Young May Moon

by Sheila Newberry

  Aunt Min unwrapped her new pinny, patterned with sprigs of holly with oversized scarlet berries. She put it on: ‘Thank you girls, very festive – just what I needed.’ The box of chocolates was placed out of Grandpa’s reach. ‘We’ll open those later, eh? What have you got?’

  ‘The lovely slippers you made for us, of course – thank you!’ May said quickly, having noted Pomona’s disappointment at the khaki wool-and-cardboard soles. They should have known what to expect when Min drew round their feet on cardboard, and cut round the pencil outline.

  ‘I’m going to start my diary right away. There’s a blank page before the new year,’ Pomona told them. ‘You’re not to look in it, May, because diaries are private. Or you, Aunt Min.’

  ‘I ain’t got time for reading rubbish,’ Aunt Min returned. ‘What have you got there, May? I would have thought Carmen could send you both something this year.’

  ‘She must have posted our presents off too late; her card said to expect the postman to call. This is a present from Bea. Look, such nice writing paper and lined envelopes!’ She’d write first to Brigid, she decided, to thank her for the Christmas card she’d sent them, enclosing a long letter from herself and notes for May and Pomona from Paddy and Danny. They were settling into their new life, Brigid said, but hoped to see them in the summer, for they had been engaged by the pier theatre by popular request for one week only at Whitsun.

  More a holiday! We will stay with Jenny of course. Any chance you could join us? If not, we’ll hope to visit you….

  It’s a long time ’til then, May said to herself with a sigh. Still, there’s the pantomime to come in the new year. I’m not looking forward to it as much as I was because Imogen seems suspicious that Denzil and I … How ridiculous! Why would he be interested in me? But she couldn’t help remembering that unexpected kiss.

  ‘I need a volunteer to do the sprouts. I went out into the cold and picked ’em, so one of you can have the pleasure,’ said Min. She sighed. ‘Bit of a “bread and pullit” Christmas, I’m afraid, girls. Getting harder to make ends meet….’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Min. As soon as I can I’ll be working and able to pay for our keep,’ May exclaimed. ‘I never thought … Dad didn’t leave much, did he?’

  ‘He hadn’t got much to leave, my dear. I told him it was more important to make sure that you two had something to help you on your way.’

  ‘But that wasn’t fair to you, Aunt Min!’

  ‘Look, I ain’t going to argue about it, ’specially not today. I don’t need rewarding for what I do; you’re my family.’

  ‘Anyway, it smells like Christmas in the kitchen!’ Pomona cried. She flung her arms round her aunt’s skinny frame. ‘I like chicken better than turkey!’

  ‘So do I,’ May said, hoping that Pomona would not notice today that the old rooster was no longer crowing. She decided that her new year resolution must be to find a weekend job, to add a few shillings to those already in the old teapot used for depositing the fruit- and egg-money. Nothing much was discarded in this house: the spout leaked, but the teapot was still useful.

  It was a quiet Christmas this year, their first without Jim. They took a holly wreath to the churchyard on Sunday to lay on his grave, and then went into the church for the morning service to sing all the joyful carols.

  The next time the postman called the girls were overjoyed that Carmen had kept her promise. May had a soft leather green handbag, with drawstring top and a matching purse inside, and Pomona had a brightly embroidered cambric blouse. Aunt Min and Grandpa had not been forgotten; each had a silk handkerchief: Min’s was peacock blue and Grandpa’s was scarlet.

  ‘You mustn’t blow your nose on it, Grandpa,’ Pomona told him. ‘It’s for show!’

  ‘I’ll pin it in your best jacket pocket,’ Min promised him.

  The dress rehearsal on Friday 8 January was a disaster. Bea was the only one who knew all her words. Pomona was hastily substituted for Terence as the page, an outcome she had been hoping for all along. Terence, declaring his relief, flung the despised tights at her and joined the musicians with his drum.

  It was not a speaking part, but Pomona was determined to be noticed. She wasn’t too sure about wearing the tights after Terence, but Imogen, who was shrieking by this time, told her there was no time to wash them. There was much fluffing of lines; only Cinderella escaped the producer’s wrath. As Imogen was in her fairy godmother’s costume and waving her wand so fiercely that it was in danger of snapping, there was muffled laughter from the nervous cast.

  ‘You’re not ugly enough!’ Imogen shouted at the Ugly Sisters. ‘George – when are you going to shave off your moustache? It doesn’t match your false beard.’

  ‘I have,’ he replied indignantly.

  The ripe pumpkin for the transformation scene needed careful handling; Pomona gave it a prod and juice oozed out. She moved away quickly, hoping no-one had noticed. This scene needed the most rehearsing, but eventually they got it right. The cardboard coach, presenting its one side to the audience, was walked along by Cinderella and the flunkey, each with an hand through the cut-out windows. The wheels concealed their feet. However, the pantomime horse between the shafts lumbered along displaying two sizes of black wellington boots.

  The musicians sighed and surreptitiously passed round a silver hip flask of brandy. The violinist poked Terence with her bow. ‘Mind your p’s and q’s, boy!’

  Pomona wished she could have doubled up as back or front of the horse, but competition for this had been fierce, and the prize part was awarded to two boys who were too boisterous to be in the team of dancers.

  When it came to a romantic scene between Cinderella and Prince Charming in the palace gardens during the ball, Terence was in charge of the moon – which slowly appeared above their heads and wavered on the string, which Terence was pulling from the wings. He stood on a step ladder to do this, and Pomona, waiting for a cue as the Prince’s page, was instructed to hold the steps steady. She couldn’t resist making it wobble, but didn’t mean to leave him dangling, clinging to the rafters, while the moon dipped and fell at the couple’s feet. The backing singers faltered in their rendering of Moonlight and Roses. The great Count John McCormack, who sang it so beautifully himself, would have been disappointed at their feeble effort.

  Imogen was furious. She rushed on stage to confront Pomona, and then came a shout from Terence, ‘Hey, what about me?’

  ‘Get back to your drum!’ she yelled, when he descended. ‘You, Pomona – stop playing tricks!’ She was actually crying by the time they called a halt to the disastrous dress rehearsal. Denzil offered to take her home; he could see how upset Imogen was. ‘I’ll come back for May and Pomona.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I can take them home. Pomona can try out the new sidecar on the bike,’ Henry said immediately.

  ‘I’d rather go on the pillion!’ Pomona put in, ‘but I know you’ll say I’m not old enough! I won’t even be a Singing Kettle after the pantomime.’

  There was a sudden burst of singing from those still in the hall: ‘I’ll see you in my dreams …’ May blushed yet again, for Denzil was deliberately winking at her.

  ‘I’m ready and waiting,’ Henry said in her ear. ‘It’ll be all right on the night. It always is.’

  Twenty

  January 1926

  FORTUNATELY THERE had been little snow since Christmas, but it was still very cold and the days were short and gloomy once the festivities were over. The pantomime was just what the inhabitants of Kettle Row needed to raise their spirits again.

  The girls, together with the rest of the cast, arrived well before the matinée scheduled for 2 p.m. Aunt Min and Grandpa intended to travel to town by bus in good time for the early performance, and would be home in time for tea. Imogen made it clear that Denzil and his mother were invited to dinner at her parents’ house after the evening show. ‘We prefer a private celebration,’ she said smugly. ‘I’m sure you can make other arrangements for a lift afterwards, May.’


  ‘Don’t worry about us,’ May returned. ‘We’re having supper at the rectory and Henry will take us back home.’ They had actually been invited to stay overnight again but they knew Aunt Min would want to talk over the exciting events that night.

  In the hall kitchen there was a deep sink, and also a counter on which were placed ready a big teapot and crocks. The gas stove heated the water in the pair of whistling kettles. The players took their turn at being made up at the table, where the boxes of greasepaint, cold cream and powder were arranged, together with a swing mirror borrowed from someone’s dressing-table. Denzil’s mother, having come from an artistic background, volunteered to apply the actors’ make-up. She was assisted by Bea’s sister Selina. Mrs Wright was in charge of the refreshments. She hadn’t had time to remove her hat: the one Bea had borrowed when she was a suffragette at the Christmas party. The appetizing smell of fresh-baked, crumbly cheese scones in haphazard shapes, (for Mrs Wright hadn’t time to bother with a cutter either), mingled with a waft of perfume emanating from the person of the elegant Mrs Pike.

  Backstage, in the dressing-room, costumes were being donned. The young dancers were told to sit still on the row of chairs against the wall and not to distract those who, as they disrobed behind the screens, muttered their lines repeatedly.

  ‘The orchestra is tuning up, but Terence is not allowed to bang the drum yet,’ Pomona reported in great excitement. ‘All the seats are taken! I spotted Aunt Min and Grandpa in the front row.’

  ‘Terence has been practising drum tattoos since dawn,’ Mrs Pike said ruefully. She fingered Bea’s lank tresses. ‘The wig will transform you later in the Ball scene. Pomona, please don’t touch it. Bea, you’re done – you can both join Buttons in the wings.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ May said. ‘I don’t need to be in costume until after the interval.’ Between scenes, only her glove puppet would appear through the gap in the closed curtains.

  The curtains slowly parted, the audience ceased chattering, the lights dimmed in the hall but the footlights illuminated the stage; the opening music faded away.

  Cinderella was on her knees, poking the coals of the fire under the black pot suspended over the range that was depicted on the backcloth of a dungeon-like kitchen. She rose, sighing, wiping grubby hands on her ragged skirt. The opening lines came loud and clear.

  ‘I am little Cinderella, and oh, I wish I had a feller, to take me out at nights, you know, to see the sights….’

  Cue for Buttons to appear. Vera, that rather plain little bookkeeper, now entered, in a trim uniform with glinting silver buttons and pill-box hat perched on a page-boy bob. Buttons gave Cinders a bun filched from the pantry, and commiserated with her. He understood, he told her, because of the way the Baron, his wife and her awful daughters treated him, too. If only I could be, the one to set you free … The soaring soprano voice made those listening in the wings, quiver with relief.

  Buttons took Cinderella’s hand as she sang her lament:

  ‘Who rises early, brews the tea

  And never has a moment free?

  Who gets bath water piping hot –

  Who stirs the porridge in the pot?’

  ‘Cinderella!’ roared the audience

  In the wings May relaxed her grip on Pomona’s hand at this rousing response. Imogen’s stern instructions to May had been: ‘Hang on to your sister!’ The pantomime had got off to a good start.

  The Ugly Sisters, Ag (Henry) and Pru (Denzil) shrieked and quarrelled throughout their scenes and were greeted with much laughter and ribald calls. Their pompous stepfather and spiteful mother were also a good double act. When the sisters heard that they had been invited to the Prince’s ball, the shorter, well-padded-out Ag came downstage to display her new gown to the audience. As she preened, there was the shout: ‘Look behind you!’ Her taller sibling stepped forward and delivered a scathing comment:

  ‘Your frock does nothing to camouflage flab,

  In that pink you look like an overdressed crab!’

  In the ensuing tussle, Ag’s skirt was ripped from the bodice and her baggy, spotted bloomers were revealed. This should have prompted laughter, but instead the horrified expression on Ag’s face resulted in a concerted sympathetic, ‘A-ah! ‘from the audience.

  On rushed the baron to castigate his stepdaughters.

  ‘Grizzle, grumble, groan and grouse – am I not master in this house?’

  He was booed off stage.

  At each change of scene, the dog puppet appeared to entertain the audience. Because May was using the swazzle, his voice was that of Mr Punch. It was fortunate that May couldn’t see the audience, for two were missing from the front row.

  ‘When you’ve got to go, Min, you’ve got to go,’ Grandpa hissed in his daughter’s ear. Apologizing, Min propelled him along the seats and towards the WC off the hall.

  Min waited outside the door, but became anxious when the music began for the next scene. She tapped on the cubicle. ‘Grandpa, hurry up – we’ve missed May’s turn and now they’re singing again….’

  She rattled the doorknob. The door was locked. ‘Shoot the bolt back, Grandpa.…’ Then she heard muttering.

  ‘Can’t. It won’t budge.’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll get help.’

  It took the caretaker a good ten minutes with a screwdriver to open the door. Grandpa was bewildered. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Can’t talk about it now,’ Min said, ‘Let’s creep back to our seats.’

  May took a deep breath, Pomona gave her a push. The Prince and his page were revealed resting on a fallen log in the forest. Pomona had complained at the last minute that her tights were wrinkling round her ankles; May was more concerned that hers were too revealing – she thought her tunic was on the short side. When she’d dared to say so to Imogen in the wings, she’d been poked with the Fairy Godmother’s wand, which was now slightly bent, but fortunately hadn’t snapped in two. It was rather disconcerting to be wished ‘break a leg’ by the two Ugly Sisters.

  ‘The King says it’s high time to wed,

  In his opinion I’m too easily led.

  That’s the reason for the Ball,

  But I don’t want to go at all….’

  This, unfortunately reminded Grandpa that he did.… This time, May was aware of the shuffling around in the front row of seats.

  She couldn’t recall her next line, despite frantic hissing from the prompt corner. Pomona came to the rescue, improvizing:

  ‘Let’s practise the waltz, I know the beat,

  Though ’tis said, I’ve two left feet!’

  Terence seized the opportunity for a drum roll, and the musical trio hastily joined in on piano, flute and violin.

  The Fairy Godmother turned the pumpkin into a coach, the small dancing mice disappeared with Cinderella in a puff of smoke and the pantomime horse trotted on stage, this time in matching wellington boots. Cinderella’s change of clothes was a miracle of good timing. The golden wig covered her tousled locks. She reappeared in a beautiful ball-gown, sparkling with scattered sequins, with silver slippers in lieu of glass on her feet. The Fairy Godmother waved her wand again:

  ‘You shall go to the Ball, my dear! That’s your right,

  But leave you must, at first stroke of midnight.…’

  Cinderella entered the coach and waved to the audience. The curtain closed. It was time for the interval and refreshments, and a big scene change. Lights up, much blinking, and Grandpa spilled his tea.

  The curtain rose again to reveal the Palace ballroom. Downstage left, on two gilded chairs, sat the Ugly Sisters, discussing the merits or otherwise of the male guests as they arrived and were announced by a footman. Ag waved her fan vigorously to attract attention, and Pru flicked her dance card. Both wore wigs to match their gowns: Ag’s was emerald green, and Pru’s shocking pink, Cinderella having repaired the torn frock. Ag wore the family tiara; Pru, a band of feathers.

  A fanfare, and the Prince swept in, followed
by the page, with a nervous jerk at the waistband of his tights. The dancing was about to begin when a late arrival was announced: ‘The Honorable Ella!’ Cinderella had arrived. The Prince regarded her for a moment, then bowed and requested the first dance.

  The pantomime was almost over, but there were some magical moments still to come, before the spell was broken. Cinders was back in the kitchen, after fleeing the Ball just in time, but leaving a slipper behind. Her stepmother was railing at her for slacking and not providing enough bath water. ‘Now every bath is wallowed by three!’ she shrieked, just as Buttons ushered in the Prince and his page, who carried a silver slipper on a velvet cushion. Panting behind were the Ugly Sisters.

  ‘Ma,’ Pru cried indignantly, ‘that little toad says my feet are too big!’

  ‘He ain’t a toad, he’s more a pig,’ asserted Ag.

  ‘What’s all this?’ demanded the Baroness.

  ‘Didn’t you hear the proclamation?’ Buttons asked boldly. ‘This shoe was found after the Ball, when all had gone to bed. It belongs to the girl the Prince intends to wed.’

  ‘Let them try,’ the prince said with a smile. Buttons moved a stool for the sisters to sit on in turn. Despite their efforts, they could not force the silver slipper on their too-big feet.

  Then it was Cinderella’s turn and of course, it was a perfect fit.

  The final duet between Prince and Cinderella, ‘If you were the only girl in the world – And you were the only boy,’ was fervently echoed by the audience.

  The curtain calls were over, following the second performance, when Imogen came forward with Denzil, both still in costume, to make an announcement.