Rhiannon

by Carole Llewellyn

  ‘I’ve told you before, the name’s Gus.’

  Dressed in her stage costume Rhiannon stood nervously in the wings. On stage the Empire Belles were coming to the end of their dance routine. It was almost time for her big moment and Rhiannon struggled to quell the butterflies in her stomach. As the dancers linked arms and, in unison, high kicked their way off stage to great applause, Rhiannon stood aside to make room for them.

  ‘Break a leg, kid,’ she heard Walter whisper from behind. She turned, and to her surprise saw Aunt Florrie standing alongside him. Her aunt flashed a smile and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’ Rhiannon felt a lump in her throat, touched to think her aunt and Walter had come to give her their support. Then, as the audience quietened, she heard Gus Davenport’s commanding voice.

  ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, today I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of sad news. Miss Sally Webber, your beloved little street urchin, is indisposed and sadly cannot be with us for tonight’s show.’

  Rhiannon watched him raise his hand to his ear to encourage a loud ‘Aahh’ from the audience. It worked.

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s very sad. But ... cheer up. I also bring good news. Tonight, standing in for Miss Webber’s cockney urchin, we have a new Welsh song-bird! She’s young ... she’s beautiful ... she’s also very talented. So please, put your hands together and give a big Empire Theatre welcome to ... Rhiannon!’

  In the wings Rhiannon hesitated as she waited to hear her surname. Then, realizing it wasn’t coming, and prompted by a nudge from Clara, she ventured on stage. As rehearsed, and remembering what Clara had told her, she slowly made her way to centre stage and, facing the auditorium, smiled a confident smile, hoping it masked her inner turmoil.

  Although she was aware of its being a packed house she was thankful to find that all she could see saw was the glow of the footlights at the end of the stage and, beyond that, a smoke-filled darkness.

  Rhiannon heard the orchestra begin the opening bars of her song. She took a deep breath ... this was it. The cockney song began with a slow tempo. Luckily, on cue, Rhiannon found her voice... .

  Now, all me life I wanted to be a barrow boy

  A barrow boy is all I’ve wanted to be.

  I own the title I sticks to it with pride.

  I’m a coster, a coster

  From over the other side.

  As the music became louder and stronger so did Rhiannon’s voice.

  I turned me back on all the ol’ society.

  I mingle where the big bananas grow.

  I buys ’em twenty shilling

  That’s how I makes me living.

  I ought to have been a barrow boy long ago.

  Get off me barrow!

  I ought to have been a barrow boy long ago.

  Then, as the orchestra played the melody, Rhiannon broke into a jaunty dance, dancing from one end of the stage to the other before returning to centre stage.

  It was a slightly breathless Rhiannon who encouraged the audience, with a gesture of her hands, to sing along with her for a final chorus of:

  I buys ’em twenty shilling

  That’s how I makes me living.

  I ought to have been a barrow boy long ago.

  Get off me barrow!

  I ought to have been a barrow boy long ago.

  At the end of the song, an overwhelmed Rhiannon listened as the audience showed their appreciation with loud applause, whistles and by stamping feet. As she removed her cloth cap, revealing her long unruly chestnut hair, she gave an elaborate bow. She couldn’t believe that with just one song, she’d won over the whole house. She soaked up the applause. It was then that she knew – this was what she wanted.

  As she left the stage her eyes glanced across at Gus. He smiled and showed his approval by joining in the audience applause.

  Off stage Adam Fletcher caught around her. ‘Well done. You’re a natural. I told you you could do it.’

  ‘Thank you, Adam. I can’t wait to do it again.’

  ‘Well, it seems you’ll not have to wait long; the next show starts at ten past eight and, with no news as yet from Sally Webber, it looks as if you’ll be going on again.’

  Back in the dressing-room, while Clara helped her out of the costume the other girls were full of praise.

  ‘What’s this? It’s addressed to you.’ Clara picked Frank’s letter off the floor.

  ‘Oh, it must have fallen from my skirt pocket.’ Rhiannon quickly retrieved it. ‘It’s a letter from home. It came this morning. With all that been going on I haven’t had time to open it. I think I’ll save it until I’m back at the hotel.’

  ‘A love letter from an old boyfriend, is it?’

  ‘No, don’t be daft. It’s from my neighbour’s son; we’re just friends.’

  ‘If that’s the case, how come you’re blushing, then? Fancy him, did you?’

  Rhiannon poked her tongue out. ‘Now wouldn’t you like to know?’

  After returning the letter safely to her skirt pocket, she made her way to her aunt’s dressing-room.

  ‘Well done, child. I’m really proud of you,’ Florrie gushed.

  ‘I’ll second that,’ Walter piped in.

  ‘Oh, Aunt Florrie, Walter, I loved doing it. Do you think the audience liked me?’

  ‘Yes, child, I do believe they did.’

  There was a tap on the dressing-room door.

  ‘Come in,’ Florrie called.

  ‘Miss Grayson, Walter. I came to congratulate your niece on her performance.’

  ‘Thank you, Gus. We were just doing the same.’

  Gus turned to Rhiannon, and as he did, reached out to take her hand. ‘Congratulations, Rhi. You did really well. The audience loved you.’ He gently brushed the back of her hand with his lips.

  The touch of his warm lips on her flesh aroused her. She blushed. The way he looked at her told her that he was fully aware of the effect he was having on her. His piercing eyes stared into hers. ‘I thought that, with your aunt’s permission, and of course if you were agreeable, I might take you out for refreshments during the interval between shows.’

  Rhiannon’s heart skipped a beat. She was just about to accept his invitation when Florrie interjected.

  ‘What a kind thought, Gus. And, once again, we are of the same mind. I was just about to send out for a tray of tea and sandwiches. With Rhiannon having another show in less than an hour, I think it best that she stays put, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course – I understand,’ he answered. ‘Another time, maybe?’ With that he headed for the door.

  Rhiannon’s disappointment was obvious.

  ‘Come, come, child. I assure you it’s for the best.’

  Aunt Florrie had spoken and Rhiannon knew there would be no further discussion.

  At seven o’clock, just over an hour before the second show performance, Rhiannon, with Clara’s help, was just about to get into the street urchin costume when she heard, ‘I’ll take that, if you don’t mind?’

  Rhiannon turned and, much to her surprise, saw Sally Webber marching the length of the dressing-room.

  ‘As you can see, I’m fully recovered. I’ve spoken to Adam Fletcher and he agrees that I should take over for the next show.’

  ‘Are you sure? I really don’t mind doing it,’ Rhiannon almost pleaded.

  ‘No, I bet you don’t. But forget it. The spot is mine. By the way, Adam wants to see you.’

  Rhiannon left the girls’ dressing-room feeling totally dejected. Clara followed her out. ‘Don’t feel too bad, eh? You did really well this afternoon. If the truth be known, Sally got to hear how good you were too. I’m sure there’ll be other chances. Adam Fletcher can recognize talent a mile away.’

  Rhiannon made her way to the front of the auditorium, where she knew she’d find Adam.

  ‘Hi, Rhi, you’ve obviously seen Sally,’ Adam said.

  Rhiannon nodded.

  ‘Disappointed, eh?’

  Again she nodded.

  ‘I’m afraid
there was nothing I could do. After all, it is her slot.’

  ‘I know, but Adam I loved it so much, and now... .’

  ‘So, why not give the kid a slot of her own?’ Gus called from his table at the side of the stage.

  Rhiannon hadn’t even noticed he was there.

  ‘If only it were that easy, Gus. You know the show is timed out. Where would I find an extra slot?’ Adam asked.

  ‘One song, a four-minute slot. One less joke from Tom or one less illusion from Jack. An even simpler solution would be to merely shorten the interval by four minutes and your problem is solved.’

  Adam rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose I could—’

  ‘Oh please, Adam. One song ... my own song? You know I can do it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. In three days’ time I’m prepared to give you a proper audition. If you pass that, we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘Thank you, Adam. You’ll not regret it,’ she said as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Then, turning to Gus, she called. ‘Thank you. I owe you one.’

  He smiled and said, ‘I’m sure there’ll be something you can do for me one day.’

  ‘Now I wonder what that might be,’ Adam scoffed.

  Adam’s sarcasm was lost on Rhiannon. She had already left the auditorium, heading for her Aunt Florrie’s dressing-room. If she were to find a suitable song for the all-important audition, who better to advise her?

  Rhiannon gave a light tap on the dressing-room door.

  ‘Come in,’ Florrie Grayson called.

  Rhiannon entered.

  As usual Florrie’s dressing-room was a blaze of colour and filled with the heady perfume from the dozens of baskets of flowers, regularly sent from her adoring followers. The scent of the beautiful lilies closest to the door caught in Rhiannon’s throat and made her cough. Florrie sat at her dressing table, the bright lights surrounding the mirror highlighting her still youthful-looking face.

  Walter, relaxed on the chaise-longue in front of Florrie’s ornately decorated changing screen, peered over The Stage newspaper and welcome her with a ‘Hello there, young Rhi.’

  Rhiannon, unable to control her excitement for a moment longer, blurted out, ‘Aunt Florrie, Walter, I’ve such exciting news.’

  ‘Have you dear, now there’s a coincidence – so have we. But you first.’

  ‘Well it’s all down to Gus – Gus Davenport.’

  With a raised gloved hand Florrie interrupted her. ‘Rhiannon, must you be so familiar? Surely, at your age, it would be more appropriate to address him as Mr Davenport?’

  ‘Sorry, Aunt, but both Gus Davenport and Adam Fletcher insist I use their Christian names.’

  Florrie gave a loud ‘Tut-tut, it would never have happened in my day.’ Then, ‘Very well, carry on.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Rhiannon continued, ‘Gus suggested to Adam that I might be given my very own spot in the show and ... wait for it ... Adam is prepared to give me a “proper” audition and, if I pass that, then ... I’m on my way!’

  ‘Now that is good news. How very exciting for you, and how very kind of Gus to interject on your behalf. Don’t you agree Walter?’

  Rhiannon didn’t pick up on the sarcasm in Florrie’s voice or the look of disapproval she flashed at Walter.

  Walter muffled a cough, ‘Quite. But I think your good fortune has more to do with the great performance you gave as stand-in for Sally Webber this afternoon. Adam Fletcher is no fool. He, like the rest of us, couldn’t have helped but spot your obvious potential.’

  ‘Oh Walter, thank you. I do hope so. It’s all happening so fast, I have to pinch myself to make sure that it’s not a dream. Adam has given me the chance to prove my worth. All I need now is the right song ... Aunt Florrie? I thought, with your expertise, that you might be able to suggest one.’

  ‘Of course, I’d love to. If this is truly what you want, then Walter and I, at least while we’re still here, will do everything we can to steer you in the right direction. But be warned. This career you have chosen can often be a hard road to travel. And you’ll do well to remember that only a lucky few ever reach the top of their profession. I’ve seen many a talented performer fail to achieve their true potential. Success has a lot to do with luck; getting the right breaks and being in the right place at the right time. That said, I can’t deny that your good news has helped to ease my conscience.’

  ‘Why? I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘while you’re still here?’

  ‘I can’t say too much, because it’s not settled yet. But Walter and I may soon be leaving for New York.’

  Back at the Angel Hotel an exhausted Rhiannon lay on the bed. What a day it had been: her magical appearance on stage, the disappointment when Sally returned in time for the second show, Gus speaking up for her, Adam agreeing to give her an audition. To think that in just a few days she might actually be given her own spot in the show. And what about the bombshell when her Aunt Florrie announced that she and Walter might be leaving for America? Could this really be? And then there was the letter... .

  Rhiannon stared at Frank’s letter, glad that she’d resisted the temptation to open it sooner; reading it now would make a fitting end to an almost perfect day.

  8, The Terrace,

  Ponty,

  Near Bridgend,

  Glamorgan

  S. Wales.

  26th March 1909

  Dear Rhiannon,

  It was so good to hear from you. Fancy you two girls living it up with the toffs at the Angel Hotel. You won’t want anything to do with us valley folk soon.

  My mother sends her love, she hopes your aunt Florrie is looking after you and keeping you away from ‘the rougher element of theatre life’ whatever that means.

  Is Mair still behaving herself? I know how difficult she can be. But then, if your mother had walked out on you? She’s lucky to have a sister like you looking out for her. Although, having said that, you’ve been dealt a raw deal too. I often think of your dad and what he did for me and I want you to know that I will always be here for the two of you.

  I’m doing my best to arrange a trip to Cardiff but, with my shifts down the pit, it’s proving difficult. I’ll try and wangle it somehow. It would be so good to see you.

  Regards,

  Frank

  Rhiannon slowly folded the letter, wondering what Frank would say if he knew the truth about Mair. She’d thought the letter would be a great end to a great day. Instead it had made her realize how selfish and full of her own success she had been. She vowed to make things right with Mair. So that when Frank eventually made it to Cardiff the three of them would be together again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  May 1909

  Mair Parsons, alone in the Westgate Street apartment she shared with Harry and Nellie, lay on their crumpled double bed in the main room. Her own bedroom, although it had a double bed, was smaller, darker and much colder. She hated being here with Harry and Nellie and longed to be back at the theatre with Rhiannon and her friends. Since her arrival she hadn’t even been out through the door.

  Most mornings Harry left the digs early for work, leaving Nellie and Mair in their beds. Mair had taken an instant dislike to Harry. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, the way his eyes almost undressed her, or the liberties he took, throwing his arms around her at every opportunity. This way his hands always managed to brush her chest area made her skin crawl.

  Every morning, and only when she was sure that Harry had left for work, Mair would get herself out of bed and, before seeing to her own toilet and mindful not to wake Nellie, would proceed to light the small coal fire in the main room.

  At around half past ten Nellie, usually suffering a hangover, surfaced and made a pot of tea while Mair toasted bread on a fork in front of the small open fire. By twelve o’clock Nellie would be all dolled up and ready to go out, leaving Mair to spend another day cooped up in the apartment.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Mair had asked her ea
rlier that day.

  ‘It’s Saturday. There’s a matinée at the theatre today, so I’m off to meet some friends in the Theatre Bar. Your being here has made it very awkward for me to bring anyone back. Thank goodness Harry thought to rent me a room at the King’s Head,’ Nellie mumbled under her breath.

  Mair didn’t understand what her mother was going on about. ‘Can I come to the theatre with you?’ Mair asked, eager to see Rhiannon.

  ‘No, you certainly can’t! I’ll be back around six before Harry gets home from work. I’ll bring us some hot pies for tea.’

  Most nights, depending on how much money Nellie handed him, Harry and Nellie went to the King’s Head. Tonight was no exception.

  ‘How’d you do today?’ Harry had asked, as he tucked into a huge plate of meat pie and mash.

  ‘I did really well,’ Nellie replied, handing him a wad of white five-pound notes.

  ‘That’s my girl. We’re in the money and on the way up. There’s a lot more where this came from.’

  ‘Harry, how much longer do I have to... ?’

  Harry didn’t let her finish, ‘I’ve been thinking, now that Mair has joined us, we might look for a bigger place. A place with maybe three or four rooms for ... more privacy, eh?’

  ‘Can we afford it?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘Yes, if all goes to plan.’ He chuckled.

  ‘What plan? Harry Stone, what are you up to?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get home.’

  On Saturday, a week later, Mair, with just the small flickering flame of the dwindling coal fire for comfort, covered herself with the coarse blankets.

  Alone in the near darkness she felt so vulnerable and ... unloved. With Harry and Nellie even later than usual getting back from the pub, Mair’s mind began to play tricks. Where were they? What if they never came back? Every day, to no avail, she had waited and hoped that Rhiannon would come to look for her.