The Christmas Songbird

by Emma Hardwick

  “Solly, Max. She velly angry lady sometime, wife’s mother. You call mother-on-court, yes?”

  “Mother-in-law,” Max corrected him.

  Lee nodded his head enthusiastically.

  “Yes! Mother-in-law. I say light now,” he added with a grin.

  “Lee, I have come to see how the fireworks are coming along,” Max said sternly.

  “Ah, velly good, come,” advised Lee indicating for Max to follow him. “Come look, Max. We all work hard.”

  Max went into the room filled with women and children sitting cross-legged on the floor. Barrels of gunpowder littered the space. In front of the workers were tiny bamboo mats that they used to roll the firecrackers. At the far side of the room, there was a gigantic pile of completed miniature explosives that were stacked up towards the roof.

  “Will they work?” asked Max.

  Lee nodded and grinned, very proud of himself and his team.

  “We check here first. We show you now?”

  “No! No!” spluttered Max, horrified by the thought.

  That lot will blow this place sky high if it goes off.

  “If Mr David or Mr Thomas come here, do not let them in. They will be very cross. We will keep this a secret.”

  “Aah,” said Lee, “So, we do tiny test in theatre?”

  “No, no test inside. We will use them on Christmas Day—outside!”

  “Clismas too long away,” argued Lee.

  “You know what you are doing Lee, that is why I hired you. There is no need for a test or a demonstration. No Mr David. No Mr Thomas or they call police when they see that pile of fireworks.”

  The word police needed no explanation.

  “No David—no Thomas—no practice—no police. I understand velly well.”

  “One more thing,” cautioned Max.

  Lee nodded, eager to please his boss.

  “Granny Chong is not to smoke or cook in workroom again. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Mr Max!”

  22

  Present shopping in the West End

  Max Liebowitz looked around his beloved theatre and smiled with joy. The whole building had been smothered in decorations, just as he had requested. There was nothing minimalistic in how it had been done. In fact, the base of the stage was barely visible for all the trees lining the edge of the orchestra pit. The set artists had designed nativity scenes and painted them in rich colours. The use of silver and gold leaf on the halos created a look that was more like a renaissance painting. The Songbird’s owner stood speechless, taking in the beauty of it all, as his aide came to check on how the preparations were going.

  “This is exactly how I imagined it, Thomas. It is perfect.”

  Thomas smiled at him. The compliment meant all the more after Max’s revelation about Maika.

  “Now, all we need is the gifts for the staff,” prompted Thomas.

  “Oh, my soul!” exclaimed Max. “I have forgotten about the gifts! You know how I am terrible at present shopping. How am I going to buy everything by myself?”

  “I really can’t help you, Max, I am, err, ‘snowed under’ with the final arrangements here,” Thomas said wryly. “Besides, I wouldn’t know what to purchase. You know the workers far better than I do.”

  Max knew that he was in trouble. Again. As ever, with a smile, he rose to the challenge. He paced anxiously through the kitchen, so distracted that he did not even think of greeting the staff. They watched him breeze past and wondered what their boss was up to this time. He charged down the stage doorsteps and rushed across the yard to find Sergeant Payne.

  “I am in deep trouble, Sid,” wailed Max. “You are the only person who can help me with this mission.”

  Sergeant Payne looked at Max with concern.

  “Anything, my friend, anything. What is the emergency?”

  “I need to go to the West End and buy gifts.”

  “Now wait a minute, Max,” said Sid in an authoritative tone. “This is not my area of expertise. I have a contingency plan for almost any situation, but shopping is not one of them.”

  “Never mind that, Sid. I need help. Think on your feet, man! This is an emergency.”

  Max began to tot up how many presents would be required for each staff member which made him all the more apprehensive. Sergeant Payne shook his head then twirled the tips his magnificent moustache.

  “I am sorry, Max, you need more specialised personnel for this task. Let me think.”

  Looking defeated, Max sank onto a hay bale that formed yet another nativity scene. For weeks now, he had remembered to do everything—except to buy the gifts. It was almost Christmas, and he was running out of time. He had one chance to put this right. Sergeant Payne had wandered off to what he felt was a safe distance from Max and busied himself with an in-depth discussion with Sundatara.

  “Have you solved how we get that elephant onto the stage yet, Sid?” Max called out.

  “Excuse me, Max! Sundatara is a lady, not ‘that elephant’. You need to be more sensitive, please.”

  Max blinked and looked at Sid wondering if he had entered into another one of his fugue states.

  “Look, Max,” said Payne, “there are a few things that you need to understand about Sundatara.”

  Max took it as a good sign that Sid was addressing him by the correct name, rather than a military rank this time. Payne tiptoed over to Max and spoke in a whisper.

  “Max, you must never use the word ‘elephant’ in front of Sundatara. She finds it offensive.”

  “She does?”

  Sid glowered, annoyed his advice was being discounted.

  “Oh, I wasn’t aware of that,” said Max looking at the beast, thinking she was very much an elephant.

  The jungle beast gripped a huge tree with her strong but dextrous trunk and meticulously stripped the greenery from the branches, then delicately placed them in her mouth. Then she broke up the trunk, which Max guessed was as thick as his own leg, and chomped at the pieces until everything was gone.

  “I have never seen a lady eat that much,” muttered Max.

  Sundatara tilted her head to one side and looked at him.

  “ ‘Elephant’ implies that she is big and fat,” insisted Payne, “and it lumps her in the same category as the hordes of her unsophisticated cousins that roam Africa.”

  Max sighed loudly as Sid continued with his explanation.

  “She is an individual. She has her personality and her problems.”

  The animal’s big eyes stared right into Max’s and she slowly fluttered her long eyelashes at him, as if she were a lady, just packaged in a different body.

  “Oh, crikey, Sid! Is she batting her eyelashes at me in a seductive manner?”

  Sundatara stared at Max. She extended her long trunk and pointed at his face, then sneezed violently. Max flinched in terror.

  “Did you see that, Max? Do you see what happens when you annoy the lady?”

  “How many more times! This is an elephant, not a debutante, Sid!” yelled Max, pressed for time and not in the mood to accommodate Payne’s eccentricities.

  Max wiped his face with his handkerchief, annoyed with his friend and furious with Sundatara. His mood was soon to lighten though, as Sid had a miraculous flash of inspiration.

  “I know who you can accompany you on your shopping trip! The girls from Sally’s! They will love to spend your money.”

  “Really? Do you think that they will help me? I am terrified of them. They are so—feisty!” said Max as he blushed with embarrassment.

  “Of course they will help. They may be a bit rough around the edges, but their hearts are in the right place. I’ve known them for years. Let me have a word.”

  *

  Max sent an already overworked Maria to see Sally’s girls with an order to turn them into ladies. He thought if he could tone them down a bit, at least visually if not verbally, the shopping trip might run more smoothly. With Maria’s help and a room full of costumes at her disposal, they arrived at
his office looking like European royalty. Even Monique was jealous when they tottered past her dressing room.

  Maria had insisted that the girls tame their hair and cover their arms. She was also adamant that they would show no cleavage, which was to be a first in many years for all of them. Maria could not afford to make one mistake in their attire or demeanour, because it would be bad enough if Max were to be seen with one ‘lady of the night’, let alone five. She appreciated that Max thrived on being the talk of the town, but it would be for the wrong reason if his ladies’ true identities became common knowledge.

  The London weather was grey and gloomy. At three o’clock the sun began to fade. The shops came alive, decorated with twinkling golden lights, and their windows filled with beautiful displays. There was a Christmas tree in each emporium, and the streets were full of merry shoppers. Max could smell chestnuts roasting, and he stopped to buy some for everyone. A bit further was a stand serving hot drinks, and Max treated his bevy of beauties to a cup of sweet warming cocoa too. He noticed when they were eating or drinking they tended to fall silent, making walking about in public less of a risk to his reputation.

  Max had given up trying to remember their names, so he simply called them by the colour of their dresses: red, green, blue, yellow and pink. The women found it rather charming, having been called much worse in their chequered pasts.

  “Blimey, if this is how the posh people live, I’m never goin’ back to St. Giles. Fellas seem to have a bit more cash here,” blurted out Blue.

  She looked a well-dressed city gent up and down, wondering how much extra he might pay for a quick fumble in an alley.

  “Cor, look at the price of that toffee there! Three-times what I earn on me back in a mumf,” shrieked Red.

  “Ooh!” cooed Green, “I’ll make sweets in Sally’s kitchen and flog ‘em from a barra! Me finks me days of tartin’ is over wif.”

  Max looked about, horrified, dreading their observations being overheard.

  “Now, now, girls! A little less of that language or we are going home immediately,” ordered Max. “This afternoon, you are ladies being escorted by a gentleman and will act accordingly. Yes?”

  “Aye, Mr Liebowitz. Sorry, Mr Liebowitz,” they chorused.

  He heard the sound of music and steered them toward a small marching band, proudly wearing the Salvation Army uniform. Stood in a semi-circle with their instruments, they were dressed smartly against the cold in their navy and red attire. Max bent over and put money in the poor box at their feet. He nodded at the conductor in appreciation of their efforts to raise funds for the needy.

  A group of children were running around a man dressed as St Nicholas beside St Martin-in-the-Field’s church. It had thrown its doors open and invited the public to view an ornate nativity scene. A glittering candelabra dangled above the display, each of its arms carved into an angel, and every angel holding a candle aloft. The organ played hymns and carols in the background as the visitors took in the spectacle, discussing it in respectful whispers.

  If Max were alone, he would have sat down for a while and relaxed amongst the peace of the pews. The five women stared in awe. He lit a remembrance candle for Maika and put money in the poor box once again. It filled his heart with joy to see the delight on the women’s faces. He was able to give these poor ladies a day of pleasure, very much different from the pleasure to which they were accustomed.

  “We ain’t never going to forget this day as long as we live, Mr Liebowitz,” said a grateful Yellow.

  With time marching on, and very little as yet shopping accomplished, they pressed on. A determined Max marched at the front, and the ladies trailed behind like fluffy cygnets following a graceful white swan. He was on the hunt for simple but thoughtful gifts that penniless people would appreciate. The ladies were much keener to soak up the experience and dragged him into all sorts of luxury shops, none of which purveyed presents that were suitable for his budget. The freezing cold December air made sheltering inside all the more inviting. He regretted choosing the West End and wanted to move them onto another district that was a little more understated—and cheaper.

  With snowflakes fluttering down from the inky black sky, Max spotted a cheery coffee shop and herded the women inside to warm up. His generosity was weakening his resolve to get the shopping done once more. He took the time to show them some whole coffee beans and explained where they came from and how they were brought to England. Instead of ordering a few biscuits, he chose petit-fours, macaroons, iced brioche buns and apricot Danish pastries. They had never experienced such delicacies or eaten in such a clean room. The ladies studied the delicate cups and saucers and giggled as they looked at their distorted reflections in the highly polished silver spoons.

  The escape from the West End was going quite well until the ladies spotted a little shop in a mews, Johnson’s Perfumery, they shot inside before Max could deter them. The pretty bottles stood on dark walnut shelves, French polished to shine like glass. An arrogant young man with greased back hair and small round spectacles stood behind the counter and watched the ladies with disdain. His nose was pulled up as if he had smelled something terrible.

  It was Yellow who decided that she would touch one of the beautiful bottles. She lifted it off the shelf by its delicate stopper. In a flash, the fragile glass lid wobbled loose and the decorative bottle crashed to the floor, shattering on white marble tiles. Yellow stood open-mouthed, staring at the puddle of perfume on the floor. Her feet crunched on the shards of glass as she stepped back from the disaster. With difficulty, she found her tongue.

  “I’m so sorry, Mister. I didn’t mean to do it!”

  The pretentious little fellow looked directly at Yellow with a scowl.

  “That will be seven pounds,” the shopkeeper sneered.

  Yellow looked at the man and then turned to Max in horror.

  “I ain’t got that kinda money, Max,” she said in a broad East End accent.

  “Well then, I will have to call a constable. You cannot leave the shop without paying,” warned the sales assistant, dismayed that one of the lower classes had wreaked such havoc in his luxury shop.

  “Not to worry! I will settle the bill, my good man,” said Max cheerfully, not batting an eyelid. “And we will buy one for you to take home, my dear. Accidents happen. No point crying over spilt milk and all that.”

  “You did not break the bottle, Sir. I demand payment from that—strumpet!” objected the man, jabbing his bony finger in Yellow’s direction.

  By his tone, it was clear to Max that the man looked down on East End women.

  “Young man, it does not matter where the money comes from as long as the goods are paid for, does it not?”

  “It was her carelessness that broke my precious stock. I will have her arrested, and she can battle it out in front of the magistrate.”

  Max could not understand what the man was trying to achieve. She had not broken it deliberately, and he had offered to pay for the damage. The salesclerk walked toward the door and Max watched him summon a bobby who was standing close by.

  It was then that events took a turn for the worse.

  Red, Blue, Green and Pink were infuriated by the shabby way that Yellow was treated and a small riot broke out in the shop.

  “Yer a mean little sod, Mister,” protested Pink.

  “I know a little tight arse when I see one, yer pansy!” admonished Blue.

  “You need a good fecking wallop you do,” warned Red. “They would have yer guts for garters with that attitude if yer were in St. Giles.”

  Max froze as he watched Green ball her fist then yell:

  “How about I punch yer in the gob!”

  Max caught Green’s hand just as she finished uttering her threat. The young constable stood in the doorway was unsure of how to get the scene back under control. Max could see that the youthful officer was inexperienced. The nervous bobby dashed outside and blew his whistle. Within seconds the shop was full of policemen.


  “Look what yer done now, mate,” yelled Yellow, “Yer got the bloody Peelers out didn’t yer? Ye little chop!”

  The police officers tried their best to calm the situation, but eventually, they were forced to arrest the five unruly women.

  “Are they with you?” another constable asked Max.

  “Indeed they are,” he groaned.

  The copper gave Max an embarrassed smile. He hadn’t expected such a debonair gentleman to be associated with the East End of London. Max could hear the women yelling at the top of their voices as they were put into the police wagon. They began to beat on the side panels of the vehicle in unison and the sound thumped and echoed throughout the mews. All the pedestrians in the lane and out onto Regent Street came to a dead halt and watched the van thunder by.

  “Where will you take them?” asked Max.

  “To Westminster police station, Sir.”

  “Are the courts still open to hear cases of affray today?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Max looked thoughtful. Perhaps the bailiff can arrange a session immediately? He sent a young lad with instructions to go to The Songbird, ask for David, and give him a note which read:

  ‘Meet me at Westminster Magistrate’s Court. ASAP. PS Bring lots of money, I may have need of it for a bribe.’

  David read the note and left immediately, bringing Thomas along for moral support. He had a horrible feeling his father had got himself into hot water again.

  The magistrate was in a hurry to get to his club and have a drink. He had been an alcoholic for years and struggled to make it past three o’clock without some of Scotland’s finest. To expedite proceedings, he swore the five women in at the same time. After everybody said their ‘I swears’ and ‘I dos’, the sorry lot of them each gave their versions of the story, each one a little more far-fetched than the previous tale. None of the bobbies could help, having not seen the bottle break or the initial events that lead to the escalation of the dispute. The magistrate wondered if he would ever get to the truth of the matter. Eventually, he called Max to the stand.