A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

  ‘No food?’

  ‘Last night’s “supper in the Mess” – doesn’t that sound sophisticated? – will still be with me when we reach our next stop. I’ll be lucky to get into the lilac dress tonight. The portions reminded me of my oldest friend’s mother, a lovely human being,’ continued Sally as she drank her tea. ‘She had three sons before the twins were born and until they were sixteen or so Mrs Petrie always gave the girls the same amount of food as she gave their great hulking brothers. Fine for Rose, who’s tall and naturally thin, plus an incredible athlete, but poor little Daisy is your height, Millie, and hated all that food on a plate. Her mother was convinced that her small daughter had to be delicate, because her build was so different from that of her twin or their brothers.’ Sally smiled at a pleasant memory. ‘She’s so delicate she’s now in the ATA ferrying Spitfires.’

  Millie was fascinated. ‘She delivers Spitfires to airfields? A girl?’

  ‘I’ll explain the ATA in the lorry,’ promised Sally and since Millie had finished her porridge, they called out their thanks and goodbyes to the staff and headed, half grudgingly, towards their transport.

  Soon the three friends were seated on a wooden bench in their lorry waiting for everyone else to load. By now, the same people always sat together; only the very few loners looked desperately for spaces once everyone else was accommodated. The musicians sat together, the actors sat together, the soubrettes sat together.

  ‘When you think about it,’ Millie said, ‘It’s actually quite sensible to sit with your peers; then everyone can discuss the performance and make suggestions for improvement. There’s really little else to do except sleep – and even that’s debatable on these lorries.’

  ‘How did you travel before the war?’

  ‘With a ballet company, do you mean, Sally?’

  ‘Yes. We do always get such a warm welcome from the troops, but the travelling and the accommodation is pretty basic, isn’t it?’

  ‘In some cases stars do travel differently or separately from the rest of the company, I suppose. Max, Sam, Sybil and Lal all travel in a lorry just like us, no special seating, no being whisked from place to place in expensive chauffeur-driven cars, no private railway carriages – I’ve been on one of those in the US, amazing. We had a butler, a chef and a valet. One dancer had her toy dogs with her and the butler walked them whenever we stopped. And the food … the Ritz in a railway carriage. I could have become used to travelling like that. Patrick always said as long as the lavatory flushes and the bed linen is clean nothing else is important and so far, my friends, that’s what we’ve had.’

  ‘So no complaints, Millie?’

  Millie remained quiet and, in her mind, Sally ran over the accommodations they had shared in the past year.

  ‘There was the Nissen hut with mould growing on the walls.’

  ‘And the loo that wouldn’t flush.’

  ‘Remember the beds with the bedbugs – it’s funny now but we were scratching for weeks, remember, Sally?’

  ‘Bed bugs are never going to be funny, Sebastian. We may be officers on paper but some of the “real” officers don’t see ENSA like that. We’re entertainers and too many people still have Victorian ideas about our morality – or lack of it. Besides, most military bases just don’t have accommodation suitable for a sudden visitation from a large group of people. Each and every base or hospital has tried, I think, to make us feel really welcome, even the ones who sort of mumble, “Tommy Trinder, or Vera Lynn or Laurence Olivier or whoever, is with you, isn’t he, she?” And of course, that person was going to be housed with the base commander, not in a Nissen hut with snow coming down the chimney.’

  ‘You never told me you were in that hut, Sal.’

  ‘No point; besides it was winter and it was one night. Do ballet companies have a pecking order, Millie?’

  ‘I suppose. Primas had the best rooms, the corps de ballet the worst, but we figured those in the better rooms had earned it and one day, maybe, with lots of hard work, we might just make it to a private suite at the Ritz. War’s a great leveller, though, and I imagine companies will all crowd together in the same hotel. I heard a whisper that the great Ninette de Valois is going to work with ENSA, arranging the travel, et cetera for dancers. She might not put a fledgeling ballerina and a prima in the same room but they’ll be in the same boarding house or hotel.’

  ‘Good Lord, we’ve talked so much we’re in England.’

  The lorries had stopped and, peering out through the rear curtains, the friends could see that they had arrived at an army base that was known to them.

  ‘We must be refuelling,’ said Sebastian, ‘and Sally, isn’t this the place where it snowed both inside and out?’

  Sally did not answer as she was busily engaged in watching a long procession of fairly small vehicles winding its way across a vast expanse of moorland.

  ‘Glory be,’ said Sebastian. ‘Ladies, stand up and welcome our American cousins. Those green things crawling all over the hills like ants, are Jeeps, American made and American driven.’

  ‘He’s right, Sally,’ came Millie’s voice, almost squeaky with unaccustomed excitement. ‘I hope they’re staying for lunch.’

  The Americans were not only staying for lunch but also for the foreseeable future. Of the ENSA company only Max, Sybil, Lal and Sam were invited to lunch with the base commander, his senior officers, and the senior American officers. The rank and file were given lunch in the canteen but the two groups were under strict orders not to mingle.

  ‘We’re on the same side,’ fumed Sally. ‘What do the brass hats think we’re going to do or say?’

  ‘They don’t care what we say; they’re afraid some soldier boy will tell us something. The Yanks are keeping their plans very close; I doubt even Max will be any wiser when he rejoins us,’ Sebastian speculated.

  That proved to be the case. Max admitted that the four of them had enjoyed an exceptionally good lunch but conversation had been very general. Common mistakes in a common language seemed to be an important point of discussion. Woe betide anyone who did not know that the hood of a car and the bonnet were the same thing, that a sidewalk was a pavement, that Monday through Friday was a more sensible and shorter way of saying Monday to Friday both days included.

  ‘Lalita was in her element,’ said Max proudly. ‘By the time we got to dessert, not pudding, they had no idea what nationality she was or which state of the United States of America was her birthplace. Two officers from Arizona asked her which part of New Mexico she was from and she said, “The second part,” and that made some of them laugh.’

  Sebastian looked puzzled.

  ‘Mexico, Sebastian,’ whispered Sally, ‘the second part of the name New Mexico.’

  And Millie laughed.

  Two hours later they were back on the road ‘like itinerant beggars’, said Sebastian, but this time the conversation was very different. Discussions of future performances were perfunctory at best, as everyone wanted to talk about the American invasion, but they were amazed by how little had been learned over lunch.

  ‘Come on, Max, the colonel must have said something,’ stated more than one company member.

  ‘Yes, he said they were setting up bases in England and Northern Ireland and were planning manoeuvres, but what they intended to manoeuvre I haven’t the slightest idea. He assured us they would be self-supporting as far as possible but whatever they had to source in Britain, they would buy. That promise, I would imagine, will be received warmly by any local shopkeeper, not to mention pub landlord. And that’s it, folks, as our new cousins say, read the newspapers, listen to the wireless. They’ll tell us when they’re ready.’

  With that they had to be content.

  FIFTEEN

  Spring 1942

  There were two pieces of good news waiting for Sally. Not only had Maude telephoned with the update on improvements in Jon’s health, saying that he was now allowed to have visitors, but her friend Daisy had written a brief n
ote to tell her that Sergeant Sam Petrie, escaped POW, had arrived home and was with his parents and family. Sally could not wait to share her news and went looking for Sebastian. He was onstage in the rehearsal studio working on a scene from Hamlet.

  She made to leave the studio but Max called her. ‘If you’re free, Sally, be an angel and feed Seb his lines; my Ophelia hasn’t arrived yet.’

  Sally took the script. Ophelia. How absolutely wonderful; she found herself hoping that Sylvia would be later still, not so late that Max would be absolutely furious – he could be quite frightening when riled – but late enough for Sally to have a chance to show the director what she could do. Hamlet was one of the plays she had studied at school.

  ‘Don’t panic, Sally, doesn’t matter if you fluff a bit. We’re not doing the whole scene, only the conversation between Hamlet and Ophelia. Take it as read that Hamlet has delivered the great soliloquy and he’s just about to break Ophelia’s heart by telling her to become a nun – or worse. Most of what she says is short but just read each last line to jog Seb’s memory and tell him what he’s supposed to say next. Are you all right with that?’

  Sally was not going to panic and was annoyed that Max had assumed that she would. ‘I know the play, Max, acted the second gravedigger at school.’

  ‘Then you’ll know he’s not in this scene. Don’t try thinking for me.’

  Sally was about to say that she had no intention of thinking for him but he cut her off.

  ‘Onstage now, both of you. Hamlet is talking to Ophelia, Sally; he can hardly do that if he’s onstage and she’s skulking around in the stalls.’

  Annoyed, Sally walked stiff-backed up the steps. ‘I wasn’t skulking,’ she told herself, ‘and what a nasty word to use.’ She looked down at Max and wondered what he had to smile about and then she forgot everything as she attempted to make sense of a small part of Shakespeare’s great play. A few minutes later, she was not onstage at the Theatre Royal but in a large, cold stone-built castle in Denmark. Was it summer or winter? She could not remember and vowed to reread the entire play later. For now, she decided that it was late spring. She looked at Sebastian, who smiled reassuringly at her and she began: ‘How does your honour for this many a day?’

  Sebastian replied and after what seemed like five minutes, Sally heard, ‘Thank you, Sally; that was helpful. What did you think, Seb? Still a bit to go?’

  ‘I’m there, Max and …’

  He stopped as the door opened and Sylvia Stone, the experienced actress who was to play Ophelia, slipped into the room somewhat shamefacedly. ‘Sorry, Max, Seb. Slept badly but it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Right, we’ll start at the beginning, as much as you can without the cheat sheets, Seb. Thank you, Sally.’

  ‘Thank you, Sally’ was short for ‘Go away, Sally, we don’t need you any more.’

  Sally managed to smile as she left. She walked back through the theatre reliving the experience of actually standing on the stage of the Theatre Royal, for five minutes, Ophelia to Sebastian’s Hamlet. Sebastian will tell me the truth about my delivery, even if he was concentrating on remembering his lines. She got back to Sam’s studio lost in a delightful dream of playing the part of Ophelia onstage, not dressed in her uniform shirt and skirt but in some sort of Danish regal garment. No, the gown wouldn’t be regal. Ophelia was a young girl and not part of the royal family. Something white, perhaps, in a soft floaty material.

  ‘What are you doing, Sally? You almost knocked me down.’ Sybil had appeared in the door of her office.

  ‘Sorry, Sybil, I was daydreaming.’

  ‘Something nice, I hope.’

  She could not possibly tell Sybil, of all people, and instead said, ‘Wonderful news, Sybil, two lots. A friend’s brother, who was a POW in Germany, has just arrived home. So exciting; he’s such a super chap.’

  ‘Well, that is incredible news but surely the Germans didn’t just release him?’

  ‘No, it’s all really exciting. He escaped from a working party, somehow made his way to Italy, where he worked with the partisans for a time, and then, and I’ve no idea how, he made it to the south of France … and arrived home a week or two ago.’

  ‘Lovely, it’s like a novel or a good play. A little love interest there, perhaps?’

  ‘No, not Sam. He was like a big brother. Lots of my school friends were really keen on him, in fact on all of the Petrie brothers. But there is another of my close friends who is, I’m quite sure, very special to Sam and, goodness knows she deserves some happiness.’

  ‘And the second piece of good news? Your splendid naval officer, I’m sure.’

  Sally felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment and excitement. ‘It’s wonderful, Sybil, just wonderful. I may be allowed to see him. His old nanny is going to see him this weekend. Maude will let me know how he is and whether …’

  She could not continue. So many doubts. So many worries.

  Sybil patted her. ‘Of course Jon will want to see you, Sally. Everything will be all right, even if it takes time. I’m sure of it. Now you’d better change out of that skirt; trousers will be fine. We’re trying a new number, something big; you’ll have the solo; two or three of the tap dancers – if any of them can sing, that is – will back you up, all of our male dancers, even if we have to rope Seb in; he’s quite a good hoofer. I’m sure you know it; “Chattanooga Choo Choo”.’

  ‘The incredible Glenn Miller. Golly, are you sure?’

  ‘Go change, Sally. Jessie’s waiting for you.’

  Sally had worked a few times with Jessie, Sam’s assistant, and she hurried to get ready.

  The first words Jessie had spoken to Sally in some time were, ‘You know the lyrics?’

  ‘Not perfectly. I have sung along when it’s on the wireless but I’m not sure that I’d be completely accurate.’

  Jessie pointed to a copy lying on the piano. ‘Can you read music?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘That means no, then. Fine, read it to me, as far as you can remember, in the same tempo as you’ve heard it sung on the wireless.’

  It seemed a strange request but Sally was not a musician and had no idea whether or not this was usual and so she went along with the request. She opened the booklet, took a calming breath and began to read. Once or twice she found herself out of breath but she finished and dared raise her head to look at the pianist. Jessie made no reference to her reading, merely saying, ‘Sit down in that chair and read it again.’

  She did as she was told.

  ‘Much better, Brava. Do you know what the difference was?’

  Sally had not the slightest idea.

  ‘When you were sitting, Sally, your feet were never still. You moved your legs, your body, to the beat you were hearing in your head. You were feeling it and feeling it makes all the difference in singing and in acting.’ She handed Sally the sheet music. ‘Now take the song away and learn the words and if you’re practising while you’re washing your smalls, move your feet.’

  It was Sally’s turn to wash the supper dishes that evening and she stood at the sink, apron around her slender waist and felt the beat.

  Millie, who probably knew what she was doing, said nothing, but Sebastian watched her for a moment and then said, ‘I like the wiggling, Miss Brewer, but what on earth are you doing?’

  ‘I’m feeling the beat for my new show piece.’

  ‘Interesting, but wouldn’t it be better if I played it for you or –’ he looked at his watch and made a face – ‘we turned on the wireless.’ With two neighbours in their eighties, Sebastian never played the piano after eight o’clock in the evening.

  Millie smiled. ‘If old General Fitzallan could see our Sally wiggle, Seb, he’d be asking if he could turn the pages for you, no matter how late it is.’ She turned to Sally. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you are to take “Chattanooga Choo Choo” to France?’

  ‘I wish we did have a date, Millie, but Max did seem really sure that we’re down at the bo
ttom of the list.’

  ‘Hey, come on, Sal, we’re nowhere near the bottom.’

  ‘Sorry, Sebastian, but I only meant as far as funding for overseas tours is concerned. If Vera Lynn agrees to go, money will be found. Only right, I suppose.’

  ‘Are you still as happy to go overseas, Sally?’

  Sally flushed. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she asked. ‘You’re thinking about Jon and whether or not he’s able to have visitors, but even if he is, maybe he doesn’t want me as a visitor. Maudie hasn’t contacted me about vis-iting Jon. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s forgotten all about me. He was so kind to me once and because he was lonely he asked me to write but maybe when he had time to think about it, he realised that it was a mistake.’

  ‘Sally Brewer, he realised nothing of the kind. Was it ENSA or the feeble old actor in Dartford who stole your self-confidence?’

  ‘Neither. I am self-confident but I am also not so conceited that I can’t see where I need improvement. Sybil and Millie and you, Sebastian, are improving my dancing, but Nellie Melba couldn’t turn me into a singer, which is fine as I have no desire to be a singer. I’m an actress.’

  ‘Positively spoken. Now let’s have a run through of the train song.’ And making what he thought were train noises, Sebastian led the girls into the front room. He had just opened the keyboard when the telephone rang. ‘Drat it, who could that be?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Millie pointed out and Sebastian answered the telephone.

  ‘Of course, one moment, please.’

  He held the receiver out to Sally. ‘For you, Sal. Come along, Millie, back to the kitchen.’

  Her heart was beating so strongly that Sally felt the need to put her free hand on her heart to calm it somehow. ‘Hello,’ she said somewhat tentatively, ‘Sally speaking.’

  ‘Jon here.’ A moment of silence and then he spoke again. ‘How are you, Sally?’

  ‘Jon?’ Now it seemed as if her heart had stopped altogether. Everything appeared to have stopped; she was even holding her breath. She coughed and all was normal. What should she say, what should she ask? So many questions were in her mind.