for trade in station yard.
‘Everyone game?’ Ambrose downed the last of his champagne. When his glass was empty he looked around the stage. ‘Everything packed here?’ he demanded imperiously of the stagehands.
‘Did you doubt it, sir?’ one of the hands answered in a wounded voice.
‘Just checking, dear boy. Just checking. It’s all right for you people, you have no idea what it’s like to sit on a filthy train all night, only to arrive in the back end of Aber-cwm-llan-snot with half your bloody props missing, and what’s worse, no spirit gum to stick the stars and spangles on the girls. They don’t look very alluring performing in their shimmys and knickers, believe you me,’ he whispered confidentially, wrinkling his nose.
‘Shut up, Ambrose,’ Patsy snarled, pushing her status as head girl to the absolute limit.
‘You sound just like a mother hen, darling,’ Ambrose cooed patronisingly. ‘Come on then girls and boys. Are we all ready?’
‘I’m glad you’re coming with us Haydn,’ Betty whispered, tottering precariously on her high heels over the littered cobblestones of Market Square as she struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride.
‘Why’s that?’ he asked vacantly, his thoughts still preoccupied with Jenny.
‘Because you’re sane and normal,’ she murmured in a voice that sounded incredibly old and tired for one so young.
‘That’s a funny thing to say.’ He ushered her around a pile of soggy newspapers heaped high on the spot where the china stall had stood.
‘It’s true. You’ve no idea what this life is really like.’
‘It can’t be any worse than life around here.’
‘Don’t you believe it. My mother warned me not to go on stage,’ she confessed tremulously, sliding her fingers surreptitiously into his as they followed the others round the corner into Taff Street. He didn’t like the touch of her skin very much. It felt damp and greasy, not at all like Jenny’s cool, dry hand. ‘But I wouldn’t listen,’ she continued. ‘Thought I knew everything, didn’t I? Two of my aunties were in variety, and they got me an audition. It all seemed so glamorous. Whenever I saw them they were smothered in furs and jewellery, and they spent hours telling me about the famous people they knew, and the places they’d seen. It all sounded absolutely heavenly.’
‘Will I have heard of them?’ Haydn asked quickly, knowing full well just how many doors one famous name could open for a beginner.
‘No, of course no,’ Betty answered scornfully. ‘Aunt Edie is running a boarding house in Blackpool now, with a comedian who turned to drink. He’s horrid, and the house is disgusting. Not even clean. I stayed there last summer. She keeps it “exclusive”.’ Betty adopted what she considered a ‘posh voice’. ‘Theatricals only darling,’ she purred. ‘It has to be, because no tripper would look twice at the dump. And Auntie Rita ended up in the workhouse,’ she said coldly. ‘She’s a live-in cook.’
‘That’s not so bad,’ Haydn smiled, seeing the irony in the story. ‘At least she has enough to eat, and a captive audience to practise on.’
‘Perhaps I should join her,’ Betty whined.
‘Come on,’ Haydn said. ‘Pontypridd on a Saturday night, or should I say early Sunday morning, isn’t that bad.’
‘It’s not the place, or rather places,’ she said hastily, wary of offending him. The one thing she had learned about the Welsh was that they could be touchy about Wales, especially their home towns, which were inevitably coated with a thick, filthy layer of coal-dust and crumbling around the edges from the worst effects of the depression. ‘It’s the other girls,’ she moaned. ‘They’re so bitchy. I have to share a bedroom with four of them, and because I’m the youngest and last in, I’ve no choice as to who I share a bed with. And Tessie ...’ she hesitated for a moment.
‘If you’re homesick why don’t you go home?’ he
‘Everyone game?’ Ambrose downed the last of his champagne. When his glass was empty he looked around the stage. ‘Everything packed here?’ he demanded imperiously of the stagehands.
‘Did you doubt it, sir?’ one of the hands answered in a wounded voice.
‘Just checking, dear boy. Just checking. It’s all right for you people, you have no idea what it’s like to sit on a filthy train all night, only to arrive in the back end of Aber-cwm-llan-snot with half your bloody props missing, and what’s worse, no spirit gum to stick the stars and spangles on the girls. They don’t look very alluring performing in their shimmys and knickers, believe you me,’ he whispered confidentially, wrinkling his nose.
‘Shut up, Ambrose,’ Patsy snarled, pushing her status as head girl to the absolute limit.
‘You sound just like a mother hen, darling,’ Ambrose cooed patronisingly. ‘Come on then girls and boys. Are we all ready?’
‘I’m glad you’re coming with us Haydn,’ Betty whispered, tottering precariously on her high heels over the littered cobblestones of Market Square as she struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride.
‘Why’s that?’ he asked vacantly, his thoughts still preoccupied with Jenny.
‘Because you’re sane and normal,’ she murmured in a voice that sounded incredibly old and tired for one so young.
‘That’s a funny thing to say.’ He ushered her around a pile of soggy newspapers heaped high on the spot where the china stall had stood.
‘It’s true. You’ve no idea what this life is really like.’
‘It can’t be any worse than life around here.’
‘Don’t you believe it. My mother warned me not to go on stage,’ she confessed tremulously, sliding her fingers surreptitiously into his as they followed the others round the corner into Taff Street. He didn’t like the touch of her skin very much. It felt damp and greasy, not at all like Jenny’s cool, dry hand. ‘But I wouldn’t listen,’ she continued. ‘Thought I knew everything, didn’t I? Two of my aunties were in variety, and they got me an audition. It all seemed so glamorous. Whenever I saw them they were smothered in furs and jewellery, and they spent hours telling me about the famous people they knew, and the places they’d seen. It all sounded absolutely heavenly.’
‘Will I have heard of them?’ Haydn asked quickly, knowing full well just how many doors one famous name could open for a beginner.
‘No, of course no,’ Betty answered scornfully. ‘Aunt Edie is running a boarding house in Blackpool now, with a comedian who turned to drink. He’s horrid, and the house is disgusting. Not even clean. I stayed there last summer. She keeps it “exclusive”.’ Betty adopted what she considered a ‘posh voice’. ‘Theatricals only darling,’ she purred. ‘It has to be, because no tripper would look twice at the dump. And Auntie Rita ended up in the workhouse,’ she said coldly. ‘She’s a live-in cook.’
‘That’s not so bad,’ Haydn smiled, seeing the irony in the story. ‘At least she has enough to eat, and a captive audience to practise on.’
‘Perhaps I should join her,’ Betty whined.
‘Come on,’ Haydn said. ‘Pontypridd on a Saturday night, or should I say early Sunday morning, isn’t that bad.’
‘It’s not the place, or rather places,’ she said hastily, wary of offending him. The one thing she had learned about the Welsh was that they could be touchy about Wales, especially their home towns, which were inevitably coated with a thick, filthy layer of coal-dust and crumbling around the edges from the worst effects of the depression. ‘It’s the other girls,’ she moaned. ‘They’re so bitchy. I have to share a bedroom with four of them, and because I’m the youngest and last in, I’ve no choice as to who I share a bed with. And Tessie ...’ she hesitated for a moment.
‘If you’re homesick why don’t you go home?’ he
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