Onewhero Society of Performing Arts
Onewhero Society of Performing Arts
“You get so wound up in your day-to-day working life. It’s important to have a creative outlet, it brings another dimension to people’s lives.”
For more than three-quarters of a century, the Onewhero Society of Performing Arts (OSPA) has done something quite extraordinary. It has gathered people from all walks of life, teachers, farmers, homemakers, students, and retirees, and invited them to step into a safe, creative space. It has weathered both social change and economic pressures. And through it all has remained what many in the district fondly call “home.”
Before it was OSPA, it was the Onewhero Drama Club, performing in the shared school and community hall just down the road. There was enthusiasm, but not permanence. Sets had to be packed away every night and costumes stored wherever space could be found. The dream of a dedicated theatre seemed ambitious, even unrealistic.
Sylvia Devlin, OSPA’s current president, tells the story with deep respect for those who came before her. “Whilst it had a lot of support, there wasn’t that sense of a place of our own, a sense of belonging.”
That changed thanks to the vision of one determined local. “We have to thank June McCoubrie whose vision it was to have a purpose-built theatre. A lot of the locals threw up their hands and said, ‘You’re dreaming, you must be mad.’ Well, June had this dream and she persisted.”
The donor board in the theatre entrance today tells the story in another way with the names of families, businesses and organisations who have all contributed to build something lasting. In a township without a central commercial strip, the theatre came about through collective belief.
That spirit still defines it.
Unlike many theatre leaders, Devlin does not act or direct. “I had no history with community theatre other than going along and enjoying shows,” she says. “I do have a background in incorporated society administration so I think that’s a skill that I have brought to the society in that I’m not distracted by acting or directing. My focus is on steering the ship.”
Vice President Marty Wilson has been involved in community theatre across the wider Waikato region and into Auckland for over twenty years, including a year in which he performed in eight shows. He knows the difference between a functional club and a thriving one.
When he moved to Onewhero eight and a half years ago, he discovered the theatre five minutes from his new home and wandered in for an Arts on Tour event. He never left.
“I’ve heard the term grassroots used quite a lot,” Marty says. “It’s what I feel OSPA is. It’s grassroots in the fact that it’s a group of people coming together, doing what they love, having fun, there’s no drama, there’s no egos. And that’s the aspect of community theatre that I feel is getting lost these days, but it survives, well, it thrives here.”
He describes immediate acceptance. “There’s no trial period, you just become part of the whānau… It’s also a safe place. So there’s no judgment, nothing around being different.”
For Marty, that safety is not abstract. Even when faced with challenging times over the past year, he never considered leaving OSPA. “The one thing I was not giving up was community theatre because I knew that was the one thing that would keep me going. And it does. Even now, I’m out the other side. I know that community theatre is a safe place and a place where we can all have fun and get creative together.”
Sylvia nods when he says it. “That’s a bit of a hallmark, isn’t it? It’s a happy place.”
Marty’s response is immediate. “It is a happy place. There’s a spirit here that you don’t get anywhere else. It’s a home.”
If OSPA feels like a home, it’s partly because of people like patron Leonard Irving. Recruited from the local high school at age 17 by June McCoubrie herself, Leonard has been involved for around 65 years.
“I’m the most ancient member of the club,” he jokes. “One of the original members. All the rest have died off. So there’s only me.” Over the years, he has acted, directed, built sets and served as president among other roles. “That was mainly by default, because at that time there were very few members, and there was no one else to do it!”
Leonard never played sports so theatre became his recreation. “I’ve just sort of found that I liked it. I’ve stayed here with it and I’ve been involved in nearly all aspects.” He recalls the days of hauling sets in and out of the shared hall. “You set up the stage and you put it all away every evening. So it’s much better here.”
When asked what makes arts spaces important, Leonard’s response is direct: “It’s part of what makes us different. The arts and performances are what makes us different.”
There’s humility in his quiet leadership. Marty remembers interviewing him during the 75-year celebration. When asked what he was proud of, Leonard replied simply: “I have no pride. I’m a humble person.” Marty recalls his response fondly. “When I grow up, I want to be just like him. Because what better leader, really?”
Passing things on matters deeply to Leonard. He’s relieved to see younger members taking on set construction and technical roles. “I’ve always known some time or another you’ve got to pass it on. And now there’s somebody to pass it on to.”
For Gladys Hedley, OSPA began with a nudge from Leonard, her brother, and evolved into four decades of costume-making. “I accidentally fell into doing the costumes because nobody else wanted to do it,” she says. “And asking parents to make kids’ clothes was a bit of a disaster… I’ve been doing costumes now for 40 years or so.”
Without formal training, she learned by doing. “I’ve always enjoyed making the clothes. I seem to be able to look at the picture and adapt.” She has managed the wardrobe, tracked costume hires, and balanced rehearsals with raising three children. And after so many years of service, what keeps her coming back? “Well, because I enjoy doing it and each show you learn something different. It’s just a learning process all the way.”
For Gladys, theatre provides something rewarding alongside a full family life. “I’m not a sports person as such, and it’s just given me an outlet to do something outside of the immediate family.” She believes creative spaces “unite the community and give people a different slant on life.”
Mike Carter, now 89, joined the Onewhero Drama Club in the early 1960s. As an actor, writer, director and musician, he has seen the club evolve across generations. Reflecting on the role of theatre in a small town, he offers a framework that feels almost philosophical.
“I’ve always thought that the four things that really matter are emotions, physical, mental and spiritual,” he says. “We’ve got the fire station for the physical, we’ve got the school for the mental, we’ve got a church for spiritual, and I think we’ve got the theatre for the emotional side.” It is a striking image, the local theatre as the emotional heart of the district.
He recalls directing Cinderella some years ago and arranging for a Shetland pony to deliver the lead to the ball. On opening night, in heavy rain, the pony bolted across the stage, breaking the carriage. Cinderella climbed out and carried on.
“That was so memorable,” he says. The magic wasn’t in perfection; it was in resilience and shared experience. Someone once described theatre to him as “the best team game there is.” And Carter agrees. “It involves so many varieties of people and occupations and it’s social, it’s communal.”
Michael Morrow has been involved in the theatre for more than 15 years. He grew up in the Wairarapa, where sport dominated. “You didn’t have acting opportunities where I came from,” he says. “It was all rugby, cricket… I have always had a liking for drama since I was about five years old.”
Nerves almost stopped him from auditioning years ago. A friend forced the issue: “‘They’re auditioning for Footrot Flats, the musical. Put your money where your mouth is.’” He hasn’t looked back.
“There’s something very raw about being out in that green room, knowing that you’ve got a theatre full of a hundred people and you’re going to walk out through those curtains and drape over a personality,” he says. “Unless you’ve walked out through those curtains on your own, you probably don’t realise how important that family is behind you.”
Under Devlin’s stewardship, the theatre’s physical space has been carefully maintained and quietly upgraded. There’s a new roof, heat pumps, stained exterior, and solar panels, all funded through grants and donations. After Cyclone Gabrielle and the Auckland Anniversary floods, OSPA was listed as a community hub in the national civil defence database. A rural resilience fund helped install the panels, meaning the theatre can now feed power back into the grid and provide backup capability in emergencies.
What began as a “nice to have” became part of a wider resilience strategy.
Next on the horizon is replacing the theatre’s ageing stage lights with a modern LED system. It’s an expensive upgrade, but essential for sustainability. “Switching to LEDs obviously will help with our power conservation too,” Sylvia says. “It’s all to do with energy efficiency and keeping the place running efficiently.”
But for Sylvia, bricks, beams and batteries are only part of the story.
“Our objective here, having been operating for over 75 years, is to keep going because clearly there’s a need here in the district not just for entertainment but it’s the social connection,” she says. “I think, for people in a rural district, where they’re either out on their farm all day… they have very limited social connection outside of their families… in terms of social gatherings, we definitely fill a role there. And I think that’s critical.”
The society works closely with Onewhero Area School and Tuakau College, drawing in young technicians, writers and performers. A Year 13 student currently serves as lighting technician. Teens are being mentored to direct and perform. The hope is to create a funnel of talent and even if some leave for university, they carry skills and confidence with them.
“Sustainability,” Sylvia says, “so it doesn’t sit on the shoulders of one person all the time. The more people you involve, then the greater the awareness of the place and the more they tell other people. It’s a snowball effect.”
Asked why creative spaces are important, Devlin returns to balance.
“You get so wound up in your day-to-day working life. It’s important to have a creative outlet, it brings another dimension to people’s lives.”
In Onewhero, that dimension has been unfolding for over 75 years. It lives in the excited conversation before a show, in the smell of sawdust and stage paint, in the last-minute costume alterations, in the hush of expectation before the curtains part.
And it lives, perhaps most importantly, in the simple act of gathering.