Helen falls for him. There are complications and emotional distances that can’t always be bridged. There is hope and hesitancy without ever over-explaining and it all works terribly well.
Alongside this runs the story of Joyce (Yvonne Murphy), Helen’s younger sister, and her soldier fiancé-of-sorts Eric (Barry Gray). Their scenes are steeped with indecision, flare-ups and some dishonesty. Yvonne plays Joyce as torn, warm and human — not quite sure if she wants to be a war bride or run in the opposite direction just to feel like a woman again. Barry earnestly plays Eric as someone whose absence is felt by the lack of telegram and yet can’t be the husband for Joyce left at home, as much as Joyce cannot always be the perfect wife.
All this ‘kitchen-sink’ uncertainty is mirrored and sometimes magnified by the rest of the household. Mam, ever devout and steeped in superstition, believes the Virgin Mary herself has smiled upon them. She clings fiercely to her Catholic rituals, using faith as her anchor in the chaos. Sue Whitlock delivers a knock-out performance — deeply moving and richly layered from the start.
As soon as Pete Davies walked on as Dad (George), I instantly thought of George Costigan — must’ve been the moustache. He was Northern. But it was the performance that really stuck with me. Wonderfully funny, brusque yet tender, and totally believable (even when saddled with a bit of communist light relief). And the piano playing… was he playing? It certainly looked convincing. He says…
And then there’s Grandad, or Andie, (Hugh Whitlock)—cantankerous, half-confused, in and out of the kitchen like a whippet, and frighteningly lucid when it comes to predicting disaster, whilst putting his cat above all things. Hugh plays Grandad with a wonderfully bumbling, slightly forgetful charm — but like many men of a certain age who know how to work the room, far more aware than he lets on.
So, Helen’s opening and retreat, Joyce’s hesitation, Norman’s internal conflict, Eric’s search for certainty all jumble around. The war is always there, offstage but omnipresent. These are global events distorting the most personal of choices. And all the actors – whether with a shot of brandy, sherry or a cup of tea – inhabit the world perfectly. What is clear is the quiet resilience at the heart of the play. Helen emerges as a figure of strength – not because she triumphs, but because she endures. How apt for VE Day.
And A Nightingale Sang continues from 30 May until 1 June where they end with a matinee. Get a ticket if you can. It captures the emotional weather of wartime Britain through the lives of a single family, reminding everyone that history almost always happens in the kitchen. Put the kettle on. A lovely, very lovely job by all.
