by Val Wood
‘Hello, Poppy!’ She jumped as someone greeted her from behind.
‘Charlie!’ She gave him a quick smile. ‘I’m – I’m waiting for Tommy. Have you seen him? Ma and Pa had to go home. Mama wasn’t well. They said I’d to wait for him.’
‘I know. I called for him, but he wasn’t there. He must have gone to look at ’ships. I saw your pa. He asked me to come for you.’
Charlie looked down at her. He was older and taller than her brother, fair-haired with blue eyes, and he was the one she loved. She was sure it was love, for her mouth became dry whenever she saw him, and her stomach gave a flip. He was her brother’s best friend. She saw him often and each time he had this effect on her. She would die if he found out, and her brother would tease her unmercifully if he discovered it. She was far too young for him, she knew, for Charlie Chandler was fifteen, nearly sixteen. His birthday was in June, whereas she had only had her tenth birthday in January. New Year’s Day, 1880, she had been born. But it didn’t matter, she decided as she gazed adoringly at him. When I’m a bit older, maybe when I’m twelve, I’ll ask him if he’ll wait for me.
CHAPTER TWO
Poppy put her hand out and bashfully Charlie took it, holding her fingers lightly. ‘Your pa’s sent for ’doctor,’ he muttered in an embarrassed manner, and cleared his throat. ‘Your ma isn’t well.’
‘I know. That’s why they left ’theatre early. But they said I could stay,’ she added, not wanting him to think her selfish for not leaving with them. ‘I wanted to see ’Terry Sisters,’ she added.
‘Were they any good?’ he asked, hurrying her across the road.
‘They were lovely dancers, but they didn’t sing very well. And they were a lot older than I thought they would be.’ She pondered. The sisters had worn a lot of make-up. She could see it even from her seat upstairs. Their eyes were very dark and outlined in black and their lips were scarlet. ‘They must have been about twenty at least,’ she said.
‘Gosh!’ Charlie gave a dry laugh. ‘As old as that!’ Poppy looked up at him to see if he was amused by her comment, but his face was solemn and he looked straight ahead. ‘There’s Tommy,’ he said, dropping her hand. ‘Hey, Tom!’ He raised his voice. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
Tommy looked from his friend to his sister. ‘Where’ve you been? To ’Mechanics?’
‘I came round to ’shop to see if you were coming out, but you weren’t there. Your pa said he didn’t know where you were and they wanted you to collect Poppy from ’Mechanics. So they asked me instead.’
‘I could’ve come home on my own,’ Poppy chipped in defiantly. ‘I don’t need collecting by anybody.’
‘Ah, but Pa’s little pet, aren’t you?’ Tommy grinned. ‘He’d think that somebody would run off with you! As if anybody would,’ he said. ‘They’d bring you back soon enough! But why were you there on your own anyway?’
‘Mama’s sick,’ Poppy said. ‘They had to leave ’show early. Charlie said that ’doctor’s been sent for.’
‘Oh! What’s up?’ Tommy asked. ‘We’d better get off home then.’
‘Where’ve you been?’ Charlie asked him. ‘I looked for you.’
Tommy glanced at Poppy. He shrugged. ‘Just looking at ’ships in ’dock. There’s two just come in.’
‘Pa said don’t get any ideas!’ Poppy reminded him. ‘You’ve got to help in the shop and with ’baking!’
‘I know that, Miss Clever-clogs,’ Tommy parried. Living in a port and surrounded by ships and seamen all his life, breathing the salty smell of the estuary, he had long wished to go to sea, but his father wanted him to work with him in the grocery and coffee shop.
‘I’d better get off then,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s half past nine. I’ve to be up early in ’morning. We’ve some orders to finish.’ Charlie was apprenticed to his father who was a shoemaker in Scale Lane, in the old part of Hull. John Chandler was well known to the merchants and business people in the town. His boots and shoes were of the finest and softest leather and his reputation had spread as far as York. He was, however, a hard taskmaster and Charlie and he often crossed swords when youth and age disagreed. John Chandler spent most of his time in his workshop and even now would be working on orders, and probably fuming with exasperation because his son had taken time off.
There was a hansom cab waiting outside the shop, which had the name Mazzini’s painted in bright red letters above the window. A smell of coffee drifted out from the door but their father wasn’t there. Nan, a widow who cleaned daily, though didn’t usually help in the grocery shop, was serving coffee and her daughter Mattie was clearing tables.
‘Come on, Tommy. Give a hand,’ Nan urged as they entered. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I’ve been that busy. Your da’s at ’back with your ma and ’doctor. Good job we called in. Just as well Mattie was with me or I shouldn’t have been able to manage. As it is some folk wouldn’t wait.’
Tommy put on a striped apron and went to serve the customers, apologizing to them for the delay. ‘My mother’s not well,’ he explained. ‘That’s ’reason for ’hold-up. Very sorry,’ and because he was a genial young lad with a pleasant manner they stopped their grumbling and ordered their supper.
‘I’d better help as well,’ Poppy said, taking off her coat, and started clearing the tables of dirty crockery. Then she looked up as two women came through the door and took in a startled breath. The Terry Sisters! They were smaller than they’d appeared on stage, she thought, and quite plain without their make-up and false eyelashes. And their hair was mousy brown, not black and gleaming as it had been under their headdresses. But it was them all right; they had a certain air about them that spoke of the stage.
‘Can we have a pot o’ coffee, darlin’?’ one of them said to Poppy.
‘And get a slice of cake, Ena,’ added the other. ‘And that table over there,’ she said to Poppy, indicating a table for four. ‘We’ve got some friends coming along in a minute.’
Poppy nodded obligingly. ‘Walnut or ginger?’ she asked. ‘My mother makes the cakes. I’ve just been to ’Mechanics,’ she added. ‘I went specially to see you.’
‘Did you, dearie?’ said Ena, who was slightly shorter than her sister. ‘And did you enjoy the show?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Poppy said politely, and decided not to tell them that she didn’t think their singing was very good. ‘I liked the dancing best. I go for dancing lessons,’ she said. ‘And singing too.’
‘Is that so?’ Ena opened her bag and took out a cheroot, which she lit and put between her lips. She creased up her eyes as she drew on the cheroot. Poppy stared at her boldness, deciding that she was probably even older than she had first thought. Probably about twenty-five.
‘And will you go on the stage?’ Ena asked, blowing out a curl of smoke. ‘Shall you be our rival?’
‘I’m only ten,’ Poppy explained. ‘And my pa wouldn’t want me to.’ Then she grinned at the sisters. ‘But I might try to persuade him!’
‘Don’t, darlin’,’ the other sister said. ‘You stay at home and help your ma and pa in this nice coffee shop.’ She looked round approvingly. ‘Until some handsome and rich young man comes along and carries you orf. That’s what I’d do, anyway,’ she added with a sigh.
‘No you wouldn’t, Ronny,’ Ena said as she sat down. ‘You only say that at the end of a show.’ She crossed her legs, showing a glimpse of trim ankles beneath her skirt. ‘It’s in our blood, you see,’ she told Poppy. ‘Our ma and pa were on the stage, so we know nothink else. Fetch us that coffee, there’s a good girl,’ she added. ‘I’m fair gasping. And two slices of ginger cake.’ She winked at Poppy. ‘Got to keep our strength up.’
‘A pot of coffee for the Terry Sisters,’ Poppy sang out, ‘and two pieces of ginger cake.’
‘I’ll take it, Poppy,’ Tommy said. ‘You’d better nip and see how Ma is.’
Poppy took in a breath. In the excitement of meeting the Terry Sisters, she’d forgotten that
her mother had been unwell. She hurried through the door at the back of the shop and into their private rooms. She heard the murmur of men’s voices and then the click of the door which led into the street, and her father turned from letting the doctor out.
‘What did ‘doctor say, Pa? About Mama? Is she all right?’ She was suddenly worried. What would happen to them all if her mother was sick?
Her father patted her head. ‘He said she’s to rest for a bit. She’s been overdoing it. So we’ll have to look after her, won’t we? Let her stay in bed in a morning instead of getting up so early.’ Mary rose at five o’clock every morning in order to make bread, cakes and biscuits.
‘So who’ll do the baking then, Pa?’
‘Tommy’ll have to do more than he does,’ her father said. ‘Don’t you worry your head about it. It’ll only be until your ma’s feeling better.’ He looked down at her, and she thought he looked sad and worried. ‘And when you’re older you’ll be able to help a bit more, won’t you? Learn to bake like your ma does? She’ll show you how.’
The idea of learning to bake didn’t thrill her, but of course she would if it helped her mother. But did her father mean that she would have to work in the shop? The thought filled her with dismay. After being at the theatre tonight, meeting the Terry Sisters and seeing how they could transform themselves from being very ordinary-looking women into bright-eyed, cherry-cheeked, glittering, vivacious artistes had excited and stimulated her. I want to go on the stage, she yearned. That’s what I want. Miss Davina used to be a dancer at the music hall. I’ll ask her to teach me what to do. But I won’t tell Mama or Pa just yet.
She went back into the shop and her father came too, telling Nan and Mattie that they could go home if they wanted to. ‘Thanks, Nan,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your help. You too, Mattie.’ He took some money from the cash drawer to give to Nan.
‘That’s all right, Mr Mazzini,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in ’morning. That table over yonder,’ she added. ‘Those stage folk. They’ll be here a while yet. I think they’ve no homes to go to!’
‘None that’s comfortable anyway,’ Joshua agreed. ‘They’ll be sharing ’em with bedbugs I shouldn’t wonder.’
At the table with the Terry Sisters was the man who had been dressed in the check suit and told tall stories that Poppy didn’t understand. He looked grey and tired and not as bouncy as he’d been on stage, and he had very little hair, whereas when he had been performing he had had curly ginger hair. Another man made up the foursome. He was tall and dark-haired and appeared to be laying down the law about something.
Poppy went across to them. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked. ‘Would you like more coffee, or chocolate?’
The tall man glanced at her and smiled. ‘Shouldn’t you be tucked up in bed, little girl?’
Poppy shook her head, her red curls tossing. ‘I’m allowed to stay up late on a Friday.’
‘She’s been to see our show, Dan,’ Ena told him. ‘She’s a dancer too, just like us!’
‘Really?’ The man swivelled round to look at Poppy. He nodded thoughtfully. ‘How old are you?’
‘Ten, eleven in January,’ Poppy said. ‘I can sing too. I go for singing lessons with Miss Eloise.’
‘Miss Eloise?’ Dan laughed and raised his eyebrows. ‘Not the Miss Eloise.’
Poppy gazed at him. ‘She’s ‘only one I know,’ she said solemnly. ‘She used to sing in concerts.’
‘Don’t tease her,’ Ronny murmured. ‘She’s only a babe!’
‘Let’s see what you can do, then,’ Dan said. ‘Show us your speciality.’
‘I’ll have to ask my pa first,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m supposed to be helping. My mother isn’t well. She has to rest.’
‘All right,’ Dan said. ‘Is that your papa?’ He glanced over to where Joshua was putting glasses into a cupboard. ‘Tell him we’d like a bottle of red wine and ask him if he would join us in a glass; and that we’d like to watch you dance.’
‘Pa,’ Poppy said tremulously, and repeated the message.
Her father looked across at the group. People at the other tables were preparing to leave. The four from the theatre were the last customers. He nodded. He was tired. It had been a difficult evening. A glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss; it would help him sleep, chase away his worries. ‘Clear a space, then,’ he said to Tommy, who was listening to the remarks. ‘Then lock ’door. There’ll be nobody else coming in tonight.’
‘Can you dance without music?’ Ronny asked Poppy, as she waited for her father to bring a bottle of wine and glasses.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can hear it in my head. But I’ll sing first,’ she told her. ‘Whilst I’ve got plenty of breath. Then I’ll dance.’
The Terry Sisters both smiled at that. ‘You’ll have to learn to do both and breathe at the same time if you go on the stage,’ Ena said.
‘She’s not going on ’stage,’ her father commented, coming to the table and pouring the wine into five glasses. ‘Her ma wants her to sing and dance. She says it’s an accomplishment.’
‘And so it is,’ Dan said. ‘Everyone should have at least one. Some are lucky enough to have more than one.’ He smiled at Poppy, who positioned herself the way Miss Eloise had taught her, and began to sing.
It was a simple ballad. A story of springtime and flowers and birds singing in the treetops, the music charming and lyrical for a young pure voice, and when she had finished the listeners broke into spontaneous applause, and her father drank his wine and nodded. Poppy gave a curtsy, and then began to dance. She hummed a tune in her head and tried to remember what she had been taught by Miss Davina. Keeping her head up and her shoulders back, and her arms and hands at a graceful angle, she tapped and pirouetted and swung her skirts. She also improvised on the dance steps she had seen performed by the Terry Sisters. Finally she swung round, put her forefinger under her chin and gave another deep curtsy.
The sisters clapped. The comedian yawned, but the tall man called Dan leaned towards her and said, ‘Well done, young lady. Very well done. And what’s your name?’
‘Poppy Mazzini,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Poppy Mazzini! A lovely name for a young lady of talent.’ He glanced at her father. ‘A talent that ought not to be hidden away.’
Her father shook his head. ‘We wouldn’t want to lose her,’ he stated. ‘Like I said. She won’t be going on ’stage.’
Poppy attended a private school, but now that her mother was unwell, instead of playing with her friends as she usually did after school was finished for the day, she had to help in the shop. Nothing too arduous, not like Tommy who was now baking the bread and cakes, whilst his father served the groceries, made tea or coffee, unpacked the provisions which came in daily and delivered orders to their customers. Poppy had to set the tables, clear away the dirty crockery and wash and dry it, but Tuesdays and Wednesdays were the days for her dancing and singing lessons. ‘I can still go, Pa, can’t I?’ she begged him. ‘Miss Davina will be expecting me.’ She was allowed to attend the lessons alone as both Miss Davina and Miss Eloise had rooms in George Street, only minutes away from where she lived.
‘Aye,’ her father said. ‘For ’time being anyway. Your ma wants you to keep going. But if we’re busy when you get back you’ll have to help.’
‘Oh, I will,’ she said eagerly. ‘But I want to ask Miss Davina about some new steps that ’Terry Sisters did last week. I know I can do them.’
Her father smiled indulgently and patted her cheek, but added, ‘Don’t get fancy ideas, just because you’ve seen them two dancers. That life’s not for you. It takes a different kind of person to perform on stage. It’s not for folks like us.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘One, two, three, turn. One two three skip. One two three swirl. Keep your head up! Smile. Step one two three, four five six, finger under chin – and curtsy! Well done, Poppy!’ Miss Davina nodded approvingly. ‘Now walk towards me, toes out, head up, shoulders down, tummy
in, derrière nipped! Good! That’s it for today, dear. See you next week.’
‘Miss Davina! I went to see ’Terry Sisters last week. Can I show you the dance they did?’
Miss Davina looked at her watch. ‘If it won’t take long. I have another lesson in ten minutes.’ She hadn’t as it happened, but it didn’t do to let her pupils know how much she relied on them.
Poppy performed as much as she remembered of the dance and improvised where she had forgotten, giving a provocative shrug of her shoulders and a twitch of her rear as she had seen the Terry Sisters do. Miss Davina raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, Poppy, that’s all very well for stage girls, but I don’t think your mama would want you to learn that style of dancing.’
‘But could you teach me if she didn’t mind?’
‘Oh, yes, of course I could. But you must ask her first.’ Miss Davina, when she had been just Jane Davidson, had had aspirations to the stage and her parents had not considered it to be a demeaning occupation. But at ten, she had already inherited her mother’s large build. No matter how she exercised, danced or starved herself, by twelve she was solid and heavy-limbed. At fourteen, as she auditioned for the theatre, she knew that it was hopeless, that no-one would want this tall, plain, buxom-chested, ample-hipped girl as a dancer. But yet she loved to dance and continued with her lessons, and when the teacher could teach her no more she turned herself to teaching and tried instead to inspire the children who came to her. None, she thought, would ever go onto the stage, for most were well-off tradesmen’s children without ambition or talent, or if they had, then their parents would nip it in the bud as being an undesirable occupation for their daughters, as she thought that the Mazzinis would also.
‘It’s a pity,’ she said to her friend, Miss Eloise, the following evening as they shared their weekly bottle of wine in Miss Eloise’s rooms. ‘Poppy is a beautiful dancer. She’s not too tall, she’s dainty and pretty, and has all the makings of a stage personality.’