Mark Fisher meets two stars of TV taking time out to perform an unknown play in the smaller theatres

DOCTORS call it Don't Mention the War Syndrome: that uncontrollable way a conversation has of wandering into the areas least desired; the way the words tumble lemming-like from your mouth with no regard to etiquette and an almost pathological desire to offend.

Four of us have met to talk about the politics of Northern Ireland and the art of the two-woman show; worthy, reputable, and serious subjects, yet inexplicably we suddenly find ourselves wading into the waters of the murkiest theatrical anecdotes.

Director Simon Sharkey is sitting there in the deserted early-morning bar of Cumbernauld Theatre, shivering, sorry for himself, and white as a sheet after a night spent with a vicious tummy bug. Courageously, he chips into the chat from time to time, but is helpless when for no good reason the conversation bends round to a selection of favourite stomach-turning stories about sickly actors spewing up - and worse - on stage.

Not the stuff for a family newspaper and not the stuff for a fragile man. A short time later, Sharkey doesn't so much leave as evaporate back to his bed.

And then there were three.

I'm here to meet Barbara Rafferty and Alison Peebles, who have been making the daily journey to Cumbernauld Theatre to rehearse for Onions Make You Cry, the venue's first co-production with Paisley Arts Centre, which opens on Thursday.

The comedy was originally devised by Northern Ireland's Big Telly Theatre Co, and was seen in both Cumbernauld and Paisley when the Ulster company toured here in 1991. The company left the script behind in the office, where it was found by Sharkey when he joined the theatre in 1994. Impressed by what he read, he set about pursuing Rafferty and Peebles until they could find a mutually compatible time away from their many other theatre and television commitments to give the show a shot.

Eager for the chance to work with each other again, Rafferty and Peebles didn't need too much persuading. As it transpired, both even had to turn down last-minute offers from the National Theatre in order to do it. Rafferty - the face of Ella Cotter in Rab C. Nesbitt and Agnes Meldrum in Hamish Macbeth, a key mover in Raindog, and a familiar face to theatregoers across Scotland - and Peebles - a founder member of Communicado, Lady Macbeth in the Tron's Scottish play, Pheemie in Strathblair and a corpse in a recent Taggart - have formidable track records on stage and screen, so what makes them opt for an out-of-town mini-tour of an unknown Irish play?

``I always love doing theatre,'' says Peebles, arguing that her choice of work is governed by her interest in the project not the centrality of its location. ``Theatre is very creative, even if it is difficult from a financial point of view.''

Like Rafferty, she was attracted to a comedy that dealt with the complexities of Northern Ireland in an accessible, unpreaching, though still provocative way. In Onions Make You Cry, the province's religious and political divide is encapsulated by two bag-ladies: one, played by Peebles, from well-to-do Protestant stock; the other, played by Rafferty, from a poor southern Irish background (``Och, I didn't want to go to London anyway, with their fancy ways,'' chirps Rafferty slipping into character as she muses on turning down the National).

The last time the two acted together on stage was in Communicado's Blood Wedding in 1988. After that, Peebles directed Rafferty in The Creature from the Mermaid's Purse, another Communicado show, in 1990. So apart from some radio plays, it's been the best part of eight years since they shared the stage. ``We kept saying we should work together again,'' says Peebles, ``and this was a good opportunity.''

Off-stage friendship combined with an established professional relationship have proved a great advantage in getting the show on smoothly. ``We could just launch into it, and have a laugh,'' says Rafferty, knowing it's easier to take creative risks when you're comfortable with your collaborators. ``We know each other's foibles.''

Simon Sharkey is quick to agree. ``It is easier to direct,'' he says. ``They've got a shorthand and I think I've tapped into it. I'll say I want such-and-such, and it works - the only difficulty is when it works in three ways and you've got to decide which one's the best. But it's great to be spoiled for choice.''

Telling the life-stories of the two women through flashback and song (Rafferty running through her repertoire of a cappella Irish ballads), the play charts their progression from optimistic youth to homeless and classless street life. Brought low, they expose the shaky premises of a nation's prejudice, though the play is more interested in asking questions than giving answers.

``It's not didactic,'' says Peebles, conceding that the Protestant-rich, Catholic-poor equation reflects an uncomfortable political truth. ``It is very much about the characters. If you don't connect to them then you're not going to get into it at all. The issues are secondary. It's about the people's experience rather than issue, issue, issue.''

To better understand that experience, the three of them kicked off their rehearsals with a weekend in Belfast as a kind of theatrical field trip. ``Great crack,'' Rafferty and Peebles chorus, instinctively dropping into a dirty Belfast brogue before debating the finer points of Catholic and Protestant accents. ``What was great about the weekend,'' says Peebles, ``was that we got the feel of the people, which you can't get just listening to tapes.''

``And the music of the language,'' adds Rafferty.

``We picked up some great phrases,'' says Peebles, recalling their landlady who described an unpopular theatre director as a ``road going to no town'', and the taxi driver who told Rafferty: ``Scotland? I woke up in the Gorbals once. Aye, but you drink more than we do. You'se have got bigger mouths!''

Rafferty, whose mother's family was from Dublin, was last in Belfast 10 years ago and couldn't help but notice the effects of another decade of violence. ``It's so sad to see what the ravages of bigotry and political mismanagement can do to people,'' she says.

It's at about this point that the conversation flips off on its own wayward path, Rafferty and Peebles exchanging tales of theatrical disasters - the actor who fell off the stage and had to improvise a Shakespearean couplet to get on again; the film crew who left Robert Mitchum and Sarah Miles up to their necks in sand without telling them the camera had moved on; and the aforementioned vomiting - until we finally lose Sharkey to his sickbed. By the time I leave Rafferty and Peebles as they prepare for a day's director-less rehearsals, they are busy plotting a radical and wholly inappropriate new interpretation of Onions Make You Cry, especially to shock Sharkey on his return. It won't be the one you see.

n.Onions Make You Cry is at Cumbernauld Theatre, February 1-3 and 12-17; and Paisley Arts Centre, February 5-10.