by Rosie Archer
*
‘Less noise, please,’ Alice admonished her choir. She was a little tearful. Surrounded by her girls in their costumes, cobbled together from items picked up in second-hand shops and begged, stolen or borrowed from their own families, she thought they looked superb.
The dwarfs were sure to raise an audience chuckle. Seven pairs of enormous foam-rubber feet strapped to the knees of the actors lined up and waiting by the side of the stage was a sight to see. Green trousers, baggy red tops tied with string and green hats with red woollen pom-poms completed their outfits. As they wouldn’t be going on straight away, they knelt and chatted excitedly. Alice saw Ivy pass a cylinder of rouge along the line. ‘Mrs Wilkes says we need rosy cheeks,’ she said.
‘What a waste of make-up when there isn’t any in the shops.’ Nevertheless Marlene dipped her finger in the powder and smeared her face before she passed it to the next.
‘It belongs to Mrs Wilkes and she doesn’t use it,’ said Bea. She had on a false beard made of cotton wool. Several wore spectacles.
‘Like I said, what a waste,’ Marlene repeated, adding, ‘This blinkin’ shovel’s stickin’ in me side.’ All of them had small garden tools wedged in their string belts, except Ivy who, as Sneezy, had an enormous white handkerchief pinned to her top. On the boards beside each of them seven jam-jars, ‘borrowed’ from the local WI, contained a painted red flame. These were their lanterns and each had a string around its neck so they could carry it. Alice thought how wonderful it was that every choir member had rallied round to do their best.
‘I don’t know why you’re moaning,’ said Rainey. ‘Us three have to get changed at half-time into our choir outfits so we can sing, then afterwards dress up again.’
‘When I said, “Be quiet,” I meant you lot as well,’ said Alice, moving closer while Toto wove excitedly in and out of her feet. ‘We’ve got a full house,’ she added. Then, ‘In a few minutes I’m going out to announce you and the show will begin. I can’t play the piano and prompt you when to come in so listen carefully for your entrance.’ The dwarfs nodded. ‘Snow White and the other performers are entering from the other side of the stage. When I play the working-song music put smiles on your faces. Make a grand entrance. I’ve every faith in you,’ she said, then slid around the side curtain and out of sight of the cast, the little dog at her heels.
The audience quietened, allowing Alice to tell them who they were and that the performance proceeds would go to charity. There was loud clapping and she had to calm them down. ‘I hope you’ve all read the local paper tonight,’ she said. ‘This choir gained a second place at the Fareham Festival.’ She waved her hands to stop more clapping. ‘After the interval, when tea will be served from the kitchen hatchway, our show will continue with a special treat for you.’ Alice gave a broad smile. ‘My trio of girls will sing the song that gave them second place too, “The Bluebird Song”. Now, without further ado, Snow White .’
This time she didn’t stop the clapping that roared in her ears as she descended the small steps to sit at her piano.
*
Ivy, as Sneezy, would be leading the dwarfs onto the stage. Her heart was pounding with fear and anticipation. Her mother and Bert were in the audience, probably expecting great things of the choir and her. She supposed these feelings were normal for anyone waiting to go on. She thought of all the time they’d spent getting ready, the practising, worrying, learning the words. The pantomime had brought the choir closer together . . . Suddenly she was aware of a terrible smell engulfing her. ‘Can you smell that?’
Now she could hear muffled giggles.
Rainey said, ‘I’m ever so sorry. I think that Spam I had for my dinner had been sitting in the cupboard too long.’
*
‘I’m not about to offer the choir a contract to appear at Portsmouth’s Coliseum,’ said Herbert, in the interval. Blackie could see he was bored. Not so the audience: they were enjoying every moment. Of course it probably helped that the people watching were mostly relatives of the singers.
‘You laughed like a drain when the dwarfs came on,’ said Blackie. ‘Anyway, this is a damned good cup of tea included in the price of the ticket . . .’
‘I paid through the nose for them,’ Herbert moaned. ‘And because everyone’s in costume we still have no idea which parts are being played by your girl and her mother.’
‘We soon will when we go back in the hall and sit down.’
‘Stand up,’ Herbert reminded him.
Just then a whistle was blown that seemed to signify everyone should return to their seats. Blackie and Herbert waited while people pushed and shoved around them, holding back and finishing their tea. After all, neither had a chair to get back to. When they went into the auditorium the audience had already begun to clap the three young women standing in the centre of the stage. All three were smiling but Blackie could see they were nervous.
The plump woman with the little dog introduced the girls as ‘my trio’ but Blackie recognized the girl in the photograph immediately.
Herbert gave a low whistle. Blackie glared at him. ‘I should have realized she wouldn’t be a kid any longer.’
The girls began singing and a hush came over the hall.
Blackie looked at Herbert. His face was impassive but he was staring intently. Blackie was listening to the words. The girls seemed to be in a world of their own. When the song finished and the last note had been sung, the hall erupted with noise.
Herbert was quiet. Blackie nudged his arm and asked, ‘What do you think?’
Herbert turned his head. Blackie could see his eyes were bright with tears. He blinked them away and said, ‘Never mind your girl, we should sign up all three.’
Just then the air-raid siren wailed.
Chapter Thirty-one
‘You’re going the wrong way!’
‘No, I’m not, Herbert. The crowd’s rushing out into the street. I’m making my way to the back of the stage to find those girls.’
Herbert was now muttering and cursing, as people pushed past them wanting to get to the air-raid shelters.
Blackie had reached the steps at the side of the stage that the small round woman had used earlier. He bounded up, closely followed by Herbert. Standing for so long had made Blackie’s leg ache but he wasn’t about to give up on finding the girl in the photograph now he was so close.
Backstage was deserted. Clothing and props had been left where they’d fallen. It was also pitch black. All the lights had been turned off.
‘Wait for me,’ Herbert said. ‘I can’t see as well as you.’ One of the back doors had been left open.
‘Can you hear that?’
‘Hear it? I can see them now.’ Herbert was standing in the doorway. Searchlights had picked out planes and already ground fire was leaping towards the enemy. Blackie could hear the bombs whistling down and watched as walls of dust and flame swept into the sky. Although they were not close he ducked every time.
‘Shut that bloody door,’ he yelled. ‘We can’t go out in that – we’ll never find the shelter now.’
Herbert kicked the door closed and for a second or two there was peace, until a dog’s bark broke the silence.
‘It came from in here,’ said Blackie. He walked into the wings and was amazed when a trapdoor lifted in the stage floor.
‘You’d better get down here with us if you don’t want to be blasted to kingdom come,’ said the frizzy-haired woman who’d been announcing the programme. ‘Can’t leave our patrons to fend for themselves.’
‘That sounds remarkably fair of you, dear lady, and I can’t thank you enough for the shelter you’re offering us,’ said Herbert, quickly gathering his thoughts, stepping forward and beginning to lower himself down beneath the stage. When Blackie, too, descended, it took him a while to realize, despite the initial silence, that the cavernous space was filled with people chatting and laughing. Candles in jam-jars gave a dull light.
Blackie was about to ask why he had heard no noise unti
l the sharp bark from Toto, when the frizzy-haired woman, as if anticipating his question, said, ‘Insulation. We’re well insulated beneath the stage. This is my choir and family friends,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘I’m Alice Wilkes.’ She’d hardly got the last word out when Toto barked again. ‘And this is Toto,’ she added. ‘The Jerries have rather caught us on the hop.’
Ever the gentleman, Herbert put out his hand. ‘No time for surnames. I’m Herbert and –’ he gestured to Blackie ‘– this is my young friend Blackie.’
Blackie shook her hand. It was stuffy in the bowels of the stage.
‘Don’t stand about,’ Alice said. ‘Find yourselves some seats.’
Now his eyes had become more used to the dull light, Blackie saw plenty of discarded props, curtains and old chairs with which he could make himself very comfortable.
Alice peered at him. ‘Pish! I see you have gypsy eyes, very lucky, most unusual.’ She pointed across at a fair-haired young woman and said, ‘Go and sit with Jo. She’ll tell you all about the pantomime. Did you see it?’
Again there was no chance to say anything as she’d moved on to talk to Herbert. Blackie sat next to Jo and gave her a weak smile. ‘Hello, I’m Blackie. Does anyone ever get a word in edgeways?’ He nodded at Alice.
Jo said, ‘She’s our music teacher so it’s natural for her to tell us what to do. We’re used to it.’
He sensed her nervousness and tried to make her feel more at ease: ‘We really enjoyed the show, what we saw of it. The dwarfs were very funny but the high point was the three girls singing that old folk song.’
‘Oh, I’m glad you enjoyed it. My daughter’s the one in the middle with the startling auburn hair.’ She moved her carrier bag to the floor to give him more room on the narrow bench. She was wearing slacks and a long-sleeved brown jumper. He could see bright material poking out from the bag.
‘Really?’ Was that all Blackie could manage? Everything was suddenly moving too fast. This wasn’t the time to take out the photograph and begin talking about the last moments of her husband’s life, then move on to her daughter’s possible career.
A moment of silence had sprung up between them. He looked at her. The greenest eyes he had ever seen stared back at him from a heart-shaped face. Her hair, a soft blonde, was hanging to her shoulders in a sort of bob but the front was messy and she kept pushing offending strands out of her eyes. He had the strongest need to touch it, lift it away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. He suppressed the desire, knowing how unseemly it would be.
He remembered her neighbour had said both mother and daughter sang in the choir. ‘And do you sing?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure I didn’t make much of an impression up there on the stage,’ she said, ‘but, yes, I’m in the choir, if only to make up the numbers.’
He thought it was a cue to laugh, so he did. ‘And does your husband sing?’
Her face took on a pinched look. ‘I don’t have a husband,’ she said. He caught the note of bitterness that spoke volumes. He thought of the dead corporal’s letters from another woman and the single photograph of his daughter that he had carried until the day he had died.
It was beginning to make sense now. This woman had left her home and her husband, that much he knew. If the army, like him, had had trouble tracing her, it was possible she wasn’t even aware her husband was dead. He could hardly blurt out who he was and his reasons for looking for her at the very moment bombs were raining down outside, could he?
He looked across to where Herbert was sprawled on a rumpled velvet curtain, the white dog on his lap, talking animatedly to Alice Wilkes.
It was in that moment his problem was solved for a tall man appeared at his side and said to the woman, ‘One of your lot has discovered a Primus, while another’s been under the other side of the stage to the kitchens and got hold of the makings for tea.’ He looked at Blackie. ‘No doubt you could do with a cup.’
Blackie had the strangest feeling the man had come not to offer tea but to mark his territory, for he did the very thing that Blackie had longed to do. He gently picked up the wayward strands of hair from the woman’s forehead and tucked them behind her ear. She smiled, and Blackie thought that smile was like a ray of sunshine after a storm. It also showed the two were well acquainted with each other. He felt the man warranted a reply. ‘Yes, please,’ he said.
‘Maud’s looking for you,’ said the man to the woman.
‘It was her that moved from the seat beside me,’ she said, ‘but I’d better go and find her.’ She made to rise. ‘Blackie, this is my friend Syd. He owns a garage.’ She turned to Blackie. ‘I didn’t ask about you,’ she said.
Blackie said, ‘I’ve recently left hospital, got knocked about a bit in France.’ He couldn’t tell her now why he was really there. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he had found the right woman, and that her daughter was the girl in the photograph. And he knew where they lived.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Will you be expected to return?’
‘No,’ said Blackie.
‘Bad show,’ said Syd. ‘You must tell me what happened. Jo,’ he insisted, ‘don’t forget about Maud.’
Blackie thought quickly. Syd was steering Jo away from him. Why? Did it show a spark of jealousy in him?
Syd and Jo were standing facing each other.
It was now or never.
Blackie swiftly took the photograph from his pocket and slipped it inside Jo’s carrier bag. He sat back comforted by the knowledge that no one had seen a thing.
Chapter Thirty-two
It was nearly nine the following evening when Blackie knocked on Jo’s door. He would have liked to come earlier but the bombing on Wednesday had taken its toll. Portsmouth had been hit hard. He’d spent most of the day helping Herbert survey his premises and studio, which had been hit. Luckily they had been empty at the time so no one was hurt. Madame always went to the shelter immediately the siren sounded. Blackie thought the damage was irreparable.
Despite his overcoat, he shivered. November wasn’t the kindest month. He had begun to think no one was at home when he heard footsteps. Apologies were already on his lips as Jo opened the door. ‘I knew it was you! The photograph of my daughter, how did you come by it?’
‘Shall we talk indoors instead of out here?’
‘If it’s money you want not to tell him where we are, you’re out of luck.’
He knew then that she had no idea her husband was dead. Worse, she thought he had come to blackmail her. He had to put his arm against the front door to stop her shutting it in his face. ‘Hold on. It’s not what you think.’
‘You know what I think, do you?’
‘I think you’re very angry but even more I know you’re scared and there’s nothing to be frightened about.’
She stepped back and allowed the door to fall ajar. Blackie heard another door open nearby. ‘Quick! Get inside,’ she said. She grabbed his arm and pulled him across the doorstep. ‘My neighbours are kind but so nosy.’
It smelled of lavender polish and of something delicious cooking in the oven. As he followed her to the kitchen he said, ‘That smells heavenly.’
‘My friend Maud got hold of some mixed fruit she split with me so there’s a bread pudding in the oven for when Rainey gets home.’
‘I remember Maud,’ he said.
‘You’d better sit down.’
He did as he was told. Then she asked, ‘Are you going to explain how you got hold of my daughter’s photo?’
He looked around the comfortable kitchen. He could see someone had put a great deal of effort into making the shabby room look nice. ‘Can I sit by the range?’ he asked. He rubbed his hands together, as if to prove he was cold.
‘Please yourself,’ she said. ‘Only don’t take all night making up your mind to talk because I want you out of here before my daughter comes home.’
He sat in the armchair. Where to begin? he asked himself. At the beginning, of course.
‘Your husband, Alfie, was in a foxhole with me in France.’ He stopped. He had her full attention. Her beautiful eyes were fixed on his own.
Suddenly she spoke: ‘He’s dead! That’s what you’ve come to tell me, isn’t it?’
Her voice had risen alarmingly. He had no idea what he would do if she burst into floods of tears. He was quite certain now she had run from Alfie and had had no contact with the army. Momentarily Blackie remembered the strangeness of the corporal, his apparent withdrawal from what was going on around him, his unexplained presence in the lookout post. Blackie took a deep breath, amazed at the woman’s stillness.
‘He died saving me and killing the enemy.’ Blackie had already decided he wouldn’t elaborate. He stared at her. She still hadn’t moved. ‘He told me his daughter sang better than Vera Lynn.’
Blackie was surprised when a smile appeared on her lips. ‘He always thought that,’ she said. ‘Did he tell you anything else?’
When Blackie shook his head, she seemed satisfied. ‘So you weren’t billeted with him?’
Again he shook his head. ‘We weren’t together long.’
‘I think I need a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Do you?’
Relief washed over him that she wasn’t dissolving into hysterics. ‘I’d love one,’ he said. ‘Do you want any help?’
He didn’t imagine she was unable to make a pot of tea, of course not, but he wondered if she needed someone with her when she finally realized her husband was dead.
Anticipating his thoughts, she said, ‘I’m not going out there to scream and shout and cry. Our marriage had gone beyond that point.’ She disappeared into the scullery and he heard the gas popping, then the rattle of the teapot and crockery.
He sat gazing around the room, remembering the estate agent who’d told him the place was cheap because it was in a deplorable state. Well, it was a little palace now, he thought. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her but he knew it wasn’t the right time and he needed to talk to her about her daughter, Rainey.
He heard the oven door swiftly open, then close again, and the spicy scent of the bread pudding wafted in. He was trying to remember when he’d last eaten it when Jo came into the kitchen carrying a tray.
