A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  She had often thought of him, though, during the years she had spent back in the north country; William Moon, the canny lad from Scarborough whom she had loved…and lost.

  ‘…Remember me to one who lives there,

  For once he was a true love of mine.’

  Her disappointment had been great on her return, when she had discovered he was married and with a child on the way. But now…now the pathway was clear again. She was finding it easier as the months went by to set aside her ambivalent thoughts with regard to Clara. And she had made headway tonight with Maddy. If she proceeded with caution she was sure she could win the girl’s acceptance, if not her affection. The love that there had once been between herself and William could be rekindled. It was unfortunate, of course, that she found herself unable to work along with him in some aspects of his profession – she knew she must tell him this very soon – but there would be other ways of winning his admiration and, eventually, his love.

  The beautiful face of Faith Barraclough suddenly loomed, unbidden, into her thoughts. She banished it quickly to the outer reaches of her mind. That woman would be here for the next couple of weeks, that was all, then she would have gone. Whereas she, Bella, would always be here…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Percy Morgan noticed the two little girls – Jessie, the ginger-haired lass from York, and Maddy with the pale golden hair – on the front row, where they usually sat at each performance they attended. He noticed, too, that Maddy, the granddaughter of Isaac Moon, the undertaker, was dressed in mourning clothes. Not the deepest black, to be sure, but a sombre shade of purple and with a black ribbon tied around her curls. It was obvious that someone close to her must have died recently, and he guessed that it might be old Isaac. Not that he was so very old – roughly the same age as Henry, his own father, whom was still hale and hearty – but the cold Yorkshire winters were treacherous, particularly the bitter east winds on the coast, blowing across from Scandinavia.

  When he made enquiries, however, he discovered to his surprise and sorrow that it was Clara Moon who had died, young William’s wife, carried off suddenly in an attack of pneumonia. Percy wondered if he should go round and offer his condolences, but already six months had passed since Clara’s death and he did not wish to reawaken their feelings of sadness; especially with regard to young Maddy who might be starting to recover from the worst of her sorrow. He noticed that she sang along cheerfully enough when the audience was invited to join in with the choruses, although he had seen a pensive expression on her face, too, at times.

  And then he noticed Maddy’s name on the list of entrants for the talent show; Madeleine Moon, age eleven, singer; that was all it said. Percy was pleased. He guessed she would make a good impression on the audience. From what he had heard of her singing, her voice was clear and tuneful and she didn’t seem to be afraid of making herself heard. It was different, of course, when you had to stand up on a stage facing an audience. It was good, though, that the girl was doing this and he felt sure it would be with the encouragement of her family. Life had to go on… A worn-out old platitude but one that, nevertheless, was very true. He would probably see Isaac and William Moon on the afternoon of the contest and would be able to have a word of commiseration with them then.

  The discussion of the forthcoming talent show was just one of the items on the agenda when Uncle Percy’s Pierrots met together on a Saturday afternoon in mid-August. Their meeting place, once again, was at the comfortable home of Mrs Ada Armstrong on Castle Road, where Percy and Letty and Henry Morgan, and other members of the troupe, had stayed for several seasons. Their first of what might be called business meetings had been in May, near the beginning of their Scarborough season; and this later one was to evaluate the new ideas they had introduced that year, and to discuss plans for the following six weeks or so, after which the season would end. And to hear about the bookings which Percy and Henry had already procured for the autumn and winter season, an item of particular importance to the younger members of the troupe, Barney and Benjy, the tap dancing duo, and Susannah, the soubrette, who were not as well off as some of the older members.

  The customary fish and chip lunch they had enjoyed, followed by the strong cup of tea, had kindled a feeling of contentment and self-satisfaction throughout the troupe.

  ‘I think we have good reason to be pleased with ourselves so far this year,’ said Percy. ‘Our takings are up on this time last year, our new innovations seem to have gone down well, and as far as I’m concerned I’m right proud of us all.’

  ‘That goes for me an’ all,’ said his father, Henry. He did not perform any longer but took an active part on the managerial side. ‘Aye, I’m as happy as Larry, you might say, whoever he is; I’m blessed if I know. We can all give ourselves a good pat on the back.’

  They talked about the programmes which the audience were now given at each performance; so that they could follow the acts and get to know the names of the artistes, and also pass the programme on, maybe, to somebody else in their holiday digs to encourage them to come along to the show as well. This list of acts was changed each week and banged out by Letty on her old typewriting machine. She also made posters in – hopefully – indelible inks advertising forthcoming attractions such as the sandcastle competition, children’s races, the talent contest, and the gala performance which would take place at the end of the season.

  They were all vociferous in praise of the new picture postcards which were sold at the end of each performance. Percy’s Pierrots had enjoyed a day out earlier that year. They had travelled by train to the little Yorkshire town of Holmfirth near Huddersfield to have their photographs taken by a man called James Bamforth, who was becoming very well known in his own field of work. He was an artist who had started a family firm, painting backgrounds for thousands of Life Model Lantern slides which he had been producing for a good number of years. His other interest was photography, and more recently he had started using his slides to illustrate postcards which incorporated the words of hymns and songs of the day. These were often sold in sets of three or four, so if the buyer wanted all the verses of the song, then all the postcards had to be bought. Postcard collecting was becoming very popular at the beginning of the new century, also the idea of sending a picture postcard home when on holiday.

  And so Percy had contacted the firm of Bamforth’s who had been pleased to fit in with his ideas. The result was a collection of photographs of the Pierrots, two dozen pictures in all. They were photographed singly, in pairs, or in groups posing against painted backgrounds of trees and hills, flower gardens and fountains, rustic cottages, or a vista of cliffs and sea and sand. And each picture contained a verse of a song or a telling phrase from the artiste’s repertoire.

  ‘Which of the cards has sold the best?’ asked Susannah. Percy knew she was longing to be told that it was the one of her in the flower garden, but he was determined not to give her the satisfaction, or, on the other hand, to disillusion her.

  ‘There’s little to choose between them,’ he said. ‘The group photos all sell very well.’ Actually, although he did not say so, it was the one of himself and Pete in the ‘Hole in my Bucket’ song which had proved the most popular, with the one of Nancy and her dogs, Daisy and Dolly, as a close second. They had had a devil of a job, he recalled, keeping the dogs – a couple of adorable little West Highland terriers – still, and Nancy had been photographed with an arm held tightly round each of them, seated on high stools similar to the ones they used in their performance.

  ‘Some folks buy one every time they come,’ said Pete. ‘That little red-haired lass – the real ginger-nut, I mean, not her friend – she bought one, then she was back for another couple the next day. I asked her if she was sending them to friends back at home, but she said no, they were souvenirs, like, of her holiday. It’s nice to feel that folks want to remember us, isn’t it, when they’ve gone back home?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Percy, ‘and the song sheets help
as well. They can sing their favourite songs over and over again. A pity about the music though. That’s summat we’ve not got round to yet. But happen by the end o’ t’ season we’ll have enough pennies saved up to have some music sheets printed an’ all. So they can have jolly old sing-songs round the pianner. Like Pete was saying, it’s good to remember happy times, especially when the weather’s turned cold and dreary.

  ‘Now, the talent contest next Wednesday is the next thing on the agenda. It’s the first time we’ve tried one for the younger members of our audience, so we want it to be a success. I think we’ve got the age limit right, haven’t we? Aged thirteen and under?’

  ‘Aye, I reckon that’s right, boss,’ said Frank Morrison, the ‘Jack of all trades’ of the group. He was proficient at the harmonica, banjo and concertina, could sing reasonably well and also act as a ‘funny man’. ‘Most youngsters leave school at thirteen or so, so I think we should limit it to those of school age. Anyroad, the lads’ voices start to break at round about that age and they find their singing’s gone all over t’ show.’

  ‘How many entries have we got?’ asked Susannah. There had been a notice pinned up on the events board for the last week on which entrants could place their names, age and the type of act.

  ‘Oh, about a dozen so far,’ said Percy. ‘But there’ll be several more I’m sure. The list so far only includes those who are staying for a fortnight or longer. I know there were quite a few kiddies disappointed because they were going back home today. But that’s the way it goes; we can’t have one every week. Those who are just starting their holidays won’t know about it yet. And there are the local children of course. One or two that I know are residents in Scarborough. Little Maddy Moon, for instance; she’s down to sing a song.’

  ‘Yes, poor little lass,’ said his wife. ‘You know the girl we mean, don’t you?’ The rest of the troupe nodded their agreement. ‘We found out she lost her mother not long ago, so it’s very brave of her to enter.’

  ‘Happen her father thought it might help her to take her mind off things,’ said Henry Morgan. ‘Aye, she’s sure to get a good ovation.’

  ‘We mustn’t let it influence us, though,’ Percy pointed out. ‘I know we feel sorry for her and I dare say she’ll do quite well – she’s got a nice little voice – but we must make sure we are absolutely unbiased, in fairness to the other entrants.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Benjy.

  ‘Here, here…’ said Barney.

  ‘Who is going to judge the contest?’ asked Nancy. ‘What have you in mind, Percy? Just two or three of us, maybe?’

  ‘No…’ replied Percy cautiously. ‘I think it would only be fair for us all to have a hand in it. We all have our preferences, haven’t we, for different kinds of acts? We’ve got singers amongst us, and musicians and dancers and funny men and…recitationists. Is that the right word? And performing dogs, of course, although there aren’t any of those so far.’

  ‘What sort of acts are there?’ asked Frank.

  ‘Oh, a pretty mixed bag,’ said Percy. ‘A few singers; another girl as well as Maddy, and two boys. Three doing recitations, a lad doing conjuring tricks, a juggler, two who call themselves comedians, and a dancer. I’m not sure what sort though, tap or ballet or whatever; it’s a little girl aged eight. And Letty will be pleased to play for them if they bring their music along.’

  ‘Do you think it will work, though, if we all have a finger in the pie?’ asked Pete. ‘I’m sure we could all trust the judgement of just two or three of our members, couldn’t we?’

  There were nods of assent from most of them; only the dancing duo and Susannah seemed unsure.

  ‘No, that’s the way I want it,’ said Percy decidedly. ‘What I have in mind is summat like this. We all of us give marks out of five – or happen ten – when each boy or girl has performed, then at the end we can add the marks together and see who has the most. It seems to me to be the fairest way of doing things.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds like a good idea,’ said Nancy. ‘There are eleven of us altogether, so I would suggest marks out of five, not ten.’ She laughed. ‘Maths was never my strong point, I don’t know about the rest of you.’

  ‘Very well then; marks out of five,’ agreed Percy.

  ‘Supposing there’s a tie for the first place?’ queried Susannah.

  ‘Well, in that case I suppose we would all have to get together and cast votes,’ said Percy. ‘But let’s not make difficulties. It’s meant to be fun, not deadly serious.’

  ‘And what are we giving for prizes?’ asked Carlo, whose real name was Charles Colman. He and his wife, Queenie, were the newest members of the troupe.

  ‘I’ve got a trophy for the winner,’ said Percy. ‘Just a small one, a little silver cup on a black stand, and I thought we could have it engraved – when we know who’s won it, of course. There’s a chap in the market who does it the same day, and he’s very reasonable. And perhaps a monetary reward as well for the first three. What do you think? Seven and sixpence, five bob and half a crown? Or is that too much?’

  It was agreed that that was just about right, and it was decided that each child taking part should be given a set of the Pierrot postcards. That would be of more lasting value than a stick of rock or a lollipop.

  ‘Now… I have some news regarding our future bookings,’ Percy went on when they had exhausted the subject of the talent contest. They had decided on the name of ‘Morgan’s Melody Makers’ before they had started their new venture the previous autumn. It was short and snappy and to the point and the show had proved to be a success in the Yorkshire towns such as Leeds, Bradford, Halifax, Sheffield and Huddersfield where they had performed in small theatres, assembly rooms or community halls.

  ‘Yes, we’ve been booked again at most of the places we visited last winter. Morgan’s Melody Makers have made their mark, I’m pleased to say. And this year, of course, we have our new members, Carlo and Queenie, who I am sure will be very popular with our audiences.’

  Queenie turned and looked at her husband, beaming all over her plumpish face, and Carlo nodded and smiled too. She was a regal-looking woman as befitted her name; not exactly fat but certainly well upholstered and with a magnificent bosom. She loved to wear rich purple or emerald green satin with strings of pearls on stage, when she was not in her Pierrot costume. Her husband, tall and slim, dressed accordingly in full evening attire. Their Gilbert and Sullivan songs had gone down particularly well and Percy could see already that they were an asset to the troupe. Queenie’s grandiose manner was largely put on for show. When off her guard her accent, acquired in the suburbs of Wakefield, was as pronounced as that of any of them.

  ‘I have a list here which I’ll pass round,’ Percy continued, ‘then you can see the locations and the dates of the bookings. You will see that we will be venturing “over the border”, as you might say, this time. Not very far though; Rochdale and Oldham and a variety theatre in Manchester. And I’m sure you will be pleased to see that we are invited back to Scarborough in December, to the Spa Pavilion, no less! A week in the city of York; that’s in January. And Blackpool! Now that’s a feather in our cap if ever there was one. We’ll be going there in February. So all in all I think we have every reason to be pleased with ourselves.’

  Percy allowed a few moments for the members of the troupe to chatter amongst themselves. They all seemed satisfied with the good work that he and his father had done for them.

  ‘Well done, Percy lad,’ said Pete. ‘And you too, Henry. You’ve done us proud.’

  ‘Aye; the bookings are well up on last year, aren’t they?’ said Frank. ‘That means more time away from home. Oh dear! My missus isn’t going to be very happy about that.’

  ‘You should do what I do, and Pete and Carlo,’ said Percy. ‘Bring your wife along with you. I’m sure we could fit her into the programme somewhere. I dare say she can sing as well as you can, can’t she?’ Percy was smiling though. He knew that Hilda Morrison ran her own sec
ond-hand clothes business in York and was quite self-sufficient. He guessed, too, at Frank’s reaction.

  ‘Not on your life!’ replied Frank. ‘She’s all right where she is. Anyroad, what is it they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?’

  Percy grinned. He knew that in Frank’s case it was more likely to be ‘out of sight, out of mind’. ‘I will leave you to make your own arrangements regarding digs,’ he said. ‘There should be plenty of adverts in the stage magazines for all the towns we’re booked in. They’re well used to variety performers. My father and I will see to the travel arrangements. Sunday trains, of course, but they’re all pretty much on the main line so there shouldn’t be any problems. We managed to get through last winter without too many hitches.’

  ‘Apart from Susannah and her hat-box,’ laughed Frank. Susannah always seemed to have more items of luggage to carry than anyone else, and when alighting at Bradford one Sunday in January she had left behind possibly her most vital item. The collection of large-brimmed, flower-trimmed hats for which she was renowned had continued on the journey to Leeds where, fortunately, the troupe was booked for the following week. Susannah had been forced to pay a visit to Bradford market early on Monday morning to buy a replacement from the hat stall; and, to her annoyance, she had to wear the same headgear for every appearance.

  ‘You’ve no room to talk, Frank Morrison,’ she retorted now. ‘Who was it who missed the train to Sheffield? I’ve never seen Henry in such a panic, pacing up and down the platform. He thought you’d gone and left us in the lurch.’