Writer: Natasha Cottriall
Director: Hannah Tyrrell-Pinder
Set in 2010, Natasha Cottriall’s well-observed and immensely likeable single-hander, (God Save My) Northern Soul, covers familiar territory: shock, loss, and the struggle to cope in the immediate aftermath of the unexpected death of a parent. “I lost my Mum before I lost my virginity, I’d call that unfair,” protagonist Nicole (Cottriall also performs) tells us, one example of the kind, gentle, wistful wit that imbues the 55-minute piece. In a later confession, the character reveals she wants to watch Dumbo so she can cry.
Nicole, wrestling with an empty house and a broken heart, does come close to having her first sexual experience with a dozy lad called Sean, who is “a six, or a seven if you’re drunk”. Sean has a liking for sambuca shots and cheesy garlic bread and tells us he was “once put in a headlock by a ghost”. One feels 19-year-old Nicole, who “likes maths and Murder She Wrote”, has a lucky escape here.
Cottriall, whose writing was recently shortlisted for the prestigious Alfred Fagon Award, does not have much that is obviously new to say about the first stages of the grieving process in (God Save My) Northern Soul, which covers the few days between Nicole’s Mum’s death and her funeral. But the characters are well drawn, the down-at-heels Wigan working class milieu convinces, and the pain and fortitude of a young woman thrust headfirst into a world of unwanted and unanticipated responsibilities emerges with heart-warming clarity.
The piece is set to an occasionally over-intrusive soundtrack of Northern Soul from sound designer Chris James. Both mother and daughter were fans of the genre, “it’s like Buddhism, but better,” we hear, and the music is Nicole’s way of finding a continuing bond with her absent Mum. Alex Marker’s set, banks of speakers set one upon another atop a checkerboard dance floor, evokes a musical feel, too.
On Nicole’s side, as she grapples with household bills, a failing business, and the minutiae of funeral arrangements is a conservative grandmother, who looks like the Queen and may or may not have known about Mum’s illness (“she lies quite a lot for a Catholic”). We also meet raunchy best friend Sally, a fastidious solicitor (“nobody should wear that much brown”) and an immensely camp Catholic priest who demands Nicole pick something suitable from an “Argos catalogue of coffins”. One feels there is much more to come in future from this writer.
Runs until 20 September 2025
