The much photographed River Avon is a deceiving and dangerous river. It’s not very deep, no more than five feet (sorry 1.5 metres) at its deepest, but the currents are fast, and treacherous.

Watching the river the other morning, its colour a deep orange (after a night of torrential rain) from the top soil washed into it from the fields upstream, I was reminded of a little known tragic incident way back in the summer of 1947.

June 1947 was hot and sunny, and the river clear and much deeper and faster flowing than usual, with an icy temperature that lingered as a result of some of the worst winter weather Britain had experienced in over 100 years. It was a combination that would claim the life of a young 18 year old actor by the name of Albert Forster.

Albert was a promising talent, and his first job in 1946, after leaving drama school, and his native Edinburgh, was with the prestigious Birmingham Repertory Theatre. He was a handsome young man who looked a bit like Gordon Jackson, and by all accounts sounded like him too. His potential was soon spotted by none other than Sir Barry Jackson (who had run the Birmingham Rep, and was now running the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre) who asked the startled young actor to join his company in Stratford the following winter. Naturally Albert Forster accepted and made a very expensive long distance telephone call to his proud parents.

The young Scotsman was not the only young hopeful to join Jackson’s company in 1947.

Joss Ackland had received a similar invitation from Jackson, but was not so thrilled at the idea of working in Stratford (he’d have preferred to stay in London where there was plenty of theatre and radio work, and the chance of the odd film role), but his agent said it was a good move, and would do his image a power of good, so he went.

Ackland remembered that the Memorial Theatre was like an island amidst the winter flood water that freezing February of 1947, and that the only way to get to rehearsals was by rowing boat, and for a non-swimmer like Ackland that was pretty scary.

Albert Forster and Joss Ackland were in good company that season. Donald Sinden and Paul Scofield were both 25 years old, and enjoying their first flush of stardom in Romeo and Juliet, Richard II, Dr Faustus, and Measure for Measure. Albert knew he only had to look, and watch, and listen for some of the magic of Sinden and Scofield to rub off.

The season progressed and the little company of players grew ever closer to one another, with Albert Forster’s genuine talent soon becoming obvious to everyone. And all agreed, over the odd pint or four at the Dirty Duck, that they would do everything they could for each others careers in the future. It’s what actors, good and generous actors, do.

Eventually the floods subsided, and spring turned the Warwickshire countryside into a haven of green, with the Shakespeare Birthday Celebrations one of the most colourful since the end of the war. Throughout the late spring and early summer thousands of visitors came to Stratford to enjoy the river, and eat an ice-cream in the shade of the old trees along the river’s edge. Even Joss Ackland was beginning to enjoy himself.

June the 5th was a particularly hot day, and the morning rehearsals for that evening’s performance of Measure for Measure had gone well, but were exhausting. What better way to cool off than go for a swim? Albert Forster, unlike Joss Ackland, could swim, but not well, but nonetheless felt relaxed in the jovial company of his new friend, assistant stage manager Ernest West, who was a strong swimmer.

The two young men set off in a canoe (dodging the pleasure cruisers taking visitors to the weir and back) for the ‘safe’ bathing area of the river alongside the town’s camping ground slightly up river from the theatre, and a spot which is today a haven for caravan holiday makers, and hundreds of Canada Geese that have made Stratford their home. When the two young men reached the bathing area Ernest stripped and dived yelling into the achingly cold water, leaving Albert messing about in the canoe pretending to be a Red Indian.

Suddenly Albert’s war cries stopped and there was a splash. Ernest turned and saw his friend floundering in the water, the canoe upside down. The young assistant stage manager then struck out for the canoe, but Albert was gone. Ernest dived frantically again and again in a bid to find his new friend, but to no avail. He never saw him again.

The police found the young actor’s body several hours later over a mile downstream.

That evening’s performance of Measure for Measure went ahead as planned as something of a memorial to Albert Forster. Joss Ackland remembers it as a very subdued and tearful affair.

Early next morning Ackland arranged to have swimming lessons, and vowed never to return to Stratford.