The Fun Factory

by Chris England

  “May the best man win,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “May the better man win,” I corrected him. I hadn’t spent all those years eavesdropping on old dons’ dinnertime conversations at the High Table of a Cambridge college without picking up some pedantism of my own. Sorry, I mean pedantry, don’t I…?

  “I’m sure I shall,” Charlie smirked.

  “Good, good,” Karno said. “All right, now run along, children.”

  He made a show of going back to his paperwork: his habitual way of making his performers feel like there was always something to do that was more important than talking to us. As Chaplin and I reached the door he gave one of his little coughs.

  “Oh, ahem … Arthur?”

  I turned to look at him. Actually we both did.

  “Could I just have a quick word? In private?”

  “Of course, Guv’nor,” I said, enjoying the look that flitted across Chaplin’s face.

  “Shut the door.”

  I did so, on Chaplin.

  “Have a seat.”

  As I sat down, Karno perched on the corner of his desk.

  “I like you, Arthur.”

  “Thank you, Guv’nor.”

  “And you like me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, Guv’nor.”

  He gave a little cough, and for one awful moment I thought he was about to proposition me. You just thought that, too, be honest. It might have been easier to deal with all round if he had done, because what he actually had in mind was this: “You want to beat young Chaplin, don’t you, at this little contest of mine?”

  “Whatever it takes,” I said.

  “Well, then, perhaps if … you could help me out with a little something, then maybe I should be able to help you in return, d’you get my drift?” He smiled in a friendly sort of a way. It was terrifying.

  “What … could I help you out with, Mr Karno?”

  The Guv’nor stood, patted me on the shoulder, then began to pace the room.

  “Have you seen my wife of late?”

  “Well, no, I have been in Paris for the last month,” I pointed out.

  “So you have, so you have. But you are … friendly? With her?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “She’s still a handsome woman.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Attractive. You think her attractive, I take it?”

  “I … suppose … so…” I ventured.

  “Good, that’s good,” Karno said. “That is as it should be. No need to beat about the bush. We are grown men. Men of the world. Eh?”

  Karno paced up and down the small office, coughed again, then fixed me with his beady eye.

  “When our marriage ended, as it sadly did – no fault on either side, just one of those unfortunate things – she was persuaded by unscrupulous men that her best interests lay not in the divorce which would have made things right and proper between us but in our remaining manacled together in a union that is little more than a sham. A sham, I tell thee, devised by lawyers with the sole purpose of milking me for every penny they can squeeze out!” Here he paused, and took out a handkerchief with which to mop his brow. “Because of this I am unable to make an honest woman of Maria, and am unable to move on with my life, leaving that unhappy chapter behind me.”

  “I see,” I said, more to fill the pause than anything, because I didn’t see yet, not really.

  “Good, Arthur, good, I knew ye would,” Karno said, and returned to his chair behind his desk, leaning forward again to rest on his elbows. “Now the fact is, I can see no way out of this legal impasse without the help of someone such as your good self.”

  “Me? What can I do?” I asked, not sure I was going to like the answer much.

  “Well. You say you are friendly with my wife, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Very friendly, right?”

  I shrugged.

  “Just so. Now if you were to – how shall I put this…? If you were to become even more friendly with Edith – an attractive woman, as you yourself said just now – to the point where you could persuade her to indulge in a liaison of a … um … carnal character. That would give me grounds, do you see, for a challenge in t’ courts, she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, as it were, and the whole damned thing would be done and dusted in a trice.”

  “I don’t know…” I began.

  “Of course, of course, you take some time to think about it, eh? That’s only reasonable. You have a bit of think. In actual fact, if you have any qualms at all about what I am asking, it would not be essential – preferable, I think, but not altogether essential – for you to actually engage in a liaison with Mrs Karno, just so long as you were prepared to swear an affidavit to the effect that you had done so. There would naturally be questioning, in court and so forth, concerned with verification, and a knowledge of certain…” – here he coughed one of his little coughs – “…certain … intimate details would no doubt be, um, helpful, but I’m sure someone of your skills could carry that off without breaking sweat. Eh?”

  So there it was. The road to success, for me, was paved with cruel seduction, or perjury, or a combination of the two. It was set before me as plainly as that. Ruin my wife, and I’ll make you a number-one comic.

  Karno watched me anxiously. “Just our little secret, all right?” he said, with a wink.

  Well, as you can no doubt imagine, I gave this matter a fair bit of thought over the next few days. In fact I doubt whether I spent a waking moment thinking about anything else.

  Half the time I thought feverishly about the glittering prize that had been dangled in front of my greedy young eyes. To be the number one of a company of Fred Karno Comics was all I had dreamed about since I had come to London. And as if that wasn’t enough, the brass ring came with the additional bonus of depriving Chaplin of the same.

  The other half of the time I was thinking about what I would have to do to get it.

  Was it possible to do what Karno asked, and still escape with my own reputation intact? Only if I could make it appear that I was a hapless victim of circumstances myself, which would mean pretending to actually fall in love with Edith Karno, becoming besotted with her, and sustaining that pretence for how long? Weeks? Months? Years…? Otherwise it was a straightforward proposition – seduce the woman, and then turn on her in court.

  How could I do that to Edith? How could I do that to Freddie junior and Leslie, her sons? To Clara and Charley Bell, her dearest friends?

  And yet … and yet … I could find myself the number one of a company of Fred Karno’s Comics, which was as near as damn-it-all saying ‘made for life’. Karno looked set to rule the roost for years and years to come, always provided he didn’t sink all his money into some God-forsaken scheme to set up his own entertainment resort on an island in the Thames and take himself to the very brink of bankruptcy, anything like that.9

  I passed the whole of that week in an agony of indecision, until, on the Saturday I awoke and realised that I would in all probability see Karno that evening at the Enterprise when I went to get paid. Perhaps I should make some progress.

  I spruced myself up, slicking down my hair and popping up to the High Street for a nice close shave. I spent some little time shilly-shallying over what I should wear, trying to decide which of my (two) suits and (three) ties were most ideal for philandering in. I shined my shoes. Twice. I sat on my bed, feeling slightly faint. I opened the window. Let some air in. Began to shiver in the November chill…

  Then I heard Clara and Charley go out of our front door, taking Edie and Miss Churchhouse up to the Common for a stroll, and I got a grip of myself. Come on, I said out loud. Now or never. Faint heart and all that.

  I felt rather odd as I knocked on Edith Karno’s front door. It seemed utterly unreal, somehow, to be calling on her with this purpose in mind.

  The door opened, to reveal not the maid I was expecting but Edith herself. “Mister Arthur Dandoe!” she cried when
she saw me. “Well! I think I can guess what you are after!”

  I was speechless. Terror-struck. How could she possibly know? I felt my face burning as she turned and disappeared into the hallway. When she returned a moment or two later she had a letter in her hand, which she thrust at me.

  “Here you are, this is what you’ve come for, isn’t it?” she said. “Delivered to our door by mistake. Is this what you’ve been waiting for all this time?”

  I looked down at the envelope. It was addressed to me, and had come from Paris. From Paris! All thought of my strange mission fled from my head, and I began to retreat down the steps.

  “Yes … yes, that’s right. Thank you very much.”

  “I would have popped round with it shortly, you know, but you beat me to it,” Edith smiled. “A lady’s handwriting, if I’m not mistaken – but don’t let me pry.”

  She gave me a conspiratorial wave, then closed the door. I took my letter onto the Common and tore it open eagerly. It was from Tilly, of course, the first I had ever had from her, and it contained unexpected news.

  “My dear Arthur,” she began. I liked the sound of that, and I read it again. Then she went on:

  “Events have taken such a surprising turn here since you left. Maurice’s combustible fiancée10 became so distraught at his relationship with Mistinguett that she attempted suicide by poisoning – unsuccessfully, thank God. However, he feels duty bound to take care of her as she recuperates, and so La Valse Renversante has come to an abrupt end. I feel sure it will be revived shortly, but without me, for I have determined to return to England. Amy Minister – you remember her, of course? – has helped me out. I’ve got an audition with Fred Karno himself, no less, next Wednesday in the afternoon at his house, while his wife is out at the shops, so fingers crossed for me, hey? With a bit of luck I shall not be unemployed for long! Shall we meet for tea afterwards, say four o’clock at the Fun Factory?”

  She closed then with the two words “your Tilly”, which made my head spin. I could hardly believe it. Tilly was coming back, and wanted to meet. The possibility that she might come to work for Karno, and that I might soon be a number one, able to pick and choose the members of my company, why, suddenly it was all falling into place perfectly. I was walking on air, I can tell you.

  When I pitched up at the Enterprise later that evening, I was surprised to see Fred Spiksley, Jimmy Crabtree and Billy Wragg already ensconced in a corner, their habitual fug of smoke hanging over their table.

  “Evening there, lads,” I said. “Wasn’t expecting to see you till Monday.”

  “Aye,” said Fred. “Yon Charlie asked O’Neill to bring us down early. Couple of things he wanted to work on, he said, so we thought why not, if he’s payin’…?”

  “Is that right?” I said, looking around to see if Chaplin was there, and he was, deep in conversation with Syd not far off, not paying me any attention.

  So, I thought to myself, it’s going to be like that, is it? All’s fair in so-and-so and also of course in you-know-what. I realised it might be a very good idea to get these lads on side as soon as possible, so I clapped my hands together and opened my mouth to offer them all a drink on me. Before I could do that, though, Karno himself walked up and clapped me on the back.

  “Arthur, my boy, come with me. Someone I want you to see.”

  I followed him around the bar and there, beaming fit to split his face in half, was Stan.

  “Took your advice, you see?” Karno said. “Got to help one another in this business, haven’t we, eh?” He gave me a look laden with meaning, and then turned to Stan. “What does your Dad have to say about it, eh, young Jefferson?”

  “Well, to tell the truth, I’ve not told him,” Stan admitted.

  “Ha!” Karno cried. “I’ll bet you’ve not, neither! Oh, I meant to ask,” he said, turning to me and snapping his fingers as though this had only just occurred to him. “Have you by any chance seen Mrs Karno since we spoke?”

  “This very afternoon,” I said, neglecting to go into any details.

  “Good lad,” the Guv’nor said, patting me on the back. He then drifted off to circulate amongst his flock, and Stan pumped my hand enthusiastically.

  “So, I’ve to thank you, have I?” he grinned. “I thought as much!”

  “Well, I only mentioned your name,” I said. “What happened?”

  “I went to a Karno pantomime when I was in Manchester and presented myself backstage afterwards. He was there, the Guv’nor – your Guv’nor, that is – said that he’d heard all about me and took me on there and then. I’ve been rehearsing Mumming Birds these last few days and start at the Hippodrome in Hulme next week.”

  “Marvellous news,” I said, punching his arm. “So you’re a Karno man now.”

  “I’m only sorry I shall miss all the fun next weekend,” Stan said. “I hear it’s between you and Charlie for Harry Weldon’s number-one spot.”

  Just then Freddie junior passed by, and I grabbed his arm. “Hey, Freddie, meet Stan. Stan, this is Mr Fred Karno junior.”

  Stan turned, grinned his happy grin, and stuck out his hand. Freddie shook it, and gave me a puzzled look.

  “Stan’s the new boy,” I explained. “Your dad’s just taken him on.”

  Freddie’s face darkened. “Oh, for pity’s sake!” he cried. “Another one?” And he pushed off through the crowd, looking for something to kick.

  Just before closing time big Billy Wragg came up to me, took me to one side. I was a bit surprised. He was a quiet lad, Billy, just used to sit at the table with the others, puffing away, drinking along, while Spiksley or Crabtree made the running. Not one to take the initiative.

  “If you want,” he said, “we could work on a bit of – what do you lads call it? Stuff?”

  “Business,” I said. “What sort of thing do you have in mind, Bill?”

  “Whatever you think,” Billy said. “I know Charlie’s all for trying something new with Fred and Jimmy, like, and I thought mebbe you wouldn’t want to get left behind…”

  We arranged to stay behind after rehearsals the next week and see what could be done. Of course, I understood perfectly well that Fred and Jimmy would be touching Charlie for a few quid for their “help”, and that Big Billy would expect similar. I offered him a generous – I thought – remuneration, with a bonus to be paid if I was successful on the night. I reckoned I’d be able to afford it then, and it might give him the incentive to put plenty into it.

  Of course I didn’t realise then just how much he would put into it.

  26

  DON’T DO IT AGAIN, MATILDA

  EVERYONE attached to the Karno organisation, and plenty who weren’t, got caught up in the contest as it drew nearer.

  I was reliably informed – well, I say reliably, it was Mike Asher who told me – that a book was being run and some substantial sums were being laid down on me and Charlie. That should have put me on my guard, knowing the footballers as I did. I noticed Fred Spiksley and Jimmy Crabtree hanging back rather, trying not to get involved, keeping their powder dry for young Mr Chaplin’s sake, but I didn’t think there was much they could really do to actually undermine me. Not without losing their jobs, anyway. I actually looked forward to rubbing their noses in it once I took over as the new number one.

  Anyway, Billy Wragg was my man. After the large cast rehearsal was finished the two of us started working on a piece of business, or ‘stuff’, as Billy called it. Obviously there wasn’t much leeway to add to what was already there, but we were able to come up with a couple of ideas to embellish the football action passages of the piece. In our best little sequence we worked it so that Billy would stop the ball and instantly brace his leg behind it so that I, as Stiffy, could throw myself full-bloodedly into a save, giving it everything. When we showed it off to the rest of the company later, the meaty slap of the two of us colliding made the other players wince, and drew a smattering of spontaneous applause from those watching the rehearsal. I knew we had a win
ner.

  I had the Wednesday off, and was looking forward to meeting Tilly at the Fun Factory later that afternoon. I hadn’t done anything more about the ‘favour’ that Karno had asked of me, and I supposed I should grit my teeth and get on with it, if I was going to.

  Clara Bell seemed to know as much about my neighbour as anyone, so I had in mind that a chat with her might be useful. I poked my head into the kitchen, where I found Clara warming her hands on a fresh pot of tea.

  “Clara?”

  “Hullo, Arthur, my lad. What are you about this fine morning? No rehearsals today?”

  “No, that’s right,” I said.

  “Tea?” Clara asked, her hand poised on the teapot handle, and I nodded and took a seat at the table while she fetched another cup.

  “I wanted to ask you about the lady next door. Edith.” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “How did she and the Guv’nor come to split?” I asked. Clara gave me such a piercing glance at this that I flushed bright red.

  “I was only wondering,” I went on hurriedly, “because she speaks of him so fondly, always wants news of him.”

  “You are her friend, I know you are,” she said, after a moment or two, and I nodded keenly. “I have heard her speak of how much she enjoys your little chats. The view she gets from Freddie, and I am afraid from most of us, is rather jaundiced about her husband, you see, knowing what he is and what he has done. That’s why you are like a breath of fresh air to her. Worshipping him the way she does. The way you do.”

  “I do?”

  “Oh, of course you do, you silly boy. It’s perfectly plain. And I don’t know if it’s really my place to bring you down to earth. Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what? Tell me.”

  Clara took a sip of her tea, and then decided to begin. And once she began, there was no stopping her. “It was … not a happy marriage. She was seventeen when they met, working in the box office at the Theatre Royal in Stockport. He was a gymnast with his act the Three Karnos, and he set his cap at her right away. Her parents, though, didn’t like him, and thought Edith was too young to marry, so they eloped. Very romantic, but he treated her as a slave, all along, right from the first. She’d sell tickets for his shows, then be in his shows, and then scrub the stage once his shows were finished while he and everyone else was in the pub. She was still a child, and he was a bully, that’s all, she was like a piece of property to him.”