Page 18 of The Songbird of Wychwood

CHAPTER 13

GEORGE

“It’s a good crowd tonight, boss,” I called to Mr. Grayson as I ran off stage followed by roaring applause. Audiences loved a filthy sing-song, especially on a Friday night as many had just got paid and coves were here to drink and laugh their cares away. Mr. Grayson slapped me on the back,

“You had them eating out of your hand, lad. That song’s a cracker!” he praised “Remember, you’re closing the show tonight so you’ll be back on in an hour. Are we seeing Lord Dickey, Sister John Thomas, or Dixie Normus?” he asked.

“Dixie,” I replied before we were distracted by the troupe of Can-Can dancers who were on next. The ladies wore dazzling gowns and huge feather plumed head dresses

“Mesdames, prenez vos places, s'il vous plaît,” Grayson said in cockney accented French that made me cringe a little. The orchestra began the introduction for the ‘Gallop Infernal’ by Jacques Offenbach, known to everyone as the ‘Can-Can music’. At hearing the opening bars, the roar from the crowd was deafening. I was sure the punters would soon be on their feet dancing too. But I was sweaty and parched and so I didn’t stick around to watch. I eased my way through the crowd of performers and stage hands that always came to watch the Can-Can from the wings. I headed down a corridor to the dressing room I shared with Eloise. She was on after the Can-Can girls and had a few more minutes to wait, as they’d always give an encore.

I did our special knock before I opened the door. Eloise’s caramel skin was oiled, and her peroxide blonde hair was smoothed down with pomade, a kiss curl on her brow. She wore her costume of a blue sequin encrusted bra top and shorts with matching soft soled slippers, the costume not leaving much to the imagination! She was walking on her hands, her legs folded backwards and her feet resting on her shoulders. She had a Sweet Threes cigarette sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Balancing on one hand, she removed the cigarette and exhaled a sweet-smelling cloud before asking.

“What’s the crowd like tonight?” She put the cigarette back between her lips and continued to hand walk up and down the specially cleared area beside the chaise longue.

“Well in their cups, it’s a good crowd. Captain Rimmer went down a storm,” I said as I quickly removed the white sword sash and red dress jacket of the smart uniform. The first thing I always did when I got off stage was to get out of my costume as quickly as possible because I sweated something awful on stage. If I wanted to get a good long life out of my costumes they needed to remain as clean as possible. I loved Captain Rimmer’s costume. I’d purchased an old uniform from the 53rd Regiment of Foot in an Army surplus store just off Carnaby Street. It was an attractive look, with a red tailcoat with shiny brass buttons and gold fringed epaulettes. The tailcoat jacket had a high-necked collar that made me stand straight backed, and put me into the character. And it made me look devilishly handsome too if I do say so myself!

Unbeknown to those outside the theater circle, theaters ain’t all the glamour and sparkle that punters see on stage. Backstage stinks of feet and armpits, and it was worse before we got proper plumbing and latrines fitted! And don’t get me started on the stench of a costume store room. Costumes can’t be washed every night and so my ma taught me the nifty trick of putting a wool filled pad under each armpit when the costume is on so that I’d sweat into them. They could be removed and washed, instead of stinking out my whole costume.

I removed the sweat pads from under my armpits and tossed them in a laundry basket. There was a sharp knock on the door, and the stage manager Arthur Formby poked his head in,

“Two minutes, Lou,” he said before closing the door. Eloise unfolded herself and stood with her hands clasped above her head, stretching her spine. She stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray, put on her head dress, and pinned it securely. I gave her a peck on the cheek as she left, but no sooner was she out the door Doris, one of the serving girls knocked and looked in.

“I’ve got a note for you, George,” she said in a secretive and salacious manner. A folded slip of paper was held between two fingers of the hand she wiggled at me. “He told me to wait for a reply.”

I got on with most of the serving girls, but some of them…like Doris, got airs. They wanted to be seen on the arm of an actor, or even to socialize with actors, or the theater proprietor! Doris was known for being a lazy bones, watching the show more than she served at tables. I don’t know why Grayson didn’t get rid of her…well, actually, I could think of a reason! I’d learned to be discrete in my dealings around Doris cos I didn’t trust her not to gossip. I rose from my seat at the dressing table and plucked the note from her fingers. Then I closed the door in her face.

She knocked again.

“Oi! The gent said to wait for a reply,” she repeated urgently to the closed door.

“I heard you the first time, hang on!” I called haughtily.

I occasionally got invitations to go for a drink with a gentleman, or to join a group of stagehands or showgirls at one of the pubs in the theater district. I unfolded the note. The words on the scrap of paper were written in pencil, a scribble really, but they had the power to stop my heart and then set it going again at a gallop.

I danced with an angel

As if in a dream

I saw heaven in their eyes,

Desire on the tip of my tongue.

Meet me?

36

I swooned onto the chaise pressing the note to my chest written in his hand. My heart was beating ever so fast.

“You got a reply George? George?” Doris kept knocking on the door and while lost in my thoughts I’d quite forgotten she was waiting outside.

I took a breath and steadied myself before opening the door. In a nonchalant tone I replied, “Tell the gentleman, yes. He should meet me at the stage door after the show. But before you run off, show me where he’s sitting, I want to get a look at him.”

I followed Doris out of the dressing room and back down the hallway towards the stage. We stood in the wings stage left, as Eloise mesmerized the audience with her erotic contortions. Doris pointed out my admirers table. 36 sat with a group of men. They appeared to be middle class, clerks, or some such, not the bunch of toffs I imagined he socialized with. This made me curious. Who was he? If he wasn’t a toff how did he get his invite to Wychwood?

“Never seen him before,“ I said dismissively. “Cheers Doris.”

The serving girl moved off and I watched as she walked down the stairs and exited through the door that led onto the auditorium. Her ample hips swayed, as she edged among the tables, batting away the occasional hand trying to kop a feel until she reached the table where 36 sat. Then she bent down, her plentiful bosom nearly falling out of her top and she spoke into the ear of my admirer. The bright limelight on stage gave off a glare and so I couldn’t make out his expression at getting a positive reply. But I did see the glint of the coin he passed to her.