Ever since that afternoon at the Ritz when she’d played her trumpet in front of all those people, Jess’s attitude towards her music had changed, aided and abetted by Steve’s championing her in front of Bernie at the Sunday tea. She was used to entertaining bombed-out victims at the mobile canteen but saw that not only could she bring pleasure and comfort with her trumpet but also make it serve a very different purpose.
It had occurred to her that were she to be part of a band she could play at dances, as Steve did, with the added benefit of earning money. It might go some way towards paying off her debts to the Salvation Army. She might even be able to buy them a new trumpet to replace the one her uncle had so cruelly disposed of. Although Ted had very kindly held no grudges over the loss of the instrument, Jess knew well enough that the band could ill afford to suffer such a blow. Yet she held little hope of persuading Uncle Bernie to return it. She’d already visited every pawnbroker in Manchester, and now with Mr Yoffey gone, could think of nowhere else it might be.
Besides all of this, it would be another way of escaping the claustrophobic four walls of the house on Cumberland Street, her miserable, complaining mother and Uncle Bernie’s tyranny.
The very next day after finishing work at the tea room, Jess screwed up all her courage and went to the Ritz to ask Hal, the band leader, for a job.
‘Sorry love, you’re good, I’ll give you that. But my chaps would never wear it, not a chick in the band. Wouldn’t work.’
No matter how much she protested about there being a war on and women doing all kinds of different jobs they’d never done before, he refused to budge.
Disappointment bit deep but the ambition to play in a dance band, now she’d been given a taste for it, simply wouldn’t go away. Being rejected brought all Jess’s stubbornness to the fore and she became more determined than ever. She could play as well as any of the lads, even if she was only a girl.
And so an idea was born.
She didn’t talk to Steve about it in case he tried to put her off. He might encourage her but then again look how he’d reacted to her purloining his trumpet, in the beginning at least. Besides, who better to share the idea with than her very best friend.
Leah, however, merely laughed.
‘You’re going to start what - a dance band? Have you gone soft in the head?’
‘No, I’m perfectly serious. Just a small one, to start with anyway, and all female. We’d need a sax player, clarinet, maybe a cello or double bass, most certainly a drummer, which might be the most difficult to find. You could play the piano and I would play the trumpet of course.’
Leah was struggling to drag her attention away from more distracting thoughts. Ever since Sunday when she and Harry had finally ‘gone the whole way’ and put the seal on their growing romance, she’d been in a lather of concern. She really couldn’t recall him taking any precautions, and she’d been in such a mad, reckless mood herself that day she’d never thought to ask. She’d counted on her fingers and deduced that in a couple of weeks she’d know for certain if she was safe or not. In the meantime, she was glad of anything which took her mind off the terrifying possibility that she might be pregnant, that her safe, comfortable world might collapse about her ears.
And what if it did? She felt far too young to think of anything so grown-up as matrimony. She just wanted a good time, to put some fun and excitement into her boring, sheltered life. Besides which, would Harry even consider marrying her? Leah rather doubted it. So where would that leave her? Unable to cope with her worries she put them resolutely from her mind.
‘Where would we play with this band?’
‘At dances of course. We’d probably need to advertise, although it might be worthwhile circularising all the local ballrooms and dance halls to tell them of our existence and expertise.’
Leah giggled. ‘Do we have any? Expertise, I mean, and we don’t exist yet, do we? So far there’s only you and me.’
‘A piece in the small ads of the Manchester Guardian could change that tomorrow. So, you are with me on this, or not?’
‘Too right I am. Anything is better than playing Mozart to Ambrose flipping Gartside.’
Chapter Sixteen
The advert brought forth fewer replies than Jess had hoped. Jess got permission from Sergeant Ted to hold the auditions in a meeting room at the back of the mission hall where there was an ancient but well tuned piano. She and Leah settled down one Saturday afternoon after the tea room had closed to wait for the hopefuls to arrive.
‘We can only pray that there might be one or two last minute entries to give us some sort of choice.’
‘Otherwise it’s – ‘ Leah consulted the list. ‘Mary, Flossie and Lulu. Lord, the names alone put me off.’
Mary turned out to be tall and elegant and absolutely refused to play jazz. Her instrument was the violin and she’d only ever played Beethoven. She was willing to lower her standards a little, she informed them, in order to do her bit to entertain the nice soldiers, but there were limits. Leah thanked her politely for coming and Jess said that perhaps the advert had misled her, knowing full well that the wording had plainly stated that they were forming a dance band. Who, in their right minds, would choose to dance to Beethoven, worthy as that great composer was.
Flossie, as her name might suggest, was plump and over-dressed in a pink floral frock with an amazing array of frills about the hem and neck. She breathlessly agreed that she’d play anything, absolutely anything they wanted her to play. She really had no particular preferences herself, absolutely loved music and dancing, and was simply desperate to be a part of their band.
The only problem was that she couldn’t - play that is. If she hit a right note on her brand new, shining clarinet, Jess freely admitted afterwards to having missed it. Leah could scarcely accompany her on the piano for giggling.
‘Thank you so much. Have you been playing long?’ she asked.
Flossie confessed that she hadn’t. This was a recent hobby, taken up when her husband was sent overseas at Easter and he bought her the instrument as a going-away present to keep her company.
‘Come and see us again then, when you’ve had a bit more practice and experience.’ And Flossie went away quite happy, vowing to work harder at her music lessons in future, now that she had a goal in mind.
Lulu breezed into the room all fire and energy and boundless enthusiasm, sleek and shiny blond hair cut in a stylish bob bounced upon slender shoulders seemingly with a life of its own. With lips painted a bright fuchsia and nails to match, she would clearly be a wow with all the ‘nice soldiers’. She was also clearly gifted on the tenor sax. Reduced to tears by the skill with which she played As Time Goes By, her chosen piece, Jess offered her a job without a moment’s hesitation.
‘You do realise that it’s on the understanding I can’t pay you any money until we start earning some. This is all a bit of a gamble. I intend to make a start by advertising ourselves in the local rag, visiting ballroom managers to actively seek work, and maybe organise a dance of our own, just to get us launched.
Lulu agreed this all sounded perfectly fair. ‘Hell, why not? Life’s short, let’s experiment a bit and have some fun.’
‘Hear, hear,’ echoed Leah, and Jess cast her a sideways glance, the fleeting thought crossing her mind that her friend seemed pale and hadn’t been quite her usual smiling self recently, despite a show of bounce and superficial good humour.
There being no other candidates that day, Jess locked up and the two girls celebrated the start of their dream with fish and chips on their way home.
Next morning, Jess optimistically got on with making preparations for the dance. She arranged to hire Atherton Street School Hall and had posters printed which she and Leah stuck up a few days later, all over Deansgate village. These gave full details of the dance and announced the introduction of Delaney’s All Girls Band, tickets being available at the Co-op. But she was still trying to find other band members. One trumpet, sax and a piano wa
s nowhere near enough. Jess and Leah trawled through all the dance halls, asking around, hoping that word would spread.
‘What if we don’t find anyone else?’ Leah dared ask one day as yet another week slid by with no further response to a second ad in the Manchester Guardian, or to their enquiries.
Jess brushed her concern aside. ‘We will, don’t worry. We’ve still got three weeks before the date of the dance. Plenty of time.’ Privately, she felt nowhere near as confident as she sounded.
On the plus side, Steve had proved to be entirely supportive, as she should have guessed he would be from the start, in particular by helping them to find suitable pieces to play and providing some old sheet music to rehearse with. He’d even offered to fill the gaps in the band with some of the lads, if necessary. Jess expressed her gratitude but refused point-blank. She simply wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Absolutely not! I intend to create an all female band or nothing at all. I’ll cancel the dance sooner than admit defeat. I want to show that women are every bit as good with music as men.’
‘Independent to a fault,’ he teased, shaking his head in mock despair while approving of her determination to make the plan work.
Then just as even Jess had begun to give up hope, a young girl walked in on their somewhat half-hearted rehearsal one evening, saying she’d heard they were looking for a clarinettist. Adele was small with shining black hair, ruby lips and flashing dark eyes, and seemed to pulsate optimism and energy. ‘I smoke, drink, have never managed to hold down a decent job in my life because I have itchy feet and hate to be in one place for more than five minutes. Oh, and I’m never on time.’
‘You are at least honest,’ Jess said with a wry smile. ‘But you would need to be on time for rehearsals with us, and never miss a performance. Right?’
‘I’ll do me best. Hey, and I also have a weakness for Sherbet dabs. Playing this thing is all I’m any good at.’ And lifting it to her lips, she started to play I Got Rhythm. Jess hired her on the spot. She’d work on the punctuality problem later.
It was a week or two later that Bernie announced his decision to find them a place of their own after all. Jess was so startled by this change of heart that she was instantly suspicious and asked what he was up to. He adopted a wounded expression, as if she’d mortally wounded him.
‘I can surely do something for my own kith and kin. I decided you were right, that you and Lizzie do need your own home. It’ll happen keep your mind off this daft music business you’ve got so involved with.’
What would he say if he knew that ‘this daft music business’ as he called it, was practically taking over her life. Every evening when she wasn’t working at the mobile canteen, Jess, together with Leah and the girls practised hard in the back room of the mission hall and she was still on the look out for more band members.
Like Steve, Sergeant Ted had been most helpful with advice and assistance and had become quite interested in their little enterprise, as had many of the regulars who came in for soup or a bed for the night. They would tap their feet in time to the music, or bang on the wall to complain if they hit too many wrong notes, which they frequently did at first.
All in all, matters were proceeding very smoothly. There’d been little interest from the ballroom managers thus far, but Jess had hopes that after they’d run a dance of their own, they might sit up and take notice. The word would soon get about if they played well.
Keeping all of this to herself, Jess frowned at her uncle and said, ‘I thought you said you couldn’t afford to help us. What’s changed? Anyroad, if the money isn’t honestly come by, I’m not sure I want anything to do with it.’
‘There’s no pleasing some folk. I’m doing you a favour. The war can’t last forever so we have to start thinking of the future. You and that chap of yours will happen want to settle down and get wed one day.’
Jess flushed bright crimson and, as always, when embarrassed, instantly went on the attack. ‘Nothing of the sort has been suggested. In any case, it’s none of your business what we decide to do. I can’t believe you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart because you haven’t got one. You must have some ulterior motive.’
‘That’s a mite unkind Jess lass. I’ve never neglected you, have I? I’ve always seen you well provided for, even when your mam were in t’clink. Your well being is my chief consideration and ever will be,’ stroking the strands of greasy hair across his bald pate and smiling at her in that sickening way he had.
He was up to something, Jess decided, and she’d have to take extra care till she found out exactly what it was.
Bernie felt he could afford to be generous since he’d recently enjoyed a stroke of good luck. On one of his scavenging missions, admittedly in a classier area on Stretford Road out Hulme way, he’d enjoyed a most profitable expedition. He’d picked up a velvet bag, from the hand of its former owner who was still holding on to it for dear life, though she’d never have call to use it again. She’d obviously copped it when her house came down in ruins around her ears while dressing for some fancy do. Inside the bag was a box, and in the box he’d found a ring. The fact it was so neatly stowed away within the velvet jewellery bag convinced him that it must be valuable. Perhaps she’d been about to put it on before going out gallivanting.
‘I’ll give it a good home love,’ he’d promised, shoving the ring in his pocket, together with a strand of pearls, a diamante brooch and a couple of pairs of earrings. Then he hid the velvet bag in the rubble to avoid harbouring incriminating evidence.
His old friend, Bodger Smith, had identified the stone as a diamond and handed over a fair sum for it. Admittedly his was nowhere near its true value but then, as Bodger explained, he had his own expenses to account for, and he needed to find a buyer for the ring before he himself made any money out of it at all. Bernie was more than happy with the deal.
The pearls and brooch fetched a tidy sum, though the earrings weren’t worth much and so Bernie decided to hang on to those. Happen he’d give a pair to Cora for her birthday, or to a more exciting woman should one happen along. He could afford to be a bit more choosy in that department if he had a bit of brass in his pocket. Lizzie didn’t satisfy him any more. She was as besotted with him as ever and all he had to do was to keep her supplied with the booze and she’d stay that way, but whatever sparkling titillation she’d once provided had long since fizzled out.
He believed that the end of all his troubles were at last in sight. He’d got enough money to settle his debts, with plenty left over to expand his enterprises. With this bit of spare cash in his pocket, he was seeking an opportunity not only to rid himself of a tricky situation of having three women in one house, but also to manipulate matters to his own advantage. He felt this was his moment to branch out, to stop being a small time crook and slide smoothly up a notch into a bigger league.
Adel announced one day that she’d been talking to her old music teacher, who played the cello like an angel apparently, and was interested in joining the band.
Miss Mona, as she liked to be called, proved to be a quiet, dignified lady of mature years with white hair and spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of her sharply pointed nose. The idea of hiring someone’s music teacher sounded rather daunting to Jess. However, it was such a huge relief to have another band member signed up and, with the day of the dance drawing ever nearer, she was beginning to panic just a little.
‘All we need now is a drummer.’
The lack of a drummer proved to be the least of their worries. Days before it was due to take place Cissie Armitage, Lizzie’s old neighbour and rival, having been bombed out was now working at the Co-op in order to keep a sick husband and her two remaining children. She apologised to Jess that she’d sold very few tickets. ‘I did my best love as most folk are in need of a bit of a laugh these days but few had even heard the dance was taking place and had already made other arrangements, while some said they wouldn’t touch it with the proverbial barge pole.�
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‘But why hadn’t they heard of it? We put up posters everywhere. People love to dance, and I thought it would cheer everyone up in the middle of winter.’
Cissie went to the shop door, opened it and glanced up and down the cold, empty street as if to check they weren’t being overheard. There was little that Cissie missed in this close-knit community, but she wasn’t keen on other folk knowing her own business.
‘It’s nearly dinner time, you can go off early,’ she told the young boy who helped her behind the counter. He grabbed his coat and wasted no time in doing so. A wind whistled bitingly in and she shut the door again with a bang, pulled down the blind and slid the bolt across. She nodded at Jess. ‘Come through to t’back.’
Once she was satisfied that they were quite alone, Cissie continued, ‘I reckon you should ask that uncle of yours what’s put folk off. If you ask me, he’s been using threats left, right and flipping centre, telling people to stay away if they know what’s good for them; that there’s going to be trouble at the dance and he’ll be the one to start it. Warned me that I’d live to regret it if I sold a single ticket over this counter. I told him to fling his hook. Having lost my baby, and with our Tom laid up, I don’t give a twopenny damn.
‘I’ve no proof but I reckon it was those two cousins of yours who nicked my stuff that night we were bombed and my husband lost his legs, so no Delaney is going to bully me. Anyroad, folk should enjoy themselves while they can, in my opinion.’
Jess listened to all of this in stunned silence. How dare Bernie try to spike her plans? What right did he have? First he stole her trumpet, now he was trying to ruin her future and destroy all her dreams. Presumably because she refused to steal from the Tea Room. What a nasty piece of goods he was. Oh, but she wouldn’t let him ruin everything, she really wouldn’t.
Dancing on Deansgate Page 20