Authors: June Gadsby
‘Not right at this minute,’ she whispered back, keeping a wary eye open for Mr Hornby in case he chose that moment to stroll through the general office. ‘Why should I be?’
‘Oh, you daft Clara!’ Iris giggled. ‘I’m talking about tomorrow night. You know, the talent contest.’
She waited for Mary’s reply, ignoring a sharp look from Mrs Shelton, their supervisor, who was a stickler for silence and efficiency, even more than Harry Hornby himself, who could be charmed with a cheeky smile and a humorous remark, as long as he was in a receptive mood. Whereas Mrs Shelton was a widow, never receptive, outwardly full of gloom, but inwardly, so Iris informed Mary, on heat for Mr Hornby.
‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ Mary said. ‘Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?’
Iris had had them all in stitches over the past couple of weeks, trying out new routines, as she called them, in the hope that she would win the Christmas Talent Contest, which was to be the entertainment for the
war-benefit
ball on the twenty-third of December. Singing was out of the question. Iris was tone deaf. Doing a tap dance seemed a better option, but she couldn’t remember the steps she had learnt at the age of five and ended up tripping herself up. Then she thought that perhaps she could be a stand-up comedian, but she didn’t know any jokes.
‘I’d love to win, you know,’ she had said to Mary, ‘but I’m not much good at anything, really.’
‘I suppose we all want to win, Iris,’ Mary had told her kindly, ‘but it’s not that important. At least we’ll be doing our bit for Britain.’
‘Yes, you’re right, as usual, Mary, but I really would like to shine, just once in my life.’
Mary went back to her ledger, wishing she could do something finer for her country than stand up and sing. Sighing wistfully, she continued to fill in figures with a scratchy pen, trying carefully not to splash ink
over the pages. She was actually a lot more nervous about the
competition
than she was willing to admit. She loved singing and dancing, but most of what she had done had been at home in front of her family and friends. The thought of doing it in public before a paying audience was a little overwhelming.
Last week they had held auditions in the drill hall, a big, empty
building
that was acoustically daunting because of its echo. Mary had felt quite uneasy hearing her own voice coming back at her through the empty void of the high ceiling. Actually, she thought, it sounded much better than it was in reality. The row of judges had applauded her, their smiles wide and encouraging and she couldn’t believe her luck when they told her she had been accepted, along with half a dozen other girls, one of whom was Iris, who had recited a sad little poem that brought tears to her own eyes, so she swore she would do something different on the night.
Men didn’t go in much for talent competitions. Certainly not the Geordie males, who thought it was pretty cissy to get up on the stage and make fools of themselves. However, old Mr Dolan had been persuaded to play the spoons and there were fourteen-year-old twin boys who played the penny-whistle in duet.
‘It’s your big night tomorrow, Mary, so I’m told.’
Mary looked up to find Harry Hornby standing at her elbow.
‘It’s important for all of us, Mr Hornby,’ she told him, moving away and leaving a space between them. ‘I hope you and your wife are going?’
‘Oh, dear me, no … I mean …’ The chief clerical officer looked uncomfortable, scratched his balding pate, then stuck his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his very small feet. ‘I don’t have a wife … I mean … er … I never married, you know.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Hornby. I didn’t know.’ Mary wasn’t quite sure why she should feel sorry for him, but he looked quite sad standing there telling her that he had nobody with whom to share his life.
‘But I shall be there,’ he said, brightening considerably as the moment passed. ‘I’ll be in the audience, cheering you on.’
‘And Iris, too, I hope,’ Mary said, giving him her special teasing smile that had served her well over the years and kept her from landing in
trouble
.
‘Oh … er … hmm … yes, yes, of course. Now, enough of this
chatter
. Get on with your work, girls.’
Mary glanced across at Iris as Mr Hornby waddled back to his own office. Iris rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then shook her head.
‘I think he likes you, Mary.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Mary sighed. ‘I hope not.’
‘Lor’, what a drip!’ Iris muttered. ‘No wonder he’s not married. Probably lives at home with his old mam. I doubt he’d know what to do with a girl if one was handed to him on a plate.’
‘Well, if that’s true, you shouldn’t make fun of the poor man,’ Mary said sympathetically.
‘Silence!’ The order was snapped out by Mrs Shelton, who had been surreptitiously combing her hair and replacing her lipstick with the aid of a hand mirror in her desk drawer. ‘Busy mouths do not get the work done!’
‘Are you going in for the talent competition, Mrs Shelton?’ Iris asked cheekily and the woman’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink beneath the
fuchsia
of her thickly applied rouge.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, girl!’
Mary kept her head down low over her ledger and hoped she
wouldn’t
get a fit of the giggles, because if she did she would not be able to stop and she would undoubtedly snort quite loudly. It was one of the things she hated about herself, but it was how she was and she had to live with it.
Next to her, Iris’s shoulders were shaking, but they both knew they would have to contain their mirth until the big old railway clock on the wall ticked its last second up to six o’clock when it would be time to pack up and go home.
The whole West family turned out for the benefit. It was the night before Christmas Eve. There was a clear inky black sky, winking stars and a crisp coating of snow underfoot. Even Mary’s grandmother had been persuaded to leave her air-raid shelter, having been given the promise that there was to be no raid that night, and even if there was, there was a perfectly good shelter beneath the band rostrum at the Palais de Danse.
‘It’s a long time since I was at the Pally,’ Mary’s gran said as she walked breathlessly between Mary and Helen in the centre of the group. ‘Eeh, I used to love dancin’, I did, but I always got the little fellas askin’ me up to dance. And if they wus big, they wus too big and I used to get a creek in me neck lookin’ up at them.’
‘I bet you were a little belter in your youth, Gran,’ said Trevor, who was carrying young Carol in his arms. ‘Bet you broke a few hearts, eh?’
‘Oh, I did me share, ye know.’ Everybody laughed as the old woman’s feet went out from under her, but she was held firm by her two
granddaughters
. ‘Eeh, divvint let us fall on me bum, lassies! Them seats are
awful hard at the Pally, I’ll bet.’
‘Who’s giving out the prizes tonight, Mary?’ Jenny West asked from behind.
‘Well, Jack Langley’s going to do the judging and Dr Gordon’s
handing
out the prizes,’ Mary said. ‘They tried to get somebody important from Gateshead or Newcastle, but there are big functions happening over there tonight as well.’
‘I’d say Dr Gordon’s important enough for Felling,’ Jenny said fondly, for in her eyes there was no one better than the big, brusque Scot.
‘He does my chest good,’ said Grandma West and they all laughed again. ‘Now what did I say that was so funny? I’ve been under that man for years and I always feel better for it.’
‘Oh, aye, Mam?’ Frank West winked at his wife and that set them all off again, so it was a very merry band that kicked the snow from their boots as they entered through the impressive foyer of the Palais de Danse a few minutes later.
The first person Mary got her eye on was the unlikely figure of Effie Donaldson handing out tickets in the box office. She smiled warmly at the girl as her dad forked out for the entrance tickets.
‘Hello, Effie. Remember me? I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ There was nothing friendly about the dark frown and the knitted black brows that had been plucked pencil-thin since the last time they had met. ‘I work here weekends. It makes a change from layin’ oot dead people. So, how’s the pensions place, then?’
‘Not as exciting as you might think,’ Mary said, a slow, cautious smile spreading on her face.
‘Aw, get her!’ Effie remarked, then got busy counting out the shillings and the pennies Frank West had passed over to her. She did so with surprising speed, finding it to be not quite right. ‘Ye’re a tanner short, mister. Look here …’
Before Frank could argue that he had given her the right money, she counted out every coin before their eyes, causing complaints from the people starting to queue up behind the West family.
‘Aye, she’s right, Mr West,’ Trevor said and dug deep in his pocket for the missing sixpence. ‘There ye are, pet. Keep the change, eh?’
‘Funny bugger!’ Effie glowered at him through the glass partition behind which she was sitting on a high stool, made higher for her by two thick cushions, otherwise she would hardly have been able to see over the ticket-machine.
The hall was already heaving with bodies, everybody animated with
excitement and high expectations. Tables with crisp white linen cloths circled the big dance-floor, which was waxed to a brilliant shine, and so slippery that some of the girls were rubbing the soles of their dancing shoes with sandpaper to prevent any dangerous skidding when the
dancing
got lively.
And it promised to get lively all right. The two vocalists of Jack Langley’s band were going to demonstrate the new jitterbug dancing they’d come across during a recent tour of America. Mary wasn’t the only one looking forward to trying out the new steps.
‘Let’s find a table near the stage before they’re all taken,’ Jenny West said, leading the way.
‘Where’s the lavatory?’ Mary’s grandmother wanted to know as soon as she was seated, squinting in the bright lights after the darkness of the black-out night. ‘I can’t settle happily if I don’t know where the lav is.’
‘It’s all right, Gran,’ Mary told her, slipping an arm about the frail old shoulders. ‘I’ll take you when you’re ready.’
‘Better go now, then it’s done,’ Annie West said, sticking out her lips in a big pout as she searched the building for the WC signs. ‘Then I’ll want a cup of tea and a nice bit of cake.’
‘It’s all right, Mary,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll take Gran to the lavatory. You go and help Mam with the refreshments.’
Mary nodded and followed her mother to the refreshments table, which was being run by the ladies of the Women’s Institute, so there was a good chance of the cakes being of the highest quality. The ladies of the twin sets and pearls were so highly competitive with their cooking that they always used the best ingredients available and usually got everything right.
Armed with supper tickets for the whole family, Mary and Jenny filled two trays with food, surprised at how much there was, considering
everything
was about to be rationed.
‘Oh, just look at that chocolate cake!’ Mary exclaimed and started to reach out for a piece, but someone stepped in front of her and blocked her way.
‘You’re only supposed to take enough food for one,’ the young woman said with a manner that was so stiff her jaws must have been bonded together with cement.
‘I beg your pardon, miss,’ Mary’s mother said, quite put out at
hearing
her daughter spoken to in such a manner. ‘But there are nine of us, plus my daughter’s fiancé, who we’ve paid for, but he’s coming later.’
The young woman with the shoulder-length fair hair and the tight
skirt, turned around and they could see she was ready for an argument by the narrowing of her cool grey-blue eyes.
‘Let me see your tickets?’
‘We gave them in to your colleague over there.’ Jenny nodded to the plump, middle-aged woman at the other end of the table. ‘Ask her if you don’t believe us.’
‘This is quite irregular,’ the woman said, her mouth tightening into a thin, straight line. ‘Stay here. Don’t move from this spot …’
However, before she herself could move, a familiar figure suddenly materialized beside her, almost as stern, but not quite as formidable.
‘Is there a problem, Fiona? Why Mary … ah, and Mrs West! How nice to see you.’ Dr Gordon greeted them amicably. ‘And I see you’ve got all the family with you, even Mrs West senior. You must take her a piece of apple-pie. My wife made it and, if I say so myself, it deserves a prize.’
The woman called Fiona looked indignant and walked back to mutter something to the lady in charge, but seemed to get short shrift from there too and marched off huffily.
‘Have we done something wrong, Dr Gordon?’ Mary’s mother wanted to know; she was a stickler for doing everything right by the book and would be mortified to be found contravening any rule or regulation. ‘We did buy sufficient tickets for all of us and they told us to help ourselves, but that young woman seemed to think we were stealing the food.’
Dr Gordon bristled as he looked after the woman with the blonde hair and the cool manner.
‘Och, take no notice. Fiona obviously made a mistake. She’s been in a bad mood all day and if I could find that nephew of mine I’d ask him why.’
‘Your nephew?’ Mary asked, puzzled. ‘Dr Craig?’
‘Aye. That’s his wife.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Mary looked more closely at the woman, who was now standing in the entrance to the foyer with an air about her of someone spoiling for a fight. It was a pity, she thought, that Dr Craig had such a dragon for a wife, and maybe that had something to do with why he was so dour and preoccupied.
There was a high-pitched scream from the microphone, then a
deafening
roll on the drums got everybody’s attention. Mary’s grandmother had to be stopped from donning her gas-mask – and Mary hung on to her in case she decided to duck under a table and embarrass them all by
refusing
to come out.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Bandleader Jack Langley was on stage, fronting his twenty-piece dance band, and he was addressing the mass of people who were gathered in the hall. ‘Can I ask you to take your seats please, so the show can begin? First, we’ve got some announcements and, while you have your supper, there’s a talk by the Honourable Mrs Benjamin-Smythe of the WVS on how best to cope in times of war. After which, we’ll have the talent contest and end the evening with some
dancing
.’