by Pamela Brown
But they found themselves in quite good seats slightly to one side, so that, despite the camera, they could see the whole of the stage.
In the auditorium there were a lot of people from the Academy to wave to and this kept Maddy and Snooks busy until the orchestra struck up. The lights in the theatre were not dimmed at all, which seemed strange. Then the compère came in front of the stage curtains and told them that there was still some time to go before they would be on the air, and so he would tell them what was going to take place. He had a plug microphone on a long flex, so that he was able to walk down the steps from the stage and up and down the gangways of the auditorium.
‘Now, we’ll just have a little rehearsal with some test questions,’ he said. ‘And the first person to shout out the answer will receive a prize.’
The questions were very easy, and the prizes were quite small—but with each winner the compère exchanged a few words, and to some he said, ‘And would you like to come up on the stage and compete for the big prizes while we’re on the air?’
As the audience warmed up, the questions became a little more difficult. After the question, ‘What lady was urged in a song to raise her lower limbs?’ there was a momentary pause, then Mrs Bosham suddenly screeched ‘Mother Brown’ so loudly that people near her almost jumped out of their seats.
‘That’s right—Mother Brown it is. Give her a prize.’
The very beautiful girl in evening dress who was the compère’s assistant presented Mrs Bosham with a box of soap and talcum powder.
‘Now, madam, what is your name?’ asked the compère, leaning over and holding the mike close to her mouth.
‘Bosham—Mrs Bosham.’
‘And you’re—a Londoner, I think.’
‘Oh, yerse—born and bred…’
Mrs Bosham was scarlet in the face with excitement, which made her look even fatter than usual. Maddy and Zillah were doubled up with giggles.
‘And—er—you’re a housewife?’
‘Well, I’m a widow woman, as you might say. And I takes in lodgers.’
For some reason this appealed to the audience and they applauded.
‘Now, this song—“Knees up, Mother Brown”—you’re a Londoner, so you ought to know it. D’you think you could sing the chorus?’
‘Ooh,’ squealed Mrs Bosham, ‘I couldn’t—really I couldn’t…’
‘Go on,’ hissed Maddy and Snooks.
‘Well, I’ll ’ave a go at it.’
Mrs Bosham’s voice was not melodious, but it was certainly penetrating, and the audience applauded loudly.
‘Now, Mrs Cosham…’
‘Bosham, please,’ she corrected the compère.
‘Oh, yes—Mrs Bosham—when we go on the air, in a few minutes’ time, will you join us on the stage and enter for the quiz competition? There are some magnificent prizes you can win—a washing machine, a radiogram, a television set…’
‘Righto,’ said Mrs Bosham promptly.
‘Jolly good. Now please give your name and address to my assistant.’
The compère passed on to find more victims, and the beautiful young lady wrote down Mrs Bosham’s name and address and showed her a list of various subjects from which she could choose one, on which to answer questions.
‘What about cookery?’ asked the young lady tactfully. ‘That’s quite a good subject, don’t you think?’
‘No, no,’ Maddy urged Mrs Bosham, throwing tact to the winds. ‘Don’t choose cookery.’
‘Well—er—current events then?’
‘No—I don’t think I’d know them.’
The assistant looked at her doubtfully. ‘Well, what about Old London?’ she said at last in desperation.
‘Old London—yes, that’s a good ’un,’ agreed Mrs Bosham. ‘Don’t expect I’ll know any of the answers though.’
‘Oh, yes you will; they’ll be quite simple questions. Now, would you care to follow me, and come through behind the stage so that you’re ready when it’s your turn.’
With a great flurry Mrs Bosham departed, giggling and squealing.
‘Oh, I do hope she wins something.’ Maddy was bouncing up and down with excitement.
‘And—and will everyone watching at home see Mrs Bosham?’ asked Zillah wonderingly.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Maddy.
‘Well, it will be a real treat for them,’ said Mr Snooks sincerely, and Maddy came to the conclusion that he was really a very nice man indeed.
Before the televised part of the programme started, there was an air of excitement over the whole theatre. The cameramen, perched on their cameras, were preparing to go into action in earnest.
Just when they went on the air the compère told a funny story so that everyone was laughing as the curtain went up, and the programme had begun.
Maddy and her party were on such tenterhooks, waiting for Mrs Bosham’s entrance, that they hardly noticed the first part of the programme. A very clever young man, who was an Oxford undergraduate, answered some mathematical questions and won an electric razor. A rather silly girl didn’t know any of the answers to some questions about the theatre, and a housewife won a washing machine for giving the correct replies to the cookery questions. Then came the break in the programme while the advertisements were on, and during this time the compère told another funny story, so that the audience were all laughing when they were seen again. And then it was Mrs Bosham’s turn.
Maddy and Zillah and Snooks were giggling and nudging each other, and were so restless that the people in the row behind protested.
‘And now,’ said the compère, ‘we come to our next contestant—a Londoner born and bred. Mrs Bosham,’ he announced with a flourish. There was a roar of applause, and Mrs Bosham waddled on to the stage, beaming with confusion. The compère put his arm round her, and drew her to stand as near as possible to him.
‘That’s to let the camera get a nice close two-shot,’ said Maddy knowledgeably.
‘Now then, Mrs Bosham, how long have you lived in London?’
‘All me life. Sixty years—getting on fer…’
‘Sixty years—and so you feel you’re qualified to answer questions about Old London?’
‘Well, I’ll do me best—can’t do more, as I always say.’
‘That’s the spirit. Well now, here in a sealed envelope are the questions on Old London. Nobody has seen them since they were put there by the university professor who sets the questions. There are three questions. If you can answer all of them, you’ll get one of our mammoth prizes. If you can only answer two, you’ll get a smaller prize. If you can only answer one, you’ll get a consolation prize, and if you can’t answer any—well—I’ll give you a great big kiss!’
Mrs Bosham screeched delightedly.
‘Now, I will open the envelope.’
He did so with a flourish.
‘And here are the questions. Now then—first question. Where did the old Shaftesbury Theatre stand?’
‘Where?’ said Mrs Bosham. ‘Why, Shaftesbury Avenue, of course.’
‘That is correct.’
The compère led the applause, as though she had just answered a very difficult question.
‘You’ve got a consolation prize anyhow, even if you don’t know any more of the answers. Now then, the second question. Name three famous music halls that are no longer in use as such.’
‘Well now,’ said Mrs Bosham, ‘there’s the Empire; that’s a picture ’ouse now; and the ’Olborn, and—and…’
She floundered. Maddy was nearly going mad.
‘Go on—go on,’ she shouted.
‘Do you know any more?’ asked Snooks.
‘No, no, but she must…’
‘Oh, yerse—of course.’ Light dawned slowly on Mrs Bosham’s large countenance. ‘There’s this ’ere one—the Royal. Now it’s bin bought by these ’ere telly people.’
There were roars of laughter and applause.
‘First class, Mrs Bosham! You’ve got a nice pr
ize anyhow, even if you don’t get the next answer. And if you do get it—let’s have a look at the prizes you will be able to choose from…’
Some curtains at the back of the stage parted, and revealed an imposing array of refrigerators, radiograms and television sets.
‘Now then, which have you got your eye on?’ demanded the compère.
‘Oh, I’d have the telly.’
‘Oh, you would, would you? Now can you tell me why?’
‘Well, fer me lodgers.’
‘There now, isn’t that a grand idea?’ said the compère fulsomely, as the curtains swung together again.
‘Now, all you’ve got to do is answer one more question and you’ll win that handsome television cabinet. And here is the last question. Where did the Great Exhibition of London take place—and what happened to the building in which it took place? It’s a difficult one, and you’ve got to get both parts. Now think carefully. No hints from the audience, please. If she thinks carefully the answer will be crystal clear.’
There was laughter from the audience at this hint, but it did not seem to sink into Mrs Bosham’s brain.
‘Well now, it was a little before my time,’ she began cautiously, and had to wait for the audience to stop laughing. ‘But that exhibition was held in the Crystal Palace. Oh, I see—crystal clear—thanks fer the ’int.’
‘Crystal Palace is correct. Now you’ve only got the second half of the question to answer. What became of the Crystal Palace?’
‘Well, it was moved from Hyde Park—that’s where it was, you see, and then it was burnt down, after it was moved to—well Crystal Palace, they call it…’
‘Yes, but where is the place that’s now called Crystal Palace? Can you answer that, Mrs Bosham?’
There was a tense silence while she thought. ‘Well, it’s—it’s South London somewhere, somewhere round…’
‘Near Sydenham,’ said Snooks under her breath, trying to mesmerise Mrs Bosham into getting it.
‘No,’ said Mrs Bosham. ‘No, I can’t say I know.’
There was a groan from the audience. Suddenly she brightened.
‘’Ere young man, read that question again.’
He did so.
‘It’s not in the question. All it asks is what became of it. Well, I’ve told you—burnt down.’
‘You’re right, Mrs Bosham. Quite right,’ admitted the compère. ‘Take your television set—you deserve it.’
Maddy and Zillah went nearly crazy with joy, as Mrs Bosham gave the compère two resounding kisses, one on each cheek.
‘Good old Mrs Bosham,’ said Snooks. ‘There now, aren’t you lucky, Maddy? You’ve got a television to watch, after all, without having to go to the Academy all the time.’
Mrs Bosham returned to her seat, almost collapsing with excitement. She had to open her massive handbag and bring out a large handkerchief with which to mop her face, and then a bottle of smelling salts with which to revive herself.
‘Well, just fancy,’ was all she could say, while the others congratulated her and thumped her on the back.
‘Fancy you knowing all those things,’ Maddy marvelled.
‘I never knew I knew them,’ Mrs Bosham protested modestly.
The rest of the show did not seem particularly interesting after all the intense excitement they had had, and they kept plying Mrs Bosham with whispered questions.
‘When will it come?’ Maddy wanted to know.
‘Tomorrow or the next day.’
‘How exciting.’
‘What’s it like backstage?’ Snooks asked.
‘Untidy,’ was Mrs Bosham’s reply.
‘All the excitement has made me ravenous,’ said Maddy when the show was over and they were filing out.
‘Let’s go and have something to eat, then,’ said Mr Snooks, confirming Maddy’s opinion that he was a very nice man.
As they went out of the theatre people kept coming up to Mrs Bosham and congratulating her, and telling her she was ‘as good as a tonic’, and making other complimentary remarks.
‘It’s bin the most exciting day I’ve ’ad since the Coronation,’ she said as they came out into the fresh air.
‘Now,’ said Mr Snooks, ‘where shall we eat?’
It was difficult to find anywhere suitable, as there seemed to be nothing but snack bars and public houses.
‘Oh, look,’ said Maddy. ‘Fish and Chip Bar.’
‘I’ve never been in a fish and chip bar,’ said Mrs Snooks. ‘It might be fun.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Zillah.
‘You’ve never been in a fish and chip shop?’ cried Mrs Bosham, as horrified as the others had been at hearing Zillah had never been to a theatre.
They went upstairs to the ‘dining-room’, and there on long marble-topped tables that reminded Maddy of an old-fashioned washstand in the attic at her grannie’s, they ate enormous platefuls of fish, cooked in bright orange batter, and piles of golden chips.
‘This occasion must be celebrated,’ said Mr Snooks, and called for glasses of bright-red fizzy raspberryade, in which to drink Mrs Bosham’s health.
‘Now where do you think I should put the telly?’ pondered Mrs Bosham. ‘In the droring-room, or in the basement?’ The ‘droring-room’ was hardly ever used by the lodgers, for it was very cold, and furnished with hideous heavy furniture, and had lace curtains that were rarely washed and gave the room a musty smell.
‘Oh, in the basement,’ cried Maddy. ‘It’s so much cosier. And if you put it in the drawing-room all the lodgers would watch it, but if you have it in your basement they will have to wait to be invited.’
‘Course I could put it in the dining-room—but no, we’d never get meals over.’
Mrs Bosham toyed with the thought of the television for a long time, until the Snooks family suddenly realised that they would lose their last train if they did not hurry. Everybody thanked everyone else for a lovely evening, and Mr Snooks insisted on paying the bill. Then they went out into the dark street, and the girls shouted goodnights to each other as they went their opposite ways.
Next day was Friday, and Maddy was dying to tell Mr Manyweather all about the previous night’s outing, but when he arrived he, too, was bursting with news. His hair was untidier than ever, and behind his thick spectacles his eyes were gleaming with excitement. He sat down at the piano and struck a thunderous chord in order to gain the attention of the class.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘I must have a careful look at you.’
He got up and went round the whole class peering short-sightedly at them, stroking his chin and saying ‘M’m’. This made them all giggle, and he had to strike another chord in order to quieten them.
‘Oh, what’s the matter, Mr Manyweather?’ cried Rosalind. ‘Do tell us.’
‘Well, it’s all rather exciting,’ said Mr Manyweather. ‘A friend of mine who produces for commercial television is looking for a girl or a boy to take part in a series for children, and he’s holding auditions next week. He knows I teach here, so he asked me if I had any pupils who might do, and, if so, to send them along. The age limits are over twelve and under fifteen. Now, that cuts some of you out, doesn’t it?’
It did. It eliminated Rosalind, Zillah and Armand, who all groaned loudly.
‘Television experience, while not absolutely essential, would be a help. That puts Buster and Snooks well in the running. And a blond would be preferred—Maddy, here’s your chance—or Colin…’
Everybody giggled at the idea of Colin being called a blond. His hair was straw-coloured and he had eyelashes to match.
‘I think all of you who come into the age group might as well go out for it,’ continued Mr Manyweather. ‘But I warn you that none of you may meet their requirements. There’ll be hundreds going in for the job, and it would be a feather in our caps if someone from the Academy got it.’
There was an excited buzz of conversation as people discussed their chances, and the three who were too old bemoaned their fate.
‘A short speech of your own choice, and then they’ll give you things to do on sight.’
Everybody groaned. Although they had plenty of practice at sight-reading they all dreaded it.
‘What studios do we have to go to?’ asked Colin eagerly.
‘Not to any studios. Just to the producer’s office.’
‘However will he get a hundred into his office?’ Maddy wanted to know.
‘Not all at once, Gretchen. You will each have separate appointments. Now, I’ll make a list of all your names and give it to him. After that we’ll consider you individually and decide what each shall do for the audition. And as Zillah and Rosalind and Armand are too old they can come and sit up at the table with me and be an advisory panel, helping me to decide.’
This was the sort of suggestion that made Mr Manyweather popular. He never let anyone feel out of things.
The rest of the lesson was spent hearing speeches and discussing what would be best for whom.
That afternoon on the way back to Fitzherbert Street Maddy said, ‘I’m awfully glad you’re not going to the audition, Zillah.’
‘You selfish thing…’
‘No, what I mean is, I’m glad I haven’t got to compete against you. You see, I intend to win this audition!’
5
MORGAN EVANS
As Maddy and Mrs Bosham walked up Kingsway in the hot sunshine Maddy felt more nervous about the audition than she had ever felt about anything before. The trouble was that she wanted so desperately to get the job. Since Mrs Bosham’s television set had arrived Maddy had spent hours sitting in front of it, telling herself that she could do just as well as any of the girls of her own age who took part in programmes.
‘Your trouble is, you’ve got too much bounce,’ Mr Manyweather had told her. ‘It’s an unusual thing to have to tell anyone, but you have so much vivacity that you would appear to be about to pop out through the screen and bite people.’
The class had roared with laughter at this description of Maddy. She had laughed too, but had determined to get her audition speech really beautifully under control. Mr Manyweather had warned them that it would be wise to do the speeches of youthful characters, not of adults. Usually the Academy encouraged even the ‘Babies’ to do classical speeches for auditions, however much too adult they might seem for young students, but on this occasion Mr Manyweather advised Maddy to find something quite childish. She had taken him literally at first, and had found a revolting little poem in baby language entitled ‘I’se Not Cwying’, with which she reduced the class to helpless laughter, and Mr Manyweather to shudders of agony.