Tiger Ragtime (13 page)

‘The good ones make a living,’ Stan replied evasively. ‘Although I’ve noticed, when it comes to chorus girls, there tends to be a greater choice of lookers and talent in the provinces  ̶ and Wales. It takes a lot of nerve for a young girl to head for London, even when she has a bit put by in the bank, and not many have these days. Most of them play it safe and stay at home with Mam, where they can be sure of a roof over their heads if not much else. And in between skivvying to pay for their dance classes they try their luck whenever the local Hippodrome or Empire are hiring.’

‘I’ll need a well-rehearsed, glamorous, and experienced chorus when we open, no amateurs,’ Aled said.

‘Put yourself in my hands and you’ll get them,’ Stan promised glibly. ‘How many girls are you thinking of?’

‘Given the size of the stage, we can fit in no more than six, but they’ll have to be good. Very good indeed.’

‘You’ll need a resident headliner as well as touring acts to bring in the class punters. You thinking of male or female?’

‘Female and you don’t need to trouble yourself there, Mr Peterson. I have one picked out.’

Stan’s face fell. ‘A male comic then? All the best clubs have a comic these days as well as a headliner.’ He nudged Aled’s elbow. ‘Just this side of clean, eh.’

‘Possibly, if I can find one talented enough,’ Aled replied unenthusiastically.

‘You know what you should do, Mr James? You should come along to the auditions we’re holding this afternoon. Our production is going into two weeks’ rehearsal next Monday then a four-week run. There won’t be a tour. This is a spin-off from a successful West End show. You’ll be able to pick your six girls from our twelve-strong chorus. They’ll all be looking for work when we close and in my experience chorus girls are prepared to stand on their head, swing around the lampshade three times a night, and give out whatever extras it takes, to guarantee them a steady wage.’

‘I suppose it’s as good a way as any of gauging the standard on offer, Mr Peterson.’

‘Please, call me Stan. Now about that comic, I’ve just the man in mind for you. Successful and on the up, after a change of career from junior lead. He’s lost his looks and his figure but a few extra pounds can be an asset in a comic. The audience find it easier to laugh at a fat man. He’s in the show I’m producing but he won’t be there this afternoon because he’s one of the headliners from London I was telling you about, but I happen to know he’ll be free after this engagement –’

‘One thing at a time, Stan.’ Aled corked the brandy and waved the waiter over. ‘Chorus girls first.’

Chapter Seven

Judy’s hopes had been raised only to be dashed at so many auditions, she could sense the atmosphere that accompanied them blindfolded. They had a peculiar smell all of their own: an unwholesome mix of cheap scent, cold sweat, fear, unhealthy anticipation, and forlorn hope. And, although she turned up at the stage door over half an hour before the time she’d been given on her call-back sheet, the changing room was already full of girls vying with one another for space in front of the mirrors that lined two of the walls.

She unbuttoned her dress and hung it on a peg, changed into her tap shoes and ran a comb through her hair. There were only half a dozen chairs and they were all occupied by glamorous peroxide blondes who oozed confidence as they applied superfluous layers of lipstick to their red and glossy mouths. Hardly anyone spoke and when a lone pair of high heels clattered down the corridor, Judy sensed that they were all holding their breath.

After a sharp tap, the door was opened by a young woman dressed in a plain black skirt, white blouse, and black bow tie, in sharp and demure contrast to the girls who were auditioning. She consulted the clipboard she was holding. ‘Girls’ chorus, on-stage. Take your numbers.’ She held up a pile of numbered cards pierced with safety pins. ‘Fasten them to the front of your skirts where they can be clearly seen.’

‘On-stage!’ one young girl who looked about fourteen years old gasped. She was so excited Judy thought she was about to pass out.

‘On-stage,’ the woman repeated, ‘and quick about it, we’ve only got until six o’clock when the stage hands have to prepare for tonight’s performance. We’ve a lot to get through.’

Twenty girls shuffled forward and took it in turns to pick a card, before clacking, taps ringing, down the corridor to the wings. The secretary rushed alongside them.

‘Line up facing the auditorium.’

Even Judy, who had performed under footlights many times with the Bute Street Blues Band in various clubs and concert halls, found the harsh glare of the New Theatre’s lights intimidating. Some of the younger girls were so terrified they froze.

‘Link arms, high kick, step time,’ a masculine voice shouted from the black shadows that shrouded the stalls. The orchestra struck up after a false start, the same voice shouted. ‘One – two – three – go!’

Judy recalled the dance steps they’d been asked to perform at the previous audition and fell into step, which was more than the girl to her left could do. After five minutes the disembodied voice yelled.

‘Stop!’

The orchestra fell silent.

‘Numbers nine, eight, three, eleven, thirteen, nineteen and fifteen, thank you, you can go.’

Judy glanced down the line. Twenty girls had auditioned for the chorus and they had kept back thirteen. A chorus was twelve. One more girl in the line-up had to go. She glanced surreptitiously up and down the line. As usual, she was the only coloured girl.

‘Two, six, and ten, stay back, please, the rest of you wait in the dressing room.’

Judy had to tense her muscles to stop herself from shaking. She was number six. She studied the other two girls. Like her, both were slightly above average height with straight black hair. But unlike her they had dark eyes and clear, white skin.

‘Number ten, step forward, two and six to the wings.

‘Number ten, ‘Pagan Love Song’ after introduction.’

The orchestra struck up, the girl began to sing during the introduction, faltered, turned crimson and fought back tears.

‘And again.’

Judy could actually see the girl’s knees shaking when she began to sing a second time. Struggling for breath, her voice was reedy and weak.

‘One verse only, thank you,’ the voice shouted, when the girl sailed into the second verse without orchestral accompaniment. ‘Number two.’

Judy stood and watched the second girl belt out the first verse with more vigour and verve than skill. She knew she could do better, but she wasn’t at all sure she could manage it in an atmosphere so impersonal, it bordered on hostile.

‘Number six.’

She stepped forward, listened to the introduction and tried to imagine herself in one of the pubs, with the Bute Street Blues Band behind her. Staring blindly ahead, she sang every lyric from the heart.

‘And thank you. Male chorus next,’ the voice shouted. The woman who had escorted the chorus on to the stage, ushered Judy and the other two girls who’d waited in the wings back down the corridor.

Nine fewer girls in the dressing room had made a difference. Judy even managed to find a chair, so she could sit down to unlace her tap shoes. She was buttoning on her black dress when the secretary shouted outside the door.

‘Number six.’

‘Here.’ One tap shoe on, one off, Judy stepped into the corridor.

‘Rehearsals begin one week today. Seven in the morning until two every afternoon for two weeks. Sunday is free. The run will be for four straight weeks after rehearsal. You’ll be on half pay, that’s three pounds a week for the rehearsal weeks, and six pounds for the run. Twelve performances and two matinees a week. The show will not be going on the road at the end of the run so don’t get your hopes up. Here are three copies of the contract, sign all of them, one will be returned to you after you begin rehearsals.’ The women saw Judy staring at her. ‘Is there something you don’t understand?’

‘I’m in the chorus?’ Judy asked in bewilderment.

‘No, you’re Tiger Lily. Didn’t they tell you? The show is
Peter Pan
.’

Stan Peterson pulled a packet of cigarettes from his top pocket and held them out to Aled.

‘I prefer cigars.’ Aled opened his case and offered it to Stan.

‘Thank you, I believe I will. I’m still not sure about that coloured girl playing Tiger Lily …’ he began hesitantly.

‘She out-sung and out-danced the others by a mile,’ Aled declared decisively.

‘But she’s coloured.’

‘And in every state in America except the Southern ones that would have been enough for her to get the job. The Americans – the ones who live in the northern states, that is – recognise talent when they see it. No one can sing or dance like those with African blood running through their veins. I only wish I’d found someone as good as her when I was running my club in Harlem.’

‘Harlem, New York?’ Stan asked, impressed.

‘It wasn’t Holland,’ Aled said dryly.

‘She’s talented, I’ll give you that. But it’s a good job the show’s based here. Theatrical landladies don’t like boarding coloureds on tour.’ He flicked through the sheets of names and addresses on his clipboard. ‘She must live in Tiger Bay.’

‘She does,’ Aled confirmed.

‘In that case, seeing as how she’s local, I may be able to put more work her way in Cardiff. Depending on audience reaction to her in this show and given the right follow-on production, she could be quite a draw.’

‘She could be, but not for you.’ Aled rose to his feet as twenty young men and boys filed on-stage.

‘You think the audience will take exception to her?’ Stan asked, concerned that Aled had talked him into making the wrong decision.

‘Not at all, they’ll go for her all right.’ Aled, flicked the ash from his cigar into a tray on the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Just as I did the first time I saw her singing in the Bute Street Carnival. Who do you think my headliner is going to be, Stan?’

Too excited to wait for a tram, Judy ran out of the theatre, through the town, under the railway bridge and down the length of Bute Street. When she reached the baker’s three-quarters of an hour later, too breathless to speak, she found Edyth pouring coffee for her Uncle Jed and Micah. Moody was cutting up an expensive fruit cake that hadn’t sold, an increasingly common occurrence.

‘Where’s the fire?’ Micah enquired mildly when she lurched into the shop.

‘You’re been picked for the chorus?’ Edyth guessed excitedly. She tried to recall how much sherry had been left in the bottom of the bottle after the carnival supper and whether it would be enough for all five of them to have a celebratory mouthful.

Judy mouthed a silent, ‘No,’ and clasped a stitch in her side.

‘Never mind, Judy, darling.’ Jed slipped his arm around her shoulders ready to console her, as he’d done on so many other occasions.

‘I’m Tiger Lily.’

‘You’re what?’ Moody looked blankly at her.

‘Tiger Lily in Peter Pan,’ Edyth cried, quicker to grasp what Judy was trying to say than the rest of them.

Judy nodded. ‘Tiger Lily,’ she squeaked. ‘I start rehearsing next week and I’m going to be paid three pounds a week for two rehearsal weeks and six pounds a week for a four-week run … six pounds …’ For the first time since she had run out of the New Theatre she thought of her job with Edyth and the bookings Micah had made for the band. ‘I can’t take it, can I?’ she said slowly. ‘I won’t be able to keep my job here or play with the band …’

‘Of course you must take it,’ Edyth countered briskly.

‘We have it all worked out.’ Edyth eyed Jed, daring him to say otherwise. ‘You’ll carry on living here.’

‘But you pay me a pound a week plus my keep –’

‘And I’ll be mean enough to charge you ten shillings a week for your keep while you work in the theatre.’ Edyth interrupted. ‘I’ll pay your aunts one pound ten shillings a week to cover for you while you’re there. They look after one another’s children now, so they’ll be able to manage the job between them.’ Given Jed’s news, which was almost as exciting as Judy’s, Edyth couldn’t take the advice Micah had given her and offer the job to Judy’s uncles.

Realising what Edyth was doing, Jed nodded agreement. ‘They’ll all be glad to get away from the kids for a few hours. And you’re not the only one with news,’ he added proudly. ‘Tony, Ron, and me have all found jobs too. It’s only a short-term contract but the pay is good, we’ll be working for George Powell. He’s renovating the old Sea Breeze and he was looking for carpenters. As Tony is an experienced ship’s carpenter he was first on his list and Ron and I have labouring jobs. So this couldn’t have come at a better time all round, love. We’ll be too busy to rehearse with the band.’

‘And we only have five bookings for the next five weeks. I’ll give the pubs the option of taking the Bute Street Blues without you or finding a band to replace us.’ Micah took the coffee Edyth offered him.

‘So, I can take the job?’ Scarcely daring to believe it, Judy looked from Edyth to her uncle.

‘You most certainly can.’ Edyth went into the back room and lifted the bottle of sherry and a tray of small glasses from the cupboard. She carried them into the shop. ‘Here’s to Judy’s success.’ She divided the sherry that was left in the bottle between five glasses.

‘It is only a temporary job,’ Judy said cautiously. ‘But it’s an actual part,’ Micah reminded her. ‘And every part is a showcase. Someone important is bound to hear how good you are and come and see you perform. There’s no knowing where this could take you.’

‘The sky’s the limit, or should I say your name in lights in the West End is the limit, not to mention radio and films. You’ve taken your biggest step, Judy, you’re finally out of the chorus.’ Edyth handed out the glasses.

‘Not that I was ever in a chorus, only auditions for one.’

‘You aimed too low, love,’ Jed said fondly.

‘Here’s to Judy Hamilton, the next West End headliner,’ Micah toasted.

‘Judy King  ̶ not Hamilton  ̶ and Cardiff’s a far cry from the West End,’ Judy said practically.

‘You’ll get there.’ Micah touched his glass to Judy’s. ‘It’s just as well I have four bedrooms. One will be yours permanently, no matter how far you travel, it will be waiting for you whenever you want it, I promise you,’

Edyth assured her. ‘I simply can’t wait to see your name on the bill. “Tiger Lily played by Miss Judy King.”’

‘We’ll all have to come and see you,’ Jed said quickly.

‘On opening night,’ Judy smiled, just beginning to believe her good fortune was real.

‘And we’ll cheer and stamp like mad whenever you come on-stage,’ Moody teased.

Seeing how close Judy was to tears, Jed caught her hand. ‘This is just the beginning, love. And if anyone deserves success after all the work they’ve put in, you do.’

‘Be warned, young man, some people never find their sea legs. You might be one of them.’

David opened one eye and glared at Terje, the ship’s engineer, who had taken it upon himself to instruct the ‘apprentice cabin boy’ in the minutiae of life at sea. The tall Norwegian wavered before him. David closed his eyes but not quickly enough to avoid seeing the clothes swinging from side to side on the hooks on the back of the cabin door. Keeping his eyes closed, he leaned over the side of the bunk and pushed his face into the foul-smelling bucket on the floor. He heaved and retched, wishing there was something left in his stomach to bring up, so the agonising cramps would cease, if only for a few seconds.

Before he had climbed aboard the
Vidda
the worst pain David had suffered was during the weeks he’d spent in hospital after he had jumped off the bridge in Pontypridd. But then, his injuries had been so severe he’d been sedated. The doctors and nurses had been careful not to allow him to experience more pain than he could bear.

Caught in the rough North Sea winds, the
Vidda
tossed and turned constantly, churning him around until he felt like a rag caught in the dolly Mary used to agitate their clothes in the wash tubs on the farm. He had never felt so sick or so incapable of standing or sitting upright, let alone doing anything more energetic. All he could think of and wish for was oblivion, an oblivion that escaped him when he was beset by a constant urge to retch up his non-existent stomach contents. It didn’t help that he was sharing a cabin with what seemed like dozens of Norwegian giants who persisted in munching cheese, ham, and raw onions within sight, sound and smell of him  ̶ and slapping him soundly across the shoulders in a supposedly friendly gesture every time they passed his bunk.

Even the captain had visited him and given orders that the ship’s cook was to feed him thick pea soup, toast and black coffee  ̶ all of which had been duly forced down him only to reappear minutes later.