‘Of course you do, anyway you have no choice, you have to go and earn your free tickets, Phillip you will learn there is nothing free in this world, now, let us dress you in the right period.’
‘But Florence, why do I have to do it?’
‘Because the bloody kid that does the juggling has broken his arm buggering about, and none of the other kids can juggle, skipping is the next best thing so, come on trouper, get out there and save the day.’
Waiting in the wings is frightening, my stomach is churning, then a shout goes up and the others rush onto the stage shouting and laughing, I hesitate, a voice behind me says,
‘Go on son, knock em dead, break a leg.’ What a stupid thing to say but I start to skip and find I’m in the spot light, the other kids are clapping in time to my rope, the girl on the bale holds out her hand, I sit beside her, she eases me around until I’m looking into the audience, I can’t believe it, I’ve been on stage in front of all those people. The curtain closes, everyone quietly tip toes off the stage.
‘Bloody brilliant Phillip, you were great, you know you are going to have to do it again tonight, probably until we close on the fourth, I’ll have to see if I can get you a card.’
At the end of the panto I run back on stage with the other kids, and stand there while the audience claps, until the curtain closes for the last time. I like it; I can’t wait until I can do it again.
‘Phillip, where have you been, I was getting worried about you.’
‘I’ve been on stage that was me skipping.’
‘Well I never, are you sure it was you.’ I don’t know how to answer that but I know what Connie means, I’m not sure myself.
After doing the same thing every night, and sometimes twice when there was a matinee, in total fourteen times, I’m sick of it. My first reaction to the stage was excitement, I wanted to be an actor, but now I’ve changed my mind. To keep repeating the same thing every day is boring, I think I will stick to my ambition to be a journalist.
I have written to Rachel, I didn’t know what to say but I told her about the panto and me being in it. I told her about my bike; I then changed my mind it would not be fair to tell her how lucky I am, because she may not have had anything at all for Christmas. I printed my address very clearly, just in case she wanted to reply, and signed it, Love from Phillip Snell.
I’ve used the envelope that Constable Harper gave me, it looked more official, I wrote above the address To RACHEL from St Gabriel’s, Pen Dalton near Tonbridge Kent.
In the six weeks I have been back with June I have only been swimming maybe eight times. At first there was no one to take me; Pop managed a couple of times. I’ve been to the club every Thursday but Len doesn’t seem interested in me anymore. When we first met again he said, ‘We seek him here, we seek him there, how long you staying this time Scarlet?’ I didn’t know what he meant but Pop told me he was referring to the Scarlet Pimpernel. He has a new pupil now, a girl called Pamela, she is about fifteen and does backstroke, and she is very fast. I have tried but can’t seem to get back to where I was and have never even come close to my record time. Captain says just keep training and it will come back but, with no one to coach me except for Thursday nights, it is never going to happen.
We start back to school on Monday and I have persuaded June to let me ride my bike. I have spent the twelve and six I had left on front and back lights for my bike, but if I had known I was getting paid for my performance on stage I would have bought a dynamo which fits on the front wheel, they are really good, lighting front and back lights and you never have to change the batteries; I couldn’t believe it when Florence gave me a pay packet with three pound ten shillings in it, that is five shillings a performance.
Maybe being an actor is not so bad after all, I don’t know what I will buy. Reg says that I should open a savings account at the Post Office, and save a shilling out of my pocket money each week. He made me do a sum, to work out how much I would have by next Christmas, it took me a while, but I reckon I would have two pound ten shillings, added to what I have, that would be six pounds plus interest.
Florence and the company have packed and gone to Eastbourne, the house is quiet again. I asked Reg could I move back downstairs, but he seems to think that he has another booking, this time an orchestra; he said it depends on him winning the contract for accommodation from the White Rock Pavilion. I hope he does, it would be nice to have the house all happy again, even though my room is like an icebox.
Chapter Eighteen
January, February, and March have passed, we had snow in February; I fell off my bike on the ice on West Hill and cut my leg badly. The rest of the class has caught up with me and I find at times I am struggling, especially in maths. Michael and I are still friends, but our friendship is not like it was with Michael Samuels. We never argued, but Michael Stanton and I always seem to be falling out, he is so bossy and I won’t be bossed around.
One weekend I was to stay at his house but we never got past four o clock on Saturday, we had a big row about nothing and I came home. I think I may have been in the wrong, but my pride wouldn’t let me go back so I spent a rotten weekend with just me and Jet; how stupid is that?
It is Easter this weekend, we break up tomorrow until Monday, the fourteenth. I thought I would be on my own again as Michael was going to be near his Dad this time, in Somerset at Yeovil, but his Dad has been posted somewhere on an aircraft carrier. Michael is not very pleased but I am delighted, we have decided to go on some long bike rides.
‘Hello Phil there is something on the dresser for you.’ It has rained all the way home from school; in fact it has rained nearly all day. We weren’t able to go out for our break this afternoon, I am cold and soaked, and my trousers are sticking to my legs.
‘What is it, I’m not hungry, and I’m going to get my wet clothes off first.’
‘Please yourself, and don’t just drop them on the floor, hang them on the clothes horse to dry.’ After changing, and hanging the wet clothes as June asked, I’m looking for my sandwich.
‘Where is that sandwich, it’s not on the dresser?’
‘Who said anything about a sandwich, if you want one get it yourself, I’m talking about a letter.’
‘A letter where?’ Right in front of me, perched against a tea pot, in full view is a letter addressed to Master Phillip Snell. I turn it over in my hand almost frightened to open it in case it is not from Rachel. I don’t think I have ever had a letter addressed to me it seems a shame to spoil it.
I have seen Reg open them with a knife, which he keeps on the desk he calls his office, picking up the knife. June asks,
‘Well, who is it from?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet.’
‘Well you will never find out if you don’t, does it smell of perfume.’ I put it to my nose and sniff
‘No, it doesn’t smell at all.’
‘Then it is probably not from your girlfriend.’ Realizing that June is teasing me I feel like a fool as my ears start to burn. Inside is one sheet of paper from an exercise book written in very neat small hand writing.
Dr Barnardos Home
Lilleshall
Nr Newport
Shropshire
Dear Phil
Thank you for your letter, how clever of you, not knowing my name is Canning, to address it like that; it has taken a long time to get to me because I have moved to a new place, a great big country house called Lilleshall in Shropshire but as you can see, it did.
Very pleased you are happy in Hastings; fancy you being on the stage, I would have liked to see that. This place is better than St Gab’s, we get more food and are better dressed, we have lots of games, and I am learning to cook. I have a very nice house mother, I am very happy here. Mir has been fostered to a vicar and his wife in Dover, she has written once to say they are very nice and she is happy but misses me, Toby has been fostered but I don’t know where, somewhere in London I think.
Now we have found each other ca
n we keep in touch? I would like that.
Your friend,
Love Rachel x
‘Is it from Rachel?’
‘Yes, she is still at Barnardos would you like to read it?’
‘If you would like me to,’ June takes it and reads. ‘She is a very nice girl Phil, and a bit lonely I would say, so you must keep in touch.’
‘I will, now I know her full name I’m going to write every week.’
‘Where is Reg I would like him to see it.’
‘He is lying down, said he didn’t feel too grand so I told him to go and have a kip, will you help me I don’t want to disturb him?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Would you peel potatoes until Connie gets here? She has taken Alan to the Doctor, there always seems to be something wrong with that boy.’
Staying with us are twenty four members of the cast from the Opera Company that are performing The Pirates of Penzance. Once again we have free tickets and I am really looking forward to going on the Friday after Easter. I had intended to write to Rachel but the weather over Easter has been terrible, I haven’t been out, apart from taking Jet for walks, I have nothing to write about so I am waiting until after the Opera, then I will have something to say. I can’t go to Michael’s as his Gran and Grandad are visiting.
I am helping June; Reg still is not feeling the best but won’t go to the doctor. I’m reading The Talisman again and enjoying it much better this time because I don’t have to fit it into other things, like I did at St. S’s, I can read as long as I want.
On Thursday, if the rain stops, Michael and I are going to ride to Winchelsea, which is about 10 miles each way. We are going to take a sandwich with us and buy a drink, it should be fun.
Tuesday the sun is shining, spring has arrived. I’m walking with Jet; we have just passed through the gates that aren’t there, into Alexandra Park. When I first came here with Michael Samuels he told me they had been removed and smelted down to make steel just like railings and gates from all over England to make bombs and things for the war effort, I didn’t know whether to believe him or not but when I asked Pop he told me it was true and very sad as they were beautiful gates he then showed me a picture of them and said he hoped they would be replaced when things got back to normal, I hope so too.
A notice on one of the pillars says, dogs are not allowed, but I’m sure, if I keep Jet on the lead, nobody will complain, and if they do I’ll plead ignorant. I wonder if dogs without owners, and not on a lead, stop and read the sign.
The daffodils are in full bloom, the grass is wet, there is a smell of freshness, one or two trees have flowers, it is beautiful. I’m enjoying the walk and so is Jet, that is, until I hear a shout, ‘Oy, what do you think you’re doing, dogs aren’t allowed in here.’ Acting very innocent, I turn to see a man in uniform, he is not a policeman but his uniform is similar, but instead of a helmet he is wearing a peaked cap.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I was walking by and saw the lovely flowers and only came in to have a look, I’m sorry I’ll go back out.’
‘Going back out is the only truthful thing you have said, so be quick about it.’ Instead of cutting across the grass the way we came, we follow the tarmac path, by the time we get out we must have walked a good half mile amongst the flowers, I really enjoyed it.
With my sandwich in my pocket, I’m waiting for Michael at the junction of Old London Road and Fairlight road. We agreed to meet at half nine it is now twenty to ten and he is still not here, I am about to head off to his house, to see where he has got to when I see him charging down the road, ‘Sorry I’m late, mum wanted me to make sure I had money for the telephone, so I can ring her when we get there, and again, just before we leave.’
‘That’s a good idea; do you think she would ring June and tell her, so she won’t worry?’
‘I suppose so, I’ll ask her.’
Progress is slow, Michael has to walk up the steep hills, my bike is fitted with Sturmey Archer three speed gears, I am able to ride up the hills and keep leaving him behind. We have already had a big row but I understand how he must feel, so now I am walking with him.
Michael keeps going, on about his Dad, ‘My Dad does this, my Dad does that, my Dad says this, and my Dad says that.’ He is obviously proud of his Dad, I can’t talk about mine so I have to just listen to him going on, I don’t like to say shut up talk about something else in case I upset him. I can feel the anger in me bubbling as I fight to keep it in, I think this is why we argue so much because, when he does say something I can give an opinion on, I always seem to take the opposite view, just to be awkward.
The long drag up to the White Hart pub has taken ages. To regain our breath we are seated on a wooden bench, facing the road. Before us is the steep, down hill run into Guestling Green. A lady is watering the flowers in a window box, we both feel as though we shouldn’t be sitting here, I say, ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, have you come up from Guestling, or on your way down?’
‘On our way down, we have come from Hastings just having a ride to Winchelsea.’
‘So you have that to do, sooner you than me, you’d better drop in for a pint on the way back, to refresh yourselves.’
‘Yes we will; do you think we could have a drink of water now please?’
‘Seeing as we aren’t open yet, and I can’t serve a beer, I think I could just manage a glass of water. Come inside and have a glass of Adams Ale.’ We follow her inside, so this is what the inside of a pub looks like, sort of cosy and friendly. She fills two glasses from the tap, Michael asks,
‘Why did you call water, Adams ale?’
‘Well I dunno, I suppose when he was around there was nothing else to drink, beer hadn’t been invented; come on outside with those, children aren’t allowed in the bar, when you’ve finished your drink leave the glasses on the window sill.’
‘Thank you; see you this afternoon for that pint.’
‘Yeah right; mind that hill; don’t go breaking your necks.’
Wow, we are flat out down the hill, we must be doing a hundred miles an hour. There is a tractor in front, flying past it the driver blows his horn; I daren’t look behind to see what he is blowing at, with fear of falling off. With the excitement of our downhill run behind us we now have the flat road through Guestling Green and Icklesham before we climb the short hill into Winchelsea, where we will pass through one of the old ruined gates that were part of the town walls in medieval times.
The ten miles has taken us two and a half hours and is going to take more on the way back, because of the White Hart hill. Beside the post office we find a telephone box where Michael rings his mum. ‘Did you ask your mum to phone June?’
‘Sorry, forgot.’
‘Hell, you’re useless how could you forget?’
‘Well I just did; why don’t you ring her yourself?’
‘Yeah, perhaps I will when we leave here, so they will know when to expect us.’
‘I have to be home before tea at six, what about you?’
‘June never said, but it will take us three hours to get back so we will have to leave at three.’
‘That gives us three hours to explore, I’m hungry, and I’m going to eat my sandwich now.’
‘Okay, let’s buy a drink and find somewhere we can sit.’
I have tried telephoning but cannot get a reply, perhaps June is out, it is strange, Reg is always there, perhaps he is in the garden, or upstairs and can’t get to the phone, with his gammy leg it takes him ages to get anywhere , Michael has asked his mum to call Reg in half an hour.
The walk up White Hart hill is a lot harder than we expected, it has taken us nearly forty five minutes. We are both very thirsty, not thinking to save any drink from lunch. We prop our bikes against the pub sign that squeaks as it swings slowly in the breeze. ‘I am going to ask if we can have that pint’
‘Phil don’t be stupid, she said children aren’t allowed inside, how will you ask
for a drink’
‘I’ll think of something, are you coming?’
‘No I’ll look after the bikes’
‘Michael, you are gutless, who the hell is going to pinch them, there is no one here’
‘Well I don’t want to, anyway I’m not thirsty now and we had better hurry or we will be late home’
‘Well bugger off on your own then, I’m getting a drink’ Michael sulks but makes no attempt to leave.
Pushing open the front door that looks like it should be the entrance to a castle I can see two men sitting at a table talking both with a beer in front of them. They both look up as I open the door wider. ‘Excuse me mister, could you ask the lady to get me and my friend a drink of water, please, I am not allowed to come inside’
‘Do you not want a beer son?’
‘No thank you I don’t like beer’
‘What about lemonade then’ the other man asks
‘We haven’t any money mister; we spent it on our lunch’
‘Then water it will have to be, hang on while I get it for you, and shut the door you’re letting in a draft’
The man returns with two pint glasses of lemonade. ‘We can’t pay for those mister I told you we haven’t any money’
‘On the house son, the landlady said she promised you a pint this morning; just leave the glasses on the window ledge’
‘Thank you very much and tell the lady thank you, she is very kind’
‘She’s not that kind we have to pay for ours don’t we Bert’ he closes the door’
‘Michael has your thirst come back or do I have to drink both of these?’
Barefoot and Lost Page 27
