‘How about what?’ I asked.
‘Standing in for him.’
‘You mean take his part?’
‘If you would. We only have six weeks to go and, as I said, I’m desperate.’
‘I fear not,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m so very busy at the moment, Mrs Cleaver-Canning, and I’ve not long been out of hospital myself. I really couldn’t commit myself to –’
‘Hospital? Oh dear, I trust it wasn’t serious?’
‘No, no, a minor operation on the knee.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it. Well, the exercise will do it good. It’s only a small walk-on part.’
‘Nevertheless –’
‘You would come on stage in the last act, say a couple of lines and walk off. You would only need to attend a few rehearsals, and on the nights of the performance you would not be needed until 8.30 at the earliest.’
‘Yes, I appreciate that, but –’
‘As I mentioned, I don’t think you have got above two or three lines. It’s the part of the SS Lieutenant who is pursuing Captain von Trapp. He only appears at the very end when the family are making their escape across the mountains. There’s no singing or dancing involved. It really wouldn’t be at all onerous.’
‘I am flattered to be asked, Mrs Cleaver-Canning,’ I began, ‘but –’
‘After your bravura performance at The Totterdale and Clearwell Christmas Ladies’ Night Dinner, I think you would be ideal. Clear, strong voice, excellent timing, confidence and that air of authority. As I said to Raymond, our producer, you would be just perfect for the part.’ As an SS officer, I thought, smiling to myself. I assumed she meant her comments about me to be complimentary. ‘We are really desperate,’ she continued. ‘It’s so hard to get men these days. All I ask is that you glance through the libretto before you give a definite thumbs down. Will you do that?’
‘Well –’
‘Excellent! Winco will pop it in the post today.’
With that the line went dead.
‘Why do you let yourself be dragged into things?’ Christine appeared not at all pleased when I related the conversation I had had with Mrs Cleaver-Canning. We were sitting having a coffee after dinner that evening. ‘You are just out of hospital, you have work to catch up on in the office, there are things to do in the house and you get dragooned into being in a play. I should have thought that you had quite enough on your plate at the moment.’
‘I haven’t actually agreed,’ 1 said feebly.
‘You’ve as good as. Why didn’t you just say no and put the phone down. I reckon you’ve got enough amateur dramatics at the inspectors’ office with Sidney and David without looking for any more.’
‘She’s a very persuasive woman,’ I began.
‘And I’m not?’
‘Of course you are, but she just wouldn’t let me get a word in. Every time I made an objection, she had an answer. Anyway, it’s only a few lines, not a major role. It might be quite fun.’
‘And what about the rehearsals?’
‘She said I only have to attend a few and appear on the nights of the performance, of course. I simply need to arrive for my bit at the end of the play. I walk on, say a couple of lines and walk off.’
‘You really are infuriating at times, Gervase Phinn,’ she said good-humouredly. ‘You take all these things on without a thought for the commitment. Haven’t you forgotten what’s happening in March, which is next month, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Of course not, but the baby isn’t due until the end of the month.’
‘Suppose it comes early while you are goose-stepping across the stage with the Fettlesham Literary Players, singing “Edelweiss” and climbing up mountains.’
‘I couldn’t be goose-stepping and climbing up mountains at the same time, could I, and certainly not with this knee. Anyway, as I told you, I don’t have any singing or dancing. It’s just a walk-on part.’
‘You’ll get this coffee over your head in a minute.’
‘Anyway, if little Lizzie does arrive early, I’ll just have to goose-step it down to the hospital. The Civic Theatre isn’t that far. I could be there in ten minutes. Look, Christine, if you are dead set against it, I’ll tell her I won’t do it. I really don’t want to argue with you about it.’
Christine put down her coffee, leaned over to me, smiled and gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘Neither do I. Actually, you might look rather dishy in the uniform.’
The letter from Mrs Cleaver-Canning, which accompanied the libretto of The Sound of Music, arrived through the letterbox that weekend. It was clear from her comments that she assumed I had already agreed to take on the part and had sent a list of rehearsal dates with the ones I needed to attend – the first being the following Tuesday. I passed the letter over the breakfast table to Christine.
‘What did I say,’ she said, shaking her head.
On the next Tuesday, I made my way through the main school entrance of Castlesnelling High School at the prescribed time. I was greeted (hardly the right word) by the caretaker, an extremely thin man with a baleful countenance. He was attired in grey overalls, sported a rather greasy flat cap and was accompanied by a fat, vicious looking dog. As I approached, he jangled an enormous set of keys noisily.
‘I’m looking for the –’ I began.
‘They’re in the hall,’ he said in a voice as dry as sawdust. ‘And watch the floor on the corridor. I’ve just buffed it.’ Perhaps he had trained at the same College for Would-be Caretakers as Connie, I mused.
In the hall, a group of people was standing just below the stage, one small man waving his hands around and talking excitedly. When I reached the gathering, I coughed quietly.
The small man – who wore a pair of extremely tight jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned on the back with the motif ‘Wrinkled Was Not One of the Things I Wanted to be When I Grew Up!’ spun round. ‘Ah, and you must be Gervase Phinn!’ I nodded. ‘Welcome, welcome!’ he cried, grasping my hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘I’m Raymond, but everyone calls me Ray. I’m your original drop of golden sun.’
‘I’m sorry?’ I said.
‘You know,’ he replied, breaking into song: “Doe a deer, a female deer. Ray a drop of golden sun.” ’
‘Ah, indeed.’ I smiled weakly.
‘Oh ye-es!’ said Ray, scrutinising me as an art expert might an old master. ‘I can just see you in black boots. You’re ideal. Margot does have a knack of picking the right people. She said you’d be perfect and she was right. I feel sure you’ll be a natural for the part. And I don’t expect you’ll need much direction since I suppose that being a school inspector is not that far removed from that of an SS officer, is it?’ He swung back to the group of people waiting patiently. ‘This is our little troupe of thespians. As per usual, we have a surfeit of nuns, an abundance of children wanting to play the parts of the little von Trapps but we are, like all amateur dramatic productions these days, bereft of young men.’ He smiled and took my arm. ‘Do you know, I spend so much time looking for young men,’ he added.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘And this,’ announced Ray with a dramatic flourish of his hands, ‘is our replacement stormtrooper, Gervase.’ There was a ripple of applause.
‘Not the most convincing name for a stormtrooper, is it?’ observed a large bearded individual sitting on the stage.
‘Bernard, really!’ said Ray before turning to me and taking my arm. ‘You’ll get to know us all in the course of the evening, Gervase, so I will dispense with introductions. Just take a pew and I’ll let you know when I want you on stage. Now, let us make a start, so a bit of hush everyone. I want to go through the scene with Liesl and Rolf again. It’s still not quite right.’
I watched Liesl and Rolf going though their paces with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why on earth had I let myself be press-ganged into this? I asked myself. I recognised the woman playing the part of Liesl, Captain von Trapp’s eldest child. She was the Head of Food Technology a
t the school in whose hall we were rehearsing. She was an extremely thin and intense-looking woman with large staring eyes and long straggly hair. I had last seen her trip the boards two years before in Castlesnelling High School’s production of Oliver! when she had played the part of Nancy and had had a rather unfortunate confrontation with the fearsome dog playing Bullseye. Now, here she was, taking on an entirely different role as the teenage von Trapp.
‘Look, darling,’ Ray told her now, ‘it says in the libretto that Liesl in this scene is “awkward, naïve and generally unknowing in the ways of sophistication”. Do you think we could have a bit more of the innocence and naïvety. Imagine you are one of the girls you teach.’
‘I think the last words to come to mind when I think of the girls I teach are “innocence” and “naïvety”,’ said the Head of Food Technology, raising her eyebrows. ‘Judging by the conversations I hear in the cookery room, most of them could tell us all a thing or two.’
‘Well, just try, darling, to be more unworldly,’ said Ray. ‘And Rolf, you are supposed to be completely bowled over by this beautiful young woman in the first bloom of her youth. Could you look a little more enamoured with Liesl. You look as if you have acute constipation.’
I took a seat next to an elderly man in a black suit.
‘I’m Zeller,’ he told me, without talking his eyes off the stage.
‘I’m Gervase,’ I replied.
‘No, no! I’m Zeller in the play. Herr Zeller, the Gauleiter. I come to arrest Captain von Trapp. I’m really George Furnival of Furnival’s Funeral Parlour in Collington. We’ve been established since 1887.’ He rootled in his pocket and produced a black-edged card which he thrust into my hand. ‘Here, in case there’s a death in the family. You’ll find us very discreet and respectful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I supplied the coffins for the school’s production of Oliver! the other year, you know,’ he continued. ‘There were quite a few favourable comments about them.’ The man was tailor-made for the part of a Gestapo official: long despondent face, short black hair parted down the middle, cold eyes as grey as the autumn sky and a vulpine mouth. His voice was wonderfully whispery and unnerving. I could just imagine him turning up at two o’clock in the morning in a long black leather coat.
‘I don’t know why I agreed to do this,’ he said.
‘Neither do I,’ I agreed.
‘I suppose it’s good for business,’ he told me.
‘Good for business?’ I repeated.
‘Aye, getting your face known in the community, networking, making contacts, chance to promote your business. Pity there are no coffins in this production. I did suggest to Raymond that perhaps one of the nuns could cop it and I could provide a coffin or maybe have the last scene in a crypt, but he’s not one to be open to suggestions. These artistic types are very unpredictable. I had a tidy little acknowledgement about my coffins in the programme when they did Oliver! He paused and looked round at me. ‘We very nearly had a fatality, you know. Old Mr Dutton of “Dutton’s Carpets of Distinction”, him who had your part, fell off the stage and broke a leg. Could have broken his neck. Yes, it could have been very nasty.’ He sounded almost disappointed.
The Head of Food Technology had now launched into song with: ‘I am sixteen going on seventeen, innocent as a rose –’
‘More like thirty going on forty, if you ask me,’ commented Mr Furnival. ‘Mind you, with a bit of stage make-up, a long blonde wig and subdued stage lights she should be all right. It’s amazing what a bit of make-up can do. I do a lot of embalming, you know. It’s quite an art form.’
It soon came to what Ray described as ‘Gervase’s little spot’. I sounded like the acne of the production.
‘Watch your step,’ warned Mr Furnival, as I went forward to climb the steps to the stage. ‘We don’t want another person breaking a leg.’
‘Now,’ said the producer, ‘this is the dramatic climax of the drama. We are in the garden of Nonnberg Abbey. A gaggle of nuns is standing anxiously by the door.’ Ray paused in his narration. ‘I’m not sure what the collective noun is for nuns. Anyway, the nuns are standing anxiously by the door. Could we look anxious, please, nuns? You’re not waiting for a number 9 bus. The von Trapps enter nervously, clutching their cases. They hear a noise and hide in the shadows. Do try and look as if you’re frightened, von Trapps. Cluster, don’t queue. Rolf enters. Gone are his lederhosen and Tyrolean hat. He is now dressed in SS uniform. He swaggers onto the stage. The light from his torch sweeps before him. It picks out Maria. She gasps. Then it lights up the Captain. He scowls. Don’t overdo the scowl, please, Bernard. The Captain walks towards Rolf. Rolf flashes. Flash, please, Rolf. Now draw your pistol. Just use your fingers for the time being, please, Fraser. He calls: “Lieutenant!” Then he sees Liesl. She looks appealingly at him. We hear the lieutenant’s footsteps approaching. Rolf clicks off the light. The sound draws nearer and nearer. The lieutenant struts onto the stage. This is you, Gervase.’ I limped onto the stage. ‘He looks around arrogantly,’ continued the producer. ‘He should have with him two or three stormtroopers,’ Ray explained, ‘but we haven’t got enough men for the stormtroopers and, anyway, we can’t afford to hire all those uniforms, so it’ll just have to be you, Gervase, looking nasty and threatening.’ His voice became suddenly dramatic again. ‘Then Rolf changes his mind and decides not to betray the von Trapps after all. He calls: “No one out here, sir!” “All right!” snarls the lieutenant. “Come along.”’
We tried the scene a couple of times and Ray seemed well satisfied. ‘Oh, I could feel the tension,’ he said. ‘My heart was in my mouth. However, Gervase, I’m not so sure that that limp quite works. I was wanting more of a braggadocio.’
‘Braga-what-o?’ I asked, quite perplexed.
‘A strut. Can you strut or swagger, onto the stage?’
‘Difficult, really. I’ve just had a knee operation,’ I told him. ‘It’s a real limp, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh well, we’ll have to keep the limp in then.’
‘But I have a limp!’ called Mr Furnival, who had been watching proceedings intently. ‘There can’t be two of us with limps.’
‘No, you are quite right, George,’ said Ray. ‘Dispense with yours.’
‘Dispense with mine!’ he retorted. ‘I’ve taken ages perfecting that limp.’
‘Yes, I know,’ sighed Ray, ‘but yours is an artificial limp, Gervase’s is a real one.’
At nine o’clock prompt the caretaker arrived. ‘Let’s be having you,’ he bellowed from the back of the hall, ‘I want to lock up.’
‘Right, everyone,’ announced Ray. ‘Let’s call it a day. Next Tuesday, please, for those in the ball scene.’
‘And stack the chairs before you leave!’ shouted the caretaker.
‘Stacking chairs,’ retorted Ray.
‘And put your litter in the bins. There were plastic cups all over my floor last week.’
‘Picking up litter,’ Ray trilled back, retrieving a crisp packet from the floor.
‘And somebody’s been tampering with the electrics back stage so whoever it is, can stop it.’
‘And no tampering with the caretaker’s electrics back stage,’ said the producer, giving the sticklike fellow an immense smile. ‘Is that everything covered?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure there’ll be other things,’ grumbled the caretaker. ‘There always are.’
‘Oh, I’m certain of it,’ replied the producer.
It occurred to me, as I observed the caretaker stomping around the hall, that there was someone infinitely more suitable than I to take on the role of the SS stormtrooper. It was clear no one was going to argue with this man, especially since he was accompanied by the fat brute of a dog with a body like a barrel and cold, grey eyes. I had immediately recognised the creature when I had set eyes on it in the school entrance. It had been Bill Sikes’s dog, Bullseye, in the production of Oliver! but had ended up terrorizing Nancy, alias the Head of Food Te
chnology, and I noticed that the woman was now giving the dog a wide berth as she edged for the door.
‘Are you the new recruit then?’ asked the caretaker, jangling his keys noisily, as he followed me to the exit. The dog followed behind us, rumbling like a distant train.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Well, I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’
‘It’s only a small part,’ I told him.
‘It is this year, mate,’ he said, ‘but you’ll be the leading man in the next production, you mark my words. They suck you in. That’s what they do. That big woman, the fat nun with the plummy accent, takes no prisoners. She won’t take no for an answer. Nobody argues with her. I don’t know what she said to the Headmaster but she got round him to let them rehearse here in the school hall. And no one bothered to ask me, and it’s all extra work for me, you know – keeping the heating on, cleaning up afterwards, stopping late to lock up.’
At that moment the woman we had been discussing could be heard coming down the corridor behind us, singing a snatch of ‘Climb Every Mountain’.
‘Hold up,’ said the caretaker, ‘here she comes.’
His dog stopped, turned, curled a lip, showed an impressive set of sharp teeth and moved towards her, growling menacingly.
‘Shut up, you silly creature!’ ordered Mrs Cleaver-Canning. The dog stuck its tail between its legs and lowered its head. It had met its match.
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