By Donald Hiscock

Snow White in the fitting room

It's not long until the first night, but the cast and crew of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs are determined to stay unruffled.

The Dalian Players, based in a church hall in Southampton have been putting on pantomimes for 50 years. In that time, Terry Gates, a veteran of the troupe, can only remember having to cancel two shows. The Suez Crisis put paid to one, a mystery bug brought down the curtain on another.

This year, all the usual technical problems are presenting themselves, but stage manager Neil Carter is bracing himself for the challenge.

"I need to organise a sink with running water," says Neil, "and I'm not sure how to do it yet." This sounds a little worrying considering his day job: a fitted kitchen surveyor.

There is also the question of how Neil and his crew are going to pull off the trick of Snow White walking through a mirror and coming out the other side as a witch. But this is a show that will try to pack in every special effect, including the kitchen sink.

Jim Davidson is just down the road

While Jim Davidson, Mr Blobby and that bloke out of Banzai are flexing their talents as professional entertainers down the road, at Southampton's Mayflower theatre, Neil Carter and co are busy helping to uphold that great British tradition: amateur dramatics.

Every year, the Dalian Players like to round off their annual programme with a panto. Last year's Pied Piper of Hamelin had a rave reception, especially from the local brownies and cubs.

But what bonds this band of part-time performers? It probably helps that many members of the Dalian Players are related to each other. The current production boasts three generations of two families. While some people would baulk at the thought of so much time in the company of family at Christmas, these folk can't seem to get enough of working alongside their nearest and dearest.

Andrew Franks, 38, has his mum and dad to thank for his love of the theatre. He is producing Snow White as well as playing, with his brother Nigel, one of the village idiots.

"They don't have to act very much," chips in mum, Gill, a witch and box office manager.

HISTORY OF PANTOMIME Originated in 18th Century, shifted to fairytales in the Victorian era After mid-19th Century, performances became limited to Christmas season Principal boy is traditionally played by a girl in tights, and the dame, a comic old woman, by a man wearing a wig

"We are a very close-knit group," says Andrew, "but I try to keep the rehearsals fun."

For Andrew, a good team spirit helps smooth the wheels when things do go wrong on the night. "It's amazing how some big problems can go unnoticed by the audience," he says. "One year Terry followed a prop down the opened trap door. He emerged with a few bruises but the show went on."

It is the element of surprise that keeps everyone on their toes. Eighteen-year-old Emma Mulvey, the Prince's sidekick Franz, has just returned from university in Exeter and has had to slot hastily into the rehearsal schedule. She had the script e-mailed to her, but now has some catching up to do. "I'm not sure what they've got in store for me on stage," she muses.

Most members of the cast have been rehearsing since October, including a group from the local dance school taught by Louise Hodson. In true Dalian spirit Louise has now been swept up in the rush of preparations for the first night. "I've become an odd job person." But she's not complaining.

But one person who gets the really odd jobs is properties manager Eileen Spratt, aka "general dogsbody" and "the go and buy person".

Seven spades for seven dwarves

For Eileen no challenge is too big. She prides herself on being able to procure anything, including, in the past, a severed head and a working hospital bed. "This year, however, finding seven identical spades and picks for the dwarves is proving quite a challenge."

Meanwhile, in the wardrobe room, challenges are measured in lengths of thread. Terry's wife, Jackie and her daughter, Janet Joyce, are responsible for 100 costumes. Everything is produced in-house, but as Jackie has been doing this job for 25 years she waves a nonchalant thimble at last-minute changes.

"We're at the stage of prettying up the costumes. We're more of a tarter-upper and a sew-er-on-er now," says Jackie.