The Songbird

by Val Wood

  Dan grinned. ‘Not often, they don’t. Only for the stars, or young women with a reputation, and most performers only want to go to their own beds after they’ve finished a stint on the stage. It’s darned hard work, you know!’

  ‘Yes, but, well, we don’t know you, Mr Damone. We live a quiet life here, and I don’t know what kind of reputation you have. Meaning no offence,’ he added. ‘But I’m giving Poppy into your care.’

  Dan nodded thoughtfully, and folded his arms across his chest as they stood on the doorstep. ‘Yes, it’s a big responsibility,’ he answered. ‘And not one I take lightly. But when I obtain an engagement for my clients, I don’t go with them. They make their own way there and have to take the consequences.’ He gazed across the street as if considering. ‘But I’ll tell you this, Mr Mazzini. I can’t do anything about Poppy falling for some young buck, but there is no cause for worry as far as I’m concerned.’ He turned his head so that he was looking at Joshua from wistful blue eyes. ‘I am a celibate man. Your daughter need have no fear of me.’

  He seems an honest sort of fellow, Joshua pondered as he closed the door behind him. But do I believe him?

  Poppy was sitting at one of the tables with her chin in her hands and her expression animated. ‘I really like Mr Damone,’ she said eagerly. ‘I feel as if I can trust him. Can I go, Pa? I’d really like to.’

  Her father gazed at her. What a huge responsibility to look after a daughter. How to protect her? Who to ask for advice? I suppose, he mused, there comes a time when she has to look out for herself, and that time is now.

  He sat down opposite her. ‘Are you absolutely sure, Poppy? You know that you’ll meet people who are . . . well, not like us. They’ll have different values, different ways of looking at life, not just ’ordinary run of ’mill like we’re used to.’

  ‘That’s what makes it so exciting, Pa.’ Poppy hunched up her shoulders. ‘But I promise you that if I’m unhappy or don’t get work, then I’ll write to you for advice.’ She didn’t say she would come home, but that is what he hoped she meant.

  Joshua got up and went behind the grocery counter, bringing back a bottle of ink and a pen. He sat down again and drew the contract towards him. He read through it. ‘Quite sure?’ he asked quietly, and when she nodded, he signed his name.

  They both turned as the door to the house creaked. Lena was standing there in her flowing pink nightrobe with her hair hanging down her back. ‘I’ve just made you some cocoa, Josh.’ She simpered. ‘I know you like a cup afore bed.’

  Poppy stared. How dare she appear like that in front of her father? Though Lena’s robe covered her nightgown, the buttons at the top were undone, showing the tops of her ample breasts. Lena gave her a little self-satisfied smile. ‘I expect you’ll want to be off to bed, won’t you, dear?’ she said. ‘You’ve had a busy evening!’

  She’s been listening! Poppy was angry. And she’ll be glad that I’m going because she’ll be alone here with Pa! But that won’t do! Everybody will think— What will they think? That she and Pa— It doesn’t bear thinking about. Suppose she puts Pa in a compromising position? Is she too old to say she’s been caught with a child?

  As she stared at Lena she felt herself flushing at such thoughts. But Pa wouldn’t . . . surely he wouldn’t? Why, she looks like a witch with her scraggy hair hanging down her back and her long nose all shiny! Nothing like Mama, who was so sweet and pretty and who Pa loved. She wanted to cry now, and only a minute ago she had been so happy.

  ‘I don’t want to go to bed!’ she stated. ‘I’m not in the least tired and my father and I are having a discussion.’ She rose from the chair and went towards her. ‘I’ll bring Pa’s cocoa in here, seeing as you’ve made it, and then you can go to bed. You look tired,’ she said nastily. ‘You need your beauty sleep.’

  ‘Poppy!’ her father said severely when she came back with the pot of cocoa and Lena had stomped upstairs. ‘Don’t go upsetting her. I need her here. If she leaves I’m left without a baker.’

  ‘She won’t leave, Pa.’ Poppy pouted and folded her arms. ‘But she’ll be glad when I do. She’ll have you all to herself now that Tommy’s gone and I’m going. People will talk, you know,’ she added, turning her face away from him.

  Her father grinned. ‘Not about me, they won’t! Only about her. That’s an advantage that men have over women. But I might bring Albert to live in to stop tongues wagging.’

  Poppy opened her mouth in horror. ‘Not in my room! Not in my room! I don’t want him in there with his smelly feet and his sticky fingers going over my things!’

  ‘No!’ her father declared. ‘I’ll bring ’truckle bed down, and he can sleep in ’kitchen. If he’s a mind to, that is. He might not want to.’ He shook his head admonishingly. ‘You can’t have everything your own way, Poppy! I’ve a business to run. A business that one day will be yours and Tommy’s. I can’t let it run down just because you don’t like Lena and Albert.’

  Her father was right, she knew that. But she wept into her pillow that night, tears of frustration, joy and excitement, all rolled into one with the worry of how her father would manage without her.

  Saturday night was the busiest night for the music hall and especially when there were so many local people appearing. There was huge support for home-grown talent and most of the performers had brought along friends, relatives, friends of relatives, and relatives of friends to give them a cheer and encouragement. As Poppy walked along George Street there were queues already forming and good-natured banter working along the line.

  ‘Good luck, lass,’ someone shouted, and one or two others added their good wishes. When she arrived at the door she saw that a new poster had been put up, displaying a list of the performers with her name at the very top.

  She tried to hide her smile, but failed. She was so thrilled and excited. I just hope that Pa will come. He said he’d come later if he could, and oh, how I wish that my mother could have seen me and shared this moment.

  Her act was to be at the end of the show, so she stood at the back of the stalls during the first half to watch everyone else, the dancers, the jugglers, the comics; all the people she had been with throughout the week, who had shared their successes and failures and supported each other. She understood the comic’s jokes now, and had seen how the magician did his tricks. The acrobat still amazed her for her body was like India rubber, and in a quiet moment one night after a show she had shown Poppy how to turn a somersault.

  ‘Come on, Poppy.’ Dan Damone’s voice came from behind her. ‘Come backstage and get changed. It doesn’t do to let the public see you before your act.’ He smiled at her. ‘We have to try to maintain the magic, build up the excitement of the audience at the thought of seeing Poppy Mazzini.’

  She gazed at him. ‘But they know me.’ She laughed. ‘They’ve known me since I was born!’

  ‘You’re no longer the daughter of a grocer,’ he said. ‘You are now Poppy Mazzini, a star of the music hall. At least,’ he said solemnly, ‘you will be, unless you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘I haven’t.’ She handed him the contract. ‘I won’t. Do you really think I’ll be a star?’ she asked, her eyes shining.

  ‘There’s every possibility.’ He lifted her chin with his finger and turned her head this way and that. ‘You have the looks. You have the talent. You have youth on your side. Do you have the determination?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you that, Poppy. Only you can know. Come on!’ He took her hand and led her towards the side entrance and the rear of the stage. ‘Get changed,’ he said, as they reached the dressing room door. ‘And when you come out I want you to have forgotten everything about your childhood, your school and your father’s coffee house. You are Poppy Mazzini, a music hall performer, singing and dancing to a new audience, not to friends you have known all your life. Can you do that?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The theatre was packed
and the Saturday night audience was in a jolly mood, joining in with the singing or heckling the comic whenever he made a joke. Poppy could hear the racket from the dressing room and it only increased her nervousness. The young acrobat, Stella, was the only one left in the dressing room with her for she was to be the penultimate act, followed by Poppy. She was small and petite and wore a huge woolly jumper over her costume and thick socks on her feet.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ Stella asked. ‘I am. Although I know I’ll be all right once I’m on stage. Is it true what they’re saying, that you’ve signed a contract with Mr Damone?’

  ‘Yes, but how did you know?’ Poppy was astonished that anyone should have found out. ‘I haven’t told anyone.’

  ‘Somebody saw you hand him what looked like a contract. Doesn’t matter, does it?’

  ‘No, not really, it’s just that I haven’t got used to the idea myself yet.’ She brushed a little colour onto her cheeks and then admitted, ‘I’m anxious about it, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ll be great,’ Stella said. ‘You’ve got ’aura of stardom already.’ She grinned. ‘I heard ’stage manager say that. I’d like to turn professional,’ she added, ‘but I might have to join a circus rather than ’music hall.’

  ‘Would your parents let you?’ Poppy asked. ‘My pa is very worried about me, even though I’m nearly fourteen.’

  ‘I’m seventeen,’ Stella said, her cheeks dimpling. ‘Everybody thinks I’m about twelve. When I was twelve they thought I was seven! It has its advantages.’ She winked. ‘I only pay half price for seats in ’theatre or ’music hall or for a train ticket, but I also get asked where’s my ma!’

  They heard a round of applause and Stella jumped up and started to peel off her jumper and socks. ‘I’m next,’ she said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me.’

  ‘I will,’ Poppy said. ‘I’ll come out and watch you from the wings.’ She took a deep breath, ‘And then it’s me!’

  She picked up a shawl to put round her shoulders so that she wouldn’t be cold whilst she was waiting, having noted how Stella had kept warm with her jumper and socks, and followed her towards the stage. The applause had died away and the compère was announcing the next act. Stella somersaulted her way onto the stage, performing back flips and cartwheels and all manner of gyrations with her supple body.

  Poppy rubbed her hands briskly together as she watched. She wasn’t cold but the action helped to relieve her nervousness. Why am I nervous tonight? I’ve been fine on the other nights. Is it because this is the last time I’m going to be here? Before I go away to find success or failure elsewhere? She remembered what Dan Damone had said about forgetting she was a grocer’s daughter. I’m Poppy Mazzini, she intoned under her breath. I’m Poppy Mazzini. Top of the bill. Top of the bill.

  She swallowed hard as Stella bounced off the stage, then somersaulted back again to take another round of applause. She bowed and backed away and, on reaching the wings, grinned at Poppy. ‘You won’t be able to do a thing wrong tonight,’ she said. ‘They’re really out to enjoy themselves. Listen!’

  The musicians were tuning up, playing a few notes from the melodies Poppy had chosen, and the audience were chanting. ‘Popp-y! Popp-y! Popp-y!’

  She took in another breath. The compère was announcing a star in the making. ‘Tonight – she is making her final appearance as an amateur performer; tomorrow – who knows? Please welcome – the star of the show, Hull’s own, our very own – Popp-y Mazz-ini!’

  Riotous applause broke out and, giving it just a second longer, Poppy ran out onto the stage and gave a low sweeping bow. As she rose, she looked out into the audience to the first few rows that she could see beyond the stage lights. Her father was sitting in the middle of the first row, flanked by Nan and Mattie. Miss Davina and Miss Eloise were both there, as were some of their other pupils. Mr and Mrs Chandler, Charlie’s parents, sat at the end of the row next to Miss Miller, her schoolteacher, and another teacher. Lena and Albert were on the second row and she recognized several of her father’s customers from the shop. She smiled. Pa’s closed the shop, she thought, before again recalling Dan Damone’s words. She swirled round, lifted her arms and began to sing.

  She had been given three numbers and started with a medley of popular songs so that the audience could join in. Then she broke into the mazurka, which set everyone clapping their hands in time to the music, and as she polkaed her way to the front of the stage and stood momentarily with her hands clasped, someone called out, ‘Sing “Will You Be Forever True”, Poppy.’ ‘Yes,’ someone else called. ‘Sing “Forever True”.’ ‘“Forever True”,’ the call rang out from different areas of the hall and Poppy smiled and bowed. That was the one she had intended singing anyway.

  She held up her arms and beckoned with her hands as if inviting the audience to dance, and began to waltz. ‘La la, la la, la la-ah, hold me close forever more. La la, la la, la la-ah.’ This will be my song, she mused as she sang and danced. This is how I hope they will remember me at the Mechanics Music Hall.

  As she finished with a wide stretch of her arms, tumultuous applause broke out. Her father and all those in the first few rows rose to their feet and she saw Mattie put her fingers to her lips and whistle. Then everyone else stood up, clapping and stamping their feet, and from the wings Mr Boscoe himself, the owner of the theatre, came onto the stage carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers.

  ‘We’d better have a party,’ her father said when he came backstage. He wiped his eyes and hugged her. ‘Tell everybody to come back to Mazzini’s – all these grand folk who have entertained us tonight. What talent,’ he snuffled. ‘What talent! Right under our noses, here in Hull.’

  All the performers and Dan Damone came back to the coffee house, as did Mr and Mrs Chandler, Miss Davina, Miss Eloise, and Miss Miller, and Nan and Mattie who helped a grumpy Lena to serve coffee, chocolate and cakes to everyone. Albert had gone home, and Poppy was glad for she didn’t want him near her on this most wonderful night.

  ‘I can’t not let her go,’ Joshua told Dan Damone. ‘Not after tonight. She has talent. I saw it for myself.’

  ‘It will be hard for her,’ Dan told him. ‘Sometimes audiences don’t come or there are bad reviews, or maybe she won’t feel like singing or dancing.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘But we’ll see. Poppy’s been protected; she’s always had you to look after her. Now she’ll be on her own. She won’t be able to run home to her papa.’ Then he smiled. ‘But yes, she has talent. She could go far. I saw that right from the beginning.’

  Poppy slept late the next morning and awoke to hear Lena clattering pans below. She quickly washed, dressed and hurried downstairs, though she wondered why Lena was up so early when they didn’t open the shop until nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, and they didn’t make bread either. ‘Sorry, Lena,’ she apologized. ‘You should have given me a shout!’

  Lena grunted. ‘Huh. Not up to me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be down at all now that you’re a star! Good thing our Albert is here to give me a hand.’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t be able to manage if I leave?’ Poppy asked astutely, ignoring her sarcasm.

  Lena glanced swiftly at her. ‘Wh— I thought it was all arranged? Yes, I can manage. Your pa and me will soon get into the way of doing things together.’ She gave an unctuous smile as she said it. ‘And Albert can lift the heavy pans.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to do that anyway,’ Poppy said, putting on a clean apron and noticing that Lena’s was greasy from yesterday’s baking. ‘Tommy always did that for Ma, or Pa did.’

  ‘Yes, well Tommy’s not here either, is he? And your pa is busy looking after the shop. But never mind, I’m sure we’ll manage without either of you.’ Lena pushed a stray lock of hair under her cap with a floury finger. ‘I wonder if you and your brother realize how lucky you are to have such a lenient father? There’s not many that would let their sons and daughters go gallivanting all over the place.’

  Poppy swal
lowed. She didn’t know why Lena made her feel so cross and uneasy and she felt sure she had got up early that morning and clattered about just to wake her. ‘We do realize it,’ she said quietly, recognizing that what Lena said was true. ‘But Pa believes in letting us run our own lives and making our own mistakes. We’ll make them, I expect,’ she said. ‘But we know he’s here whenever we need him.’

  Lena raised her eyebrows and turned down her mouth in a cynical manner. ‘Let’s hope he is,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s just hope that he is.’

  On leaving on Saturday night, Dan Damone had said he was catching a train for London first thing Sunday morning and that he would write to her as soon as he heard anything from Brighton. ‘Be ready to leave immediately,’ he had said. ‘Have your trunk packed with all that you need for a long stay.’

  The shop and coffee house closed early on a Sunday. Lena went out for a walk, and Poppy, glad to have her father to herself, asked him if he would bring the metal trunk from his bedroom into hers. It hadn’t been opened in a long time, and as they lifted the lid a scent of lavender rose from the contents, which were wrapped in brown paper. In it were baby clothes, cotton nightgowns and dresses which had belonged to her and Tommy. There was a sailor suit and knickerbockers from when Tommy was small, and a pretty cotton dress and bonnet, trimmed with ribbon, which had been Poppy’s when she was a toddler. There were clothes belonging to her mother too, which she had worn when she was newly married.

  ‘I remember this.’ Her father lifted out a white broderie anglaise bodice with leg-o’-mutton sleeves. ‘Your ma used to wear it with a black skirt and a string of pearls. And this,’ he said, bringing out a pale green silk afternoon dress with porcelain buttons. He held it against Poppy’s red hair. ‘You should wear this,’ he said. ‘Colour would suit you.’

  Some of her mother’s clothes fitted her and were hardly worn, so she put them on one side, and the children’s clothes she repacked in a box and put them under her bed. ‘You won’t let Lena or Albert touch them, will you, Pa?’ she said plaintively.