Читать книгу Stella - Gary Morecambe, Eric Morecambe - Страница 9

Chapter Four

It was last-night party time in Portsmouth and, as was the custom with end-of-run parties, it was held three nights in advance of the last show.

The ‘binge’ was set to start half an hour after final curtain. This would give the cast time for a quick breather and the caterers an opportunity for the auditorium to clear before setting up the tables and bar on the stage. It wasn’t unusual to have the party on the stage: it gave the cast a chance to mix together and discard any ‘us and them’ attitudes that may have hitherto existed.

When the party was in full swing one of the stage-lads nodded at the empty auditorium and said to the lighting man, ‘The theatre seems fuller than normal.’ His comment reflected what kind of season it had been.

Stella and Sadie were sitting on two stools, the sort used by ventriloquists for their act, when Billy Clay and his side-kick assistant, Doug Lambourne, glided over. ‘Here we go,’ sighed Stella, and she took a firmer grasp on her bottle of ginger beer, holding it menacingly on her lap.

Sadie, being Sadie, gave him a courteous smile and took a large bite out of one of the four sausage rolls she had taken from the service table. Her appetite was as enormous as when she was small – and, much to Stella’s envy, she had never put on so much as an extra pound in weight. ‘Ouch, it’s hot,’ cried Sadie.

‘So am I,’ remarked Billy, ‘and you don’t need to pick me off the service table.’

Stella glowered at him but he wasn’t looking at her. He had learnt she was the tough one of the two – of the whole show, most probably – and so kept clear of her. ‘You’ll need picking up off the floor if you carry on irritating my sister any more,’ she warned, sternly.

Billy chuckled but he soon stopped. His wife appeared at the side of the stage. He hadn’t been expecting her to show up. He hadn’t wanted her to show up.

Stella noted his rapid change of expression and glanced across her shoulder to see what could have caused it. ‘Oh, how romantic,’ she gloated. ‘You and the missus together for a fun-filled evening.’ Billy sneered at her and, muttering one or two obscenities, he went to greet her. Lambourne dutifully – and silently – followed him.

‘Thank God they’ve gone,’ sighed Sadie as she planted a rock cake in her mouth, shortly followed by two hard-boiled eggs.

Stella was about to remark on Sadie’s digestive system when she stood up and fetched herself two lamb chops. She bought her sister another ginger beer. ‘Home on Sunday,’ she mused as the last of the food went down.

‘Yes. You’ll probably be glad to get back to a good meal.’

‘Yes, I will.’ Sadie didn’t catch on to the sarcasm. Then she said, ‘You don’t mind me not coming with you to London, like? That I will be going home and you’ll be hunting for work?’

‘Of course not, pet. But just be sure to tell our Mam and Dad that I am working for the two of us and not just for myself.’ Then she added, ‘There are times I believe she thinks I’m on the game, you know.’ Sadie laughed at that.

‘Oh dear,’ she suddenly sighed.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s the Sheriff of Nottingham,’ she explained. ‘He’s hogged the last custard pie.’

‘Well, I’m sure you won’t starve. Now tell me what the time is.’

Sadie checked her rolled gold Samuel’s watch that Tommy had given to her as a special going-away present. ‘Half past six,’ she said.

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘That’s what it says.’

Stella glanced at it. ‘When you see Tommy again tell him from me to buy you a watch with the works in it next time.’

There was a sharp cough and an announcement was made: dancing beginning in ten minutes.

‘Come on, Sade,’ said her sister. ‘Unless, that is, you want me as a dance-partner?’ Sadie firmly shook her head, and they made their way to the dressing-room.

The doorman strutted across the stage with a gramo-phone and promptly tripped over as the lights were dimmed for atmosphere.

For two minutes it was chaos. A long, loud, girlish giggle was heard coming from somewhere in the stalls, followed by a long, loud, girlish scream from the same place. ‘Drinking is bad for you,’ warned Stella with a smile. ‘But what follows is worse.’

The pantomime finished with a dull thud. Portsmouth was left and forgotten by the artistes, and the artistes that left were forgotten by Portsmouth. It hadn’t been a very happy show, and from the management’s point of view it hadn’t been a successful one either. Profits had been made but not fortunes. Managements were not content with just making profits, they wanted fortunes, each and every time. As for the artistes themselves, whenever asked where they played last Christmas, they would invariably reply, ‘Somewhere on the south coast.’ Portsmouth was not a name to mention.

On the Saturday, the actual last night of the pantomime, Stella was called to the phone. It was Ronnie Brookfield. Apparently, an act had dropped out at the Palace, Grimsby, and could they replace them? Money would be the same as they were getting for the pantomime and third-class fares would be paid for one way only. He needed an answer then and there, and, of course, Stella was quite incapable of turning down any work.

She dashed back to the dressing-room to tell her sister the good news, and perhaps, not surprisingly, it was met with much apathy. Sadie was more excited about meeting up with Tommy. ‘Okay, then,’ she said, finally surrendering to her insistent sister. And Stella made her the promise that all showbusiness is run on.

‘We’re just filling in for the week.’

Mrs Fisher brought into the warm, compact front room of her home five desserts on a tray: four prunes and custards and one prunes without custard because Billy Manners didn’t like custard.

Stella and Sadie cleared away the dinner plates and stacked them haphazardly on the sideboard for Mrs Fisher. It was eleven p.m. and these were the best digs in Grimsby; clean, warm, and the food was excellent if you were used to mediocre food.

The furniture was in a class of its own – instant depression. The sideboard looked like a coffin with drawers and could have been the one used to ship the body of Count Dracula into the country.

Sat around a highly polished wooden table, I don’t think the story has got to 1934 yet, were Stella, Sadie, and Billy Manners – a new, young comedian with an American style to his act. He was full of one-liners, smart comments, and a smart suit to match. His idea was that you don’t have to look funny to be funny. His jokes were sharp, much too sharp for Grimsby – that only served to dull his razor wit. The other couple at the table were Grace and Karl Kent, a husband-and-wife team. She sang and played the harp while he drank and played around. Their act was like their earnings – on the way down. What had once been a salary was now a wage.

Sadie looked at her prunes and said, ‘Sailor!’ The others looked up. ‘According to my prunes I’m going to marry a sailor,’ she explained to the questioning faces.

Billy said, ‘According to mine there’s going to be a queue for the bathroom tomorrow.’ Grace Kent pulled a suitable face to show her disdain.

‘I’m going to marry a rich man,’ said Stella, ‘because Mrs Fisher gave me five prunes to your four.’

‘Looks like you’ll be first in the bathroom then, Stella,’ grinned Billy.

‘Ah yes, but what about Grace and Karl?’ remarked Sadie.

‘A lot of people have been saying that just recently,’ sniggered Billy, and the girls laughed at this.

‘Grace doesn’t enjoy her prunes,’ announced Karl in an aloof manner that made them laugh all the more, though they did have the decency to try to disguise their amusement.

‘We should have got together, Grace,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t like custard!’

Mrs Fisher tapped lightly and came into the room. She brought in a tray with a pot of tea, cups, sugar, and milk. Billy spoke. ‘Mrs Fisher, I have some news for you. In the morning keep clear of the bathroom. There’s going to be a long queue there, though it looks like Grace might be a late entry.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs Fisher in a kindly voice. She had had many young comedians lodge at her home in the past. She accepted that they were all as mad as each other.

Sadie took the tray off her and placed the teapot in the hearth by the glowing fire. ‘Now, if you want any more hot water just give me a shout,’ said Mrs Fisher. ‘It’ll be at least another hour and a half before I’ve to see to all the washing up. I don’t like coming down to dirty pots and pans in the morning.’ She turned for a final inspection of her boarders. ‘Any special calls in the morning?’ No one replied. ‘Good! I’ll be saying goodnight then.’ Five incoherent goodnights were voiced back as she shuffled through the doorway in her threadbare tartan slippers that clicked against the floor. Stella poured the tea out. Karl was immersed in the sporting page of the paper and writing down racing tips as he read. Grace had turned her narrow back on everyone to soak up the heat of the fire, not too concerned that soon everyone else was shivering. Billy silently, and mischievously, nodded at the table and both girls knew what he meant. ‘When they’ve gone to bed,’ mouthed Stella, then furtively checked over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been seen.

Grace, a dignified, sexless, thirty-eight-year-old blonde, looked up, giving the impression she couldn’t see more than a foot beyond the end of her husband. She rose in a serene manner that almost invited everyone else to stand and, with a forced, seemingly painful smile, she announced, ‘I’m going to retire now. Karl – if you please.’ Karl mumbled under his breath and folded up the newspaper. They made their grand exit from the room and immediately Billy rubbed his hands and pulled out a packet of lettered cards. Stella moved to a cabinet and returned with a stemmed glass while Sadie raked the fire with the poker.

‘I hope you’re both going to take it seriously and not lark about like you did last night,’ said Sadie.

‘She means it,’ confirmed Stella.

‘I know, and, yes, I’ll try and take it seriously,’ Billy smiled.

‘You’re smiling now before we’ve even started,’ said Sadie.

‘I’m just getting rid of them before we begin; that’s all – promise.’

‘Stop it, Billy,’ said Stella, but with no real authority. Billy was too likeable, too effervescent to be firm with.

‘Come on then, let’s get started before the vampire arrives and bites your necks,’ teased Billy.

They each placed a finger lightly on the rim of the upturned glass. Sadie said, ‘Concentrate everyone, and no pushing.’ After a short pause she said in a solemn voice, ‘Is there a spirit there?’

The glass screeched around the letters and spelt YEF.

‘It must mean YES,’ was Sadie’s explanation.

‘But it spelt YEF,’ argued Billy.

‘Maybe it’s a child who can’t spell.’

‘Maybe it’s all a load of . . .’

‘That’s enough, Billy,’ ordered Stella.

‘Let’s stop jabbering and give it a full chance,’ pleaded Sadie.

The next time it spelt YEP. ‘I suppose it’s an American child, this time,’ teased Billy.

‘Shut up, Billy,’ said Stella.

‘Americans do say YEP, that’s all I was saying.’

‘Have you a message for us?’ asked Sadie, putting on her same mysterious tone again.

The glass spelt out SARAH DEF. ‘Hard of hearing, are you?’ enquired Billy.

‘Stop it, Billy,’ ordered Stella – yet again.

‘Sarah is my name,’ said Sadie, excitedly. That was very true, as Sadie was only a nickname derived from the name Sarah. ‘Sarah Def,’ she pondered. ‘I’ve no idea what it means.’

‘So far, both words spelt have sounded loosely like real words,’ said Billy, remarkably seriously for him. ‘By that method you could assume, then, that DEF means DEATH.’

‘SARAH DEATH,’ said Stella. ‘Well, that’s charming, that is, Billy Manners.’

‘Only an idea,’ he said, weakly.

‘And he’s right,’ agreed Sadie. ‘That’s just what it could mean.’

‘Come on,’ said Stella. ‘Let’s give it a rest for one night.’ She pushed back a chair and collected up the pack of lettered cards.

They huddled around the dying embers of the fire. ‘Hey, I’ll tell you girls something,’ whispered Billy.

‘Tell us what?’ said Stella, tiredly. She thought they must be mad, staying up so late when they were working.

‘I’ve never shared digs with two such smashers before as you two – and that’s the truth.’ He chuckled as he began rem iniscing over a past incident. ‘Usually I end up with two Russian acrobats, or four midgets who can’t quite reach the table: I end up having to feed them, and then my own dinner gets cold.’

He gave the girls a full smile that glimmered in the firelight. ‘You’ve got lovely teeth, Billy,’ remarked Sadie.

‘Thanks. I’ve another nice set in a glass upstairs. I’ll show you those tomorrow night.’

‘Billy,’ Stella chided. Then she said, ‘Where are you working next week?’

‘Palace, Newcastle. Then I’ve got two Moss Empires; Empire Swansea and . . .’

‘God, that’s a helluva journey. Swansea to Newcastle.’

‘No. Newcastle to Swansea,’ Billy checked.

‘Does that make it shorter?’

‘And then I’m at the Empire, Edinburgh.’

‘Swansea to Edinburgh?’

‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ he winced.

‘Who’s your agent?’

‘Michael White of Theo Connell Associates.’

‘Doesn’t he like you?’

‘Well, they are the Moss circuit,’ he defended.

Sadie said, a little too honestly for Stella’s liking, ‘We haven’t played a number-one yet.’

‘We will do, though,’ promised Stella, and Billy couldn’t imagine much stopping her. She glanced up at him. ‘In fact, we may have to fill in for an act at the Hippodrome, Bristol, straight from here. Then we’ll have done a number-one.’

‘Which act is that?’ he asked.

‘Tip or Tap.’

‘Oh, I know them,’ chuckled Billy. ‘I was working with them only six weeks back. Do you know them?’

‘Only of them. Never worked with them.’

‘Two very nice girls there,’ he said with a wink.

‘I thought they were fellas?’ said a naive Sadie.

‘Almost. They walk with a limp, if you know what I mean.’

‘Are they – you know what?’ asked Sadie, delicately.

‘Oh, yes, I know what. And they know what as well.’

‘One of them got done by a sailor,’ revealed Stella, recalling a story she’d heard about them from Ronnie Brookfield.

‘Eh?’

‘It’s true. They were returning to their digs in Plymouth after a show one night when a sailor pounced on them.’ Billy started laughing. ‘This sailor ran off with the small one.’

‘And what did the other one do?’

‘He fainted.’ Now Billy exploded with laughter. He thrived on these sort of stories. They gave him a basis for fresh material.

Sadie said, ‘You shouldn’t laugh at someone else’s misery, Billy.’

‘That’s the best time to laugh. You don’t want to laugh at your own.’

‘Keep your voices down,’ urged Stella in a hushed voice. ‘You’ll have Mrs Fisher down on us.’

Billy rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘Tell me more about Tip or Tap,’ he begged.

‘Well, he finally went to the police station to report the abduction of his friend. The police officer thought he was describing a girl. You can imagine his face when Tip or Tap came out with lines like “going bald”, “ double-breasted suit”, and “dance together”. Of course, he turned up in the end, having left behind him a very satisfied sailor.’

Billy cried hysterically into his hankie for a minute.

‘C’mon. Bedtime, you lot,’ announced Stella as she collected their mugs.

‘Is that an invitation, by chance?’ asked Billy with bright eyes. She kicked his shin.

‘You wouldn’t be able to handle the two of us.’

‘Maybe not, but think of the fun I’d have in trying.’ He grinned as he stood up. ‘That sailor-man managed on his own with old Tip or Tap.’

‘SARAH DEATH’ was all Sadie could think of as she switched out the lights and snuggled up. Eventually she did fall asleep. Under her pillow was a letter from Tommy. She never slept without it. She thought it the most wonderful love-letter in the world, though she would have preferred it that he hadn’t signed off ‘yours sincerely’.

A little typical of Tommy, she’d thought.

Stella stayed awake a little longer than her sister. As usual, when she could enjoy a tranquil moment, she considered her work.

Can’t always be song-and-dance performers. We must branch out a bit. Maybe break into the films.

It was thoughts like these that gave her her motivation. The way the future was going to go for her, she’d need all the motivation she possessed.