by Pam Rhodes
“Suppose the company won’t play ball? It’s obvious they need you there, or why would they keep demanding that you go back in?”
“Well, during the period of self-reflection that’s led up to me saying all this to you, I can’t help but wonder if it’s me that doesn’t want the company to get the idea they can manage without me.”
Gary leaned forward so that their heads were touching. “It’s us that need you,” he said. “The twins and me.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve been such a fool.”
He kissed her then, a gentle kiss of promise and love and shared understanding.
“So,” he said, his voice suddenly businesslike, “we need to sort out the logistics, but as soon as possible we want to be in a position where we both work for some of every week, and we both share the parenting. We both earn money – and what we can’t afford, we’ll do without.”
She nodded. “All that matters is our family, this marriage, you and me…”
She could say no more. Taking her in his arms, Gary wouldn’t let her.
Chapter 11
Kath wasn’t the only one to heave a sigh of relief as she pulled back the curtains on Easter Monday morning. It was a glorious April day, with just a few light clouds scudding across the clear blue sky. There was still a slight chill in the air, but it looked as though the Hope Hall Centenary Fayre was going to take place on just the right day.
With the weather forecast looking good, an executive decision had been taken two days earlier that all the performance events would take place outside the hall in the school playground. The Rotary Club members had swung into action with gusto, arriving with staging, backdrops, seating, tables for the craft stalls, display boards, not to mention toolkits packed with drills, saws, screws and nails, superglue and a huge supply of white and magnolia emulsion, complete with paintbrushes in every possible size.
On Easter Saturday afternoon, all the various groups taking part in the displays turned up for a dress rehearsal inside the main hall. It was total chaos, with the occasional temperamental artiste having a hissy fit, but generally speaking the atmosphere was good-natured. As Maggie and Kath crossed paths at around six o’clock that evening when only two-thirds of the dress rehearsal had actually been completed, they stood watching for a while from the side of the hall wondering, not for the first time, why they had ever come up with the mad idea of this huge Easter event in the first place.
“Well,” sighed Kath, “you know what they say. Bad rehearsal, great show.”
Maggie chuckled. “Whoever said that obviously hadn’t seen this rehearsal!”
“How have you got on today?”
“I think we’re almost organized,” Maggie replied. “Best of all, do you remember I put that notice up on the board asking people what meals and food favourites they remember most clearly from their childhood? Well, I’ve been amazed by the tremendous reaction and the ideas that have come pouring in. So many people have signed up saying they’d like to recreate those dishes themselves and bring them in on the day.”
“It will be really interesting to see what turns up then.”
“How about you? You’ve had such a lot to organize.”
Kath grimaced. “I guess the main problem has been that there are just so many different groups involved, and they all think their contribution is the only one that counts. I could have done with a referee’s whistle at times this afternoon during the dress rehearsal when the combination of panic and ruffled feathers became overwhelming.”
“Well, we can’t do any more now. It will be a great show on Monday. I just know it.”
The memory of that conversation with Maggie came back to Kath as she arrived at the hall at nine o’clock on Easter Monday morning to find that several of the craft contributors were already unpacking their wares and beginning to set up their stalls. The Rotary sound engineer was soon at work laying cables and testing microphones, while his colleague hauled out of their lighting van a mountain of big sturdy boxes, on which he sat while he studied a drawing of where each set of lights should be positioned.
Della and her mother arrived a quarter of an hour later, heading for the old school hall, where they planned some last-minute practice for a couple of the dancing groups. Pianist Ronnie Andrews hurried up to the usual school classroom where members of the Can’t Sing Singers were already gathered around the piano.
By mid-morning some of the Scout leaders had arrived in their own van, from which they unloaded all sorts of intriguing cases and packages, which were whisked away to wherever they needed to be in preparation for their display later in the afternoon.
From eleven o’clock onwards, there was a steady stream of people making for the kitchen, bringing covered bowls and plastic boxes that obviously contained home-made family favourites. Every time Kath passed the hatch, there were squeals of delight as the contents of various boxes were revealed, and plans were made about how to display all the contributions and stagger the supplies so that there was plenty on offer throughout the whole day.
The larger-than-life compère, Derek Simmons, arrived at twelve noon, shaking hands with everyone he met and smiling broadly, before spending some time with the sound engineer to test the microphone level before the afternoon’s events began. He then disappeared into a huddle with Della, her mother Barbara, and Shirley, all of whom had been working together to shape the programme for the day.
By one o’clock the foyer and balcony area were packed with visitors who knew that Hope Hall was always the place to find a good lunch, and there was a lot of interest in the unusual menu that day. Among the wonderful selection of menu donations from people who had recreated old family favourites for the occasion were shepherd’s pie, stew and dumplings, baked ham and pease pudding, jelly and blancmange, Black Forest gateau, coffee and walnut cakes, Victoria sponge, rich fruit cake, crumpets and jam tarts.
“Miss?” asked Kevin, pulling a face as he carried over a large oblong enamel pie dish. “The lady who brought this in said it reminded her of school dinners when she was in the infants. She said this strawberry jam had to go in with it. Is that right?”
Maggie looked down at the milky mixture that looked as if it was full of frogspawn. She burst out laughing as she recognized it as old-fashioned tapioca pudding.
“My gran used to make that every Sunday, but at school it always came in a big enamel dish just like this, one for every table along with a pot of red jam sauce. It was great fun stirring the jam in so that the whole lot turned a sickly shade of pink.”
“Yuck!” Kevin pulled a face at the thought.
“Put it out just as it is!” commanded Maggie. “That will go down a treat.”
By twenty to two, all the seats surrounding the playground had been taken by the older and most needy visitors, with everyone else finding places to stand behind them. Kath was at the door of Hope Hall to welcome the mayor and his wife, a popular couple who spent the next quarter of an hour taking a good look at the extensive display of memorabilia that was on show in the main hall, along with dozens of others who exclaimed joyfully as they recognized items they recalled from their grandparents’ homes, or which sparked memories of their own childhood.
At exactly two o’clock, Derek Simmons walked onto the stage that had been specially built at the far end of the school playground, and took the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Hope Hall Easter Monday Fayre – a very special occasion this year, because our beloved Hope Hall is celebrating its centenary! Over the last one hundred years, this hall has opened its doors to generations of local people who have come here to learn, to dance and sing, to play, to meet and eat, to be entertained and to celebrate together – and there are many opportunities for us to enjoy examples of every single one of those activities here today. The groups who regularly use Hope Hall right now have all been working together to present an afternoon of performances for our enjoyment.
“We begin with our brand new town band.
These musicians, of all different ages, backgrounds and musical training, have been brought together by Don Walker, Head of the Music Department at the senior school. This is their very first performance after having a limited time to rehearse not just the music itself, but the skill of playing and marching at the same time, which they say is terrifying them all! So here they are with a piece of music that was written one hundred years ago, just as Hope Hall was opening its doors for the first time. Please can we have a great big cheer for our new town band!”
From the other end of the playground came a noise reminiscent of a pair of bagpipes tuning up, but within seconds the sound of several different brass instruments all starting to play at slightly different times and tempos began to take shape, and the audience gradually recognized the tune of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”. After that, the crowd needed no encouragement to join in and sing, applauding and raising a cheer as the band marched into view.
Admittedly their footwork wasn’t the best, but all the players looked splendid in their brand new, gold-braided jackets in a rich shade of poster blue. Most infectious of all was the fact that, although they were concentrating hard on the notes they were playing, there seemed to be a suggestion of a smile on every player’s face as, with delight and relief, they acknowledged that their rehearsals had obviously paid off. The audience were leaving them in no doubt that they were enjoying every minute of the performance.
The band eventually took up a position right in the middle of the playground, and went on to play several other well-known songs from the 1920s. It was in the middle of their performance that Gary and Karen found a place for themselves halfway down the side of the playground, where they thought they would get the best view of the Scouts’ display in which the Beavers were taking part.
“When are they due to be on?” asked Karen. “Hang on, I’ve got the programme here.”
As she fumbled in her bag to dig out the printed programme, Gary glanced up to see Claire looking in his direction from where she was standing almost immediately opposite him. He saw that a tall man with glasses had his arm protectively around her shoulders, and realized with a jolt that it must be Nigel. Obviously things had improved between the two of them. Gary tried to analyse for a second what he was actually feeling as he watched Claire and Nigel together. His overwhelming reaction was surprise, because Claire had been so pessimistic about the hopelessness of their situation when they last spoke. Then, with relief, he also knew that he was genuinely pleased if Claire and her husband had managed to get over their differences and were heading for happier times.
“They’re on next,” announced Karen, pointing to the programme. “Oh, I’m so looking forward to seeing the boys. They’ve both been beside themselves with excitement.”
Gary looked down at Karen, her face glowing with the thrill of just being there, and his heart lurched with love for her.
“I love you, Mrs Knights! It’s not just the boys who are glad you’re here today. I am too.”
She reached up to put her arms around his neck and hugged him, not caring who might see them. They were married. They loved each other and their boys. Life didn’t get better than this.
Watching from the other side of the playground, Claire was shocked to see the real affection between Gary and his wife. The twins had been so anxious that Karen wouldn’t be able to come. It seemed to be a happy family outing for the four of them, and Claire was really glad to see that. She turned to look up at Nigel, who smiled down at her.
“Oh, there they are!” Nigel suddenly pointed over Claire’s shoulder. She turned to see her mum and dad just walking in.
“Here we go then,” she said, looking anxiously back towards him.
“The start of a new era – for all of us.”
Touched by the determination in his reply, Claire reached up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, then started waving enthusiastically to catch her parents’ attention.
***
As the town band’s last number came to a triumphant end, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. The band members moved over to one corner of the playground, where stools and music stands were waiting for them. In the meantime, about a dozen young men dressed in Scout uniform rushed into the centre to erect wigwams, camp fires, flags and different tiers of staging as the master of ceremonies kept everyone entertained by introducing key people in the audience, as well as telling a cheeky joke about one of them, which had the crowd laughing out loud.
“And now, this is not just a special year for Hope Hall, but also an important year for the whole of the Scouting movement. To tell us all about it, and remind us of one hundred years of Jamboree, please welcome the combined forces of all our Scout and Guide clubs in the town!”
The town band struck up the introduction of a jaunty march that many in the audience immediately remembered as “We’re Riding Along on the Crest of the Wave”, which was always the big finale number for The Gang Show, devised by Scouting enthusiast Ralph Reader back in the 1930s. The Gang Show started with a performance in London’s Scala Theatre, but was followed over many decades by similar shows featuring hundreds of Scouts in many other major concert halls and theatres, as well as countless local venues just like Hope Hall up and down the country. Singing the familiar words as they marched in from every corner of the playground, came lines of Scouts, Guides, Cubs, Brownies, Rainbows and finally the Beavers, all with beaming smiles, as a huge roar of appreciation went up from the crowd.
Eventually, all the young people marched into their positions around the ground, as one teenage Scout strode smartly up to the microphone, clutching his page of notes tightly, ready to speak once the song had come to an end.
“It was in August 1920 that the foundation stone was laid here to start the building of Hope Hall, and in exactly the same month the very first World Scout Jamboree was hosted in Britain at the Olympia Hall in Kensington, London. Symbolically, the Jamboree site bore the name of the birthplace of the Olympic Games. Eight thousand Scouts from thirty-four countries took part in the event, which was dedicated to the theme of world peace.
“That first Jamboree was an exhibition of Scouting around the world, showing the fellowship of Scouts everywhere, and the traditional skills that were learned by Scouts in preparation for life at home and in the great outdoors. One traditional Scouting activity is camping, and around the arena today you can see some examples of tents used in times gone by, as well as the modern facilities Scouts use in this area today.
“Over the years, Scouts have enjoyed singing songs around the camp fire, and we would like to demonstrate one of these to you now. It’s called ‘Dum, Dum, Da, Da’ – and most of all, we would like you to join in with the actions!”
With another lively introduction from the band, all the groups around the playground launched into a song that had very little in the way of words, which made it fairly easy for the audience to join in:
Dum, dum, da, da,
Da-dum, dum, da, da,
Da-dum, dum, da, da, da, dum, da-dum, dum, dum
Dum, dum, da, da,
Da-dum, dum, da, da,
Da-dum, dum, da, da, da, dum.
The children led the audience through actions that had them patting their knees, touching their shoulders, crossing and uncrossing their arms, pointing to their elbows and snapping their fingers. The result was complete chaos, which had certain members of the audience almost crying with laughter either at the sight of some of the younger children as they struggled to remember the moves, or because they found it hilariously difficult themselves. When the song finally came to an end, there was general stamping and cheering as the band played another Scouting song while the children marched off the arena, waving to all as they left.
While the compère crossed the platform to take the mic again, some of the Scouts stayed on the stage to pick up some high-backed chairs and arrange them on the platform in three rows, with four chairs facing forward in each.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we
bring you now a group of people who regularly come to Hope Hall because they want to have fun, enjoy some great music and stay fit and healthy too. I’m told the combined age of the twelve dancers about to come on stage is nearly eight hundred years! Please welcome Armchair Exercise!”
The crowd applauded as the group, all dressed in black trousers topped by floaty baby-blue chiffon blouses, made their slow way to the stage. In fact, the audience had to keep applauding for quite a while before the Armchair Exercise members had manoeuvred themselves into position, got their breath back and were ready to go. Pianist Ronnie struck a chord to get their attention before launching into the lovely old waltz melody “Alice Blue Gown”, a song that was as old as Hope Hall itself. Ida, Flora and Betty were clearly visible in the second row back. Betty appeared to be counting out every beat and keeping a close eye on Doris, who was doing all the movements with great confidence in the front row. Flora was in her element, almost laughing as she swayed and sang along to the words. Ida looked stately and unsmiling, which may well have been the effect of stage-fright, although she would never admit to any sort of weakness like that.
Together, the group swung their arms and legs, and rolled their shoulders. They did side bends with first the left and then the right arm, then they got up and stood behind their chairs to bend their knees and stretch up onto their toes, all in time to the familiar lilting melody. They finished the dance sitting down again, with their hands linked along each line as they stretched rhythmically from side to side. When they all finished with their hands high in the air and cheers ringing in their ears, the group collapsed in giggles at the sheer triumph of all they’d achieved.
But then, without anything further from the compère, Ronnie started playing a new introduction with a completely different feel. What followed was a sing-along medley of American favourites that were all written in the 1920s. From each corner of the arena, dressed in a dazzling array of brightly coloured blouses and shirts conjuring up the magic of Caribbean islands, came lines of dancers, not one of them under the age of fifty, all doing a conga step as they held each other’s waists and sang, “When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along.” Once the lines had merged into a square in the middle of the playground, the music changed to “I’m Looking Over a Four Leafed Clover” as the dancers sang and moved into geometric patterns in the style of Busby Berkeley chorus line beauties, although admittedly not quite with the same precision or silhouette! Their arms swung and waved, their legs kicked, their heads turned in unison first one way and then the other. They twirled and twisted, encouraging the audience to join in and sing with them. When they finally formed themselves into the shape of a train that chuffed around the arena, with their arms linked and moving like engine wheels, their gleeful performance ended with a rousing chorus of “Bye Bye Blackbird”.