by Val Wood
‘Can you do that, Tommy? Really?’ Poppy was amazed at her brother. He had been so reluctant to cook before he’d gone to sea, yet now he was brimming with ideas.
‘Well, you see, I enjoyed doing the cooking. I was given the ingredients and had to make what I could of them. What I didn’t like was being seasick and not being able to eat any of the food I’d cooked. But the men all seemed to like what I gave them.’ He pondered thoughtfully. ‘There were days when I felt so ill that I mixed up all kinds of things that I wouldn’t normally have done. But no-one complained.’ He laughed.
Tommy made a batch of bread on Monday morning, and whilst Poppy was appearing in the matinee on Monday afternoon he trawled round the town buying ingredients for the Christmas dinner. Mattie and Nan came to help in the shop.
‘I’m giving in my notice at ’King’s Head,’ Mattie announced to Joshua. ‘I’d rather work here at Mazzini’s of an evening. But Ma will stay on for ’time being, and give up her mornings at ’wash-house.’
Joshua was troubled over Nan working at the King’s Head and walking home alone, especially at this time of year when drunks might be roaming around. ‘I’ve allus done it,’ she said, when he mentioned it. ‘It’s what I did before Mattie started working with me.’ She smiled at him, gratified by his concern. ‘Besides, Mattie has to walk home from here. She can’t expect to be escorted by Tommy like we were the other night. Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’s what we’re used to.’
‘I wish I could come and see you in ’pantomime,’ Tommy said to Poppy when she slipped home for an hour after the matinee.
‘Oh, so do I,’ Mattie said. ‘Ma said how lovely you looked and what a grand show it was.’
‘Well, why don’t you both go?’ Joshua said. ‘It’s quiet in here on a Monday night. I can manage.’
Tommy and Mattie looked at each other. ‘I don’t know,’ Tommy said doubtfully. ‘You might get busy.’
‘Folks will wait. What would I have done if you hadn’t come home?’ Joshua argued. ‘And anyway, I’m going to shut up ’shop for a week in ’New Year while we get decorated.’
‘A week!’ Tommy exclaimed. ‘We won’t need as long as that. I can paint; I can do ’walls and windows.’
‘And I’ll help,’ Mattie said, suddenly anxious that she might not get any wages if the shop was closed.
‘No!’ Joshua was adamant. ‘We’ll have it done right and you two can order new stock and think on what we’re going to do in ’coffee shop. So,’ he continued, ‘you can take tonight off because once we get busy there’s no knowing when you’ll be able to take time off again.’
‘Good.’ Poppy smiled. ‘So I’ll see you both later. Will you wait for me after the show?’
‘I can’t go, Tommy,’ Mattie whispered to him later when they were alone. ‘I only said that I’d like to go. But I’ve no money, and besides, I’m too shabby. I don’t have a coat fit to be seen in. Not for going to watch Poppy at ’Grand.’ Not for going out with you, she thought.
‘You’re fine as you are, Mattie,’ he told her. He hadn’t noticed her clothes before, but now he saw that her skirt was faded and worn. ‘Tell you what, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll go up in ’gods. Nobody up there has much money so they’ll not notice us.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to be ashamed of being with me, Tommy,’ she raised her chin defiantly. ‘Your sister’s a star. You should be at ’front where everybody can see you!’
A slow flush suffused his face. He was eighteen and his feelings for Mattie were changing. She’d always been a pal, someone to have a joke with, but she was so spirited, so bold and confident, she could have any man she wanted. And did, according to Charlie, but Tommy wasn’t sure he believed him. Charlie tended to exaggerate at times.
‘I’d never be ashamed of being with you, Mattie,’ he said. ‘It’s more likely to be ’other way round. Why would anybody want to see me? I’m nobody! Who’d notice me?’
‘Plenty of lasses, I’ll tell you that for nowt,’ she said softly. ‘A good catch, that’s what you are. Mazzini’s son!’ Her lips curled into a mild taunt. ‘Still, if you’re with me it might make some of ’em jealous,’ she quipped. ‘Then you’d have your pick!’
He sighed. There was no getting the better of her. ‘Do you want to come or not?’ he asked.
‘All right.’ She shrugged. ‘If you like. But I’ll pay for myself.’
Poppy was booked to play for only a week after Christmas, but the pantomime would continue without her. When she arrived at the Grand she saw that her name had been put up on a board as a special attraction. Local girl stars as Lambent Flame. One week only. Miss Poppy Mazzini! She felt a frisson of excitement when she saw it. Was this what stardom was about? Seeing your name at the front of the theatre!
The audience wasn’t as large as it had been on Saturday as most people were preparing for Christmas. Boxing Day would be busy as children were taken to the pantomime as a treat. But it was a good evening for trying out extra humour, some of it immodest, especially on the part of Widow Twankey who had difficulties holding up her under-drawers. There were numerous allusions to the town of Hull and its citizens, particularly the councillors and notables of the town, which the crowd loved, jeering and cheering by turns.
‘That’s it, then! Happy Christmas.’ Some of the performers dashed away to catch a train home and would return on Boxing Day; others, including Aladdin and Abanazer, would stay in the town for Christmas Day and make what merriment they could.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Poppy called to Miss Maiden, and Mr Vaughan who played Abanazer. ‘Come early.’
They thanked her and said that they would, and she made her way to the front of the theatre where Tommy had said he and Mattie would wait. The lights had been dimmed but she could see two figures waiting by the door. ‘I’m coming,’ she called, and saw Tommy swing open the door into the foyer.
‘Poppy!’ Mattie said softly. ‘There’s—’
‘Did you enjoy it?’ Poppy smiled. She hadn’t yet come down from the euphoria. Everyone had been elated and good-humoured, probably because it was almost Christmas.
‘Look who’s here!’ Tommy grinned. ‘What a surprise. Who would have guessed?’
Poppy stood still, her lips parted. Hadn’t she wanted this above anything else? Christmas would be perfect after all.
‘Hello, Poppy,’ Charlie said, his eyes searching her face to discover her response. ‘You were magnificent!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Christmas Day had been wonderful. Poppy lay dreaming in her bed at the end of the evening. Charlie was so attentive, so obviously pleased to see her. His mother kept casting suspicious glances in their direction as if she was assessing whether there was anything between them.
Tommy had cooked a superb meal as he had promised. He’d prepared crostini di fegatini, chopped chicken liver and anchovy, flavoured with a touch of brandy, which he served on crisp toast as an appetizer whilst he was putting the finishing touches to the meal to follow: onion soup flavoured with cinnamon and crushed almonds to begin, and then, as they were wiping out their bowls with fresh bread, he brought in the wild boar, which had been sliced and cooked with apples, onions and rosemary.
‘Of course,’ Tommy had sighed, ‘it should have been left longer in the marinade, but there wasn’t time.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
‘It’s delicious,’ Mattie said. She licked her lips, her eyes wide. ‘Where ever did you learn to cook like this, Tommy?’
‘Ma and me used to discuss food,’ he said, ‘but there was never time to do anything out of ’ordinary. We were always too busy baking bread and cakes. But I did like cooking.’ He glanced cheekily at his father. ‘Even though I sometimes made a fuss about doing it.’
Mrs Chandler commented that it was a very tasty piece of pork and that Tommy had done well.
‘You can’t beat English cooking, though, can you?’ Charlie had said. ‘You know, roast beef and Yorkshire
pudding! Tripe and onions!’
Poppy remembered that Charlie hadn’t liked the food they had been served at Mario’s and she hoped that Tommy hadn’t taken offence, but she reckoned he knew Charlie well enough not to. Charlie had eaten most of the meal anyway, though he’d refused the pastry tart filled with custard made from eggs, cream, almonds and pine nuts.
Mr Vaughan, Abanazer, had risen from the table to give his thanks on behalf of the guests, and Miss Maiden, who had had too many glasses of wine, had turned rather pink and said, ‘Tommy! Will you marry me?’
Everyone laughed uproariously, though Poppy had noticed that Mattie had merely turned up her mouth, and had then got up from the table to clear away.
And Charlie says he wants to see more of me when I go back to London, she mused contentedly. She turned over in bed, knowing that sleep was a long way away. He’s got his workshop ready, and some commissions. I think Miss Maiden is going to order some shoes from him. She had her foot in his lap at any rate, for him to measure it.
The following week flew past. She hardly noticed her birthday; her role as the Lambent Flame was considered a great success and given reviews in the local paper. Then it was time for her to pack again and return to London. She had written to the Marinos to ask if she might stay with them and had received a reply saying they would be glad to accommodate her for as long as she wished.
‘That’s such a relief, Pa,’ she said. ‘You’d like them. They’re such nice people.’
‘They’re Italian,’ he replied. He had paint in his hair even though he wasn’t doing any painting. ‘That’s why. Fellow countrymen.’
‘You’re as Yorkshire as they come,’ she teased. ‘Hardly a drop of Italian in you.’
The shop was closed for decoration with a notice on the door stating, ‘The new Mazzini and Son, grocer and coffee shop, will be opening shortly at your service.’
Her father saw her off at the railway station. The weather was freezing cold though the expected snow hadn’t materialized, just sleet and rain. Poppy had wrapped up warmly for the journey. She’d raided her mother’s wardrobe again and discovered a dolman coat, with a quilted lining, wide enough to cover a bustle, and this she had given to Mattie to wear in the cold weather. Mattie was broader in the shoulder than she was and fuller in the bosom. Poppy had sighed, for though she had an hourglass waist and didn’t have to wear a corset, she was slender, unlike Mattie who had a very fashionable figure and needed no extra padding. Poppy travelled in a warm cloak over her costume, and elastic-sided pointed-toed boots.
‘Poppy! How well you look!’ Dan Damone greeted her exuberantly the next day. ‘My word, but you look splendid. You know, I’ve heard such reports about you that I’m beginning to have doubts about you breaking off your career to take singing lessons.’
They were seated in his office and without bidding Miss Battle had brought them coffee and biscuits.
‘I still think I’d like to,’ she said. ‘But I need to earn money as well. I don’t want my father to have to pay. He’s had a difficult time lately. Someone he trusted was swindling him, and he’s only just getting back on his feet.’
He’s to find wages for Nan and Mattie as well as himself and Tommy, she’d calculated on the train journey. If I can fund myself, so much the better.
‘I can get you engagements in the evenings,’ he said. ‘There are plenty of theatres in London who’ll take you. You might have to travel about a bit between theatres, so find a hansom driver you can trust and make an arrangement over the cost.’
He took her to meet his sister, who lived in Bloomsbury. ‘You’ll like her, I think, though she’s a stickler over practising. She used to get on to me about piano practice when I was a youngster.’
Marian Bennett was a tall, handsome woman, a few years older than her brother. She appraised Poppy as they took tea in her airy sitting room. ‘May I ask how old you are, Miss Mazzini?’ she queried.
‘I’ve just had my fourteenth birthday,’ Poppy smiled. ‘On New Year’s Day.’
‘So young!’ she said. ‘Well, that’s good.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Jeanette was about the same age, wasn’t she? A little older. My daughter,’ she explained. ‘But she gave up her career in favour of marriage,’ she told Poppy. ‘Such a pity, I always thought. She had a very good voice. She would have done well if she had continued.’
‘Not to be, Marian,’ Dan said. ‘Don’t keep regretting it.’
Marian Bennett shook her head sadly. ‘If only she had stayed with – still, what’s done is done.’ She smiled at Poppy. ‘That’s the thing with some young women; they see an opportunity to live in luxury and security and give up a promising opportunity. At least that is what Jeanette did. Gave up love and gave up singing.’
‘Oh!’ Poppy said earnestly. ‘And I could give up neither!’
‘Well, I’m off then.’ Dan finished his tea and stood up. ‘I’ll leave you ladies to discuss your arrangements. Can you find your way back from here, Poppy? I’ve an appointment to see a theatre manager. Call into the office tomorrow and we’ll see what bookings I can get for you.’
Mrs Bennett told her the cost of her lessons. ‘But first of all I must hear you sing,’ she said. ‘I must ascertain how much training you will need, and I will tell you now, Miss Mazzini, that I don’t allow any slacking, otherwise it wastes your time and mine.’
She led Poppy into another room, slightly smaller than the sitting room, which housed a baby grand piano. She sat down on the piano stool and said, ‘I’d like you to sing a simple air, a ballad or folk song perhaps, or a favourite melody. Not a popular music hall song,’ she emphasized. ‘We are not here for those. Do you have a favourite piece?’
‘Yes,’ Poppy said. ‘I have. It’s called “Forever True”.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Marian Bennett gave a wistful smile, and ran her hands lightly over the keys in the introduction. ‘I know it well.’
Poppy felt so happy. She was doing what she loved best, and she was going to meet Charlie tomorrow. He would, she knew, always be true. He had been so attentive, kissed her lips on Christmas Day and promised that he would see her in London. She sang with fervour, her voice ringing out.
‘Well done, Miss Mazzini,’ Mrs Bennett said.
‘Please call me Poppy,’ she implored. ‘Miss Mazzini sounds so stuffy.’
‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Though it wouldn’t do for us to become too familiar at first. Now what I want to say is this. You obviously know the song and convey the love of a young girl very well. But where is the pathos when you discover that he is bidding you adieu? That he is leaving you for another? Which he undoubtedly is. The songwriter makes that quite obvious.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps I can’t express sorrow because I feel so happy within myself, Mrs Bennett.’
‘You are in love?’
‘Yes,’ Poppy admitted shyly and breathlessly.
‘And does he love you?’ Mrs Bennett kept her eyes on Poppy’s face.
‘I don’t know for sure,’ she said, a little crestfallen.
‘Then let’s start again, only think this time how you would feel if he had left you for another!’ She smiled at her. ‘I’m sure he won’t, but let’s pretend. You must act as well as sing.’
Poppy closed her eyes and tried to imagine how she would feel. She would be devastated! Never more would she love. She took a breath and began again.
‘Better!’ Mrs Bennett proclaimed. ‘That time I could tell how lovesick you were! Good,’ she said. ‘So, we can start next week, if that suits? Six months’ tuition three times a week, then we can cut it down to twice a week for the following six months, and after that, well we’ll see. How does that sound? You perhaps think that you won’t need so much teaching, but singers can become so familiar with their own voices that they don’t notice if they become a little sloppy or out of control. You will learn breathing, concentration, relaxation, and how to focus on the music and the words. Then you will sing,’ she
said.
Dan booked engagements in theatres and music halls in and around the Covent Garden and St Martin’s Lane area, and Poppy soon built up a reputation for reliability, often being able to fit in with managers at short notice, when they sent a runner round to the Marinos’ with a message asking her if she could appear.
Charlie took her to see the premises for his new workshop. He had ordered a specially adapted Singer treadle sewing machine, for although he intended to be known as a bespoke shoemaker he realized that for some bread and butter work he would need mechanization. He showed her his order book, which contained several familiar stage names. ‘I’ve ordered the leather and the fabric,’ he said, ‘and the thread and buttons, and I shall give in my notice to my employers just as soon as I receive my supplies.’
‘Have these people paid you anything in advance, Charlie?’ Poppy asked. ‘Because, well, if they go out of town, they just might forget they’ve ordered from you.’
‘No!’ he scoffed. ‘These are regular people, don’t you know? They’re not likely to forget! Your friends the Terry Sisters have each ordered two pairs of kid shoes and a pair of patent leather boots.’
Poppy was bothered about that. The Terry Sisters had never had any money when she was with them, and were always scratching about for coppers for a cup of coffee. She pondered. Perhaps they spent their money on things like clothes and shoes? Then the thought came into her mind that maybe Roger, who was putting up finance for Charlie, was buying the shoes for Ena. But it’s most improper of me to even consider it, she thought, and dismissed the idea. Anyway, Charlie won’t discuss business with me. I just hope he isn’t too trusting, that’s all.
‘And by the way, Poppy,’ Charlie reminded her, ‘you keep forgetting. It’s Charles now. Not Charlie! Charlie’s all right for home, but not here. Do try to remember.’
