Maddy put the meat into the oven at ten-thirty before they departed for church, and when they returned at midday – with Louisa, who had also been to worship – they were greeted by the aroma of gently roasting meat. Louisa insisted that she should see to the basting of the joint, the gravy and all the trimmings. Also the pudding, which was usually one of her home-made deep custards or curd tarts. All in all Sunday had become a satisfying day for all of them.
None of them ever mentioned how this had come about, why Louisa should be there cooking their Sunday dinner. But each of them knew in their hearts the reason for it; because the focal point of their family had been taken away from them. Clara had been the one who had held them together and there were times when each of them felt they might flounder without her loving presence in the midst of them. Louisa felt it as much as anyone.
But the saddest of all clichés, that life must go on, gradually began to prevail. They settled into a routine. Clara was still very much in their thoughts, but she came to be spoken of with a smile and a happy memory rather than with sadness and gloom.
And where did Bella Randall fit into this routine? Maddy had held her breath at first, quaking with apprehension lest her father should invite her to help out again with the domestic arrangements. But to her relief he had turned to Mrs Brewster. She was a jolly, friendly sort of lady and Maddy got along very well with her. She was more the age of a grandmother than a mother, so it did not seem as though another woman was taking over Mam’s rightful place.
Bella had gone back to working in the shop. She was now known as the manageress, and they had another assistant. She was called Miss Muriel Phipps and she looked very prim and proper, with her hair swept up into a bun on the top of her head and rimless spectacles perched on the end of her longish nose.
And to Maddy’s surprise Bella had started to accompany her father, or Patrick sometimes, when they went out on jobs; although it was Maddy’s guess that Bella didn’t seem to be any too happy about it. Maddy had feared that she might be trying to wheedle her way back into the family circle, but Bella, these days, seemed dispirited and low, as though much of the life had gone out of her. She and Maddy spoke politely to one another when they needed to do so. Much of the hostility, though, that Maddy had felt towards her had dwindled away; she was trying to forget all about the scene she had witnessed in the bedroom. The truth was that Bella did not matter to her anymore. She was no longer important.
The second half of the Pierrot show, to Maddy’s mind, was more enjoyable than the first. Barney and Benjy had some new tunes and new dance steps; Nancy’s dogs had some new tricks; and there were a lot of songs that the audience could join in with.
‘I’ll be your sweetheart, if you will be mine…’
Maddy sang along merrily as the Pierrots all came on the stage for their closing medley.
‘Bluebells I’ve gathered; keep them and be true;
When I’m a man my plan will be to marry you.’
‘Who are you thinking about?’ asked Jessie with a roguish grin, nudging her friend.
‘Oh…nobody really…’ But Maddy had a twinkle in her eye.
‘That’s a man’s song anyway,’ said Jessie.
‘I know, but it doesn’t matter, does it?’ They both giggled, then Maddy said, ‘Shhh…Uncle Percy’s saying something. Let’s listen.’
Percy Morgan had come to the front of the little stage and held up his hand. ‘Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen for being such a wonderful audience, as usual. And the children, of course. Now, I have one or two things to bring to your notice before you go. Picture postcards of all the Pierrots are on sale, and my good friend Pete will be pleased to take your money.’ There were cheers and applause from some members of the audience as he gestured towards his mate. ‘Well worth a penny of anybody’s money, ladies and gentlemen. Not only do you get a photo of your favourite performer, but in some cases the words of a song as well. And there are song books on sale, too, if you would like to sing ’em all again when you get home.
‘We are here every day – three times a day – at half past ten, half past two and half past six, weather and tides permitting, of course. If the tide’s in then we’ll be up on t’ prom. And two weeks today – that’s the twenty-first of August – at two-thirty, we are planning a special event; a talent contest for our younger members of the audience. So if you’re thirteen years old or younger come along and show us what you can do. Happen you can sing or dance, or tell jokes, or do some magic tricks, or play a mouth organ or a concertina. And if you need a pianist then my better half, Letty, will be pleased to accompany you.’ There was an excited murmur in the audience, but also one or two long faces.
‘Aye, I know some of you will have gone back home by then,’ said Percy. ‘That’s a pity, but never mind. We’ve got a sandcastle competition tomorrow and we hope you’ll all be there. And next week we’re planning some races and games… Anyroad, I think I’ve talked for long enough. Cheerio for now. See you again soon. Ta-ra, folks…’
‘Ta-ra, Uncle Percy,’ called several of the children before going off with their parents to spend a little more time on the sands, or to make their way back to their digs for the midday meal.
‘Let’s have a look at those pictures, shall we?’ said Jessie. ‘I think I might like to buy one.’
‘All right then.’
They walked over to where Pete was standing by a rack of brown-coloured photographs; Grandad had told Maddy that the correct word was ‘sepia’. There were pictures, it seemed, of each one of the Pierrots, some on their own and some in groups. Jessie looked at first one and then another; looking just with her eyes, though, not picking them up and putting them back again like some of the children – and grown-ups, too – were doing. Mother had always told her that you look with your eyes and not your hands.
‘Oh dear; the trouble is I don’t know which one to choose,’ she said, as though it was a matter of the greatest importance. ‘Which one would you have, Maddy? Aren’t you going to buy one?’
‘No, I don’t think so; not today,’ replied Maddy. ‘I might, when we come again. They’re all good, aren’t they? Why don’t you get the one with the group of Pierrots, and then you’ve got them all?’
‘And then you’ll have a picture of me, won’t you, luv?’ laughed Pete. ‘And look – there I am again with Percy. We look a real couple of idiots, don’t we?’
Jessie and Maddy smiled at the picture of Percy and Pete doing their ‘Hole in my Bucket’ routine, with silly grins on their faces. Then there was Nancy with her performing dogs; Barney and Benjy in a tap-dancing pose, their white teeth flashing at the camera; the new lady, Queenie, dressed as the Fairy Queen – of all things! – with her husband, Carlo, by her side dressed as the sentry from the Gilbert and Sullivan opera Iolanthe; Susannah looking sweet and pretty, surrounded by baskets of flowers… Jessie could have spent a lot more time in deliberation, but most of the other customers had gone and Maddy was getting a little impatient.
‘Hurry up and decide,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get back to see to our lunch. I try to help a bit more when it’s school holidays.’
‘Oh…yes, sorry; I forgot,’ said Jessie. She had finally decided, and she handed the ‘Hole in my Bucket’ postcard to Pete along with her penny. ‘I’ll have this one,’ she said, ‘because I think you and Uncle Percy are very funny and you make me laugh.’
‘Well now, that’s made my day,’ said Pete, smiling at her as he popped the card into a little paper bag. ‘See you again soon, I hope.’
‘Yes, you will,’ both girls replied as they walked away.
‘What shall we do about the sandcastle competition?’ asked Jessie. ‘D’you want to go in for it? With our Tommy and Tilly, I mean? I don’t think Samuel and Patrick would be interested, do you? Not now they’re both fifteen. They’d be too old anyway.’
Maddy was thinking about it, and about the last time they had taken part. ‘I don’t really think I want to do it,’
she said. ‘Not this year. It all seems…different somehow.’ She was remembering the fun they had had last year, the tea party back at their house and how happy they had all been together. And Mam had been there, so full of life. How could any of them have imagined that in only a few months’ time she would be…gone. She was starting to feel sad again. These moments of sorrow crept up on her from time to time. But Jessie seemed to understand.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind either way. If you don’t feel like it I might just go along and help the twins myself. It was a good show, wasn’t it? And the Pierrots had some new costumes, hadn’t they? I thought they looked very smart.’
‘Yes; Louisa made them,’ said Maddy. ‘I call her Aunty Louisa ’cause she was a friend of…of my mother’s. I told you about her, didn’t I? She’s a dressmaker and she has a shop.’
‘Oh yes, so you did. And you said you would like to be a dressmaker when you left school, didn’t you?’
‘I said I might…’ replied Maddy, ‘but I don’t know…’ Jessie cast an anxious glance at her friend, then linked her arm as they walked up the cliff path. She could tell that Maddy was feeling sad. How awful it must have been for her when her mother died so suddenly.
‘Maddy,’ she said. ‘What d’you think about this talent contest? I know you’re still feeling a bit sad sometimes – I can tell – but I really think you should go in for it. You’re a lovely singer and…well…I’m sure you’d win.’
To Jessie’s surprise Maddy nodded. ‘Yes… I might – go in for it, I mean. I didn’t mean that I’d win. I’ve started to play the piano now. I told you, didn’t I? And I’ve found that music – singing and playing – it helps me to feel a bit better about – you know – about my mam and everything, not quite so sad. Grandad says music’s a solace. He means it’s a comfort… Yes, I think I will ’cause I do like singing. Not that I’d win though. There’ll be all sorts entering, won’t there? Conjurers and tap dancers and goodness knows what else. And a lot of ’em’ll be older than me.’
‘So what? There won’t be anybody that can sing better.’
‘And what about you then? If I go in for it, what about you doing something, Jessie, to keep me company?’
‘Me? Oh no, I couldn’t!’ Jessie stood still in her tracks as though paralysed with fear, and her face turned pink beneath the mass of freckles. ‘I can’t sing. I can’t do anything like that. Anyway, I’d die if I had to stand on that stage in front of everybody.’ She stopped suddenly, aware of what she had said. ‘I mean…no, I don’t think so. In fact – no – definitely not.’
‘All right then,’ said Maddy with a little smile. ‘I can see that you don’t want to. I just thought you might like to recite a poem or something. You told me you have to learn all sorts of stuff at that posh school of yours.’
‘Yes, so we do; pages and pages of it. And I like some of it too. “The Forsaken Merman” – I love that. It’s about a merman who marries a mortal.’
‘A what?’
‘A mortal; an ordinary person like you and me.’
‘No, the other thing you said…’
‘Oh, a merman. Well, you’ve heard of a mermaid, haven’t you, so this is a merman. And his wife leaves him and goes back to the land, and he’s pining for her, and his children are too… “Come, dear children, let us away, down and away below…”’ she recited in a melancholy voice. ‘It’s really sad.’
‘Mmm; it certainly doesn’t sound very cheerful,’ agreed Maddy. ‘But it would be very clever if you could recite it all. D’you remember Charlie, the old man they used to have in the show? He used to do long recitations, didn’t he? And the audience seemed to like them.’
‘Well, I couldn’t do it; not in front of all those people.’
‘Never mind then. So long as you’re there to give me a bit of support… I’ll have to ask Dad though, and Grandad. They might not want me to do it.’ She wasn’t sure why they might object, but she knew that when people were ‘in mourning’, as her family was, then they had to consider what would be considered right and proper.
Maddy found the song she thought she might like to sing, that evening, amongst the folk songs in her book of simple tunes. She tried out the melody with one hand, then softly sang the words along with it.
‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…’
‘Aye, that’s a grand old song,’ said her grandfather. He came over to the piano and stood at the side of her, singing the first line again in his slightly husky tones. ‘I’ve not heard that for ages. It takes me back years and years it does. I remember singing it when I was a lad at school.’
‘I don’t think we’ve learnt it,’ said Maddy, ‘but I think it’s a nice tune… Grandad, can I ask you something?’ she said in a quiet voice. Her father, with the evening paper stuck up in front of his face, did not seem to be taking much notice of them.
‘Aye, of course you can, luv. You can ask me anything,’ said Isaac. ‘You know that.’
And so she told him about the talent contest that the Pierrots were holding in two weeks’ time, and how she would like to sing, but she was wondering whether it would be the right thing to do.
‘Whyever not?’ asked her grandfather.
‘Well, you know. Because of Mam…dying. I thought some people might think it was not…quite right.’
‘Disrespectful, like?’ said Isaac, understanding that she was not quite able to put her thoughts into words. ‘No…’ He shook his head. ‘Not a bit of it, at least I don’t consider it is. Especially if you’re going to sing a tender little song like this. It’s a sad sort o’ song really, “Scarborough Fair”. About somebody pining for their lost love.’
‘It’s really a man’s song though, isn’t it?’ said Maddy.
‘No, I don’t think so. You just need to say “he” instead of “she”, that’s all. Come on then; let’s have a go at it, shall we? Just listen to t’ tune first, and then try singing the first verse.’
So while her grandad played the melody with one hand she sang the plaintive song…
‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Remember me to one who lived there
For once he was a true love of mine…’
‘Champion!’ said Isaac. ‘You’ve got just the right sort of voice for it.’
‘And the lady who plays the piano – Letty, she’s called; Uncle Percy’s wife – she’s going to play for anybody who needs an…accompanist.’ She stumbled a little at the unfamiliar word.
‘Oh, you won’t need one o’ them,’ said her grandad. ‘Folk songs are meant to be sung unaccompanied. You just have to make sure you start on t’ right note. Ask her to give you a middle C on t’ piano and you’ll be fine.’
‘So you think it’s all right then for me to sing?’
‘’Course I do. I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’
‘And what about Dad?’ asked Maddy, glancing towards her father who seemed, now, to be just staring into space.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about yer father; you leave him to me,’ said Isaac. ‘He’ll be real proud of you, you mark my words. And you can be sure we’ll all be there to listen to you. And if you’re still a bit worried,’ he added quietly, ‘then think how proud yer mam would have been an’ all. Tell yerself that you’re doing it for her.’
‘All right Grandad.’ She gave him a secret sort of smile. ‘I’ll try.’
William stood up at that point, shoving his newspaper untidily down the side of the chair. ‘I’m off for a bit of fresh air,’ he said. ‘Blow the cobwebs away.’ He nodded at Isaac and Maddy and strode out of the room. His father was used to him doing this a few evenings a week. And what did it matter if his breath of fresh air blew him into one of the nearby public houses. He never came back the worse for drink and the lad had to have some sort of an outlet for his sadness.
‘What is Scarborough Fair, anyway?’
asked Maddy. ‘Do they still have it?’ A travelling fair with sideshows and roundabouts visited the area occasionally, but never stayed for very long. She didn’t think it was that sort of a fair.
‘No, Scarborough Fair’s long gone,’ said Isaac. ‘Faded away in the mists of time, but it’s still remembered because of that song. It had gone long before I was born, but we learnt about it at school. It was started way back in t’ thirteenth century by King Henry the Third. He granted the burgesses – those were the bigwigs, like, in the town – the right to have a fish fair on t’ sands. And it went on for forty-five days, from t’ middle of August to t’ end of September, St Michael’s Day.’
There wasn’t much that her grandad did not know about Scarborough in the olden days, thought Maddy as she listened to his story of the fair. The colourful event had taken place every year from the thirteenth until nearly the end of the eighteenth century. That was…five hundred years! It must have changed a lot in that time. They hadn’t sold just fish, of course. There had been a cattle market, a pig market and an apple market, and merchants – men selling their goods – from Belgium and Germany, as well as the local tradesmen. And there were minstrels, jugglers, ballad singers, fortune tellers, and men pretending to cure all sorts of ailments, called ‘quack’ doctors.
It was rather sad in some ways, Grandad Isaac said, that the good old days had come to an end. The street selling that had gone on for hundreds of years had been brought to an end when the Market Hall opened fifty years ago. He remembered that of course. But the old tradition of the ballad singers and minstrels was still being carried on by the Pierrots with their daily shows on the beach.
A True Love of Mine Page 27