Uncle Percy’s Pierrots had given their usual morning performance and would be back again on the sands that evening, but they did not perform on Saturday afternoons as the beach would be pretty well deserted.
‘Of course, you know what Will Catlin and his gang will be doing this afternoon, don’t you?’ said Percy to his fellow members whilst they were sipping their tea.
‘Aye, he’ll be driving around Scarborough in one o’ them wagonettes,’ replied his father. ‘Him and all t’ rest of his troupe, all dressed up in their costumes. And you can be sure they’ll stop at t’ railway station and chat to t’ folk who are getting off the trains. There’s nowt like getting yer oar in first, like; letting ’em know about his show and telling ’em it’ll be summat they’ll be sure to enjoy.’
‘Well, jolly good luck to him, that’s what I say,’ replied Percy. ‘He thought of it first, and it wouldn’t be right to steal his thunder, but we will have to try and think of ways of promoting our own shows; we don’t want to get left behind. Catlin’s a great entertainer, that’s for sure. And it isn’t only today, Saturday, that they show themselves in the town. He insists on his troupe getting dressed up in their lodgings – full make-up an’ all – and parading through the streets down to their pitch on the sands.’
‘I don’t think I would fancy the idea of doing that,’ replied Letitia, his wife. ‘It’s better that we should stick to our bathing huts to get changed in. When I’ve finished my act or my piano playing I prefer to be incognito. Of course there are some people who recognise you. I was in Boyce’s store the other day and a lady came up to me and asked me if I was the one who played the piano for the Pierrots. So I said that I was and we had a nice little chat. But, like I said, I prefer to keep myself to myself when I’m not on the stage.’
Percy smiled at her. His wife was a reserved, self-contained sort of person, unlike many theatrical ladies – and men, too – who behaved in an extrovert manner both on and off the stage. Letty could play the coquette as well as anyone, as she did in some of their sketches, but only when she was acting. Normally she had eyes for no one else but him, and he felt the same way too. After more than eight years of marriage they were still devoted to one another and were the envy of many of their show business colleagues.
Letty had been playing the piano at a charity concert in a church hall in Bradford when he had first met her. He had been asked to sing, as he often was during the winter months, the time when he was not performing in Scarborough as part of his father’s minstrel troupe. Letty had accompanied him as he sang ‘Where e’er you walk’, and they had fallen in love almost at first sight.
Letty – Letitia Rigby – aged twenty-two at the time of their meeting – had been working as an assistant in a milliner’s shop, and Percy, some three years older, was a builder by trade. Both he and his father, Henry, had served their apprenticeship as builders, but neither of them had intended this to be their only profession. The reason was that they were ‘stage-struck’…
And so, when his wife had died of a sudden attack of bronchitis, eight years previously, Henry, despite his sorrow, had decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and do something which had always lingered at the back of his mind. He would never have taken this momentous step if his dear wife, Bertha, had lived. She had regarded it as a lot of nonsense and he had respected her opinion, knowing that it was up to him, as the breadwinner, to support her. But when there remained just himself and his only son Percy, aged seventeen, to consider, he knew that the time had come to pursue his dream.
After a suitable time of grieving – for both Henry and Percy were shocked and saddened by the loss of their wife and mother – Henry mooted the idea that they should form their own minstrel show. Percy had not needed any persuading. He had inherited his love of performing from his father and had a good baritone voice which he used to its best advantage in the chapel choir and at concerts. Henry sang, too, and was well known as something of a comic and could strum quite expertly on the banjo.
Consequently, Morgan’s Merry Minstrels had been formed with the cooperation of a small group of like-minded friends and acquaintances – all men, no women at that time – from their home town of Bradford. Scarborough had been the resort of their choice and they had soon made their name there, setting up their pitch on the North Bay sands and performing three times daily – tides and weather permitting – throughout the summer months. During the winter they returned home and took whatever part-time work they could – as builders, joiners, barmen, shop assistants, road sweepers, delivery men – knowing that when the next summer came round they would return to the occupation that was nearest to their hearts.
At the time when Percy and Letty first met, during the winter of 1891, Percy and his father had been discussing various changes that they intended to bring about with regard to their troupe. No longer would it be ‘Morgan’s Merry Minstrels’, a troupe of black-faced entertainers, but ‘Uncle Percy’s Pierrots’. Pierrots were white-faced performers – sometimes their faces were artificially whitened with zinc oxide – the very antithesis of the Negro minstrels, and they were, in fact, beginning to supersede them. Their ruffled white suits and pointed hats with black pom-poms were adding a touch of romance and novelty to the seaside resorts, and Percy and Henry had resolved not to be left behind. Moreover, Henry had decided, magnanimously, that it was time that he handed the reins over to his son, although he would continue to take part in a smaller way and to give advice when it was needed.
All thoughts of Pierrots and minstrels, though, fled out of Percy’s mind for a while when he met Letty, the girl of his dreams. They enjoyed an idyllic courtship throughout the winter and were married a few months later in the spring of 1892. What was equally wonderful to Percy was that Letty shared his passion for the world of the theatre. She was a very competent pianist and she was delighted when Percy suggested that she should play for the newly formed group of Pierrots, which, in reality, consisted mainly of the original minstrels, but in a different guise. It was Letty’s idea that they should include a few women in the troupe, although that was quite a novel concept. She had not wanted to be the sole woman amongst a totally male caste, and Percy agreed that the addition of a couple more ladies could only be advantageous. It was at Letty’s advice, also, that he decided not to have his troupe members whitening their faces with substances which might well prove to be dangerous.
All in all Letty had been a great asset to Uncle Percy’s Pierrots, as well as being a loving and loyal wife. Their only regret was that they had not been blessed with a family. Letty had had a miscarriage in the second year of their marriage, and after that they had waited and waited to no avail, and had finally resigned themselves to their childless state. But as they were all in all to one another it didn’t matter as much as it might otherwise have done.
Now, in the summer of 1900, Percy was realising that there would need to be some changes if his troupe was to maintain its popularity; and, also, some incentives to ensure that the troupe members – seven of them, excluding himself, Letty and Henry – remained loyal to him. He had heard one or two murmurs, not exactly grumbles, but comparisons with other troupes which, in some ways, were more enterprising than their own.
That was why he had mentioned Will Catlin. The man was becoming a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure, although Percy did not wish to cause any ill feeling by pinching his ideas or setting up in direct opposition to him. Percy’s troupe had its own band of loyal followers. His pitch on the North Bay, near to the pier, was far enough away from that of his rival. Catlin’s was on a site on the other side of the headland, near to the Spa Theatre, one he had always favoured, and he, too, had his faithful supporters.
Will Catlin’s name was becoming quite a byword in Scarborough. And not only there; he also had a company which appeared at Bridlington, further down the coast, for a four- or five-week period between Easter and Whitsuntide. But Scarborough remained his chief centre of interest.
/> Percy had heard quite a lot about the man, although he had never been a friend of his or even an acquaintance; they were on nodding terms and that was all. Percy knew, though, that the young man – Catlin was a few years younger than himself – had been interested in the stage from an early age and had entertained as an amateur on concert platforms around Leicester, just as he, Percy, had done in Bradford. Having formed his first Pierrot troupe at an early age he had, thereafter, insisted that all his performers must be men. He was said to have very strict rules for his company and he was keen to present his boys, as he called them, as desirable bachelors. They did, indeed, cause several female hearts to flutter, and this ensured a keen following at the shows. Never must his Pierrots be seen walking arm in arm with a lady through the streets of Scarborough, even though some of the ‘boys’ had wives.
‘No, I’m not suggesting that we should parade through the streets in our costumes,’ Percy said, in answer to his wife’s objections, although he knew that, were he to insist on it, she would gradually conform to the idea. ‘That would be too blatant, but happen there are a few of Catlin’s ideas that we might be able to use for ourselves.
‘For instance, how about us having some photographs taken, as a group, and in ones and twos, and selling ’em before and after each performance? We could have one of you with your dogs, Nancy; and Barney and Benjy doing their tap dancing…’
‘We would have to strike a pose though,’ said Barney. He was the sleek dark-haired, pale-faced member of the duo who was, in fact, well known for striking poses. ‘What I mean is, one has to keep very still to get a good clear photograph, so we wouldn’t have to be jigging about.’
‘Jigging about!’ exclaimed his dancing partner, Benjy, with a touch of exasperation. ‘Our dancing consists of a great deal more than jigging about, as you well know, Barnaby.’
Benjy was the other member of the duo, rosy-cheeked and with curly blonde hair, the very opposite, with regard to looks, of his partner. In spite of their different appearances many people assumed them to be brothers, which they were not. Barnaby Dewhurst and Benjamin Carstairs were just very good friends. They were both in their late twenties – unmarried – and had been with Percy’s troupe for the last five years.
‘Just a figure of speech, my dear,’ replied Barney with a casual wave of his hand. ‘You know what I mean so don’t try to cause an altercation.’
‘I am sure we will be able to arrange the two of you in a suitable pose,’ said Percy with a wry grin. ‘And of course we won’t forget you, Susannah,’ he added smiling at the young woman who was known as the ‘soubrette’ of the group.
Susannah Brown sang light-hearted songs in a somewhat shrill soprano voice; she was also a comedienne and the audiences appreciated the pert and rather impudent way she put over her act. Nobody was quite sure how old she was. In her mid-twenties, maybe; but she still acted and dressed as though she were seventeen or so, the age many people believed her to be until they came closer to her. At that moment she was leaning forward in her chair, gazing at Percy with wide blue eyes and a slightly open mouth as though hanging on his every word.
‘You could pose charmingly with your teddy bear,’ he said, ‘or perhaps with a large basket of flowers. In fact I hope we will be able to have photographs taken of all of you. There’s a firm in Holmfirth, Huddersfield way, that specialises in that sort of thing; picture postcards to send home from holiday. Bamforth, they’re called. Of course I’ve left it too late for this year; I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but I’ve had a lot on me mind. Anyroad, I’ll make enquiries as soon as we get back to Bradford. That is if everyone is agreeable…’
‘Yes, of course we are…’
‘Good idea…’
‘It’s worth a try…’ There were mutterings of agreement from the rest of the troupe. Only Charlie Wagstaff, the character man, shook his head a little dolefully.
‘I don’t know as you’d want my ugly mug on a postcard,’ he said, ‘although I dare say it’d be all right for the rest of you.’ He was the eldest member of the group, turned sixty years of age, but still very popular with audiences for his portrayal of different characters. A Chelsea pensioner, a policeman, or an old tramp; these were just some of his acts for which he dressed accordingly and always succeeded in bringing out the essence of the various characters. He did monologues too, specialising in such poems as ‘Gunga Din’, ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’ and ‘The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God’.
‘Of course we want you, Charlie,’ said Henry Morgan. Charlie had been with him for ages, ever since the days of the Negro minstrels. ‘Don’t talk so daft! You know what they say; There’s no show without Punch. And you’re one of our mainstays, as you well know.’
‘Hear, hear,’ agreed Percy, and all the other members murmured in assent.
‘Your impression of that pompous policeman, I’ve heard folks say they’ve never laughed so much in their lives,’ Henry went on. ‘And you look real grand dressed up as a Chelsea pensioner. It’s a pity the postcards wouldn’t be in colour though.’
‘It’s good of you to say so,’ said Charlie, looking a mite embarrassed. ‘But the fact of the matter is…I don’t think I shall be with you, come next year.’ They all appeared startled and looked at him questioningly. ‘Aye, I’m thinking it’s about time I retired, hung up me shoes, as they say. It’s the missus, y’see, my Ada. She’s been harping on a bit more than usual lately about me being away during t’ summer. She’s not getting any younger neither, and I reckon she’s feeling a bit lonesome like. She’s got the shop, of course, and that keeps her busy, but I’m thinking of packing in me job with the brewery an’ all and helping her full-time in the greengrocer’s shop.’ Charlie worked as a barman during the autumn and winter when he was back home in Leeds and the family also owned a thriving little greengrocery. ‘It’s hard work for a woman, although I know she’s got our Clive to help her and he sees to the buying an’ all that. In a few years’ time we’ll be handing it all over to him and Mavis, then the missus and I can retire and enjoy our last years together.’
‘Your last years?’ echoed Henry. ‘Good grief, Charlie! You’re nobbut a spring chicken yet. I can give you a few years an’ I’m not thinking of packing it in yet awhile. I don’t do as much as I used to, though, and if that’s the way you feel… But we shall miss you.’
‘And it means we shall have to look out for another character actor, or summat o’ t’ sort,’ said Percy. ‘That’s bad news, Charlie, but you must do whatever you think is best. As a matter of fact, I have summat else in mind that I want to tell you about. I’m working on it at the moment.’ He looked round at them all. ‘How would you feel about us carrying on as a troupe all through the winter? That is, if we can get the bookings, and that’s what I’m trying to do just now. I’ve got a few contacts in Leeds, and Bradford, of course – with it being my home town – Halifax, Huddersfield, Sheffield… I’ve been concentrating on Yorkshire at the moment. Just small theatres, y’know, or even church halls and assembly rooms. They’re glad of some entertainment during the winter months. They have repertory groups and amateur operatics an’ all that, so I thought, why not us? Anyroad, I’ve put out a few feelers an’ I’ve already had a few replies. So…what do you reckon to it?’
It seemed as though they were all in agreement apart from Charlie, who laughed. ‘Seems as though I’m packing it in at the right time, don’t it? The missus certainly wouldn’t stand for that! But jolly good luck to you, Percy lad. I think it’s a grand idea. That’s how Catlin manages to keep his troupe together, isn’t it, by getting bookings all through t’ winter?’
‘Yes, I admit that’s where I got the idea,’ said Percy. ‘And I don’t want to lose any of you… I know some of you have been casting your eyes elsewhere and I can’t say I blame you. But let’s give it a try and see how we go on.’
He saw Barney and Benjy, and Susannah exchange surreptitious glances and realised he had been right in his sus
picions. They had been looking around at other troupes, but he hoped that this would provide sufficient encouragement for them to stay. All three of them could be temperamental at times, but they had acts which went down well with the audiences.
‘It suits us fine, wouldn’t you say so, Benjy?’ Barney asked his partner.
‘Rather,’ Benjy replied, ‘especially as we’ve a few new routines to try out, haven’t we, Barney?’
The duo were the only members of the troupe who were not from Yorkshire. They came from not far over the border, from Rochdale, but no one was quite sure what jobs they did when they returned to Lancashire at the end of each season. It was believed that both men still lived at home with their parents.
‘And I think it’s a wonderful idea,’ enthused Susannah, fixing her blue-eyed gaze on Percy. ‘Thank you, thank you, Percy my love. It’s just what I’ve been hoping for.’
Susannah’s home was in Halifax. She was a shop assistant and usually managed to find casual work when she was not on the stage, and she shared the home of her sister and brother-in-law. No one knew why she was still unmarried; like the tap-dancing duo she played her cards very close to her chest. But Letty, who had probably come to know her better than anyone else, had gathered that she had suffered an unhappy love affair and had been badly let down. Consequently she was mistrustful of men and her friendships with them, though not infrequent, were of short duration.
A True Love of Mine Page 15