A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ the months that followed, appalling things happened in Europe and night after night that first summer of the war, Dartford residents, like Londoners, sought safety from the fighting that raged above and around them.

      The little theatre decided to put on a revue in an attempt to brighten the lives of the community. Sally was given a starring role, both singing and dancing. Her only claim to being a dancer was that, before she was old enough to go to school, she had attended a Tiny Tots dancing class in the church hall. Her part in the dance class’s production was as ‘Special Fairy Guard’, and she had stood to attention for the entire performance. It was years before she discovered that the teachers had told her distressed parents that their lovely daughter did not know her right foot from her left. Luckily Elliott – who was minding his P’s and Q’s – and a middle-aged actress, Marguerite du Bois (real name, Maggie Wood), who had, at one time, been quite well known, had years of experience of being what they called ‘hoofers’. They had coached Sally when the small troupe had put on entertainments over the Christmas period.

      ‘You’ll be fine, Sally. I’ll go over the routines with you,’ offered Maggie. ‘Heck, I choreographed most of them and, in that dim and distant past, Elliott was a beautiful mover. I know, hard to believe, but it’s true. Come on, show me what you did at Tiny Tots.’

      As yet, apart from standing well, Sally did not have much of a repertoire but she was graceful and elegant and worked hard. She began to enjoy herself as Maggie encouraged her and congratulated her on definite improvement.

      ‘Listen to the music, Sally. It will tell you what to do.’

      Sally listened and she learned.

      She was not too happy with one of the outfits she was expected to wear. The shorts were definitely the shortest ones she had ever worn. She tried to picture her father’s face.

      ‘My father will have a fit, Maggie, and while I’m talking about costume, the dress for the waltz is cut much too low.’

      ‘Take it up with Wardrobe, lovey.’

      ‘I am Wardrobe.’

      ‘Then fix it but don’t blame me when Elliott sees – or rather doesn’t see.’

      Sally took the offending gown home and after uttering a few choice words, Elsie agreed to rework the top. ‘And don’t let your father see it till I’m finished or you’ll be out of that theatre before you can say …’ She could not think of what to say but Sally understood her perfectly.

      So did Elliott, and as opening night drew closer, Sally blossomed.

      Sebastian Brady sent her a ‘Break a Leg’ card, perhaps not the best choice to send someone dancing on stage for the first time, but Sally was thrilled and wondered how he had known. He enlightened her when he came backstage to see her after the last performance of the revue.

      ‘The world of the theatre is surprisingly small, Sally. We keep an eye on one another. I didn’t manage to see you in your first show – was involved in a war film – but I do read the reviews, as, of course, do others more important than I. You’re gathering good press. The frock in the last number was a tad virginal but I must say that the skirt was perfect for movement. How are you enjoying the work?’

      ‘Even appearing in a Shakespeare play seems such a long way off.’ Sally looked at him through the dressing-table mirror. He was real, though as tall, dark and handsome as any fairy-tale prince. His presence was not a figment of her imagination. She hadn’t seen him since he’d brought her home from that ghastly after-show party, but she’d thought of him often. But had he come especially to see her or was he merely on his way somewhere else? She leaned forward to study her face closely as she wiped off the greasepaint, and suddenly he was standing behind her, cotton wool in his hand.

      ‘You’re not stripping down the old door in the hall, darling. Gently. Rubbing on the delicate skin under the eyes like that will lift the make-up, yes, but it will stretch the skin.’ He smiled into her mirrored eyes naughtily. ‘You don’t really want to look like old Maggie years before your time, do you?’

      She said nothing, every atom of her being signalling furiously that it was aware of his presence. And he knew how she felt; somehow she could tell. What was he going to do? Was he another Elliott? Somehow, for one crazy moment, she did not care.

      Sebastian finished the gentle cleaning and stood back. ‘There, that’s better. And now, is there a hostelry in this town that will give us a pot of tea and a sandwich? I want to discuss a new project with you and then I really must tootle back up to town. Haven’t quite used all my petrol coupons, thank God. No idea how I’ll exist when they run out. I shall have to emulate the hobos during the American Depression.’ He looked at her, sadly shaking his head. ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Didn’t you do any American history or lit?’

      ‘Of course: the Civil War, the War of Independence, and I’ve just finished reading Gone with the Wind.’

      He laughed. ‘Read backstage, Sally, not just plays, but novels by writers from all over the world, and read history. Now, if you’re coming for a cup of char, change your frock, although you’d be a sensation walking into the Copper Kettle or whatever in that.’

      He went off and Sally changed into a white silk cowl-necked sweater and black trousers, thrust her feet into high-heeled black sandals, grabbed her jacket and her handbag, and turned off the lights.

       THREE

       October 1940, London

      The Theatre Royal. Soon the wonderful old theatre would be as familiar to her as the little house attached to the cinema in Dartford. Each day as she tried to find the safest way to the theatre from the hostel in Camden, where she was now living, Sally cheered herself by remembering that. She assured her concerned parents that her area of London was relatively peaceful, preferring that they not know how many nights she and her fellow residents spent crowding into only marginally safe shelters. She never told her parents how afraid she was of the underground, having decided that travelling under ground was definitely safer and quicker than catching a bus or a tram, even if any were running.

      Sally, like thousands of others before her, had fallen completely in love with the magnificence that had been London, and cried inside every time she was forced to see the devastation that months of bombing was causing. These days, she closed her eyes as she travelled and tried not to wince when she found that the gracious church, museum, private house that she had seen only yesterday was today a ruin.

      But the Theatre Royal was still there and Sally was now doing what she had always wanted to do. She was being taught how to perform, as she was now a probationary member of the Entertainments National Service Association or ENSA, as it had become known. It was a real acting job, and, better still, it was war work, with the vital role of entertaining His Majesty’s Armed Forces and so keeping up morale. The delicious icing on the lovely cake was that the magnificent world-famous theatre was now her ‘university’. Once she had wept because she could not see a play there and now, a few months later, she walked into and out of that hallowed place five or six days a week. In the first weeks she did not know that several of the offices had once been dressing rooms, or that ENSA would not have constant use of the stage as it was being shared by other groups, and was still needed for auditions. She learned that what had been the Stalls Bar was now a recording studio where at times she herself would participate in ENSA broadcasts СКАЧАТЬ