The Songbird

by Val Wood

  Poppy told Tommy what Albert had said about his mother and their father and although Tommy scoffed, she saw that he was taken aback. ‘If that should happen, Poppy,’ he said, ‘I’m off. I’ll not stay where they are.’

  ‘But what about me?’ she protested. ‘You can’t leave me with those two!’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ Tommy said. ‘You were always Pa’s little darling, his sweet little girl!’

  She wondered then if Tommy had been jealous of her. It was true that her father had spoiled her when she was little, but he didn’t now, except for her dancing and singing lessons, and surely that wasn’t spoiling? Shall I tell Tommy about Albert forever pawing at me, she pondered? But she didn’t. She didn’t know if he would believe her, but she was embarrassed and also felt a kind of shame.

  ‘Miss Eloise! May I ask you something?’ she said at her next singing lesson, and at her tutor’s nod she hesitatingly asked, ‘Would I make a singer? At concerts, I mean?’

  ‘Professionally?’ Miss Eloise arched her eyebrows. She had a very mobile face, her large eyes able to express emotion or passion, and her mouth formed to voice perfect diction and clear articulation.

  ‘Yes! I just thought that – well, that I’d like to sing for a living. Or dance,’ she added. ‘My father wouldn’t want me to go into music hall, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind if I sang on ’concert stage.’

  ‘On the concert stage, Poppy! Do not be sloppy in your speech. I realize that the Hull dialect leaves out the definite article and in general use it can be – interesting; but someone like you must know when to say the and when not to, depending on the company you are in!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Eloise,’ Poppy said. She had had this homily from her tutor several times and usually she did remember. ‘So could I, do you think?’

  ‘No, I think not,’ Miss Eloise stated. ‘You would have the stamina, I do not doubt, but I’m afraid you are too young and do not have the voice for the concert platform. I am not saying that you never will, but it would take years of practice to become proficient and to be perfectly candid with you, Poppy, I cannot think that your father would agree to it.’

  She could not tell of the hatching and planning that she and Miss Davina had contrived for Poppy, but she consoled her by saying: ‘Do not be downhearted. You would be perfect for the music hall or theatre stage as a ballad and descriptive vocalist. I understand you are also a very fine dancer, which would be to your advantage. All we have to do is convince your father.’

  Poppy was very heartened by the compliment. Miss Davina and Miss Eloise must have been discussing me, she thought. She felt thrilled and excited and decided that she would talk to her father again on the subject of performing.

  ‘Pa!’ she said that night after they had locked up and there were only the two of them at home. Tommy had gone out to meet Charlie for a game of billiards.

  ‘Why is that when you say Pa like that, I think you’re going to wheedle something out of me?’ Her father smiled indulgently. ‘You’re not a little bairn able to twist me round your finger any more!’

  ‘I know that.’ Poppy put the kettle over the fire to make a pot of cocoa, her father’s bedtime drink. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘A new skirt? A pair of dancing pumps?’

  ‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I want you to take me to the Theatre Royal. It’s ages since we went out to ’theatre or music hall,’ she coaxed. ‘And I saw a poster when I was coming back from my singing lesson, and I thought how nice it would be if we could go. Just you and me,’ she added, as she stirred his drink and added milk. ‘Lena and Tommy could run things if we went on a quiet night.’ She avoided mentioning Albert’s name whenever possible.

  He sighed. ‘I’ve not wanted to go since your ma died,’ he said. ‘It’s not seemed right somehow to be enjoying myself when she’s not beside me.’

  Poppy sat opposite him and cradled her cup between her hands. ‘I’ve felt the same,’ she said softly. ‘But I think that now we can. I don’t think she’d mind.’

  He glanced across at her. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind. It’s me that does. I keep thinking of ’times when I was too busy to go with her. And now it’s too late.’

  ‘So, would you go with me, Pa? Ma would like it if you did.’

  He gazed meditatively into the fire and didn’t answer for a moment. Then he took a breath. ‘She would, wouldn’t she? Aye, all right. Theatre Royal? It would make a change from ’Mechanics. What’s on there?’

  There were theatres, concert halls and public rooms for entertainment and music all over the town, catering for every taste. The Assembly and Public Rooms put on lectures and vocal concerts, and there were lantern lectures at the Royal Institution. The Mechanics Music Hall was probably the Mazzinis favourite, with the Alhambra in Porter Street and the Theatre Royal in Paragon Street running a close second. A new theatre for performances of opera and drama, the Grand Theatre and Opera House, was due to open in George Street fairly soon, such was the appetite of Hull residents for all things musical, entertaining or edifying.

  ‘Next week there’s Will Vane, the Banjo King,’ Poppy said, knowing that he would enjoy that. ‘There’s a comedian, a baritone singer – you’d like him – and a ballad and descriptive vocalist,’ she added last of all. ‘Miss Agnes Cotton.’

  ‘Mm,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing Will Vane again, he’s very good. Saw him a few years back; I thought he’d retired. All right. Next Monday, then. It’ll be fairly quiet in ’shop. Tommy can look after things and we should be home by half past nine.’

  Poppy jumped up and planted a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Oh, thank you, Pa! Oh, I just can’t wait!’

  They heard a key rattle in the back door. ‘Tommy!’ Joshua said. ‘He’s early for a change.’

  Tommy came into the kitchen followed by Charlie, and Poppy’s heart skipped a beat. ‘No billiards tonight,’ Tommy said. ‘They’ve had a flood at ’George and everybody’s paddling around in the water.’ He wagged his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Charlie didn’t want to get his feet wet.’

  ‘Not bothered about my feet,’ Charlie said. ‘It was my boots I was bothered about. These are my best!’

  ‘Quite right,’ Joshua agreed. ‘Good boots don’t come cheap. How’s your father doing?’ he asked. ‘Business good?’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’ Charlie gave Poppy a surreptitious wink, which made her blush. ‘Keeping busy.’

  ‘Make us a cup o’ tea, Pops,’ Tommy said. ‘We’re gasping, aren’t we, Charlie?’

  Poppy swung the kettle over the fire again as Charlie nodded and smiled at her. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Only don’t call me Pops. My name’s Poppy.’

  Her brother pulled a face and invited Charlie to sit down and Poppy, self-conscious because Charlie was watching her, took two more cups and saucers out of the cupboard. ‘Charlie wants to ask you something,’ Tommy said airily.

  ‘I can ask her myself, thanks,’ Charlie admonished, and Joshua looked suspiciously at him.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘What do you want to ask her?’

  ‘Could I make you a pair of shoes, Poppy?’ Then he looked at her father. ‘It’ll be ’last pair for my apprenticeship.’

  Poppy took a breath and felt her face flush scarlet. ‘I—’ She glanced at her father. ‘I suppose—’

  ‘I noticed – well, I always look at people’s feet,’ Charlie corrected himself. ‘And I noticed when I last saw you.’ His eyes caught hers and she hoped he wouldn’t mention her visit to Nan’s. ‘Can’t remember when it was,’ he went on, ‘but I noticed how neat they were.’ He smiled again and once more her heart gave a flip. ‘I’d be really grateful if I could.’

  ‘Well, how about that, Poppy?’ her father said jovially. ‘Your very own handmade shoes! And your feet have probably stopped growing now so they’ll last you. Shall I pay you for ’leather?’ he asked Charlie.

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll do that. It’ll be a gift, if that’s all right? We’ve
just had some lovely soft calfskin delivered; it’s red, which is why I thought of Poppy.’

  He thought of me! Poppy could hardly contain her happiness. She was speechless and overwhelmed. He thought of me and he’s going to make me some shoes with his own hands. ‘Thank you,’ she gasped and saw Tommy grin, so added primly, ‘It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll have to measure your foot. If you could sit down?’

  He knelt beside her as she sat back on the chair and Tommy, with an enforced sigh, said, ‘I’d better make ’tea then!’

  Charlie took her right foot in his hand and slipped off her shoe and placed his hand around her instep, then he did the same with the other, running his fingers across her toes and over her heels, measuring with his thumb. He nodded. ‘I’ll prepare ’leather tomorrow and then I’ll have to come back to measure properly for ’cutting and stitching. They’ll be completely hand sewn; I shan’t use the machine on them. So what shall they be, Poppy? High-buttoned boots? Dancing slippers? Shoes?’

  She pondered. When she was a child her mother had always dressed her in skirts to her ankles, with her petticoat showing, and this was also the desired length for school dress; but now that she was contemplating leaving school the following summer, she had thought she would wear her skirts long and trailing, as most grown-up women did. But it seemed a shame, she thought, that a special pair of shoes should be hidden beneath a skirt.

  ‘Dancing shoes!’ She made up her mind. ‘Dancing shoes – not pumps! Dancing shoes with heels.’ Her eyes sparkled and she laughed. Charlie, looking up at her, laughed too and squeezed her foot, which he was still holding and she thought she would burst with happiness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Poppy and her father walked arm in arm to the Theatre Royal, which was only a five-minute walk away from Savile Street. She felt very grown up going out with her father. She had looked through her mother’s wardrobe for something to wear, for she now felt that her own clothes were far too childish for the theatre, and had found an emerald-green skirt with a trailing flounced hem and a darker green jacket with a nipped-in waist and a high collar. They fitted her perfectly as her mother had always been slim and dainty. She had tried on her mother’s hats too but decided that they wouldn’t sit on her bouncy hair and that she wasn’t yet old enough to wear them.

  What will Pa say, she wondered as she came downstairs. Will he be upset if I wear my mother’s clothes? But her father hadn’t remembered them, and remarked how nice she looked.

  ‘Colour suits you, Poppy. Looks good against your hair. Is it new? I didn’t realize I gave you enough allowance to buy clothes!’

  ‘You don’t, Pa.’ She pinned a ribbon in her hair. ‘This was Ma’s. She hardly ever wore it.’

  ‘Well, you might as well make use of them. I expect your mother would have given them to you anyway.’ He looked fondly at her. ‘You look very grown up.’ He buttoned up his jacket and put on his grey bowler. ‘You’ve got ’look of her. And her style,’ he added. ‘There was nobody to touch Mary for style.’

  She gave a small relieved sigh. So her father wouldn’t be attracted to Lena then. She had no style at all.

  There was quite a crowd waiting to go in when they reached the hall. People of Hull were keen on the music hall and the artistes were always sure of a large audience. They had to perform well, though, or they’d be booed off stage. This week saw the return of popular acts, hence the waiting crowd.

  After they had taken their seats, Joshua looked over the programme. ‘Seen some of these already. Will Vane’s bound to be good. Trick cyclists – not fond of them; vocalists and dancers – should suit you, Poppy; and Miss Agnes Cotton, popular ballad singer and descriptive dancer – never seen her.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Poppy looked over his shoulder at the programme. Miss Cotton was the one she wanted to see. ‘Do you remember the Terry Sisters who came back for supper after the performance at the Mechanics? They were good dancers, but didn’t sing all that well.’ She suddenly recalled, as she spoke, that that was the night her mother was first taken ill, and she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. It was also the night she had danced and sung for the Terry Sisters and the man they called Dan.

  ‘Mm.’ Her father nodded, and looked round the auditorium to see if there was anyone there he recognized. ‘I like to hear a good voice myself. I wonder if any of these will come back after the show? We won’t linger,’ he murmured as the curtain went up. ‘Just in case we get a rush.’

  The trick cyclists came on first, performing feats on various types of bicycles, including bone-shakers and penny-farthings, then monowheels, interweaving between each other, and finally ending with a great roar of noise which made everyone in the audience jump, as three men standing on each other’s shoulders rode onto the stage with the fourth driving an engine-powered motorcycle.

  ‘My word,’ Joshua said, as he, along with the rest of the audience, vigorously applauded. ‘That’s ‘future transport you’re looking at, Poppy! Everybody who can afford it will have one, or a motor car. They’re making them in Germany; it won’t be long before they’re here.’

  Poppy thought the machines were very noisy and made a lot of smoke, though she’d seen pictures of motor cars and thought they looked rather exciting. But what’s the point of them, she wondered, if, as they say, someone has to walk in front with a red flag?

  The next act were the knockabouts: two men who pushed and tumbled, crashed and fell over each other, did the splits and turned cartwheels. Then came the comedian who told jokes about his dog and his wife, and then the baritone who sang music from opera. A short interval followed, before the curtain went up again to show Miss Cotton in a blue shepherdess dress and bonnet, a crook in her hand, singing a song about losing her sheep and her lover, the shepherd.

  Poppy and her father exchanged glances, and he drooped his mouth humorously. ‘She’ll never find them if she sings like that,’ he murmured and Poppy grinned.

  I can do better than that and I can dance better, she thought as she watched the dancer pirouette around the stage. But how to persuade my father?

  The final act was the Banjo King, Will Vane, who was given a tumultuous welcome. He entertained with his jolly songs and ditties and everyone joined in, including Poppy and her father. There was tremendous applause as he finished and Poppy reflected how satisfying it must be to receive such an ovation. It’s what I want! It’s what I want! I can do it, I know I can!

  As they came out of the theatre, she saw Miss Davina and Miss Eloise in the crowd. ‘Look, Pa,’ she said. ‘Over there. My singing and dancing teachers. Can I introduce you?’

  ‘Aye, but let’s not be too long. We might get busy. There’s a good crowd tonight; we’ll be busier than usual, I should say.’ He let her lead him towards the two ladies.

  ‘Miss Davina, Miss Eloise, this is my father. I don’t think you have ever met.’

  ‘Good evening, ladies.’ Joshua gave a short bow and Poppy noticed how the teachers’ cheeks went slightly pink. He’s a nice-looking man, my father, Poppy mused. I suppose he would be considered very eligible.

  ‘Good evening,’ they answered in unison. Then Miss Eloise asked, ‘Did you enjoy the show, Mr Mazzini? What did you think of the baritone? Splendid, wasn’t he?’

  ‘By Jove, but he was. A grand show all round. Didn’t care for ’young vocalist myself, but I suppose she would appeal to you ladies?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Miss Eloise demurred. ‘Not to my taste.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ said Miss Davina. ‘Not an accomplished dancer by any means.’

  ‘And as for her singing,’ Miss Eloise added, ‘why, Poppy’s voice is far superior.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, what about that, eh, Poppy?’ Her father beamed at her. ‘There’s praise indeed.’

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Davina agreed. ‘And her dancing. If ever Poppy should decide to try her talents on the stage, she would be very well received.’

  ‘I
ndeed she would.’ Miss Eloise nodded in agreement.

  ‘Well, well, well!’ Joshua laughed. ‘A talent to be sorely missed, eh?’ He shook his head in amusement, then said, ‘I’d never have a moment’s peace if I thought she was traipsing round ’country with stage folk like these. Anyway, talking of which, we’d better be off before they all descend on Mazzini’s coffee house for their supper. Come along, Poppy.’ He put on his bowler, tapped it with his finger and said, ‘Been a pleasure meeting you, ladies. Good night!’

  They walked swiftly back towards Savile Street. Before they reached the shop, Joshua took Poppy’s arm and tucked it into his. ‘Don’t think of ’stage, will you, Poppy? I meant what I said back there. Your fortune’s here in Mazzini’s, yours and Tommy’s. We’re not stage folk. That’s a different kind of life from what we know. You’ve got to be born to it. Be content with what you’ve got.’

  They reached the shop and Joshua pointed up at the door. ‘Look. Mazzini’s. This business was started by my grandfather – started from a handcart, he did – built up by my father and then me, and I hope – want it to be carried on by Tommy, and you too. There’s a living here for the both of you.’

  ‘But Pa!’ She could have cried. The evening was ruined. ‘I really would like to be a singer or a dancer. Could I not try it? Not yet, I don’t mean, but maybe in a year or two, and if I’m no good or don’t like it, then I’d come home.’

  He put his hand on the door. There were people sitting at the tables and Albert and Lena were serving them whilst Tommy was making pots of coffee and chocolate. ‘Look in there, Poppy,’ he said. ‘We’re giving folks what they want. Everybody needs to eat and drink. We’ve got ’best of both worlds with ’grocer shop and coffee house. We cater for their every need.’

  But what about my need, she wanted to say. Doesn’t it matter what I want? But her father was opening the door and smiling and greeting his customers.