gaze is avoiding mine
now, pretending to search the road or the moor. 'It was already out
there on the Internet,' I point out. 'All I did was put it right.'
'So you say.'
'I'm sorry if I drew too much attention to it. Would you rather I
didn't acknowledge you in my book?'
'A book, is it? You can call me Charles Trace. See if anybody gets
the joke.'
I'm not sure I do, but feel bound to smile, which apparently
prompts him to say 'Any road, do you want what you came for?'
'I'd love to watch anything of Tubby's you can show me.'
'Maybe you should hear about him first.' Tracy leans across the
table, lowering his voice, and a charred patch of wood splinters
under his elbows. 'How's this for a start? My grandpa saw him
once.'
Presumably he's trying to make the information more dramatic; he
can't imagine that we could be overheard. 'On stage, do you mean?' I ask.
'In Manchester. First place he appeared and the last time he did.
My grandpa said there was nearly a riot.'
'Why, because Tubby was leaving the stage?'
Tracy lets out a laugh that seems close to reminiscent. 'Because he
got them all going too much.'
'Going.' I then have to repeat 'Going...'
'Daft, it sounded like.' Tracy giggles, perhaps at his verbal
dexterity. 'He had them playing jokes on one another. Made some of
them laugh so much they couldn't stop.'
'A riot, though, you said.'
'Some of them carried on outside in the street and the rest still
couldn't stop laughing. The theatre had to call the police. My
grandpa used to say it was worse than when the country went on
strike. He didn't hold with unions.'
'That wouldn't have been the act Orville Hart saw, would it?'
'That was after, down south. Seems Tubby wasn't just touring,
more like keeping on the move. Some places wouldn't have him when
they heard about him.'
'Do we know what sort of an act he had?'
'I'll give you a taste later.'
As Tracy's eyes lose a promissory glint I say 'I was wondering
what Hart saw in him.'
'He said in one of those Hollywood magazines Tubby made the
Keystone Kops look like a garden party with the vicar. That's how he
sold him to Mack Sennett. Still, you don't know how Tubby was
behaving when Hart saw him. The story goes Tubby kept trying to
calm himself down.'
'Only trying?'
'Did you just see him in my film?'
'So far.'
A wind shivers the grey pelt of the moor and rattles the open doors
of the van, which creaks as if someone has climbed in the back. As his
troubled hair subsides, Tracy says 'That's him being moderate.'
'I'd like to see him when he isn't, then.'
Tracy opens his mouth, revealing the lower gum as well as its
teeth, and I've time to wonder what goes with the expression before
he speaks. 'My grandpa never let my daddy go to Tubby's films, the
ones we even got.'
'Would you have any idea why some of them were banned?'
'People like my grandpa made a row about the ones that were let
in. Some woman had a heart attack laughing at one of the stage
shows, and they kept on digging that up till it got in all the papers.
And there was supposed to be trouble at his films like there'd been at
some of the theatres. My daddy heard there was more of a shindy at
a cinema in Eccles than they were showing on the screen.'
'These days they'd use all that in the publicity.'
Though I'm not suggesting the industry should, Tracy focuses his
disapproval on me. 'Shows the way the world's going. Anything to
get into your head and who cares what gets in. And you wonder why
I like it up here.'
'I'm surprised you didn't mention some of those stories in your
film.'
'Maybe I should have. They're what got me interested in him. I
was young, that's why. Anything you couldn't see had to be good.'
'Presumably he lost his contract when his films kept being banned
here.' When Tracy stares as if he doesn't need to speak I say 'Then
what happened to him?'
'On the payroll writing gags and they used some of his ideas, but
they wouldn't let him write a film. Then he went to Hal Roach and
thought
now, pretending to search the road or the moor. 'It was already out
there on the Internet,' I point out. 'All I did was put it right.'
'So you say.'
'I'm sorry if I drew too much attention to it. Would you rather I
didn't acknowledge you in my book?'
'A book, is it? You can call me Charles Trace. See if anybody gets
the joke.'
I'm not sure I do, but feel bound to smile, which apparently
prompts him to say 'Any road, do you want what you came for?'
'I'd love to watch anything of Tubby's you can show me.'
'Maybe you should hear about him first.' Tracy leans across the
table, lowering his voice, and a charred patch of wood splinters
under his elbows. 'How's this for a start? My grandpa saw him
once.'
Presumably he's trying to make the information more dramatic; he
can't imagine that we could be overheard. 'On stage, do you mean?' I ask.
'In Manchester. First place he appeared and the last time he did.
My grandpa said there was nearly a riot.'
'Why, because Tubby was leaving the stage?'
Tracy lets out a laugh that seems close to reminiscent. 'Because he
got them all going too much.'
'Going.' I then have to repeat 'Going...'
'Daft, it sounded like.' Tracy giggles, perhaps at his verbal
dexterity. 'He had them playing jokes on one another. Made some of
them laugh so much they couldn't stop.'
'A riot, though, you said.'
'Some of them carried on outside in the street and the rest still
couldn't stop laughing. The theatre had to call the police. My
grandpa used to say it was worse than when the country went on
strike. He didn't hold with unions.'
'That wouldn't have been the act Orville Hart saw, would it?'
'That was after, down south. Seems Tubby wasn't just touring,
more like keeping on the move. Some places wouldn't have him when
they heard about him.'
'Do we know what sort of an act he had?'
'I'll give you a taste later.'
As Tracy's eyes lose a promissory glint I say 'I was wondering
what Hart saw in him.'
'He said in one of those Hollywood magazines Tubby made the
Keystone Kops look like a garden party with the vicar. That's how he
sold him to Mack Sennett. Still, you don't know how Tubby was
behaving when Hart saw him. The story goes Tubby kept trying to
calm himself down.'
'Only trying?'
'Did you just see him in my film?'
'So far.'
A wind shivers the grey pelt of the moor and rattles the open doors
of the van, which creaks as if someone has climbed in the back. As his
troubled hair subsides, Tracy says 'That's him being moderate.'
'I'd like to see him when he isn't, then.'
Tracy opens his mouth, revealing the lower gum as well as its
teeth, and I've time to wonder what goes with the expression before
he speaks. 'My grandpa never let my daddy go to Tubby's films, the
ones we even got.'
'Would you have any idea why some of them were banned?'
'People like my grandpa made a row about the ones that were let
in. Some woman had a heart attack laughing at one of the stage
shows, and they kept on digging that up till it got in all the papers.
And there was supposed to be trouble at his films like there'd been at
some of the theatres. My daddy heard there was more of a shindy at
a cinema in Eccles than they were showing on the screen.'
'These days they'd use all that in the publicity.'
Though I'm not suggesting the industry should, Tracy focuses his
disapproval on me. 'Shows the way the world's going. Anything to
get into your head and who cares what gets in. And you wonder why
I like it up here.'
'I'm surprised you didn't mention some of those stories in your
film.'
'Maybe I should have. They're what got me interested in him. I
was young, that's why. Anything you couldn't see had to be good.'
'Presumably he lost his contract when his films kept being banned
here.' When Tracy stares as if he doesn't need to speak I say 'Then
what happened to him?'
'On the payroll writing gags and they used some of his ideas, but
they wouldn't let him write a film. Then he went to Hal Roach and
thought
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