It must seem very quiet and peaceful in Rottingdean this week after all the noise and excitement of the pantomime.

Judging by the amount of hissing and booing - not to mention the cries of "Look behind you" and of course the old routine of "Oh yes he did", swiftly followed by "Oh no he didn't" - the entire village population had succumbed to the lure of the real old-fashioned entertainment, egged on by the characters themselves.

There had actually been a complaint from one of the principals that the audience had not been noisy enough so we had to be on our most exuberant form in order to avoid a similar dressing down.

When I was invited to join a group of friends and attend a matinee, I wondered what I had let myself in for when I heard the pantomime was called King Arthur.

Surely, he was purer than pure and whiter than white, along with his wife Guinevere and his perfect knight, Lancelot - hardly the stuff of which pantos are made. I need not have worried.

The story of Arthur was rewritten to cast the king in a somewhat different light and what emerged was something I have not seen for years - a genuine show for children with no TV stars, no pop stars, no smutty jokes and a simple script.

It was a real joy to watch. Mums, grannies, children by the dozen joined in the booing and hissing with evident enjoyment as the bumbling King Arthur was bossed about by the most outrageous Queen Guinevere.

Arthur was played as a sort of Bertie Wooster on speed and the Principal Boy, the handsome knight Lancelot, was equipped with legs up to her armpits and a pair of boots with heels that could have doubled as harpoons, so narrow and sharp were they.

The baddies of the show were an immaculately turned-out Morgana and her son Mordred, who were out to tip Arthur off the throne. Morgana was truly scary and her son tried hard to be a toughie but only managed to be a scaredy-cat.

The chorus made heroic efforts on a stage that seemed to have tossed up with a postage stamp for size and while the scenery was minimal, it was very effective.

Everyone looked as though they were really interested in what was going on around them and even the prompts had a certain amount of humour.

None of the songs went on for too long, cleverly disguising the fact that there were no real singers in the show and also keeping the pace going.

One of the stars of the show was a baby dragon who had a nice line in wagging behinds. When her very large mama reclaimed her at the end of the show, everyone was relieved she would not end up in the baby dragons' orphanage, so involved were we with the show.

We all sang Puff The Magic Dragon with gusto, as practically every child in the audience stormed the stage to join in the fun.

The costumes were outstanding - sometimes one of the weaknesses in an amateur show - and were worn with panache, especially Merlin, who was magnificently gowned and kept popping up with a nice line in homespun wisdom.

Amateur dramatic societies used to exist in almost every village before the days of TV and Gameboys and this was a dramatic society at its best.

No doubt they could still do with a few more members (most of the surviving companies can) but they should be very proud of what they produce.

It will be a sad day if these organisations go to the wall in the face of rising costs and declining audiences.

With the ability to mount shows of this calibre, I don't think Rottingdean will be putting up the shutters for a long time to come.