Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  10. The 39 Steps and blackmail

  ON MONDAY MORNING HENRY’S FORM WERE TAKEN TO A chocolate factory and in the afternoon they visited a greyhound stadium. On Tuesday it was the fish market and a visit to a church where a wedding ceremony was acted out with the vicar and an organist present.

  On Wednesday and Thursday it was a riding stable, an aircraft factory and a dressmaker’s shop.

  In the evenings, Henry and Jeffries rehearsed their talk, trying to make it as short and as simple as possible. Pip spent every spare moment at the piano while Mrs Jeffries sat at her machine and sewed an old black suit she had cut up into a smaller version of itself for Pip. Her head bowed in concentration, a dozen pins wedged between her lips, she guided the material under the juddering needle and listened to Pip playing. On Thursday evening, Henry raced round to Mrs Beaumont’s house for their final rehearsal.

  He was immediately bustled down to the kitchen where Grace was standing in front of the range, beaming.

  ‘Grace and I have an announcement to make,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘We kept a little secret from you boys when we were in London. While you were watching films, I accompanied her to an audition at a highly regarded stage school. Afterwards they told me that Grace has a natural and original voice.’

  ‘Oh, Grace,’ Mrs Jeffries breathed, looking up from sewing a button on Pip’s jacket.

  ‘I received a letter from the school this morning. Grace has not only been offered a place at the school but they have also awarded her a scholarship.’

  Pip leapt up and down and did one of his strange twirling dances round the kitchen and Grace began laughing.

  ‘This is magnificent!’ yelled Jeffries.

  Henry grinned.

  ‘When do you start?’ asked Mrs Jeffries.

  ‘September,’ she said.

  ‘Grace will stay with me in London,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘if her parents will allow it. We haven’t told them yet. But they’re coming to England in the spring so it’s fingers crossed. There’ll be more room in the London house in the autumn. Violet and her friend are moving to Cornwall in July. And Daniel has found a home for his film reels and will be moving to Oxford with an old Army pal.’

  ‘And I’ll be singing and dancing and having acting lessons,’ said Grace happily.

  ‘Everyone seems to be going to London,’ said Jeffries quietly. ‘I wish we could go.’

  Mrs Jeffries looked quickly down at Pip’s jacket. As long as Private Jeffries didn’t return, Jeffries would be stuck in Sternsea.

  She bit off the thread and shook out the jacket.

  ‘Pip, you’d best try this on,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ asked Jeffries.

  Henry nodded.

  ‘Pip?’

  ‘Excited,’ he said.

  They were standing on the steps of the Plaza with their form, waiting for the other fourth form to join them. A crisp blustery wind was blowing and those without coats were shivering. In the distance they could see the teachers leading a line of pupils. It was to be a big event. All in all there were to be over eighty pupils with teachers attending the film.

  ‘There’s the headmaster,’ muttered Henry, spotting Mr Barratt.

  As soon as everyone was assembled they moved up the steps, with Mr Finch leading.

  ‘Look!’ yelled Pip.

  In the foyer Twenties’ music was coming from a gramophone with a large horn.

  ‘This way, please, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ said the usherettes dressed in 1920s’ cinema uniform, and they escorted them along the tiled flooring.

  ‘Mum washed this floor this morning,’ announced Pip.

  In the auditorium they were shown to their seats. Mr Finch’s form sat on the left side of the central aisle and the other fourth formers were shown to the right.

  ‘Not the cheap ones,’ said Jeffries, impressed.

  The head was now striding up and down, glaring at anyone who was even thinking of being rowdy.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve made the talk short,’ whispered Henry, glancing at the other form. They were already looking restless. Henry didn’t think they would have the patience to sit through anything that was too long.

  ‘Good luck, lads,’ whispered Mr Finch.

  Henry and Jeffries made for the centre of the stage where a large microphone had been placed. As they stared out at the darkened auditorium Henry suddenly realised that he couldn’t breathe.

  ‘This cinema opened in 1928,’ began Jeffries. ‘The man who designed it wanted the audience to feel as though they were going outside when they entered the auditorium. Through the column of pillars on your right you would have seen a huge painting filling the entire wall. It was of the Grand Canal in Venice. On the left wall there was an Italian garden.

  ‘The tiled floors as you enter the foyer were carpeted, and outside there was a special ornate building for the audience to queue in. When the audience entered the Plaza they were walking into a world of luxury. Lots of the cinemas built around that time and in the Thirties made people feel they were entering a palace, and that’s how they came to be called Picture Palaces.’

  Henry’s mouth was now dry as dust.

  ‘Here in the Plaza, the audiences could also listen to the Plaza’s very own orchestra between the films,’ concluded Jeffries.

  He stepped to one side for Henry to take over. Henry took a deep breath.

  ‘In 1929 a fire broke out in the projectionist’s room just as the Plaza was about to show the first talking film ever to be seen in this town. The fire brigade and the staff at the theatre not only stopped the fire from spreading but also found the equipment they needed to go ahead with the opening of Singing Fool.

  ‘Since then, people have continued to queue at the Plaza and the ones that are queuing for balcony seats even have their own place to wait, away from the wind and rain inside a beautifully decorated area.’ So far so good, thought Henry. ‘The first film we will be presenting to you this morning was made in 1921, so it’s a little earlier than 1925, but it will give you an idea of what silent films were like then. It’s a Sherlock Holmes’ adventure and it’s called The Solitary Cyclist.’

  As they walked off the stage, a piano was pushed on and an elderly gentleman who had been invited by the Plaza to play the piano, as he had done for the cinema in the Twenties, sat down in front of it. Above him the screen was filled with silent flickering black-and-white images and the auditorium was filled with tinkling music. While the film was being shown, Pip slipped away to get changed. Henry and Jeffries sat with their fingers crossed.

  At the end of the film, the pianist disappeared but the piano remained. Henry heard Jeffries murmur, ‘This is it!’

  They walked briskly back on to the stage.

  ‘We are now going to give you a musical history of films from 1925 to 1935,’ announced Jeffries formally, ‘after which The 39 Steps, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and made in 1935, will be shown.’

  At this the pupils began talking excitedly.

  ‘To perform this musical interlude,’ added Henry, with as much authority as he could muster, ‘we present the third member of our team, Pip Morgan.’

  As he and Jeffries returned to their seats, Henry could hear a rumble of disbelief from the auditorium. In the darkness he could make out the angry figure of the head-master striding down the left aisle towards Mr Finch.

  ‘This must be stopped immediately!’ Henry heard Mr Barratt whisper furiously. ‘And then later you will come to my study.’

  ‘Too late,’ muttered Henry.

  A tiny figure appeared on the stage dressed like a concert pianist in black tails, patent shoes, black trousers and a bow tie, his hair greased back. There was an undercurrent of jeers.

  ‘I won’t be a party to this!’ Henry heard the head-master mutter angrily, and out of the corner of his eye he saw him march back towards the foyer. He and Jeffries exchanged a worried glance.

  Pip walked into the pool of light encircling the piano. He
flicked back his tails and sat on the stool.

  By now the other fourth formers were throwing paper darts and toffee papers at him and had started booing. One skidded along the top of the piano, another stayed lodged in his hair. Pip appeared to be unaware of it. His fingers touched the keys and he was off. It took less than a minute for there to be silence. Henry smiled. It was a silence that was magical. Surrounded by paper debris, Pip sat looking totally at ease. He was nothing like the grammar school boys who played in the interval at the Cinema Club. They played with refinement and precision. Pip, however, played as if the keys were his home, his tiny fingers moving effortlessly across them.

  Henry felt Jeffries nudge him. He was pointing to the other side of the auditorium. Near the right Exit sign, standing behind one of the pillars, was the headmaster and the corpulent manager of the Plaza. The two men were staring at Pip, riveted. It was all Henry could do not to laugh. Recognising the closing chords, Henry and Jeffries quickly headed down the aisle. Pip bowed to his audience and walked off to a stunned silence, while the piano was pushed into the wings and out of sight.

  ‘And now without further ado,’ announced Jeffries into the microphone.

  ‘The 39 Steps,’ added Henry.

  ‘I was keeping my fingers crossed that Mr Barratt wouldn’t stop everything when that foreign woman in the film invited herself to the Canadian’s flat,’ whispered Henry as they stepped into the aisle.

  ‘What, in case he thought she was a woman of the night or a woman of ill repute?’ added Jeffries dramatically. ‘And it was a bit too saucy?’

  ‘Yeah. I knew that as long as he heard her say she was involved in counter-espionage and we got to that bit where she staggers in with a knife in her back, we’d be safe.’

  ‘Do you think he was so shocked by Pip that he missed that bit?’

  Henry shrugged.

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Who cares?’ added Jeffries, smiling. ‘We got away with it.’

  ‘But did Pip? Where is he?’ said Henry, suddenly noticing he had disappeared.

  ‘You don’t think he’s been whisked off to see Mr Barratt, do you?’

  They found Pip in the foyer, surrounded by girls.

  ‘Why have you kept it such a secret?’ they heard one of them say.

  Henry looked around for the headmaster. He spotted him at the foot of the wide central stairway with Mr Finch and the manager. Before Henry could slip past the other pupils to listen in on their conversation, Mrs Morgan and Mr Hart appeared. Pip immediately broke away from his circle of admirers.

  ‘Mum!’ he yelled.

  ‘You were wonderful,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘And Mr Hart gave you a lovely spotlight.’

  ‘Well done, son,’ said Mr Hart, placing a hand on Pip’s bony shoulder. ‘You showed ‘em.’

  ‘Preparing a steam engine in the Twenties and Thirties is not much different from now,’ Jack Riddell began, facing the crowd of fourth formers, as bemused passengers walked past him on the platform.

  Henry could see that he was in his element. He stood with the camera prepared. Mr Finch had given him permission to return home for it, as he wanted Henry to take some pictures.

  ‘Before setting off, the driver and fireman have to prepare the engine and that can take as long as an hour,’ Jack continued. ‘The driver has to oil every part . . . ’

  An electric train drew in behind him. A crowd of naval ratings hauled their kitbags through the door and peered at them from the corridor over Jack’s shoulder, waving to everyone. Henry took a photograph. ‘You will notice, as you look around Hatton Station, all the different sheds,’ Jack went on, unaware of the audience behind him, ‘the coal shed, the water pipe . . . ’

  The train drew out of the station.

  It was when Jack and his friends had finished their talk that Henry suspected Mr Finch had something up his sleeve.

  ‘Before we go back to school I have a special announcement to make,’ Mr Finch said, facing them. ‘Jack Riddell, will you please come forward.’

  Jack took a step, a look of uncertainty on his face.

  ‘On Tuesday, Riddell took a medical which he passed with flying colours and on Wednesday he had an interview with the depot master here at Hatton Station. At dinnertime his father telephoned me at the school because he knew we would be here today.’ He turned to face Jack. ‘He wanted me to tell you the news this afternoon.’

  Henry noticed one of the railwaymen stop to listen.

  ‘Riddell, from July you will be in a gang of four boys and you will be the boy cleaner. Your job will be to go under the steam engine and clean all the rods and pistons. When you arrive you’ll be given two pairs of overalls and . . . ’ He stopped and glanced at the railwayman. ‘May I borrow your cap, sir?’

  The man grinned, swept it from his head and strolled towards Jack, who was smiling so broadly it looked as if he was about to cry.

  ‘You’ll be given one of these,’ said the railwayman. ‘There’ll be no badge on the front. A badge is something you have to earn. Only when you become a fireman will you be given one to wear on your cap. If you work hard, one day you’ll be a steam engine driver.’

  ‘Put it on, lad,’ said Mr Finch.

  Henry looked at Jack through the viewfinder. Jack lifted the cap to his head. As his hand slowly came down he appeared to grow an extra inch and, as though it was planned, a steam engine goods train passed behind him and Henry snapped. Lowering the camera and listening to the cheering, he suddenly realised that it was all over, that a life on the railways was no longer mapped out for him. Jack had taken his place. There was no turning back.

  ‘You could have heard a pin drop,’ said Jeffries, ‘apart from Pip playing, I mean.’

  ‘But you say no one clapped?’ said Mrs Jeffries.

  ‘I think they were too surprised,’ said Henry.

  They were in Mrs Beaumont’s kitchen. Mrs Jeffries had Molly in her arms so that Henry’s mother could type undisturbed. Mrs Morgan sat at the table, her arm around Pip’s shoulders. Just then the telephone rang. Mrs Beaumont left the kitchen to answer it and reappeared soon afterwards.

  ‘Rosie, it’s for you. It’s the manager at the Plaza.’

  Mrs Morgan looked as if she was about to be sick. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Mrs Beaumont said, ‘No eavesdropping, you boys.’

  When she returned she looked flushed.

  ‘Rosie, you haven’t lost your job, have you?’ asked Mrs Jeffries.

  She shook her head and gazed at Pip. Mrs Beaumont drew out a chair for her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s about you, Pip. The manager wants you to play the piano tomorrow night during the interval between the two films – in your tails and everything. He’s heard how I’m going to marry Mr Hart and how he’s going to adopt you, so he’s suggesting you should be introduced as Hart to get used to it. He wanted to call you Edward as well but since all your friends know you as Pip, I said, “I’d rather have him called that, if you don’t mind.” And he said, “I don’t like shortening names. I’ll introduce him as Philip Hart.”’

  Pandemonium followed. There were whoops and cheers and patting of Pip’s back but Pip stayed seated not speaking a word. Eventually everyone quietened down and stared at him.

  ‘So what about it, love?’ said his mother. ‘What do you think?’

  He smiled.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said simply.

  As soon as they opened the front door Henry heard the wireless from Gran’s room. Henry and his mother glanced at one another.

  ‘I’ll get supper,’ she said, ushering Molly into the kitchen.

  Within seconds his name was being called.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Gran asked crossly when he walked into her room.

  ‘At Mrs Beaumont’s.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘We finished our presentations today. And we had a bit of a celebration’.

  ‘Celebration?’ she interrupted
. ‘What were you celebrating?’

  Henry hesitated.

  ‘Pip played the piano on the stage at the Plaza.’

  ‘Did the manager know?’

  ‘He was there. And he wants him to play there again.’

  ‘What! Does he know what he is?’

  ‘A very good piano player.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Mr Hart is adopting him.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Hart? And why should he want to adopt the likes of him?’

  ‘He’s the projectionist.’

  ‘Does he know what his mother is?’

  ‘Yes. The woman he’s going to marry next month.’ Gran gasped. Henry looked away quickly. ‘I’ll put some more coal on the fire for you.’

  He knelt on the hearth and picked up the tongs. He had been aware, at odd moments of the day, that Sunday was drawing closer and he was dreading having to tell his father that he wouldn’t be taking the job in April. And then he hit on an idea. If he could give Gran little bits of information, chances were she would relay them back to his dad.

  ‘Still, you won’t be seeing much of those boys now, will you?’ said his gran. ‘Once you’re working with your dad up in London.’

  ‘But I won’t be working with him, will I?’ he said carefully. ‘He’s got a job for me in a film unit.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said quickly, ‘he told me all about that. I forgot.’

  Liar, thought Henry.

  ‘I’m glad you brought that up, Gran.’

  ‘About the film business?’

  ‘No. About me working up in London. You see, I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Dad says he wants to find us a bigger place to live in. It’d be much better if you went to London next month instead of me and helped him. That’s a woman’s job, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s me legs,’ she reminded him. ‘You’ve forgotten me legs.’

  ‘But he could take you to have a look at the places to give them the once over.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be with your dad?’

  ‘Course I do,’ Henry lied, ‘but I want to be around for when the baby’s born.’