Springtime at Hope Hall

by Pam Rhodes

  Shouting to be heard over the rapturous reaction of the audience, the compère announced that the performance had come from the members of the Dance Sing-along exercise class at Hope Hall. He then went on to explain that, just as music had entertained people down the years, so had comedy…

  “Put your hands together, please, for a man who has a fund of funny stories, and he assures me every one of them is true. But knowing this chap as I do, I hope that today he’s chosen a story that’s suitable for your delicate ears! The irrepressible Percy Wilson!”

  Percy looked splendid as he came on stage dressed a bit like Charlie Chaplin, complete with a little black moustache – except that where Charlie had been slim and petite, Percy was tall and bigboned, with a nicely rounded tummy. Unfortunately, he stopped short of the microphone stand, which meant that when he started talking, nobody could hear a word he was saying. The sound man immediately ran on to move Percy into the right position and adjust the mic to the correct angle and height.

  “I’m dressed like this, because if my dad had still been alive, he would be celebrating his one hundredth birthday this year, just like Hope Hall. He was born in 1920, and at that time the most well-known entertainer and film star in the world was Charlie Chaplin, who was born the same year as my grandad, back in 1893.

  “Now, because everybody loved Charlie Chaplin, this style of dress, especially the bowler hat, became very fashionable for quite a long time. My grandad worked in a factory that made machinery parts, where the workers used to have to clock in first thing every morning and clock out again every night when they’d finished. Grandad worked for many years with the same team, and they became great friends, but perhaps because the job was quite boring, they liked nothing better than playing practical jokes on each other.

  “Grandad’s friend Harry was always very dapper and loved dressing smartly, and he had noticed a gentlemen’s outfitters’ shop not far from the factory that was having a sale of bowler hats – and what’s more, anyone who bought a hat that week could have their initials engraved for free in gold letters on the inside lining.

  “Well, Harry rushed out to treat himself to a new bowler hat in his lunch break, and he couldn’t wait to show all his friends what a bargain he’d found when he got back to work. He was especially proud when he walked out of the factory in the evening with his new hat firmly on his head.

  “That night on the walk home, my grandad hatched a plan with a few of the other fellas. Next day, at lunchtime, Grandad nipped down to the shop himself, and he bought a hat that was two sizes larger than the one Harry had bought. Then he asked the shopkeeper to engrave the new hat with Harry’s initials, just like the other one.

  “When Grandad got back to the factory, his friends kept watch while he swapped the hats over, leaving the one that was two sizes too big hanging on Harry’s hook.

  “At home time, they all pretended not to notice – and definitely not laugh – as Harry put on the hat only to find that it slid down right over his ears and eyes so that he couldn’t see a thing. He checked inside, and could see his initials. It definitely was his hat. Puzzled, and hoping no one else had noticed, he put the hat under his arm and walked quickly out of the factory. Grandad and all the rest of the lads waited until he was out of earshot before collapsing in helpless laughter.

  “The next morning, Harry walked in wearing the hat – but he had stuffed newspaper inside the rim so that it fitted him again, even if it was rather wide on his head. He hung it up on his hook with care, and went off to work. While he was away, Grandad and his friends crept in, took the large hat off the hook, and pulled out the newspaper padding, which they then stuffed in exactly the same position into the original smaller hat.

  “At home time, Harry put on his coat and popped on his hat. His face was a picture when he realized the hat didn’t fit him at all, and all he could do was perch it on the very top of his head! Once again, confused and embarrassed, he hid the hat under his arm and hurried off home.

  “The following day, when Harry didn’t come into work, Grandad and the rest were longing to know why he’d stayed away, so they went round to his house after work and knocked on the door. His mother answered, and said that Harry was suffering from a terrible illness. He was down at the doctor’s, because he was afflicted with a serious condition that was making his head expand one day and shrink most terribly the next.”

  By the time Percy got to this part of the story, the audience were in fits of laughter and there was a round of delighted applause – after which Percy added a postscript.

  “But it was Harry who had the last laugh. He’d worked out when he got home the night before what had happened, so he was actually in the back room listening at the keyhole as his mother strung his friends along with the tragic story of how upset he was. Grandad and his friends got a real fit of conscience at the thought of Harry believing that he was dreadfully ill, so they went back that night with several bottles of beer and a box of sweets for him. He said that the looks on their faces when they realized he’d got his own back made it all worthwhile!

  “It just goes to show, ladies and gentlemen, that as my dear old grandad used to say, there’s naught so queer as folk! I thank you!” And with an exaggerated bow, Percy milked the applause for as long as possible before he finally left the stage.

  “An invitation for us all now,” announced the compère, “from the members of the Hope Hall pre-school playgroup, who are about to show us how children enjoyed singing and playing one hundred years ago. Here they are at the teddy bears’ picnic!”

  A huge sigh of affection rippled around the audience as, with a lot of gentle encouragement from Jen, Carol and the playgroup team, the under-five-year-olds all wandered onto the stage clutching their teddies in one arm and holding the hand of another little friend with the other. Ronnie was bashing out the melody of the famous old song, while a group of Cubs and Brownies stood at the side of the platform singing the words as loudly as they could in the hope that the little ones would join in with them. The children lined up along the front of the stage with various degrees of involvement. Some were singing loudly, hugging their teddies and nudging the child next to them when they forgot the moves. Some just stood staring out at the crowd, not sure why they were there at all. One at the far end was waving and calling out to his mum, who was waving back wildly from the side of the playground, and another little girl simply walked off the stage immediately, with her thumb in her mouth. The audience loved every moment and the applause was deafening as parents ran up to the stage to congratulate and collect their talented youngsters once the performance was over.

  “And now for something completely different,” announced the compère. “We’ve been remembering how children and grown-ups had fun in years gone by, but now we’re coming bang up to date with a mind-blowing display from our very own street-dancing group, the Hip-hoppers!”

  Electronic beeping and pulsing suddenly burst out at great volume from the sound speakers, as a group of teenagers, their faces painted like zombies, all dressed in black with rips strategically cut into their jeans and T-shirts, burst onto the stage, some running, some crawling, some twisting in the air, with the final boy and girl back-flipping straight into the central position. What followed was an amazing routine set to an ever-changing soundtrack that jumped from thumping rhythms to a single voice, then became a well-known piece of disco music before evolving into an electronic beeping that sounded as if it was coming from outer space.

  It was clear that most of the young people were new to body popping, but they gave it a good go, thrusting themselves into unnaturally angular shapes that had the audience gasping with disbelief. The two stars centre stage went through an almost separate routine of lifts and drops that had Kath keeping her finger permanently on the button of her phone so that she could ring an ambulance on speed dial! On the ear-splitting final note, the dancers all dropped dramatically to the floor, only to rise again grinning and high-fiving each other as the audi
ence clapped and cheered.

  Eventually, the compère managed to clear the stage of excited teenagers and reclaim the microphone.

  “Now, for the introduction to our next performance, I am going to hand over to the wife of Hope Hall’s accountant, Trevor. Please welcome Mary Barrett!”

  Obviously a little nervous, Mary walked slowly up to the microphone, followed by a group of Brownies and Cubs, who all arranged themselves in a line along the front of the stage.

  “Today we’re celebrating the way in which, down the years, people both made music and were entertained by it. I’ve been passing on a great way of making music to this new generation of young people – and, as you’re about to see, they have enjoyed learning this lovely skill that my grandad taught me when I was their age. May I introduce the Hope Hall Spooners!”

  From behind their backs, the Spooners each produced a pair of dessert spoons, while Ronnie launched into a breezy ragtime number. Holding the two spoons in just the right position so that they clicked loudly together, the youngsters went through a complicated routine of banging out the ragtime rhythm with the spoons tapping on their arms, legs – in fact, any part of the body that the spoons could reach! The expression of relief on their faces when they reached the end soon changed to thrilled excitement when they realized how well their playing had gone down with the audience.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” declared the compère, “a demonstration of a traditional style of dance that has become really popular with the young people here at Hope Hall. Conjuring up the magic of Fred and Ginger, please welcome Della Lucas’s tap-dancing team!”

  Looking resplendent in their bright red, silver-sequinned taffeta jackets, with trilby hats lined with red ribbon, dancers from the age of about five to fifteen toe-heeled their way across the stage, following round in a circle as their tap shoes clicked out a series of rhythms on the hard platform. They shuffled and stamped. They shimmied and brush-stepped. They hopped and ball-changed, with their arms swinging and their hats twirling, while Ronnie played the old soft-shoe song “By the Light of the Silvery Moon”, with a very definite tempo in order to keep all their feet tapping bang on time.

  At the end of the number, as the audience burst into applause thinking that their display was over, Ronnie started the introduction to another well-known song, “Side by Side”. As the younger dancers all stepped back to the rear of the platform, four new dancers – also dressed in bright red sequinned jackets and trilby hats – appeared at the side of the stage, entering with their arms stretched out to rest on the shoulder of the dancer in front of them. The line was led in stately style by Ida, followed by a beaming Doris, a very excited Flora and a rather nervous Betty, who seemed to be constantly checking what her feet were doing. The ladies turned towards the audience to perform their routine of basic tap steps in the style of the popular comedy duo Flanagan and Allen, as the audience clapped and joined in with the words of the song that all ages seemed to know. Finally, after the younger tap dancers had moved forward to join in with the quartet of senior ladies, the routine came to an end in true razzle-dazzle style.

  The audience loved it. Ida accepted their applause as if she were a film star, Doris was enthusiastically blowing kisses out in every direction, Flora was waving to her fans, and Betty looked as if she could burst into tears of joy just knowing that she’d got through it all without tripping over.

  When the applause at last died down, and the stage was cleared, the master of ceremonies went back to the microphone to make the final announcement of the Easter Monday Centenary Fayre.

  “Hope Hall was built in 1920 as a memorial to all those who lost their lives, were wounded or whose peace of mind was wrecked forever as a result of the First World War. For our Grand Finale today, we look back to those years of the Great War with some of the music that kept our boys marching and their spirits up. Here, to lead the way, are a group of people who ask you not to expect too much of them, and you’ll realize why when I tell you these are the Can’t Sing Singers!”

  Onto the stage walked Keith Turner, who took his place at the microphone. Forming a semi-circle around him were Pauline, the one who was known for always singing half a tone sharp of everyone else; eighty-year-old husband and wife Peter and Olive; the elderly sisters Mary and Elizabeth Brownlow, who had sung in St Mark’s choir since their Sunday school days; operatically trained Sophia, and Bruce Edison, whose only experience of singing had been with a rock band forty years earlier.

  Bruce brought a harmonica to his lips and gave Keith a note. Clear as a bell and with heart-stopping sweetness, Keith’s beautiful tenor voice rang out, unaccompanied, singing the opening verse of “Keep the Home Fires Burning”, written by Ivor Novello in 1914, and sung by troops in the trenches throughout the devastating years of the First World War. Silence fell across the gathered crowd as the tenderness of the melody, the sincerity in Keith’s voice and the poignancy of the familiar words touched hearts and moistened eyes.

  Then, as Keith continued to sing this deeply moving song, in ones and twos other members of the Can’t Sing Singers started to join in, attempting to add backing harmony to the lines, with oohs and aahs that were not quite in time, and definitely not in tune. The audience held its collective breath, uncertain how to react. The song had started off with such deep emotion, and there was no doubting that all the backing singers were performing with real sincerity and commitment – but it sounded dreadful. It was so awful that before long people started giggling, but far from being offended, the choir seemed to be expecting and loving that reaction.

  “They definitely chose the right name for themselves,” laughed Trevor, who was standing at the side with Kath, Maggie and Mary. “They are brilliantly bad. It reminds me of Les Dawson playing the piano: all the right words and feel, but the notes are completely wrong.”

  When the singers reached the final excruciating note, the audience cheered more loudly than for anything else they’d seen that afternoon. Somehow this performance summed up what the day was all about: the community spirit, the endeavour, the wish to contribute even if the skill set still had a long way to go!

  Then, before the cheering had started to fade, the central arena began to fill up with performers of every age – tap dancers, hip-hoppers, the armchair and sing-along dancers, Scouts and Guides – all of them providing enough volume to drown out the Can’t Sing Singers for the last song. The audience didn’t hesitate to join in too, enthusiastically singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary”, with its words that were as well known to the crowd gathered at Hope Hall in 2020 as the one that must have gathered in much the same way to lay the foundation stone one hundred years earlier.

  It was almost as if time stood still for just a few magical moments when the old and the new, grandparents and toddlers, the past and the present of Hope Hall, merged into a timeless bond of shared humanity, experience and love. They all felt it – and knew they’d never forget that exquisite feeling, whatever the years ahead might bring to each and every one of them.

  “They’ve got cakes!” yelled Josh, as Claire and Nigel, followed by Claire’s parents, made their way through the crowd at the end of the concert. “You buy them here in the foyer. They’ve got red jam tarts and fairy cakes with wings sticking up out of the cream on top. Can I have one of each of those, Mummy, please? And they’ve got proper mugs for the tea, Daddy, so you’ll be okay.”

  Nigel glanced at his father-in-law. “Shall we go and investigate, Bernard?”

  “Definitely! I’m very partial to jam tarts.”

  Claire slipped her arm through her mum’s as they watched the two men move off together. “It’s been good today, hasn’t it?”

  “What a relief, Claire. I was worried that either Dad or Nigel might kick off an argument, but it’s been wonderful – not just the programme, but us! We’ve all been great. It’s been a lovely afternoon.”

  “What would you both like?” demanded a breathless Josh as he raced back towards them. “Da
ddy’s gone to find a table, and Grandpa is keeping our place in the queue in case someone beats him to all the jam tarts and fairy cakes.”

  “Right,” smiled Claire. “We’re ready for cake too!”

  They made their way inside the main front door of Hope Hall and into the foyer, where Nigel had managed to find seats for them all. Just as they reached their table, Josh shrieked like an excited puppy.

  “Look over there, Mum! Toby and Max with their dad. I think that’s their mum too. We could all sit together.”

  With her heart pounding in her chest, Claire hoped her face was calm as she smiled back at Josh. “There are too many of us to be on one table, Josh. Say hello to Toby and Max for me, and tell them we’ll see them next time we’re at Beavers.”

  Too late. At just that moment, Toby ran up dragging his mum by the hand, while Max was tugging at Gary’s sleeve to bring him over to where Claire was standing.

  “Hello,” said Claire stiffly, hoping her face didn’t reveal how flustered she felt as she looked at the newcomers. “I hope Josh isn’t being a nuisance. Toby and Max are his favourite friends at Beavers.”