‘Thank you, Moody,’ Edyth replied, tactfully ignoring the boy’s blushes.
‘Watch out, Helga, he’s beginning to notice women,’ Micah warned.
‘It’s when you stop noticing them that the problems start. Then you know old age is setting in,’ Tony grumbled.
‘I look forward to the day your head stops turning every time you pass a pretty girl,’ Tony’s wife rejoined sharply.
Sensing one of the Kings’ legendary domestic arguments brewing, Micah intervened. ‘Ladies, your carriage awaits.’
Edyth glanced through the open door into the yard. ‘You hired a charabanc?’
‘It would have cost a fortune to get taxis for all of us, and you could hardly walk up Bute Street in your finery. Besides,’ Micah lowered his voice, ‘Old Bill could do with the work. Hardly anyone has the money to hire a charabanc these days.’
‘Do we?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t tell anyone I sold the church’s silver.’
As the Norwegian Church had never owned any plates other the wooden ones, carved and donated by sailors, Edyth laughed.
Micah helped Edyth into the back, Judy’s aunts and cousins followed, and the men arranged themselves in seats behind the driver. ‘Old Bill,’ a First World War veteran who had bought the charabanc for ten hardsaved shillings at a recent auction, drove slowly out of the yard. It looked as though everyone in Tiger Bay who wasn’t going to see Judy in the New Theatre that night had turned out to see her family off. When they drove towards the town, the crowd applauded.
‘They can’t cheer Judy so they’re cheering us,’ Micah observed.
‘It’s a pity she had to spend all day rehearsing, she would have loved this.’ Jed lifted his two youngest daughters on to his knees to they could wave back.
‘I can bask in reflected glory. It’s the first time a King has made it into a real theatre,’ Tony returned the waves as though he were royalty.
Edyth opened her evening purse and checked the tickets Judy had picked up for her. Judy had booked three boxes for her uncles and their families but despite an invitation from Jed to join the Kings, Edyth had insisted on paying for front-row stalls for herself, Micah, Helga and Moody. At best a box held six adults, any more would be a tight squeeze and she didn’t want to spoil the Kings’ night by crowding them.
Old Bill drew up outside the theatre and Edyth was amazed by the size of the crowd milling through the doors.
‘I can’t believe all these people are here this early on a Monday evening.’
‘I’d be surprised if they weren’t.’ Jed opened the door and lifted the younger children on to the pavement. ‘Tickets for Monday’s first house are traditionally given to pub landlords and shopkeepers for displaying show bills in their windows.’
‘Then none of these people have paid.’ Edyth took the hand Jed offered her.
‘Don’t look so downhearted, they can still applaud,’ Tony said cheerfully.
‘Who wants sweets?’ Micah asked the children.
‘No spoiling them,’ Judy’s Aunt May admonished when the younger ones shouted ‘me, please’ in unison.
‘What’s a godfather for, if not to spoil his godchildren?’ Micah demanded.
‘I didn’t know that you were the King children’s godfather,’ Edyth commented as she followed him to the sweet counter inside the theatre.
‘Not to all of them, only six, or is it seven? I keep forgetting, but as I can barely tell them apart and they’re all related, I feel I can’t treat any of them differently to the others.’
‘But you’re a Lutheran Minister and the Kings are Catholic.’
‘And I thought you understood the Bay by now.’ He handed her what seemed like dozens of tuppenny paper cornets. ‘Here, share these out while I pay for them.’
She turned and the smile froze on her face. Jed, Tony and Ron King and a few of their neighbours from Bute Street were arguing with a man in evening dress. He was flanked by two other men, also in evening dress, but as their height, build and demeanour was intimidating, Edyth suspected they were the theatre management’s brawn. She joined them in time to hear Jed say, ‘Our niece is in the production, she paid for these boxes –ʼ
‘And I’ve told you, sir, there’s been a mistake.’ The manager was polite but firm. ‘These boxes were booked before your niece procured the tickets.’
‘What about these stalls?’ Edyth passed him the four tickets from her evening bag.
He glanced at them before handing them back to her. ‘These are fine, madam.’
‘They were booked at the same time as the boxes by Miss Judy King.’
‘As I keep saying to this gentleman, there’s been a mistake …’
Angry shouts resounded from the foyer. Edyth and Jed turned and saw an usherette refuse to allow a group of young boys from the Bay up the stairs.
Micah took in the situation at a glance. He joined them and confronted the manager. ‘You’re refusing entry to people from Butetown.’
‘Not at all, sir. It’s company policy to only allow people into the theatre who have valid tickets.’
‘And you’re telling me that none of these people have valid tickets? Abdul?’ Micah called to the trumpet player from the Bute Street Blues Band who had been stopped along with the others. ‘Can I see your ticket?’
Abdul handed it over.
‘This has today’s date and a time that’s …’ Micah looked at his wristwatch, ‘twenty minutes away. What’s the problem?’
‘There appears to have been an error on our part, sir. Double bookings have been made and double tickets issued for the same seats, we will be happy to reimburse people for any expense they have incurred.’
‘Including the taxi fares here and back to their homes?’ Micah demanded in a loud voice.
‘Regrettably not extra expense, sir. Only the cost of the tickets.’
‘And replacement tickets?’
‘That might be difficult, sir. Bookings have been heavy.’
‘For the whole month’s run?’ Micah enquired sceptically.
‘Peter Pan is a popular play.’ The manager succeeded in maintaining a poker face. ‘If there are no double bookings, you are going to have an empty theatre,’ Micah warned, ‘and I will be inside to check just how empty it is.’
‘I assure you, sir –’
‘Why don’t you come straight out with it and tell us that you don’t serve coloured people, like most of the other cinemas and restaurants in the centre of Cardiff?’ Jed challenged.
‘I don’t make policy,’ the manager said tartly.
‘But you implement it,’ Tony snapped.
‘I –’
‘These tickets have been sold,’ Micah said fiercely, ‘either you honour them or –’
‘Are you threatening me?’ The manager drew himself up to his full height, which was several inches short of both Micah’s and Jed’s.
‘I’m informing you that I will report you for selling tickets under false pretences. Taking money and not delivering the goods is fraud,’ Micah said coldly.
‘And you are?’ the manager asked.
‘Pastor Micah Holsten of the Norwegian Church.’
‘Steve,’ Jed stopped the Chinese boy as he left the foyer, ‘where are you going?’
‘They won’t allow us in – any of us.’ Steve Chan glared at the manager.
Micah pulled a notebook from his pocket and held a pencil over it. ‘Is it the official policy of the management of the New Theatre to operate a colour bar, or have you decided to implement it on your own authority?’
The manager stared at him for a moment then began to stutter. ‘I … I …’
‘Is it or isn’t it?’ Micah persisted.
Aled James climbed out of a taxi, glanced in their direction, strode over and asked, ‘Is there a problem here?’
Having been introduced to Aled by Stan Peterson, the manager looked to Aled for support. ‘Mr James, sir, I am explaining to Pastor Holsten that we h
ave inadvertently made some double bookings.’
‘Apparently only in the seats reserved by coloured people.’ Micah stared at Aled. He had only met Edyth’s brother a few times, but he found the resemblance between the two men startling.
‘Stan?’ Aled called to his companion, who was paying the taxi driver. ‘Come over here.’
Edyth gazed at Aled in astonishment. If it hadn’t been for his American accent and a few extra lines around his mouth and eyes, she would have believed he was Harry.
‘What’s happening?’ Stan looked warily at the angry people congregating in the foyer and outside the door of the theatre.
‘It would appear that the New Theatre has a policy of not allowing coloured people into the audience,’ Micah said flatly. ‘Miss Judy King booked three boxes for her family. Various friends and neighbours have also booked tickets and, amazingly, all the seats appear to be no longer available.’
Stan Peterson drew the manager aside for a hurried whispered conversation. The manager returned. ‘If Miss King’s party will follow me, I will take them to their boxes by the most direct route.’
‘Through the stage door?’ Tony queried cynically.
‘It is the most direct route, sir.’
‘Tony, we’re here to see Judy in a show, not to make a point,’ Jed reminded him.
‘And the others?’ Micah demanded.
‘We weren’t going to open the upper circle, sir, but I’ve just been given contrary instructions by management. Any overflow can be accommodated there.’
‘Especially if the people are coloured,’ Micah observed.
‘Would you rather we didn’t open it, sir?’ the manager challenged.
Micah didn’t answer. He offered Edyth his arm and Helga took Moody’s. Micah continued to meet the manager’s eye, daring him or one of his silent henchmen to make a comment about Moody. But the only person who spoke was Aled.
‘Did I hear you say that you were with Miss Judy King’s party? Pastor Holsten, isn’t it?’
‘It is, and we are,’ Micah replied shortly.
‘I’d like to invite her, her family and your party to an after-theatre supper in the Windsor.’
‘Why?’ Micah questioned bluntly.
‘I have a business proposition I would like to put to Miss King and, as I believe her to be under age, her guardians.’
‘If Miss King accepts, we will,’ Micah answered.
‘I’ll send an invitation to her backstage and speak to her family during the intermission. Enjoy the show.’ Aled tipped his top hat and followed Stan Peterson inside the theatre.
Aled leaned over the balcony of Stan Peterson’s box, which was opposite the ones that held the extended King family, and watched Judy lead a column of Indians across the stage in a theatrical version of an Indian war dance. They were singing ‘Wigwam Blues’ and Judy’s voice rose higher and more melodic than the mixed chorus of boys and girls, all of whom were trying, with varying degrees of success, to follow her accomplished and elegant steps.
‘My choreographer said she’s never worked with anyone as talented or as quick to learn,’ Stan murmured.
Despite the fact that there were twenty-five people on the stage, Aled knew exactly who Stan was talking about. ‘Is that your way of saying you’re glad you took my advice about giving her the role of Tiger Lily?’
‘What do you think of her costume?’ Stan questioned evasively. ‘It was my idea to go for white.’
Aled eyed the mid-thigh-length, figure-hugging, beaded leather tunic. ‘It makes her skin glow.’
‘Doesn’t it? She’ll make a terrific Julie La Verne in Show Boat. The part could have been written for her,’ Stan enthused. ‘I’ll have a word with my backers as soon as I return to London.’
‘Miss King won’t be available.’
‘Because she’ll be headlining in your club?’ Stan questioned.
‘Precisely.’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘Not yet.’
‘There isn’t a singer or actress who’ll turn down an opportunity to work for me the West End to stay in the provinces,’ Stan declared authoritatively.
‘You won’t be able to top my offer,’ Aled warned. ‘From the West End she could go anywhere – radio, films, Hollywood even.’
‘And if she doesn’t get an offer after she’s worked in the West End? You’ll put her on tour?’ Aled reminded Stan what he had said about provincial landladies refusing to accommodate coloured artistes.
‘She could stay in London. There are enough theatres outside of the West End to keep her busy and the landladies in the suburbs are nothing if not cosmopolitan.’
‘You mean they only look at the contents of an artiste’s wallet, not their skin colour.’ Aled shook his head. ‘I have two trump cards.’
‘And they are?’
‘Her relatives. It was obvious from the way that her uncles were talking about her when they arrived at the theatre tonight, that Judy King is a member of a closeknit family.’
‘Everyone has to grow up and leave their family,’ Stan dismissed this. ‘What’s the second?’
‘Tiger Bay,’ Aled declared. ‘It’s one of the few areas on this earth where no one gives a damn about nationality, colour, or religion. That was proved in the foyer of this theatre tonight. I’ve travelled around and I’ve never seen so many people of different origin stand shoulder to shoulder as I did here this evening. The Bay coupled with her family will be too much for Judy King to give up, especially if a fixed annual income is thrown in, as opposed to an uncertain weekly wage. Sorry, Stan,’ Aled didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic, ‘Judy King is mine.’
‘Bet you a tenner she isn’t,’ Stan wagered.
‘Make it fifty and you’re on.’
‘I’ll buy you a glass of champagne out of the proceeds as a consolation prize.’
‘That’s one drink I’ll never see.’ Aled looked down at Judy. She’d taken centre stage in preparation to sing her ‘Pagan Love Song’ solo.
‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘I only wager on certainties.’ Aled glanced at the stalls beneath them. Pastor Holsten was sitting between a coloured boy and the girl he’d seen wearing the same outfit as Judy’s at the carnival. When he’d approached her group outside the theatre, she’d stared at him as though she’d seen a ghost, which probably meant she knew Harry Evans. Another couple of hours and he’d find out whether or not his guess was correct – and, if it was, just how friendly she was with his half-brother.
‘Judy King’s number may have finished, but there’s ten minutes to go to the intermission,’ Stan protested when Aled left his seat after Judy had taken her third bow.
Aled opened the door at the back of the box. ‘I need to make arrangements.’
‘What kind of arrangements?’ Stan asked suspiciously.
‘For refreshments to be delivered to Miss King’s party.’ Aled walked down the corridor and stairs to the kiosk on the ground floor. Tea, ice cream, and biscuits for the King adults, sweets, orange juice, and ice cream for the King children, he decided – and he had a telephone call to make. To the Windsor Hotel.
Chapter Eight
‘Five encores and two standing ovations. I’ve never seen anything like it in Wales. The savages have finally learned to appreciate true artistry.’ The actress who was playing Peter Pan pulled off her cap and shook her hair free after the final curtain had fallen.
‘Darling, they were applauding the star, not the child dangling on the wire,’ Jeremy Dupois, who was playing the dual role of Mr Darling and Captain Hook, drawled nonchalantly.
‘And who was that?’ the middle-aged actress who had slapped four coats of greasepaint on to her face so she could play the youthful Wendy demanded.
Jeremy adopted a lecturing tone as if he were the professor and she the idiot child. ‘There’s only ever one star in any production, darling, and it’s never the ageing junior lead on the slide down.’
‘The hell it is,’ ‘Peter’ snapped. ‘The play is Peter Pan. And I’m Peter.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, darling, there’s no such thing as an ensemble.’ Jeremy smiled sweetly at ‘Peter’. ‘The audience came to see the name above the title on the posters, not the immature nobody pretending to be a puppet on strings. And in case you haven’t looked, there’s only one name above Peter Pan on the door, and that’s Jeremy Dupois.’
‘If you’re the star, Jeremy darling, go and twinkle, preferably elsewhere,’ Lennie Lane the roly-poly actor playing Smee bit back smartly.
‘Quick with the repartee, aren’t you, Lennie? It’s a pity you haven’t the talent to back up the stroke of miscasting that landed you a supporting role,’ Jeremy sniped.
‘Make the most of your twinkling, Jeremy, it’s waning like a dying Tinkerbell, only in your case Props won’t be able to switch you back on,’ Lennie retorted.
‘Bitchiness won’t bring your career back, Lennie, not that you ever had much of one outside of your imagination. And if anyone should be looking at Tinkerbell it should be you, because that’s where you’ll be in a year or two: manipulating little bells and balls of lights in Props. That’s if you manage to stay off the pies and beer and can get in the props box. It would be a tight squeeze now.’ Jeremy tossed his head in the air and stalked off as regally as his close fitting Mr Darling costume allowed him to.
‘Better a Props than a washed-up old ham,’ Lennie called after him. He made a few remarkably realistic pig snorts, followed by even more realistic squealing.
Judy watched and listened in amazement. Lennie Lane had been a leading West End romantic lead before his weight had ballooned to Fatty Arbuckle proportions. He’d also been kind to her in rehearsals. As a result, the venom in his voice took her breath away. She’d seen the odd outburst of spitefulness in auditions, and even come across rivalry that had bordered on acrimonious when the Bute Street Blues Band had played the same event as other bands, like the carnival, but she had never witnessed such open and vitriolic hostility between performers before.
‘My pets, my darlings, please.’ Hands fluttering, the director walked out from the wings as the fire curtain came down. ‘No squabbling and no upsetting Jeremy, I won’t allow it. Carry on and I won’t take you out for that celebratory dinner I’ve booked in the Windsor Hotel.’
Tiger Ragtime Page 13