A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

  Sally and Sebastian left the theatre in silence. They had more important things to think about than how many shows they did. As the door closed behind them they stood looking at each other in some embarrassment. Sally found that she could not meet Sebastian’s eyes.

  ‘I have two bedrooms, Sally,’ he said. ‘Last night I wanted … but … just let me say you’ll be safe with me, in every way, for as long as you want to stay. In fact, you would be doing me a favour. As soon as the Housing Office, or whatever it’s called, hears that I have an empty room they’re likely to house one or two large foreign gentlemen on me, neither of whom will speak English, and I always feel such an ass when I can’t understand people. Grandmamma always thought that if she shouted loudly enough, people would understand. They don’t, you know, and it must be very exasperating for them. If you were to become my official lodger three problems would be solved immediately, one for you, one for me, and one for some hapless foreigner.’

  ‘My parents would be horrified.’

  ‘Need they know? I mean, God knows I don’t want you lying to them or getting yourself all upset. But it’s already next year and you need to find a bed.’

  Sally wanted to burst into tears. Being away from home and having nowhere to stay was like being without anything to anchor her. None the less she tried to smile. Something told her that the events of last night would not be repeated, or would they? And what exactly were her feelings for Sebastian? It was all so confusing.

  ‘A lodger, paying rent, until I can find something? Max thinks it won’t take too long.’ Another realisation struck forcibly. ‘But Max is right, Sebastian, my ration book is gone. I can’t even provide my share of basics.’

  He tucked his arm into hers. ‘They’ll issue you a new one. Now Happy New Year, Sally. Let’s go home and celebrate with cocoa.’

  FIVE

  January 1941

  The New Year was here, not quite brand new but still very young. Could they say that it was now the third year of the war? Sally, although both physically and mentally exhausted, had lain awake in Sebastian’s guest-room bed for some time before her body gave in and allowed her to sleep. She relived the air raid, the rubble-strewn walk to the boarding house, the unbelievable horror of seeing an enormous pit of debris where her temporary home had been, where several people she had known, had eaten and laughed with, had waited with in line for their turn in the bathroom, were dead. But most of all she had relived those confusing moments with Sebastian. The feelings danced through her, reminding her, making her wish … for what?

  Growing up, she and her friends had giggled when they thought of love, of sexual activity.

  ‘Sounds horrible,’ Daisy had said.

  ‘You’ll never catch me doing anything like that,’ their friend Grace had agreed. ‘It’s bound to hurt like blazes.’

  Would they say the same now that Daisy was writing letters in which the name Adair appeared almost more often than any other, and poor, orphaned Grace, now totally alone in the world, seemed to miss someone called Jack?

  At last Sally fell asleep.

  Sebastian roused her next morning with a very good cup of coffee. ‘I’ve had a once-over wash and so there should be enough water if you want a quick bath.’ He smiled at her from the door as he prepared to return to the kitchen. ‘There’s a new toothbrush in the top left-hand drawer in the bathroom. Call it a New Year’s gift. Now, hurry.’

  Sally hurried and soon they were on their way to the theatre. Green Park tube station was not far away and trains were running. Between trains and walking, they arrived at the theatre in good time and were surprised to see two huge army lorries sitting outside the stage door.

  ‘First-class transport,’ shouted one of the soldiers as he stood smoking a cigarette. ‘Especially for you, darling.’

  Sally smiled. Sebastian frowned. The soldiers laughed. ‘Happy New Year, smiler,’ they shouted, but Sally and Sebastian had already entered the theatre.

  Sally was surprised and touched to see an embarrassingly large pile of clothing on her area of the make-up table.

  ‘Max had a word,’ said Sybil, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she spoke, ‘and almost everyone’s brought something. The chorus girls clubbed together, money and clothing coupons, and they intend to buy you brand-new unmentionables – just have to say size and colour – but I’ve seen some of their knickers and, if were you,’ she teased, smiling at Sally, ‘I’d go with them when they’re shopping. There are several nighties, some blouses and jumpers, two skirts and a fur coat Lalita says is too young for her, whatever that means.’

  Sally was so surprised that she was completely unable to take it all in. She glanced at the heaped clothing, including the splendid fur coat. ‘All these things for me. Oh, how very kind you all are. I can’t begin to … I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Lend us the fur for special dates,’ shouted one of the chorus, but Sybil was not finished.

  ‘Have a deco at the clothes; some of it may not fit, although if it’s too big we can do something; have a weep – which you need, by the look of you – put on the fur and we’re off to the seaside.’

  ‘The seaside. Oh God, not again,’ was heard from several sides.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ shouted Max, and the tension lifted.

  Outside they found that one of the lorries had already been loaded with the huge, clearly labelled wicker baskets – costumes, scenery, accessories, scripts, music, wigs, make-up, everything and anything that the group would need for four shows, one after the other. Larger pieces of scenery had been tied to the inside of the vehicle.

  ‘Anyone see a label saying tea urn and sandwiches?’ ventured a new member of the chorus.

  ‘Don’t need it, love; the NAAFI does us proud and it’s New Year’s Day. Plus, since – if you haven’t forgotten, and you shouldn’t have – our uniforms are on the way, that means we are, each and every one, service personnel and entitled to use the Messes.’

  The company moved to the second lorry where Max stage-managed a decorous ‘climbing in’. It went well, no pushing or struggling to find a comfortable seat, until a delighted male voice rang out from the waiting line, ‘I say, what lovely knickers.’

  A girlish squeal followed the comment and then Lalita’s voice restored order. ‘Next time I tell you, “Best wear trousers,” maybe you’ll take notice. Now get in and sit down.’

  There were no comfortable seats on the lorry. Several wooden benches provided room for almost everyone, and the more experienced had thoughtfully provided themselves with an extra sweater to sit on.

  Sally sat quietly, lost in memories. She pictured her parents and her Dartford friends as they gathered together to think of the loved ones who were not there to celebrate with them.

  I’m thinking of all of you, she vowed tearfully, every minute.

  She tried to picture her parents and especially their faces if she told them that the kind friend who had offered shelter to her was a man. That wasn’t too awful; it was wartime and some things just had to be done differently and accepted. But she could never tell them all that had happened, and knowing she was deceiving the people she loved most in all the world was a heavy burden. Max had promised her a day off just as soon as he saw a space in their overflowing calendar; she would visit her family then, but in the meantime she would try to find lodgings that her parents would find acceptable. In the short term, Sebastian’s flat was a wonderful – and luxurious – refuge, with lovely carved cornices and ceiling roses. The curtains were of material that Elsie Brewer might never have dreamed of owning, and, in one room, there was a beautiful piano that Sebastian said was a baby grand. In another, the most incredible bookcase, with glass doors that allowed the real leather covers of the rows and rows of books to be seen, stood between two windows that almost reached the ceiling.

  Sally gave a small sob as she admitted that she would hate to leave, not because of the lovely things, but because every time she saw Sebastian h
er heart seemed to do such peculiar things. She faced the fact that he had awakened something within her. Did she love him? That night, those few minutes on the sofa, she had been sure that she did. Surely her feelings would not have been so strong if there was no love there? She could ask her oldest friends but it wouldn’t be easy to write what she meant in a letter.

  She was so lost in thought that she almost fell off the bench as the lorry braked at the gates to the military camp. Fairly primitive dressing rooms had been prepared for them and the theatre was in the gym. They peeked in as they passed.

  ‘My God, the ’ole bloody battalion’s coming,’ Humph Peters, their comedian, and excellent show-opener, informed them, ‘and, as always, bloody comfy seats in the front row for the hofficers and gentlemen, if there is any.’

  Max strode up to him. ‘Peters, you’re usually very funny and I’m delighted to have you with us, but I have heard you swear twice in one sentence, and that’s twice too many. There are ladies present and, believe it or not, the odd man who doesn’t like swearing either.’

  ‘Yeah, very odd.’

  Naturally, Humph opened his act by telling the audience that his boss had told him off for swearing. ‘So you’ll understand if I can’t say …’ and he proceeded to tell them all the swear words he was not going to use.

  The audience, and most of the cast waiting back stage, were soon laughing hysterically.

  ‘So,’ he went on as the laughter died down, ‘when you ’ear this noise,’ and he proceeded to make a very loud, disgusting sound, ‘you’ll ’ave to decide for yourself wot word I couldn’t say. Sorry, but we’re all in the army, right, and we does what the brass tells us.’

  He was a huge success with the mixed audience and Sebastian, who was on next, was worried about his reception.

  ‘Hamlet, after all that,’ he whispered to Sally. ‘They’ll throw rotten tomatoes at me.’

  Without thinking, Sally laid her hand on his arm and blushed as she felt herself tremble. It was obvious from the way he looked at her that Sebastian, too, was moved.

  ‘There are thousands of men who appreciate good drama, Sebastian, and many of them are out there. Besides,’ she said as she tried not to look into his eyes, ‘there are lots of young women in the audience. They may or may not like Shakespeare, but every single one of them will love you; hundreds of them will have loved you in Goodbye, Mr Chips. Go on, cheer up the girls.’

  Sebastian whispered, ‘Thank you,’ and kissed her gently on her brow and then he walked out onto the knocked-up stage. There was a quiet round of clapping.

  ‘I was going to recite “To be or not to be” from Hamlet,’ he began, ‘but as I was laughing at our Humph I thought, those are soldiers out there. What do they want with a man who can’t make up his mind half the time – and I bet nobody had to tell him off for swearing.’ That started a roll of laughter. When it subsided he continued with his impromptu script. ‘So I thought we’d better have a soldier king who knew just exactly what he needed to do … and five gets you ten he could swear like a trooper.’

  When they stopped applauding and stamping their feet, he recited the famous ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends’ speech from Henry V. It brought the house down and when he had finished the rest of his prepared programme, many stood up and cheered as he left the stage.

  Max was there to congratulate him. ‘Well done, Seb; we’ll put that into the programme after Humph’s dissertation on early English swear words. Now, off you go, girls, knock ’em dead.’

  The group of attractive well-matched chorus girls, dressed in extremely short, red, white or blue skirts with co-ordinating low-necked sleeveless blouses, cart-wheeled, one after the other, onto the stage, accompanied by loud whistles and cat calls. Sally stood in the wings, aware of and encouraged by Sebastian’s presence near her, but now she worried less about her personal life than her performance. Her knees were knocking and she felt sick. This was so different from hours of rehearsal in a theatre, and properly lighted dressing rooms with wardrobes and full-length mirrors. Besides, she did not really want to be applauded because she was pretty. She knew that she did not have a great singing voice, nor was she a superb dancer, but the audiences – mostly male – seemed to like to hear her.

  Or did they merely like looking at someone in a pretty dress?

  Sally knew she was more than pretty. All her life she had been told that she was beautiful; she took her looks for granted. Thanks to Lal’s terrific coaching Max was, at last, giving her a few very small, walk-on parts, but never anything challenging, no dialogue. Even today he had spoken not about speeches but about new songs for her: some of the American favourites that were being made popular by the wireless.

  ‘“The Nearness of You”, Sally, lovely tune and, sung by a beautiful girl in a pretty dress, a show stopper, or do you know “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm”? Ladies will love that one. We’ll find the words and music. And trust me, that’s a difficult one to get right,’ and he had gone, leaving her both pleased and disappointed.

  She sensed someone behind her. ‘Think of something really lovely as you walk on, and smile. That’s all you have to do to win over the audience.’ With a smile of encouragement, Sebastian edged her gently towards her entrance position.

  The clapping and cheering for the dancers’ performance died down, Sally heard Max announce her and, just then, she caught sight of a uniformed sailor near the end of the second row. It had to be. No, it couldn’t be …

  Jon, Just Jon. She smiled. Her whole face lit up – had she but known it, she had never been so beautiful, and every man in the audience reacted. There were whistles, thunderous applause, even cheering. Startled, Sally stepped back but looked towards the sailor and felt disappointment. He was nothing at all like Jon, other than that he was a man, about the same height and build, and was in naval uniform. The disappointment was surprisingly painful.

  The small orchestra started to play. In the most unprofessional way, Sally missed her first entry. The music started again and suddenly Sebastian, still in his dinner jacket, was there, gliding with her around the stage, the perfect couple. It was not in Max’s script. They danced until the end of the first play-through, then Sebastian made an almost indecipherable gesture to the conductor and withdrew, dancing effortlessly backwards to disappear through the curtain and Sally started to sing perfectly the moment her first note was played. She sang through the number, ‘I Get Along Without You Very Well’ – every word pulling at every heartstring – and her next number, and the last, but requests were shouted, not only from the back seats but also from the front.

  Leave ’em wanting more.

  Who had said that first?

  Sally had no idea, but she was a professional and knew that another act was waiting impatiently in the wings and so, like Sebastian, she withdrew backwards but, unlike Sebastian, she smiled and blew kisses until she disappeared through the curtains.

  Backstage an argument over Sally’s wardrobe was going on between Lalita and Sybil, while the carpenters and technicians, every one a serving sailor, arranged the scenery for the next act, a piece from a play. Sybil paid them no attention, probably because this group were known to be meticulous and thorough in their work, but continued to state her case.

  ‘Be bold, Lal, the lemon was beautiful; she looked absolutely gorgeous.’

  ‘Blue, a pale blue, like a spring sky. With her hair and those eyes—’ She got no further for Sybil interrupted.

  ‘Lilac, the palest lilac we can find. Look more closely, her eyes aren’t blue; at times they’re almost lilac. I saw the exact colour once at Sadler’s Wells. The Lilac Fairy in The Sleeping Beauty – maybe they still have the dress or will know where they accessed the material. I’ll find out as soon as we get back to London.’

  ‘They won’t share info with us. You know how bitchy some professional actors and other artistes are being about ENSA.’

  As experienced professionals, Sybil, former prima ballerina, now a reno
wned choreographer, and Lalita, an internationally known répétiteur, had seen arguments from all sides.

  ‘And do not say, “There’s a war on”,’ begged Lal as Sybil made to speak.

  ‘Lo siento mucho, darling, but that is exactly what I was about to say. So, Sadler’s Wells deals in classical high performance art; we too are dealing in high performance entertainment – I’ve just signed a girl from a professional company. The dockers and the factory workers – and the miners, if we can get near them – have as much right to experience everything as the military. How on earth will they learn what they like and what they don’t like if some sodding bigot is telling them that they’re not clever enough to appreciate a Mozart piano concerto? Dinner on me at the Savoy Grill if I don’t come back with loans of lots of goodies.’

  ‘Done.’

  They closed their discussion on the perfect colour for Sally’s next glamorous gown and rejoined the group of actors who were waiting for their call. Max had decided that a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream would go down extremely well on this base. Sally had longed to be given even a tiny part, but had tried to hide her disappointment when the cast list showed a professional actress called Sylvia Stone was to play Thisby. Sebastian was Prologue. The part of Pyramus was given to Allan Fordyce, a formerly out-of-work actor who had been delighted to be accepted into ENSA after having been refused permission to join the army. Like many actors, his dreams had been of playing Hamlet, King Lear, even Macbeth, but although he had graduated from a recognised acting school, he was not leading-man material. Max had seen him in a few productions and thought his forte, though Allan hadn’t recognised it himself, was comedy. So far Max’s instincts were proving to be correct.

  Sally liked Allan. He was quiet and unassuming and had fully participated in the group’s work. For this production, they themselves had created the scenery, the wall through which Shakespeare’s love-lorn characters were to peek at each other. Every time any member of the cast passed the wall the rest of the company in the room heard a loud, ‘Oh, wot a luverly wall.’ It never failed to make them laugh and Max ignored their frivolity. In the middle of air raids, several of them had carried on singing, dancing, playing the accordion or even turning somersaults to amuse frightened people in the shelters. Whatever made them happier, as long as it was legal, was perfectly acceptable to him.