A Winter Love Song

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘Stand in for Jenny Cook, you mean? I couldn’t, Betty. Everyone is expecting her and they’ll have no truck with anyone else. Anyway, Enoch wouldn’t want me.’

  ‘Bonnie, it’s Christmas and anyone decent is already booked up. Beggars can’t be choosers.’

  Betty had meant it as encouragement, Bonnie knew that, but she wished her friend had phrased it differently. Nevertheless, she felt a tingle of excitement – or was it panic – shoot down her spine. She stared at Betty and Betty stared back as a big grin spread across her face. ‘You’re going to do it, aren’t you, I can tell. See Enoch, I mean. He’s in the back and he’s already had two stiff whiskies. Dennis didn’t help when he offered to do Jenny’s slot with his impressions. I thought Enoch was going to blow his top. It was so funny.’

  Nothing about this was funny. Bonnie looked down at her dress. ‘I couldn’t go on stage like this even if Enoch likes me.’

  ‘You’ve got time to go home and change if you see him now. Go on, you’ve got nothing to lose.’ Betty leaned closer and added in a whisper, ‘And wouldn’t it be one in the eye for Dennis if Enoch likes you and I know he will. Make sure you tell him you tried here before and Dennis wouldn’t even hear you sing.’

  She had more important things to think about than Dennis. ‘What shall I sing?’

  ‘That one you sang for me in the park, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”. That was lovely.’ So saying, Betty took Bonnie’s arm and physically manhandled her towards the door that led to the back of the club. ‘Go on, quick. He might be lucky and be able to book someone else if you dally.’

  Bonnie found herself pushed into the corridor with the door shut firmly behind her. She stood for a moment and then walked slowly forward, stopping outside Ralph’s office. Dennis and Enoch shared it when they were around, and as she stood there she could hear raised voices from within. Her heart in her mouth, she waited for a lull in what was clearly an argument and then knocked twice.

  ‘Yes?’ It was a bark, and when she opened the door Ralph and Dennis were sitting at their desks and Enoch was perched on the edge of Ralph’s, his face red and angry. From what she’d heard when waiting outside, Dennis had been pressing his request to go on as Jenny’s replacement and Enoch wasn’t having any of it. His last distinguishable words had been, ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘I can come back if it’s not convenient.’ It was a silly thing to say in the circumstances because if ever it wasn’t convenient it was right now, but Ralph’s voice was more controlled when he said, ‘No, it’s fine, Bonnie. What is it?’

  ‘I – I heard about Jenny.’ It was hard to get the words out with the three of them staring at her.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I – I can sing. What I mean is, I used to be a singer before I came to London. In the north. My family –’ she took a deep breath, aware she was gabbling – ‘my family were show people.’ She had decided that was the best way to put it. ‘But when my father died I decided to try my luck in the south.’

  Dennis sat up straighter in his seat. ‘As I remember it, you can’t read music, you have no real experience of singing professionally on the club circuit and you are totally untrained. Is that right?’

  Bonnie stared into the mean little eyes. Since she had started work at the club he had never mentioned that he remembered her talking to him about a singing job, and she had often wondered if he had recognized her. It was clear he had. Her chin rose a notch. ‘You left out that I have no one to vouch for me and my accent is strong,’ she said crisply, surprising herself as well as the three men. ‘But I’ve been assured that when I sing no trace of my accent comes through unless it’s a northern song and appropriate. I suppose that comes from my learning the words and music by hearing them, because, as you pointed out, I can’t read music.’

  ‘Now look here—’

  Enoch interrupted Dennis with a sharp gesture of his hand as he said, ‘How good are you?’ his tone hopeful.

  It wasn’t the time for modesty and Bonnie knew it. Totally out of character, she said, ‘Very good.’

  ‘Is she?’ Enoch looked at Dennis. ‘Is she good?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Because . . .’

  ‘For all the reasons I said, I considered her unsuitable.’

  ‘So you never heard her?’ Enoch’s tone spoke volumes.

  ‘No.’ It was a sharp snap of a word.

  These two really hated each other. Bonnie sensed that Enoch was willing her to be good if only so he could throw it in Dennis’s face. Emboldened, she said, ‘I can sing for you now if you like, Mr Stewart?’

  ‘Let’s put it this way, girl. If you’re any good and you can get me out of the hole I’m in, I don’t give a –’ He stopped. ‘I don’t care that you can’t read music and have had no formal training. Jenny Cook started like that, did you know?’

  Bonnie shook her head.

  ‘Well, she did.’ He bounced his head in confirmation. ‘And she went from strength to strength because in the end, talent outs. Come through to the club and I’ll accompany you on the piano. What do you want to sing?’

  Remembering Betty’s reaction, Bonnie said, ‘“Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”?’

  ‘Come on then.’ He smiled at her, a real smile, and it helped enormously even as her heart plummeted to her shoes.

  She hadn’t reckoned on this, singing in the club itself. It wouldn’t have been so daunting if customers hadn’t already begun to arrive, but she couldn’t very well refuse. She saw Dennis watching her and just knew he’d guessed how she felt, and again it put iron in her backbone.

  Swinging round, she led the way back into the main room and walked up the steps to the stage where she stood by the piano. She saw that Betty was all agog but barely anyone else gave her a glance. Enoch joined her on the stage as Ralph and Dennis sat down at a table, and now a few of the regulars did glance their way, wondering what was going on.

  Bonnie felt sick with nerves. At the very least, if all went well, this could be the means of getting established on the club circuit where a good living could be made, but as the clubs were a way into the music business and bigger things, it could mean much more.

  ‘Ready?’ Enoch had his hands on the keys and he smiled at her as he spoke, an encouraging smile. She had never needed it more.

  Betty was beaming from her place behind the bar and as Bonnie glanced her way, Betty raised both thumbs. Then Enoch played the first notes. All she had to do was sing, but could she? Her mouth was dry and her palms were sweating and she felt as though she might pass out.

  She opened her mouth, shutting her eyes for the first few moments to capture that special feeling. The smoky club room, the murmur of conversation and clink of glasses, Dennis’s glare from below and even Enoch sitting at the piano melted away and she sang as she had never sung before, not even in her most magical moments. She didn’t look at anyone in particular as she sang but she was aware that the room had gone quiet. While she was singing it didn’t even enter her head whether the silence was good or bad, but as soon as she’d finished and the stillness continued for an eternal moment she wanted to run away from all the upturned faces.

  And then there was a roar of approval, people standing to their feet and clapping while some of the women, like Betty, dabbed at their eyes. Bonnie looked at Enoch and found he was staring at her, a mixture of amazement and excitement and sheer glee on his face. ‘Blimey, gal, when you said you could sing you weren’t joking.’ He shook his head. ‘What the hell were you doing working behind the bar? Why didn’t you see me before? To think I could have let you slip through my fingers because of that daft so-an’-so,’ he added, glancing at Dennis in disgust. ‘Well, you’re on tonight and in the New Year we’ll see about getting you good material. I know a couple of music publishers in Denmark Street off Charing Cross Road. Do you know the “Tin Pan Alley”?’

  Bonnie didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about and it showed, as she shook her head dazedly.


  Enoch grinned, nodding at the audience as folk sat down again and a few shouted, ‘More!’

  ‘Later,’ he said to the room. ‘She’s on tonight so don’t be greedy.’ Turning back to Bonnie, he said, ‘“Tin Pan Alley” – that’s what it’s known as in the business – is where all the music publishers are based. If they think you can put a song over, I can get copies out of them. Public performances are what matter and we’ll see about getting you on the circuit and well known as soon as possible. It’ll be hard work, mind, but I’ve got contacts. One of my mates is a publishers’ pianist and his job is to demonstrate songs to prospective professional customers – what he doesn’t know about the business isn’t worth knowing.’

  Bonnie’s head was spinning. She had the weird feeling that this was a dream and she would wake up in a minute in her little bed in Mrs Nichols’s house. She glanced across at Betty who was grinning from ear to ear, and suddenly felt such a rush of love for this dear friend who couldn’t be closer to her than a sister would have been.

  ‘You’ll go far, girl, I’m telling you.’ Enoch was fairly bubbling with excitement at ‘his’ discovery. ‘Come on, come into the office so we can talk properly.’

  Bonnie followed Enoch, Ralph and a sullen Dennis into the office, stopping on the way only to hug Betty who had hurried out from behind the bar to congratulate her with a characteristic lack of envy. ‘You were bloomin’ marvellous,’ she whispered. ‘Even better than that day you sang to me.’ She straightened to let Bonnie walk on as she added, ‘I wish I could have seen Dennis’s face when you started to sing. He looks like he’s sucked a lemon right now,’ and with that she danced joyfully back to her customers.

  Once in the office, Enoch dragged Dennis’s chair out from behind his desk for her to sit on, while he perched on the corner of Ralph’s. Dennis stood behind her, leaning against the wall, his face as black as thunder, but for once Ralph ignored his brother-in-law.

  ‘Now,’ said Enoch. ‘First things first. We need to get you something to wear for tonight.’

  ‘I’ve got clothes back where I live.’

  ‘Suitable to perform in?’

  She nodded. ‘Aye, yes. I bought them when I first came to London so they’re fashionable and new. I always intended to become a singer so I thought I’d better kit myself out.’

  ‘Good, good. Now your name’s Bernice Cunningham, right? But you like to be known as Bonnie. Does that apply to your stage name? I like Bonnie but Cunningham’s too long. We need something short and snappy. Bonnie . . . May. How about that? It’s feminine and has a glamorous edge. What do you think, Ralph? A new rising star, the amazing Bonnie May?’

  It was clear Dennis was going to have no say whatsoever.

  Ralph nodded. ‘Bonnie May. Rolls off the tongue and it would stand out on a bill. Would you be happy with that, Bonnie? It’s important we get it right from day one.’

  Everything was happening so fast she didn’t know if she was on foot or horseback, but somehow she managed to say, ‘That’s fine. Yes, I like Bonnie May.’

  Again Enoch said, ‘Good, good. That’s settled. Now I’ll run you home in my car and you can change and do your make-up.’ His eyes ran critically over her hair but he appeared to be satisfied when he said, ‘Don’t put your hair up, in case you were thinking of doing so. It looks nice as it is and it’s a softer look for tonight’s crowd. We want them to give you a chance.’

  Every penny she had spent in that expensive hairdressing salon had been worth it, Bonnie thought gratefully, and at least she knew how to apply her make-up properly, thanks to the girl who’d cut and styled her hair. She only had one pair of stage shoes, high-heeled silver sandals, but she had practised walking in them on and off in the privacy of her room and could keep her balance now, which she hadn’t been able to do at first.

  ‘I’ll get the missus to stand in behind the bar.’ Ralph smiled at her as he spoke and didn’t seem to mind that she had abandoned her post on what was probably the busiest night of the year. ‘When Enoch brings you back you go straight to the dressing room, all right, Bonnie?’

  This was a somewhat grand name for the small room situated between the ladies’ and gents’ toilets. It had a mirror taking up most of one wall and a number of chairs in front of a long counter where any performers could sit and titivate and have a drink and a cigarette if they were so inclined. Which most of them were.

  Again Bonnie felt a sense of panic. The thought of sitting waiting in the dressing room with seasoned performers was daunting. She didn’t let her consternation show, however, nodding brightly. ‘Right, Mr Mercer.’

  Enoch had slid off Ralph’s desk and walked to the door and now she stood up and followed him, being careful not to meet Dennis’s eyes. He was red in the face with suppressed anger. It wasn’t often he was put in his place.

  Bonnie was back in the club within the hour. The dress she had chosen to wear for her debut was a full-length evening gown in silver and black, sleeveless, but with large ruffs over the shoulders. The cut-away back – once considered so shocking – came with a small black fur cape, a style dictated more by climate than modesty now such dresses had lost the power to scandalize. The dress was at the forefront of fashion, like the other two she had purchased for stage wear when she had arrived in the capital, but this one in particular made her look more like her professed eighteen years, and she needed the confidence it gave her. Enoch had already warned her that she might get a little heckling from the crowd when it was announced she was replacing the beloved Jenny Cook but she was to ignore it and remain composed.

  Her stomach turned over as she entered the celebrated dressing room where the other performers were already waiting. The child vocalist, a sweet-faced little girl in pretty pink with a look of the American four-year-old star Shirley Temple about her, was having her curls combed by her mother; the two male comics were deep in conversation, and the magician was inspecting the hind leg of one of his white rabbits as he said to the tap dancer, ‘He was fine this morning but look at that. I reckon one of the other blighters has had a go at him.’

  The tap dancer paid scant attention to the injured rabbit, glancing up at Bonnie and then rising to his feet as he did a double take. ‘Hello . . .’ It was drawled with definite interest. ‘And who do we have here? If I’d seen you before I would have remembered. Frank’s the name.’

  She shook the proffered hand but it was Enoch who said, in a somewhat curt fashion, ‘This is Bonnie May and she’s new to the circuit so none of your flannel, Frank. Jenny Cook’s been taken ill and Bonnie’s going on instead.’

  Frank gave a low whistle. ‘Nothing like being dropped in the deep end. I hope she’s good else they’ll eat her alive, good will to all men or no.’

  ‘Take no notice of him, sweetheart,’ one of the comics cut in. ‘They’ll be content to just sit and look at such a pretty face, believe you me. You’ll be all right – and you must be good else that beggar there wouldn’t have hired you.’ He grinned at Enoch. ‘Hard as nails with a hide like an ancient rhinoceros, our Enoch.’

  Enoch smiled, apparently unoffended. ‘If by that you mean I pay you what you’re worth, you’re spot on, Maurice.’ He pointed to a small table in the corner of the room on which reposed some bottles of beer and a couple of bottles of wine, an urn of tea, glasses and cups and saucers, and several plates of Mary’s sandwiches. ‘Help yourself to something to eat and drink, Bonnie. We’ll be starting in a minute. You’re on last so sit and relax. Read the paper or one of them magazines.’ He nodded to a pile. ‘I’ll be back later before you go on.’ So saying he left, and for a heart-fluttering moment Bonnie felt as though her last friend in the world had just disappeared.

  She walked across and poured herself a cup of tea but she knew that if she tried to eat anything her nerves would choke her. She noticed that although the child vocalist and her mother and the magician were drinking tea, the other three men had beer glasses in front of them. The room was smoky and overly warm w
hich didn’t help her swimming head, but after a couple of sips of hot sweet tea she began to feel better.

  She sat down by the mother and daughter, smiling as she said, ‘How do you do? I don’t suppose you’re new to this like me?’

  She knew immediately she’d said the wrong thing, even before the mother said crisply, ‘Gwendoline has been singing in public from the age of five. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her. She is extremely popular.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her first blunder but no doubt not her last. ‘I’ve only recently come to London after living in the country all my life. I hadn’t even been to the cinema until a couple of months ago.’ All of which was true enough if one stretched the truth a little.

  The mother appeared mollified. ‘Oh, I see. On a farm or something, was it?’

  Bonnie nodded. The fair counted as a ‘something’.

  ‘Well, Gwendoline is eight now and in high demand. Aren’t you, dear,’ she added fondly to her offspring who was in the process of chomping her way through a ham sandwich. ‘She could sing a song right through by the time she was two, but it’s in the blood. Her father and uncles are all in the business to some extent, and her grandma had a lovely voice. I design and make all Gwendoline’s dresses myself.’

  She waited for Bonnie’s murmur of congratulation which was duly given.

  ‘She gets an encore every time, and we’re booked up for weeks ahead. Her father taught her to step-dance, a second string to her bow, you know, and she took to that like a duck to water. There’s nothing Gwendoline can’t do.’

  Bonnie looked at the little girl in her silk-and-satin dress with pink bows, and wondered when she ever got the chance to play and be a normal child. Betty had told her about some of the mothers who entered their children into every competition there was and pushed them onto the club circuit, regardless of whether the child wanted it or not. Apparently some of them could earn nearly as much in two nights as their fathers made in a week, and with the Depression biting, who was going to turn that down? A year ago the hunger marches and rioting had shocked the capital, and the Prime Minister, Ramsay MacDonald, had ordered an urgent review of the government’s policies on unemployment, but every day in the club Bonnie heard men complaining that nothing had changed.