The Songbird

by Val Wood

  ‘Grand, thank you,’ Joshua said. ‘We’ve just been to a concert at ’Assembly Rooms. Marvellous, it was, especially the pianist!’ Then he glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Have you had a good show? Your customers will be calling on us on their way home, I hope. What’s coming next, then?’ He read the words on the poster. ‘An entertainment competition!’

  ‘We are trying to encourage local talent,’ the manager said, ‘and of course bring more people into the theatre. We’ve a good deal of competition from ’Alhambra, and now that there’s ’new Grand Theatre we’ve got to do something a bit different.’

  Poppy stared at the poster and her heart started to hammer. ‘What kind of talent, Mr Johnson? Comedy or—’

  ‘Anything.’ He smiled at her. ‘Singing. Dancing. Comics. Fancy trying it?’ he asked.

  Poppy looked at her father. ‘Yes, I do. If Pa will let me.’

  ‘No harm in it, Mr Mazzini,’ Mr Johnson coaxed. ‘We need as many contestants as possible. There’ll be auditions, of course. Dan Damone, the agent, is going to be judge.’

  Poppy stifled a gasp. ‘Could I, Pa? Please!’

  Her father took her arm to hurry her on. ‘If it puts a smile back on your face, then yes, you can.’

  She felt such joy that she even ignored the grumbles of Lena and the presence of Albert. She sang and practised her dance steps in her room, and when she went for her dancing and singing lessons the following week, she couldn’t wait to tell Miss Eloise and Miss Davina.

  They were both thrilled and agreed to give her extra coaching and said they would put an act together for her. The auditions were to be in a week’s time, which meant she must practise every day.

  ‘What nonsense!’ Lena groused when she heard, though she was careful not to be so blunt when Joshua was around. ‘What a waste of time. Not that it’s anything to do with me, of course.’

  ‘That’s right, Lena,’ Poppy said sweetly. ‘It isn’t.’

  The evening of the audition coincided with Poppy’s last day at school. She had said goodbye to her teachers and fellow pupils and felt a mixture of emotions, excitement and trepidation. ‘You’re on the threshold of womanhood, Poppy,’ Miss Miller, one of her teachers, had said. ‘And very fortunate indeed to have your father’s support and a ready-made business to enter. So many young women would be glad of such a settled life.’

  Poppy looked at her. She was in her thirties, unmarried, and always wore a passive expression. Rarely did she smile and Poppy wondered if she had ever felt happiness or indeed any kind of emotion.

  ‘I realize how lucky I am, Miss Miller,’ she replied, and because she knew it was expected of her, added, ‘I’ll always try to be grateful for it.’

  As she was about to turn away, the teacher said, ‘Will you be entering for the auditions at the Mechanics, Poppy? I hear that you sing and dance.’

  ‘Yes.’ Poppy was astonished that she knew. ‘My father says that I can.’

  Miss Miller gave a sudden smile. ‘If you get through, I shall come and see you.’

  ‘Thank you, miss,’ Poppy said. ‘That’s really kind. There’ll be a lot of entrants, I expect.’

  ‘Good luck,’ the teacher said and Poppy felt that she meant it.

  She was nervous as she dressed for the audition; not of performing, but of meeting Dan Damone again. She wondered whether he would recognize her, and if he did, would he be annoyed that she hadn’t answered his letter?

  I’ll have to explain that I wasn’t able to make a decision, she thought as she brushed her hair, and, looking in the mirror, she pinned a silk flower which had been her mother’s into her unruly red curls. ‘Wish me luck, Ma,’ she whispered. ‘I wish you were here to see me.’ She felt a lump in her throat as she wondered whether perhaps her mother was watching over her. Would she be encouraging her or warning her that this was a wrong step?

  ‘I have to do this,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not a little girl any more. I have to make my own decisions, but I’d like your approval.’ As she gazed into the mirror, she thought she could see her mother’s eyes within her own. Her mother had had grey eyes with soft lights in them and long lashes which she darkened with soot. Poppy smiled as she remembered her mother whispering not to tell her pa. ‘This is a woman’s secret,’ she’d said, and laughed. ‘We don’t have to tell our husbands what we do to make ourselves beautiful.’

  Poppy put a little colour on her lips and on her cheekbones, then stepped into the gown she had found in her mother’s wardrobe. It was cream silk with a beaded chiffon petticoat worn to be shown, and a flowing skirt which she knew would sway as she danced. The bodice was softly draped and embroidered with silver beads which caught the light, shining and scintillating. Her mother had worn dull, sombre clothes when she was young, as her parents had decreed, but this gown had been bought when she was newly married and reflected her escape from the rigid confinement of her youth.

  Last of all, Poppy took the shoes that Charlie had made her, out of the tissue paper in which they were carefully wrapped, and slipped them into her bag. ‘These will bring me luck, Charlie,’ she murmured. ‘I know they will.’

  Her father looked up as she came downstairs, and his lips parted. ‘Why, you look just like your ma, Poppy! Beautiful,’ he said hoarsely. He blinked a few times, and then said, ‘I’m going to call you a cab. Can’t have you walking to ’theatre when you look so grand.’

  ‘I don’t mind walking, Pa,’ she said. ‘But will you walk with me? You needn’t stay if you don’t want to. The auditions will take hours, I expect. But I’d like you to come with me.’

  ‘Course I will.’ He took off his apron and put on his jacket and called to Lena in the shop that he wouldn’t be long, and they stepped out into the street.

  There were many admiring glances as they walked towards the Mechanics Music Hall and women turned to look at her, and some, who knew the Mazzinis, called to her how fine she looked, whilst working men and gentlemen touched their caps and hats.

  ‘See how heads turn, Poppy.’ Her father grinned proudly. ‘You’ve brightened up their day!’

  She took a deep breath. Was she at the start of something? Was this going to be a turning point in her life? She smiled up at her father. ‘Thank you for letting me enter, Pa. I’m so excited.’

  He looked down at her and she saw something in his eyes: pride, warmth and affection, and something that she couldn’t quite define but was almost an awareness of loss.

  ‘I don’t know what might come of this, Poppy,’ he said, as they reached the stage door. ‘That fellow, Dan Damone, who’s coming to do ’audition. He’s the one who watched you dance, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes on his face, amazed that he had remembered. ‘He came for supper that night with the Terry Sisters.’

  ‘Aye, he did.’ He stood at the door. ‘And he said that you could make a career on ’stage.’

  Poppy nodded. Was he going to say again that she couldn’t? Because if so, she might as well go home now, without singing a note or dancing a step.

  ‘Well, what I want to say is that it would be a hard life and not one that I would wish my only daughter to take.’ He pressed his lips hard together and her heart sank. ‘But,’ he went on, ‘if it means that you’d be unhappy and unfulfilled, then I wouldn’t want to deprive you of ’chance of finding out for yourself what kind of life it was.

  ‘So, what I’m saying is ’same as I said to Tommy. If it’s really what you want, then I’ll not stand in your way.’ He gave her a trembling smile and she reached up to hug him. ‘So off you go and show them what you’re made of!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There were other hopeful entrants waiting in the wings. Acrobats, singers, dancers, men who could whistle through their teeth, clowns already in costume, two young boys in oversize evening suits with violins tucked under their arms, and innumerable others all anxious to show off their talents.

  The stage curtains were still closed as Mr Johnson tried to make
some kind of order of the participants. ‘Could we have the comedy people in a group over here, please? Musicians over there, singers and dancers to the side of the stage. Thank you. Keep away from the curtain please!’ he told a small girl with dark hair who was wearing dancing pumps.

  Poppy sat on a nearby chair and took off her outdoor shoes and slipped on her dancing shoes. They felt soft and comfortable and she did a pirouette, stretching her toes and calves. She noticed some of the other dancers watching her. There seemed to be more dancers than any other kind of performer, and so she made an instant decision. She would dance, but she would concentrate on her singing. Miss Eloise had coached her in two songs and she now decided which one she would sing; it was a light romantic melody, a song of love, but one in which she could also express herself in movement.

  The curtain opened and she saw Dan Damone sitting in the front row with another man. He signalled them to start and a comic came to the front of the stage and gave his name and began his patter. He gave quick-fire jokes until Dan Damone called, ‘Thank you. Next!’ The comic looked startled at being asked to finish, and the next person, an acrobat, ran onto the stage, almost knocking him over. He turned somersaults and handsprings until he too was discharged. ‘But I haven’t finished,’ he complained. ‘There’s a lot more I can do,’ but he was hauled off by the manager to be replaced by the young violinists, who sawed and squawked on their instruments until everyone’s teeth were on edge.

  An hour went by and various hopefuls were asked to wait and others were told they hadn’t been successful. Then it was the turn of the dancers and singers. ‘We’ll have the singers first,’ Mr Damone called out. ‘Then we’ll break for fifteen minutes and see the dancers after that.’

  Poppy hoped that she would be amongst the first of the singers, for she was sure that the agent was getting bored. She saw him yawning from time to time and the man beside him was asleep.

  Mr Johnson signalled to her. ‘You’re next, Poppy,’ he said. ‘Give your name before you start.’

  She’d seen the other performers lumber onto the stage, give their names and then awkwardly begin their acts. She didn’t. Lightly, with springing steps, she ran to centre stage, raised her right hand and swept it to one side, did the same with her left, then with both arms and fingers outstretched in a graceful movement gave a low bow, rose up and announced, ‘Poppy Mazzini, for your entertainment,’ swirled round and began to sing.

  She saw Dan Damone sit up in his seat and nudge the man next to him. She smiled as she sang. It was a popular, sweet little tune, one she liked and one which people could whistle or hum to. As she came almost to the end, she incorporated dainty dance movements so that her skirts floated about her, and finished with a deep curtsy to the floor, her hands clasped and her head bent.

  ‘Bravo,’ the man sitting next to Dan Damone called out. ‘Excellent!’

  She rose to her feet, gave a bow and started to back away. ‘One moment,’ Mr Damone called out. ‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’

  She came to the front of the stage. ‘Yes, a few years ago.’

  He nodded. ‘I remember. Come down here. We’ll take a break now,’ he said to the manager. ‘Ten minutes only. Tell those who don’t want to wait they can leave.’

  Poppy made her way down the steps into the auditorium. Both men stood up as she approached. Dan Damone took her hand and shook it. ‘I remember you, Poppy. You were in your father’s coffee house and danced for me. I wrote to you,’ he added.

  ‘Yes,’ Poppy said shyly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t reply. I would have done, but I didn’t know what answer to give.’

  ‘Your parents wouldn’t approve of you taking a stage career?’ He perused her thoughtfully, his eyes keen and scrutinizing. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘My mother died,’ she said. ‘My father, well, he doesn’t want to lose me. And he would worry about me.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ the other man said. He was short and balding and held an unlit cigar in his hand. He put the cigar in his mouth and held out his right hand. ‘Ben Thompson’s my name, if you don’t know it. I own theatres and music halls in the north. Always looking for fresh talent.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You could do well. Good voice. Nice presence. Neat dancer.’

  For some reason which she couldn’t fathom, she didn’t like him, but she politely shook his hand and sat down as they suggested.

  ‘So! Your father? Is he here?’ Dan Damone asked. ‘Could we talk to him? I gather that you’d like to be on the stage or you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I would,’ she said. ‘I really would. But my father would need to be sure that I’d be all right, be safe, you know.’

  He nodded. ‘Lots of young women start in the theatre and music hall when they’re younger than you. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?’

  ‘Thirteen,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fourteen in January.’

  ‘We’d have to dress her up a bit, Dan.’ Ben Thompson chewed on his cigar. ‘She’d pass for eighteen easy then. If she gets through this audition, which she will, I’ll take her for Bradford, then Wakefield.’

  ‘Hold on. Hold on!’ Dan Damone interrupted abruptly. ‘She’s got to show us she can do more than she’s done today. Poppy,’ he said, ‘you’ve done well today, passed with flying colours, and if your father agrees you’ll be able to do your act here at the Mechanics for a week. You’ll be paid for performing, and if we like what you do, then we’ll offer a contract.’ He turned to Ben Thompson and looked directly at him. ‘It’s got to be done right. Fair and square. I’ve my reputation to think of.’

  Poppy looked from one to another. It was happening too fast! Would her father agree? Would she have to work for Ben Thompson? Who would pay for her train fare or lodgings?

  Dan Damone was speaking to her. ‘First things first. Will your father agree to your performing next week? If he won’t there’s no point in continuing.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’ She felt a sudden fluttering and breathlessness, as if she was being turned inside out. She swallowed. ‘Shall I do the same song all the week or different ones?’

  ‘Full repertoire so that we know what you can do,’ he said. ‘Learn as many songs as you can, for if your father agrees and we take you, then we’ll be on the road the following week. No dithering, will you won’t you,’ he said firmly. ‘There’s plenty of others who’ll be glad to come.

  ‘Right,’ he called out. ‘Let’s get on. Break over. Next.’

  If she had expected any special treatment because he had met her before, she would have been disappointed, for Dan Damone turned to watch the other acts, and Poppy slipped out of the building to make her way home. On the way, she called in to see Miss Eloise and found Miss Davina there as well.

  They were delighted with her news and said they would prepare her, though Miss Davina said, ‘I don’t think I can advise you any more, Poppy. If you’re going to perform next week, then do what you’ve been taught, and if you wish to improvise then that is what you must do. I think,’ she said reluctantly, ‘that perhaps you should concentrate on your singing. That’s what people who go to the music hall like to hear. Everyone likes a good melody, something they can hum on the way home.’

  Miss Eloise gave her some song sheets to take with her so that she could practise and both said they would come to see her at the Mechanics the following week.

  Her father looked up from serving a customer as she opened the door into the shop. He gave her a little wink and a smile and signalled for her to go through into the house. Lena and Albert were both in the shop, Lena cleaning the windows by the tables, making a great show of huffing on the glass and polishing vigorously. Albert was weighing up oats into bags and Poppy noticed that his little finger was touching the scales.

  Her father followed her into the kitchen and closed the separating door. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘How did you get on? Did they like you?’

  ‘Yes!’ she said excitedly. ‘Dan Damone remembered me. He wrote to me, Pa,’
she added. ‘Not long ago, but I didn’t answer his letter.’

  ‘Wrote to you?’ Joshua frowned. ‘Why did he do that? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘He asked if I’d given any consideration to being a performer,’ she confessed. ‘Now that I’m older. He said I had talent. And I didn’t reply because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think that you’d let me go.’

  ‘He wrote to you!’ Joshua said incredulously. ‘That means that he thinks you’d do well. Why would he bother otherwise?’ He sat down hard in a chair and put his chin in his hands. ‘You know, don’t you, Poppy, that performing on stage is considered indecent by some folk? They think that only those with loose or improper morals would do such a thing!’

  He looked up at her as she stood there. ‘I’m sorry to have to talk in such a way to you, but you have to be aware of it. There are men who – well, men who hang about a stage door. They bring flowers and presents and invite young ladies out to dine, and their intentions are not – not – honourable.’ His face flushed as he spoke. ‘If your mother was here, she could have explained it to you. You’re almost a woman, and yet you’re still just a girl and I could be very fearful for you.’

  She bent down and kissed his cheek. ‘I know what you mean, Pa. But I’m not easily led.’ Besides, she thought, I love Charlie. I wouldn’t want anyone else to take me out, or buy me flowers. ‘Mr Damone said that he would see my performances next week,’ she said, ‘and if I’m any good, then he’d talk to you about a contract. So you could ask him then about how safe I’d be.’

  As she spoke she was consumed by anticipation and excitement. Was it really happening? Was she really on her way to becoming a performer?

  ‘Pa,’ she said, ‘if I did go away, would you employ Mattie? She works so very hard in the flour mill and she works in the evenings as well, in one of the inns.’

  ‘If she already has two jobs why would she want to work for me?’

  ‘She’s honest,’ Poppy said. ‘She’d never cheat you, and I know she’d be pleased if you could see your way to offering her some work.’