by Ruby Jackson
‘Did you tell him what really happened, Liz?’ asked one of the older women. ‘Or did you blame it on the customer?’
Liz had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘Thought about it for a second – can’t afford to lose my job, can I, and it were an accident but you have to watch out for the dead posh ones or the foreign ones – they’re usually duchesses or ambassadors’ wives and they can tell you round is square and Management tells you to agree with them. Doreen and me’s got to pay for the breakages but I’ll do it since she never really done anything.’
With mixed feelings about the story, the women were delighted to hear the all clear soon after. Gratefully they made their way along the garden path to the house. Less than fifteen minutes later everyone was sound asleep.
Mrs Shuttlecock woke them up early and they staggered downstairs, still half asleep but appreciating the smells coming from the pretty dining room.
‘You’d think we’d get used to interrupted sleep,’ groaned a girl who worked in Camden market.
‘We will,’ said Liz, immaculately dressed and perfectly made up as usual. ‘My sister says she thought she’d never get a full night’s sleep again after being up half the night nursing her kids, but she says, soon as they’re weaned, everything goes back to normal.’
‘Nice to know, Liz, thanks,’ mumbled the others, eating their breakfasts of scrambled eggs with fried bacon bits in them.
‘Fantastic breakfast, Mrs B.’
‘No more real eggs till next month, probably. Anyone know a nice farmer?’
Of course Sally knew Alf Humble, tenant of the farm near Dartford where she and her three special friends had played or picked strawberries. Strange to think that Grace had chosen to join the Women’s Land Army. And what connection to farming could a girl like Grace have had? Did enjoy growing her sprouts, mind you.
Sally’s thoughts went everywhere as she tried to get to the theatre. Here and there was evidence of the previous night’s raid and, like every other pedestrian, she had to watch where she put her feet. Smoke drifted across the city and it was impossible to judge where most damage had been done. Eventually she turned into Catherine Street and stopped dead in horror. Several Auxiliary Fire Service taxis with their trailer pumps stood outside the theatre. A group of rather tired-looking teenage boys, none older than seventeen or thereabouts, straddled their bicycles, feet firmly on the ground but each ready at a moment’s notice to cycle off with a message or a plea for more help from other AFS units. A WVS van was near the grey taxis, and exhausted firemen and some men – three clerics among them – who had obviously been helping, were being offered hot tea. The hard-working members of the WVS seemed to turn up with their tea wagon wherever succour was needed. One reminded Sally of Fedora, every hair still in place. For the first time that morning, she smiled.
Dirty water was everywhere but from where she stood, Sally could not see exactly what had happened to the theatre.
And then a mug of tea was pushed into her hand and there was Sebastian. He looked tired and his brown hair was liberally sprinkled with ash.
‘You’ve been here all night? How bad is it?’
‘Max has been here since around one. He rang me just before he left his apartment – took me half an hour or so to get here. There he is leaning against the wall. And no, his hair didn’t turn grey overnight, it’s ash; I don’t think he’s noticed it. It’s even on his moustache – shows what a handsome devil he’ll be in his sixties. The men with him are the all-powerful gods of this theatre, Sir Seymour Hicks, and, of course you’ll remember Basil and Lesley from your audition. We plebs rarely see them but Seymour has that office at the end of the main foyer and Basil’s is in what was the boardroom. Don’t remember where Lesley is but at least one of them is here every day. As to damage, a bomb, high-explosive probably, crashed through into the rear circle just before midnight. It caused a fire, which has done extensive damage, but they tell me the fire brigade is sure it’s under control. Debris landed everywhere and so we can’t do a thing until we’ve had a massive clean-up. But the good news is that no great or lasting damage has been done to the building.’
‘Will we have to wait till the repairs are completed?’
‘What repairs, my little innocent? Every builder, slater, joiner, carpenter in Britain is working all out. We’ll fix what we can ourselves. Actors are only one part of a theatre, remember. We have a brilliant back-stage crew who’ll get to work as soon as they’re allowed into the building. Restoration? I’d imagine that is low down on London’s priority list. A year or two at the best, I think.’
He yawned, and Sally, seeing that the tea in his mug was obviously cold, exchanged it for hers, which he drank gratefully.
‘Any … oh Sebastian, was anyone inside?’
He nodded. ‘Night staff. No fatalities, a few minor injur-ies. What a wake-up call. Sally darling, those boys have been cycling all over London begging for water and carrying it back here. Could you give the WVS a hand getting tea to them and something to eat – if humanly possible?’
Sally was more than happy to help out and the Voluntary Service ladies were delighted to have an extra pair of hands. ‘Splendid lads,’ said one, ‘absolutely splendid, and look at them, my dear, they’re scarcely more than children, aren’t they?’
Sally smiled and carried on with her tea serving until all the cyclists, whose tired eyes had brightened immediately an extremely pretty young woman had spoken to them, had been fed. As she returned to Sebastian she saw that the men with Max had shaken hands with him and were walking off in another direction. Max himself came to join them.
‘They’ve gone for breakfast and will be back later when they’re told it’s safe to enter the theatre. In the meantime I’m going to bed; I suggest you do the same, Seb. Come back tomorrow, Sally; we’ll be working, even if it’s only sweeping floors.’
He walked off and they watched him. Usually straight as a guardsman and light of foot, his bent figure seemed to shuffle to the end of the road before disappearing round the corner.
‘What about the others?’
‘Anyone turns up, they’ll see they have a day off. Max and the general manager will contact as many of us by phone as possible. You’re welcome to come home with me, Sally, but I won’t be great company. I want a bath and my bed.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I have letters to write.’
Sally did try to keep up with her friends, who had all promised to be in touch regularly, but she never seemed to have time. If she had a break, she needed to rest, or there was something for her to learn.
‘A letter a day for a week,’ she told herself, and as soon as she reached her digs she sat down at her dressing table and began the first.
Dear Mum and Dad,
You’ll probably hear that the theatre was hit by a bomb last night. Don’t worry, I was sound asleep in my digs and didn’t know a thing about it till I got to the theatre. I went up to town as soon as I’d had breakfast; Mrs Shuttlecock serves a good breakfast and you’d like her, Mum, as she tells us every morning that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
The director says the damage is minimal and we’ll be up and running as soon as the mess is cleared up. Seems the bomb caused a fire and its nose shot off and went straight through the backs of several rows of seats but, thankfully, the safety curtain saved the stage. Would you believe some theatre workers were actually asleep in their offices, and some of the typists, who were working late, put on their tin helmets and went back to work? Incredible people, don’t you think? I hope I’d be half as brave.
Now I have to write to Daisy as I haven’t heard from her in ages. ’Course, since I never seem to have time to write letters, I can hardly expect to get any.
Love to you both,
Sally
FOUR
Late 1940
On the first day that the whole company assembled after the bombing, Max reinforced Sebastian’s comments that it would probably be
years before the building was ready to reopen as a fully working theatre.
There were gasps from all corners.
‘Now what? Have the powers that be found us a new venue or are most of us back on the breadline?’
‘Neither,’ said Max with a cheery grin. ‘Believe it or not, ENSA is staying put. We don’t use the rear circle; we’ll manage without the pit, and so all we need do is make some adjustments as to availability of dressing rooms and rehearsal space.’
Everyone heard the collective gasp of relief.
Max seemed to look directly at each and every one of them. ‘Right, so look for notices on doors because what was a storeroom last week may well be a VIP’s office now. At last count there were twelve companies in ENSA but there may well be more as the need grows, and the managerial staff from each one will have to come here for general meetings. So, be thoughtful. I know you’ll give it your best and in a few days we’ll be completely at home again.’
Sally, who had managed to get home for a few hours to put her mother’s mind at rest, was aware that it was a while since she had spent any time with her oldest friends and she missed their closeness. Rose Petrie was still hard at work in the Vickers munitions factory and Grace, according to Mrs Petrie, was working on a farm somewhere in the wilds of Scotland. But the most amazing and exciting news of all was that Daisy – little Daisy, who was always thought to be delicate – had been learning to fly an aeroplane and had actually joined the WAAF. Would any or all be home for Christmas? Would she, or was Christmas without family a very small sacrifice that she would be asked to make?
How strange. A picture of a sailor had come unbidden into her mind. Thousands of sailors, soldiers, airmen, nurses – indeed, everyone involved in this blasted war – would probably not be going home for Christmas.
They’re all in great danger every minute of the day and night and they get on with the job. Grow up, Sally, you’re in no danger, not every day, anyway. I’ll think of them wherever they are: the Petrie brothers, Daisy, the chap who’s teaching her to fly – and … Jon, Just Jon.
Sally did mean to be brave, but during a morning break she found herself asking Sebastian if they might be given a day off during what she had used to call the Christmas holidays.
‘A day off? Sally, you’re not serious. “You’re in the army now”,’ he sang.
Sally, her heart still somewhere in the pit of her stomach, looked up at him and, for once, did not find herself thinking how very beautiful he was, perhaps too beautiful. ‘Does that mean we don’t celebrate Christmas?’
‘Have one of these biscuits; Grandmamma sent them and I swear there’s an egg and a teaspoon of sugar in them somewhere.’
Sally took one of the drab-looking biscuits and dunked it in her tea. ‘Are you ever serious?’
‘Of course. When I tell you you’re practically perfect, I’m serious.’
Sally pretended to believe him. ‘And what do I need to be absolutely perfect?’
He smiled but Sally thought that it was not his usual smile but one with a tinge of sadness. Why should joking with a chum make him sad?
‘I wouldn’t expect you to love me as I love you, Sally Brewer, champion fairy guard of the Tiny Tots dance troupe, but if you could love me a little …?’
‘But I …’ Sally had been about to say, ‘But I do love you, Sebastian,’ when some instinct stopped her. She did love him, of course she did. When close to him or even when apart, she felt somehow different; something in her had changed. How could she not love someone who was kind and gentle, unfailingly patient and polite and amazingly handsome? Again, the image of the man in naval uniform flashed across her mind but melted away as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her somehow frustrated. What is this? He stays in my head like a tune that keeps repeating.
She forced herself to ignore Just Jon. ‘You’re being silly, Sebastian, and haven’t answered my question.’
‘Very well, mon ange, we will acknowledge the advent of Christmas this year but leave is, I believe, totally out of the question. I hear – and should not be telling you so “Mum’s the word” – that we are taking Christmas joy to some casualties of this blasted war. Now, control yourself when I tell you that you are going to be the Christmas fairy dispensing little gifts to children – yes, I know, someone should tell the War Office that children do get hurt when bombs are dropped on their homes – and after what passes for cake and fruit juice, I will, in my Prince Charming satin suit and buckled shoes, waltz you out of Children’s to Maternity – don’t groan, darling, it’s Christmas – and after that we’re doing a slightly naughty little play in Men’s Casualty; Spiced Shakespeare, I think they’re calling it.’
‘Just the two of us?’
‘Of course.’
He saw her expression of abject dismay and took pity on her. ‘No, silly, everyone in our group will be there and, with luck, a few more seasoned performers will join us. It’s for our war wounded and I know they’d prefer George Formby, but quite a few of them will feel much better after a discreet glimpse of your lovely legs.’
Her heart beating with excitement, Sally smiled. At last she had a starring role – as a fairy – but at least she was the only fairy. She decided that it would be quite fun to dance with Prince Sebastian along the hospital corridors. What she would be required to say in a spiced-up version of something from the huge canon of the Swan of Avon, she shuddered to think, but it was in a good cause.
‘I’m actually going to be billed as a member of an ENSA troupe, Sebastian?’
‘You are indeed. Eventually we will all have uniforms, just like the other Services.’
‘Uniforms? For actors and singers, comedians and hoofers?’
‘For ENSA and, unlike the other services, we automatically become officers.’
‘Officers? I rather like the sound of that.’
‘It simply means you can use NAAFI canteens. Now to work.’
Sally was no Vera Lynn but she created what the director termed ‘a pleasant sound’ and as a result of concentrated professional teaching she was improving in every way. Besides, she was pretty, taking her loveliness for granted so that few of her female colleagues resented her. She knew that she had a great deal to learn and was determined to improve, and the more established performers basked in her admiration.
Having little knowledge of children, her ability to play the ‘good’ fairy worried her, but the young patients recognised her genuine kindness and they loved her appearance.
‘You’re a perfect Christmas fairy, Sally,’ Sebastian congratulated her as they left the children’s ward. ‘All the little girls want to look just like you when they grow up, and, Deo volente, they will grow up. Now glide with me down the corridor on fairy gossamer wings and we’ll enchant all the new mothers.’
Sally climbed into bed that night with her hot-water bottle and her writing case, put her cold feet on the not-quite-hot-enough bottle and wrote first to Daisy, both to congratulate her on her exciting life and also to ask her all about the mystery flying teacher, and then to her parents.
She had been told that she would be allowed to go to Dartford for at least a few hours over the holidays, but she wanted her parents to know about her first ENSA performance as quickly as possible.
My frock was every little girl’s dream, and I had a ‘diamond’ crown made of silver paper we’d been collecting for weeks. Don’t worry, every piece has been straightened out and will be delivered to the collection points after Christmas. Sebastian and I danced – he did look perfect as Prince Charming – and all the new mothers in Maternity loved him. He is a dear, walked round the ward and kissed every patient and at least two of the nurses. Then we did a bit from The Taming of the Shrew. Max spiced it up a bit although I remember it quite well from school and I didn’t think it needed spicing; don’t worry, Mum, I was the sister and really all I had to do was look pretty. But I have a credit in a Shakespeare play to put on my CV. Yippee.
Sebastian took me to an act
ors’ club for lunch and I had a glass of champagne – very sophisticated.
See you soon, I hope, but ENSA is part of the Forces and we have to obey orders. Give my love to everyone.
Sally
On Christmas Day, the company visited a convalescent home in what had been, just a few months before, a stately home. She was to remember the luxury of the house with grateful nostalgia many times in the years ahead. The wards in this hospital were like no ward she had seen before. The ceilings had carved cornices, and exotic birds and flowers rioted across the walls. Dark green holly with vibrant red berries nestling among the leaves covered the mantelpieces; candles, red, silver, gold stood among the holly leaves and in the hall an enormous Christmas tree proclaimed the glories of Christmas past. In the late afternoon, after their prepared performance and their spontaneous carol singing, the troupe joined ambulatory patients, medical staff and even a few family members in a paneled dining room where they enjoyed a Christmas tea.
They returned to London on Boxing Day and Sally found herself working harder than ever.
Max, having received more requests for performances than they could possibly handle, was not in the best of moods, and after the barest of civilities brought them up to date with his immediate plans.
‘I’ve sketched out a few new ideas. Everyone’s thoughts are welcome – if you have an idea, share it. It seems musicals are the things to cheer the troops, comedians, of course, and divinely lovely girls – that’s you, Sally. What do you think you’d look like in a blond wig?’
‘An idiot in a blond wig.’
