It was Friday, November 6, 2009, at 9:45 a.m. The rehearsal hall was a combination of business and comfort. There was a fair-sized table with lots of chairs around it. Off to the side, were a couch and a couple of comfortable chairs.

There were a bowl of fruit, a kettle, a jar of coffee, a box or two of tea, a basin of sugar, some cups. A tin of cookies. In the small refrigerator was milk, somebody's yogurt, odds and ends that need to be kept cool. Soon, some elements of lunches will be installed in the refrigerator, with the owners' name carefully noted in ink on the outside of the packages.

On the floor, more or less in the centre of the room, were lines laid out in tape, marking spaces and obstacles. There was another, smaller table with chairs around it in the midst of the lines.

Along one wall were desks, already beginning to collect paper piles, their chairs standing in readiness behind them. Here and there was equipment of various sorts that will deal with sound and mysteries. All told, the room struck the right balance between a work place and, almost, a home from home.

David Nairn sat at the larger table, reading through the script of Theatre Orangeville's upcoming play for the Yule season, A Christmas Story. His thoughts were so intense that he nodded his head as they occurred. Every moment or so, he wrote notes in pencil on a page, excited by the inspiration that birthed them.

Kate Brown, the stage manager, walked the taped lines with a clipboard on which were lists she checked frequently as she inspected the lines.

The door opened and the actors began to arrive. It is one of the laws of the theatre to arrive on time. Only real disaster can be offered as a reason for tardiness. They came in, chatting and laughing with each other. They greeted David and Kate with enthusiasm, chiding in jest, kidding.

There is a place for them to hang their coats. The adults gave the children a hand with the hangers. They assembled around the table, with some giggling. Susie Burnet cracked a joke with one of the children and there was a brief moment of hilarity.

Although she was standing behind them, they both knew Kate was looking at her watch. Kate is a stickler for time. Every minute counts. It is quite likely she knows how many minutes are left until the moment of the first line of opening night. This is one of her many important virtues as Stage Manager.

However, for this first true read through of the script, with all the actors, young and old, participating, there were a great many other people invited and expected.

The flesh and bones of the production: the people back stage, not just the light and sound techies, but the costume, set and props designers, the publicists, the box office crew — everyone who has anything to do with the finished product of the stage presentation of A Christmas Story attended this morning.

Because of the children taking part, their parents were also invited to sit in on the first reading in the morning half the day's work. So, all those people had come on time too, filtering into the hall, perhaps a little less boisterous, but still packing the atmosphere with their excitement about being involved.

They were all there to hear the whole story of the play revealed. Thus informed, they are able to talk about it — up to a point and without revealing the whole plot. The box office staff can outline the play to callers thinking about buying tickets; the parents can enthuse to everyone they know. The designers make final decisions about how all the characters should look. Each person gets a better grip on the play in order to do his/her job of preparing it or selling it easier.

It was clear from the outset, as David called the entire company to order, that he intended to treat all the actors on the same level, as he had said he would. After the preliminary introductions, each person taking it in turn to tell his/her name and connection with the production, David briefed them on the format the morning would take.

They began to read through the script, each of them reading his/her lines, laughing with the jokes, testing early reactions to the fears and anger within the emotional flow of the play. From the beginning of the reading, there was evidence of the work the young actors had already put into feeling and understanding their parts.

They had been given homework during the first two preliminary meetings with David at the start of the week: words they had to define; references they had to research.

The strangeness of the "time" in which they were going to live for the next several weeks had begun to weaken. The 1950s (the time of the play) were gaining a reality to the young actors that was new for them. It was the era of their grandparents' youth and, perhaps, they would be asking their grandparents about those years over the following weeks.

As they read, they drew encouragement from their adult counterparts, not so much by words but by the warmth of their responses as the dialogue was passed from character to character around the table.

At the end, the company gave them a warm applause and the feel of the play got its first real boost, responding to its first real audience of the season.

After lunch, all the visitors departed and the actors were alone with their director, David Nairn, Kate Brown, a couple of techies, an editor — just the group essential for the daily rehearsals.

This was the way it is going to be now: six days a week, eight hours a day until the last four days before the Opening Night, everyone working hard and enjoying the work more than anything else they can imagine.

The young actors began to understand how fully they mattered to the whole. They started to know why they could not ski, or snow board; why they had to care for their health- to dress warmly and eat well.

A new self-respect was beginning to dawn. There was no more distinction over age in anyone's mind: it is the work that matters.

As the bard said: "The play's the thing." That for sure, we all understand.