by Ruby Jackson
‘Pay attention, Sally.’ Sybil’s clipped tones brought her back to the work she should be doing and she forced herself to think of nothing but where her feet should be.
The session was exhausting but just as everyone was feeling that no more could be tolerated, Max called a break.
‘Take ten minutes. Sorry,’ he lifted his hand like a traffic policeman. ‘I know, I know, I’m hardly the soul of generosity but today was just a little different. Back on schedule tomorrow.’
Sally wrapped her thick woollen scarf around her shoulders, picked up her bag and headed out. She planned to find something either already prepared or something to cook later for the evening meal but was brought up short when she remembered that, as yet, she had no food coupons.
‘Let’s go off on an adventure.’ Sebastian was behind her. ‘If we walk briskly, which will certainly be good for my poor cramped legs, we could get to Covent Garden market. A fellow in the Balladeers said he bought a rabbit sausage, which was delicious, and rabbit isn’t rationed so no coupons.’
Sally thought of a little bunny rabbit, a white one. No, even if she were starving she could not eat a bunny rabbit.
Sebastian had developed an extraordinary knack for knowing exactly what was going through her head. ‘He had it with a cup of mashed potato, chopped cabbage and grated carrots, all mixed together.’
‘Sounds better than bunny rabbits,’ she said, and hurried to match his longer stride. ‘How is Millie?’ Asking any question made it easier not to speak about their personal situation. She had made a few enquiries about finding a hostel but so far there were no vacancies.
Just seeing him, talking to him, makes me happy. Am I in love with him? Does he love me? How do I know?
Better to forget that embarrassing incident.
He took her hand. ‘She’ll be fine, Sally. Afraid too many frightful things have happened to that young woman lately and one more ghastly bombing was just too much. Max is taking her home and he’ll encourage her to take a few days off to rest. Mind you, I’m not sure that being alone all evening is the best thing for a distraught young widow.’
‘So she lives alone?’ Sally asked, a note of jealousy in her voice.
Sebastian did not seem to notice the jealousy. ‘Yes, poor kid. When she married they bought a little flat and, since she has nowhere else to go and it’s their home, as it were, she’s staying there.’
‘Goodness, how did you find out all that? Not even Max seems to know a thing about her; she’s hardly the most talkative of people.’
Sebastian stopped suddenly and, paying no attention at all to Sally’s question, looked around. ‘Good, I thought so. The shop I was told about is, I hope, just down this lane and, if bunny sausage doesn’t tempt you, I believe they have a delicious sideline in hot soup. We could take some home for tonight and heat it up in a pot. Good meal, no cooking.’
‘You are amazing, Sebastian,’ said Sally, and it was not his ability to find food that she was talking about. She was, however, perfectly aware that Sebastian saw nothing odd in what she had said.
‘I know,’ he said trying to sound modest, ‘and where you’re concerned, I do try to please.’
Sally smiled, trying to laugh and sound at ease. ‘When did Millicent tell you all this?’
‘All what? That she lives alone? Tea break, I suppose. Soup?’
Sally gave in and accepted a cup of soup. Sebastian also bought two rabbit sausages and another cup of the soup.
Fifteen minutes later, having, according to Sebastian, disgraced themselves for ever in the eyes of legions of the Brady family by sharing one cup of the soup while walking along the street, they returned to the theatre where they found that, not only had boxes of uniforms arrived but also that the scripts to be studied were lined up on a table.
‘I know you want to have a peek at your glamorous new perfectly fitted uniforms but we’ll have a read-through of the new ideas now,’ said Max, pointing to the semi-circle of chairs on the stage, ‘and I expect you all to be word-perfect by the beginning of February. We do have to beg for transportation to a camp near Grimsby as we have three shows there, one after the other, on the Saturday; big base, but first I think we need to talk about Millie’s blow-up this morning. Needless to say no one is ever to bring up with her what I’m about to tell you. Some day she might want to talk, but in the meantime I expect you to treat her as you treat every other member of the company. If I’d known any of her tragic history I wouldn’t have jumped down her throat the other day but when I apologised to her now, she said – and I want you all to listen carefully – “I am a professional and expect to be treated like every other professional.”’
‘In other words you’ve got permission to yell at her, Max.’
‘I’ll yell at you in a minute, Humph. Millie met her husband when they were students at a very prestigious ballet school. They became professionals in July 1939, married and danced for a few months in Montpelier – south of France, Humph – where they were hailed as the outstanding new couple; ballet loves to marry two dancers or, at least partner them. They returned to London when war was declared and Patrick insisted on enlisting. He was at Dunkirk. Millie heard that he had given up his place in a lifeboat to another lad, saying he could swim like a fish and would just carry on swimming or treading water till he found another boat. Problem was all the men in the water, hanging on to anything they could find, an oar, a piece of wood, were being strafed by planes. Patrick reached a small boat and had just been pulled aboard when he and almost everyone on the boat, and in the water round it, were shot.’ For a moment Max found it difficult to continue. ‘The death and destruction last night was just too much for her, and I could cut my tongue out. His body was never repatriated.’ He could say no more.
‘Poor kids,’ could be heard from all parts of the group on stage.
Sally remembered the question Millie had asked Max. No wonder he looked so awful. She had not been looking for a foreign holiday but an opportunity, perhaps, to find her young husband’s grave. But mention of Dunkirk reminded Sally of Sam Petrie, her friends’ oldest brother.
Rose always thought I was sweet on Sam but it was little Grace who loved him, Grace who is now in the Women’s Land Army and who, according to Mum is working on a farm in Scotland. Oh, Sally, how often do you have to remind yourself to write to your friends? But if anything had happened to Daisy, Mum would have told me. I’ll stop worrying.
She looked around the group. There was complete silence and almost everyone was looking down at the floor. Sybil, who had been one of Sadler’s Wells’ greatest soloists, stood up. ‘Millie’s a professional and so are all of you. To work.’
It was a very subdued company who rehearsed that afternoon. Those who were not used to the life of the everyday actor were becoming bored with the constant repetition of the parts they were playing. When they were allowed to sit in a huge circle and read and digest the suggestions for a new show they brightened up considerably. Sally smiled quietly. It appeared that Max was as clever at directing people as he was at directing actors in a play.
And at last it was time to hand out the uniforms.
‘Each person is responsible for any alterations needed, and as quickly as poss, please, everyone. Good night.’
*
Each evening the entire company left the theatre with all speed but the rate with which the theatre emptied as everyone rushed home to try on their ‘absolutely-not-made-to-measure’ uniforms was quite remarkable. Sally was no different from any of the others, apart from Sebastian, possibly, who remained calm.
There was no time for supper. She tried on each piece before hurrying to Sebastian’s bedroom where there was a full-length mirror. Sebastian, complaining that he was trying to learn a speech, was actually spending the evening running back and forth to give his opinion on the uniform.
‘Hardly flattering.’
‘Thanks, Sebastian, obviously some bright spark said women need uniforms as well as men, and so
we’ll add a skirt. Problem solved.’
‘Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? The hat is quite jolly.’
Sally looked at herself in the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door and groaned. ‘It’s, it’s so … so flat. It looks like a scone with no rising agent in it.’
‘How well put. Now my cap has rather a snazzy brim, don’t you think?’
She ignored the cap that sat, with a definite air of panache, on Sebastian’s thick hair.
‘Jacket’s not bad,’ she said, ‘although they might have invented a special colour for ENSA, instead of this ghastly khaki. I do like these things,’ she pointed to her shoulders. ‘Epaulettes, is it? And I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sebastian, but there isn’t enough of you to fill that jacket. I suppose you could wear several vests.’
‘No, but I hoped you could take a tuck in for me here and there, couldn’t you?’
He laughed as he watched her turn pale at the prospect.
‘I’m adequate with buttons but that’s about it. Haven’t they got a smaller size?’
‘Yes, but I’m too long.’ He laughed at her. ‘Funny little Sally, haven’t you ever heard of tailors?’
For a moment Sally wished that she loved Sebastian and that he loved her; real love, the type that led to a long, happy married life. She wondered if she was the only person who knew how much kindness, generosity, determination and steel lay beneath his humour, frivolity and very real charm. She had never liked a person more. How confusing it all was. Ridiculously, Jon’s face seemed to hang in the air before her and her heart beat more quickly. For a moment she wished she had never met him. What was there about him that kept him in her mind – and heart? No, surely it was not possible to love someone she hardly knew. It was impossible to find the words that explained the difference between her feelings, her reaction to thoughts of Jon and thoughts of Sebastian.
‘What are you thinking about? Once again I hear creaking gears complaining.’
‘Nothing important.’ She looked down at her folded uniform garments. ‘When do we have to wear this lot?’
‘Travelling. Must arrive at a camp or military base looking military. In the Officers’ Mess before performances or before we leave, should the CO ask us to assemble so that he can tell us how wonderful we are.’
‘I don’t even know where to begin with the alterations. My mum can turn up a hem but she’s not like Mrs Petrie, my friends’ mother. She even made suits for her sons.’
‘Splendid woman. We’ll bundle them along to my tailor when I take mine. They make ladies’ bespoke suits and so they must be able to alter.’
‘It’ll cost a fortune. A real tailor.’
‘No, it won’t, Sal. There’s a war on and London tailors know that. They’ll be thrilled to get us fit to do our duty as they are doing theirs.’
Sally said nothing but determined to speak to the tailor personally. She owed Sebastian too much already. The blouses – two – were silk and they fitted nicely. She rather liked the look of the greatcoat and was realistic enough to know that with her height, she could carry off such a military style. Her long slim legs looked good in the uniform trousers too.
‘Excuse my familiarity, General, but they’ll look better if – how can I put it? – the rear has the odd tuck too.’
Sally flushed with embarrassment but, looking in the mirror, she had to admit that there was rather a lot of material. ‘You’re right. We’ll say the jacket, the skirt and the trousers. Everything else is fine.’
‘You don’t think the tie is a tad long?’
Sally put her tie around her neck and tied it before Sebastian could help. ‘The tie is perfect.’
‘As are you, Sally B.’
This was a conversation she did not want to continue. ‘I’ll parcel these up.’
Sebastian watched her walk away and there was sadness in his eye, which, of course, Sally did not see.
A few days later Sally was once more wrapped in Lalita’s beautiful fur coat. She had, of course, told her parents all about the cast’s considerable generosity, and although she had chosen not to wear it on the day her mother had travelled up to London with replacement clothes, she had admitted that she now owned a floor-length coat that just happened to be real fur.
‘A fur coat? And in the safe there’s a ring made of rubies. Oh, Sally, we’re a working-class family from Dartford. Our kind don’t get presents of fur coats and valuable rings.’
Sally had tried not to think of either the coat or the ring, but although the ring was easy to forget, the naval officer who had invited her to address him as ‘Just Jon’ invaded her sleeping, or her quiet waking moments more often than he should. After all, she had met him once, and then only for a few minutes.
Is a fleeting moment all it takes to change one’s life for ever?
Millie, back with the company and prepared to dance at least once in each performance, had chosen to sit beside Sally in the lorry, perhaps because they were close in age.
‘Imagine being a soldier and having to travel everywhere in this ugly old thing.’
The fact that she had spoken at all surprised Sally out of her reverie; she looked at the inside of their vehicle, trying to see it as she had seen it the first time. Bare floor, hard seats, canvas roof and sides. Military vehicles did not change. She was thankful that she had climbed in early enough to get as far away from the flaps in the back as possible. The draughts could be appalling and were even worse when they stopped somewhere for refuelling or what Lalita termed ‘a break for comfort’. The flaps would be opened and inevitably two or three cast members would seize the chance to smoke.
‘Those damn things ruin your throat,’ Lal said at least once a day and Sybil would join her in assuring any dancer smoking that their lungs were as important as their feet.
‘Well? Is Miss “oh you’re so beautiful” too pretty to talk?’
Millie had expected a reply.
Sally looked at her in astonishment. ‘I’m sorry, I was thinking about the inside.’ Since she felt like crying because of Millie’s remark, she laughed instead. ‘My mum would do wonders with some pretty swags of fabric.’
‘And some carefully selected cushions.’
‘To match the tie-backs.’
‘Absolutely.’ Millie bowed her head for a moment. ‘I’m feeling rather low right now, Sally; it’s not you.’
Sally smiled. What could she say? She remembered her father’s words on her first day at her senior school: ‘Keep your head down till Christmas, Sal, and you’ll learn how the land lies.’
‘Bold colours, I think.’
Millie agreed and the remainder of the journey was even pleasant by war standards.
Sally had never been to the North-East. She thought her friends Daisy and Rose Petrie had mentioned one or two towns, but Grimsby, which they passed through on their way to the base, had not been one of them. The lorries drew up at the quarters set aside for the ENSA group and almost immediately the carpenters started to put together a makeshift stage.
Sally and Millie could hear the banging in of nails as they made their way across an extremely muddy field. ‘Hope it doesn’t snow,’ moaned Sally. ‘It’s going to be a nightmare walking back across this in evening dress.’
‘Spare a thought for me in toe shoes. I’ve promised to do a solo, Sally, just to see how classical ballet goes down with the chaps. But I’m an old hand at crappy theatres. Wear Wellingtons, bundle your skirts up as much as possible and carry your heels. They might have laid some boards if we had an audience of paying guests – or perhaps they needed all their spare wood for the stage.’
‘There is a war on,’ they said together and giggled like schoolgirls.
‘Yes, we’re fighting in North Africa now. Wouldn’t that be nice? Hot sun instead of cold, wet snow, sand everywhere, fleas … bound to be fleas.’
‘Exactly, and not a drop of water,’ Sally added.
‘And soldiers, and airmen and nurses; they’
ll set up hospitals for the wounded, and don’t people get ghastly things like dysentery in hot countries? We could give them a show, go out on a troopship or something.’
‘And come back with dysentery.’
‘Worth it, Sally, to feel we’ve done something really splendid with our lives. I really believe those troops need a laugh or a bit of leg or one of Humph’s risqué jokes more than the ones based at home.’
Still talking, they reached their quarters. It looked like a hospital ward, with evenly spaced iron beds each with sheets, a clean pillow and a coarse grey blanket. ‘We’ve displaced some men,’ said Sally.
Millie threw herself down on a bed and even that action was graceful. ‘We’ll make it up to them, Sal.’ She sat up again suddenly. ‘Do you actually know any soldiers?’
‘I have friends with brothers. One is a POW, captured at Dunkirk, and another brother was killed by a sniper. She herself, my friend Daisy, she’s in the WAAF.’
‘Then put their faces in your mind when you’re performing. Do it just for them.’
Sally could not ask Millie if that was what she did. Besides, she was sure she already knew the answer.
The first show went well; one or two blips with lighting or scenery but everyone, audience included, was quite used to that. The blips were fixed by the time the curtain rose on the second performance.
Peeping from the wings, Sally saw that several branches of the services were represented; there were even soldiers and aircrew from foreign countries. What would they make of British humour, she wondered, and that was when she saw Jon. Her heart seemed to flip right over in her chest and an entire Amazon forest of butterflies took flight in her stomach. She looked at him each time the makeshift curtain opened or closed, afraid and almost sure that she was mistaken, just like the last time.
‘What’s so fascinating, Sally?’ Sebastian, attractive, kind, generous and gentle – in fact, every girl’s dream – was standing behind her and could see the audience much better than she. ‘Counting heads for Max, love?’
