by Hugh Fraser
‘Of course they can, but the old bat’s so fucking greedy she can’t see an earner go by without kicking up a fuss.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Probably throw her a fiver to keep her quiet.’
‘You’re making a few quid though?’
‘Yeah. It’s going really well. We’ve got toffs queuing up for girls.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Apart from lover boy slobbering all over me.’
‘Is he still smitten?’
‘Not half. He says he wants to marry me when his divorce comes through.’
A couple of gents in suits appear beside us and one of them asks us if we’d like to join them for a drink in a weird accent that might be Swedish. Lizzie tells them we’re just leaving but we’d love to have a drink with them another time and they move on. We go to the cloakroom, collect our coats, Lizzie gives the girl half a crown and we walk up to Shaftesbury Avenue.
There’s a show called ‘Robert and Elizabeth’ on at the Lyric Theatre, with a big poster of June Bronhill and Keith Michell looking all romantic, and Keith’s wearing more make-up than June. I remark that I could fancy Miss Bronhill and Lizzie says she wouldn’t kick Keith out of bed either. We turn into Wardour Street and when we get to the Marquee there’s people milling around outside and a rich smell of hash. There’s a poster on the door for Booker T and a support band called Blues by Five. We pay six bob each to get in and leave our jackets in the cloakroom. As we go down the narrow corridor, I can hear a tasty version of ‘Cross Road Blues’.
The club is packed tight and it’s hot and sweaty, with a hundred cigarettes stoking up the fug. The band are sounding really bluesy and sexy and the guitarist is weaving a great solo as we squeeze through the crowd, until we can see four of them in a line at the front of the stage with the drummer behind. They look all clean cut in white shirts and straight trousers, and not much like rock musicians, but they can really play the blues. The singer’s moving well with a hand mic and the crowd are loving it. I put my arm round Lizzie, we swing our hips to the beat and I start to relax and let go. We get a couple of slow ones then they finish up with ‘Shake Your Moneymaker’. We have a bit of a jive and the crowd give them a big send off. The roadies come on and start shifting the speakers and we move to the bar.
When I can finally get served, I buy two treble whiskies and we go back to the main room to get a spot near the stage. On the way there a scuffle breaks out between a couple of young blokes. One of them is accusing the other of bumping into his girlfriend and nicking her purse out of her pocket and they’re squaring up to each other and throwing punches. As we move back out of the way I tread on something. I look down and see it’s a leather purse, so I pick it up and offer it to the girl. She takes it off me and as her boyfriend staggers back after collecting a right hook, she waves it in his face and he looks at it, mumbles an apology to the other bloke and things simmer down. As we get near the front of the stage Lizzie says she thinks she’s seen the tough guy before, playing drums with some band from Shepherds Bush.
The music from the speakers fades and the singer from the support band comes on and announces Booker T & the MGs. The audience clap and hoot and Booker Jones walks on and sits at the organ, followed by the drummer, bass player and the guitarist, and they kick off with ‘Time is Tight’, really funky and loud. The organ sound is hard and edgy and so is Steve Cropper’s guitar. Steve and the bass player don’t move much but they play really tight and the music’s loud and punchy, but somehow smooth at the same time. Me and Lizzie move back through the crowd to where we can dance. I’m shaking and twirling and lost in the joy of it, when a couple of young West Indians with snaky hips start moving with us and we open up and let them in. The music goes on and on with hardly any breaks and by the time we get to ‘Green Onions’ and it’s all over, I’m about ready to collapse. The audience are still clamouring for more but Booker’s not coming out again, so we say goodnight to the dancing boys and head for home.
When the cab drops us off on Maida Vale we go into the foyer and find Dennis fast asleep behind the desk. We creep past him so’s not to wake him, ease the lift gate open as quietly as we can and go up to our floor. Lizzie puts a finger to her lips as we get out of the lift, and it’s another creep past her door in case Gerald’s still awake. When we get into mine I pour us both a nightcap and look at the programme for Sports Day at Leavenden. The final of the inter-house lacrosse tournament starts at 2.30pm, then there’s the track and field events, after that an MP presents the prizes and we’re all invited to tea in the marquee.
‘Sounds like fun,’ says Lizzie, downing her drink, taking me by the hand and leading me to the bedroom.
23
It’s a warm day and the sun’s shining as we sit outside the French café in Clifton Road with coffee and croissants. Gerald had left by the time we got up and Lizzie was able to go to her flat and put on a summer dress and a cashmere cardigan. I’m wearing a light grey suit with a blue paisley silk scarf and we reckon we’re dressed about right. Lizzie’s bought a paper and she shows me a story about 300 people getting injured when 150,000 turned out in Liverpool to welcome the Beatles back from their world tour.
I leave Lizzie to get the bill while I go to the newsagent and buy a road map. We walk round to Hall Road, get into the Anglia and I work out the route to Leavenden and show it to Lizzie on the map. It’s over the river to Elephant and Castle, down the A20 and the school’s just beyond Tonbridge. I put the radio on and the reception from Caroline is even worse than usual so I change to the Light Programme and we listen to Saturday Club with Brian Matthew, as we head into town and over the river.
A couple of hours later I swing the car through the tall gates of Leavenden School for Girls and we roll up the long gravel drive. There are wide immaculate lawns on one side and trees on the other that seem to bow to us in the wind. We round a bend and there is the school, a large red brick Victorian mansion with a long side wing that looks more recent. As we approach we see a marquee on the lawn near to the house and the sports field in front of it with the white lines of the running track and a pitch marked out, with goals at each end. There’s a large crowd of parents there already. A few girls are jogging on the track and some others are trotting about on the pitch with lacrosse sticks. I see a sign for the car park, with an arrow pointing round to the side of the house. I follow its direction and park the Anglia between a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and a Bentley Continental.
‘I told you we should have come in the Lagonda darling,’ says Lizzie, as we get out of the car.
‘And worn a hat,’ I say, looking at the parents walking towards the sports field and the array of elegant bonnets. As we’re crossing the car park, a black Daimler pulls in and drives past us.
‘Oh fuck!’ says Lizzie, taking my elbow and steering me round the corner of the house.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.
‘Gerald and his missus.’
‘What?’
‘In the Daimler.’
‘Have they got kids here?’
‘Must have. She’s liable to kill me if she sees me. It’s best if I leave you to it.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘It’ll only be embarrassing and you’re here to see Georgie, not referee a fight.’
‘You’ve come to see Georgie too and she’ll be so glad you’re here.’
‘I don’t know.’
I look round the corner of the house and see Gerald get out of the car and open the rear door for a tall brunette in a blue dress and a pillbox hat with a feather. An older couple get out of the other side and the four of them make their way across the car park towards us.
‘It’s too late now.’ I grab Lizzie’s arm and lead her off towards the playing field. I head for the marquee, in case there’s a drink on offer that I can get down her, but as we get near the tent a heavy set woman in a pair of brown culottes, knee socks and plimsolls comes out of the house followed by a
line of girls carrying lacrosse sticks, who form up in front of the marquee. I get a rush of pride when I see that Georgie’s among them, and I want to wave and try to catch her eye but a group of more soberly dressed women have now come out from the marquee, and an older one among them is mounting a small platform in front of the tent. The parents all gather round and the lady on the platform welcomes everyone to Leavenden School Sports Day, says how lucky we are with the weather, tells us that the final of the lacrosse tournament will now be played between Richmond and Hazelwood houses and asks us to make our way to the pitch, where the game will begin in ten minutes. I look round at Lizzie. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. Fuck’em,’ she says. A stiff looking gent standing next to her turns and raises an eyebrow and we head for the touch line. We catch up with Georgie on the way, wish her good luck and I can tell she’s glad we’ve come. She runs off onto the pitch and I turn round and bump straight into Gerald.
‘I do beg your pardon… Oh,’ he says, as he recognises me.
His wife is standing very still, staring icily at Lizzie, and the older couple are either side of her. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ says the older man.
‘Oh, yes of course,’ says Gerald. ‘Erm… Elizabeth and Rina, this is Lord and Lady Hackett and er… my wife Jessica.’
‘You’re both a bit young to have a daughter here, aren’t you?’ says His Lordship as he shakes my hand.
‘My sister,’ I say.
‘Ah. In the team?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which house?’
‘Richmond.’
‘Our two are Hazelwood.’
‘I think the game’s about to start. Let’s go over the other side, it’s less crowded,’ says Gerald, taking his wife’s arm and moving off.
‘Won’t you join us? I have a small flask,’ says His Lordship, with a twinkle.
‘We’ll stay this side thanks. I think these might be the Richmond supporters,’ I reply.
‘Probably wise. Wouldn’t want any hooliganism breaking out, eh what?’
Her Ladyship favours us with a smile. ‘Come on Eustace, we’re going to miss the start,’ she says, walking off after Gerald and the woman who’s about to take him for every penny he’s got.
The referee blows her whistle and Lizzie and I find a place behind the touchline, while the teams form up in each half. Richmond are in blue and Hazelwood are wearing white. Georgie’s standing with one foot slightly in front of the other, balanced and ready to go as the referee calls one girl from each team to the centre spot. The girls raise their sticks and bring them together so that the netted ends are touching. The referee places the ball in between the two nets, steps back and blows her whistle. The girls wrestle with the sticks for a moment until the Richmond girl gets the ball free and hurls it down the far side of the pitch. It’s caught by a Hazelwood girl and she runs forward, until her stick gets whacked by an opponent’s and the ball falls out, to be scooped up by a Richmond girl, who tries to get it in the air, but a jab from a Hazelwood stick makes her drop it. Several girls fight over the ball with a clattering of sticks, until one of them snaffles it, has a quick look round and skies it to our side of the pitch. Georgie belts past us in a blur, catches the ball and has a shot at goal. The keeper blocks it and passes it straight out to her winger on the far side who gets tackled hard and hits the ground. The referee blows her whistle and runs to the girl who’s gone down, but by the time she reaches her she’s on her feet again.
The game restarts. Richmond get possession and make good ground towards goal. Georgie’s in the thick of it and I’m so glad to see her getting stuck in to something that isn’t just her schoolwork. Lizzie and I are shouting encouragement and a woman beside us with a really deep voice is bellowing at Hazelwood every time they make a mistake. Richmond are still in their opponents’ half and looking like they’re going to score until a defender digs the ball out, whacks it up the other end and a couple of Hazelwood forwards dance it round the goalie and put it in the net.
I look across the pitch and see His Lordship doing a victory jig, Gerald’s cheering and clapping his hands and even the wife has cracked a smile. The game starts again and Richmond fight really hard but in spite of several attempts at goal, with Georgie leading a couple of them, Richmond fail to score and it’s 1-0 at half time. We walk away from the pitch and sit down in some long grass nearby.
‘I’d no idea it was such a rough and tough game,’ says Lizzie.
‘Nor me,’ I reply, lying back and chewing on a blade of grass.
‘Hardly ladylike, eh?’
‘Good fun though.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Looks like Gerald’s wife is doing the martyr bit, so you’re all right.’
‘If she sucks her cheeks in much more she’ll swallow herself.’
‘Are those her parents?’
Lizzie nods. ‘Lord and Lady Hackett, they own Yorkshire.’
Lizzie’s just lowering herself down beside me when we hear three blasts on a whistle. We get to our feet and go back to the touchline as the teams form up for the second half.
The two captains touch sticks in the centre and the referee puts the ball between the nets and blows her whistle. This time the Richmond captain wins the ball and passes it to the winger who catches it, cradles in her net, runs down the touchline and lobs it into a space in front of the goal where about six girls dive in and fight for it. There’s a tangle of bodies and a clashing of sticks until one of them hikes it out to Georgie, who’s been hovering nearby, and she whacks it past the goalie and scores. We whoop and cheer as the referee blows her whistle and the woman with the deep voice lays into the Hazelwood defence.
The game restarts and it’s looking fairly equal with play moving from one half to the other and a few failed shots from each team until Hazelwood score again, then Richmond equalise with a brilliant shot by a very tall girl, from almost the halfway line, and then a few minutes before the end, Georgie sends a great pass across the goal from the corner, the keeper dives for the ball and misses, and a Richmond girl scoops it up and hooks it into the back of the net. The referee blows the final whistle, the parents give a massive cheer and everyone claps the teams as they walk off the field towards the house.
Next there’s some races on the track and Georgie comes second in the hundred yards. The last event is the high jump, and the tall girl who was in the lacrosse match wins it easily. She gets a big round of applause and then there’s a general move by the spectators towards the marquee. We follow on, keeping a good distance between us and Gerald’s party. As we’re entering the tent, the lady who made the speech before the game comes up to me. ‘Are you Georgina Walker’s sister, by any chance?’
‘Yes, I am,’ I say.
‘Margot Rainsford, I’m the headmistress,’ she says, holding out her hand.
We shake, and I introduce Lizzie to her.
‘I just wanted to say how delighted we are to have Georgina at the school. Her academic performance has been exemplary, we think it’s highly likely that she’ll get into Cambridge and now, as you’ll have seen, she’s distinguishing herself on the sports field as well.’
‘It’s nice of you to say so,’ I reply.
‘I’m very keen to have more pupils of her type at Leavenden and I very much hope that Georgina will be the first of many. Do enjoy your tea.’
I almost feel like tugging my forelock as she sweeps off, approaches a woman with a lorgnette, who’s bending forward studying the top tier of a cake stand, and taps her on the shoulder.
‘Snobby cunt,’ says Lizzie.
‘Just the sort of language I’d expect, from a girl of your type.’ I say.
As Lizzie laughs and gives me a dig with her elbow, I see Georgie come into the tent. I give her a wave and she comes over.
‘Here’s our goal scorer!’ says Lizzie.
‘We only just did it,’ says Georgie.
‘You were great out there,’ I say.
‘
Thanks.’
‘And you almost won your race.’
‘Natalie got a better start.’
‘Make sure you beat her next time,’ says Lizzie. Margot Rainsford mounts the podium, taps the microphone, congratulates the athletes and calls upon Harriet Cooper, member of parliament for Eastbourne to present the prizes. Harriet tells us how she owes her success to the fine education she received at Leavenden, dishes out the cups and medals and we all line up for tea and cakes.
‘Where’s Annabelle?’ I ask Georgie.
‘She’s not well.’
‘That’s a shame. I hope it’s not serious.’
‘Just a bad cold, but the matron’s made her stay indoors.’
‘Did you have a nice time at hers?’
‘It was amazing. We went riding and they’ve got a swimming pool.’
‘How lovely,’ I say, adding it to the list of things the new house is going to have.
When tea is finished, the headmistress tells us that the art room is open, if we would care to visit before we leave, and that she hopes she will see us all again at the forthcoming performance of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at the end of term. Georgie takes us to the art room, which is in the main house, and we look at the girls’ paintings, some of which are really good, and then she comes with us to the car park, thanks us for coming and we say goodbye.
As I pull the car out onto the drive I see her walking across the lawn towards the school and I feel sad to be leaving her. Lizzie senses it and puts her hand on my knee.
‘She’s fine,’ she says.
‘I know… it’s just…’
‘She’s fine, really.’
• • •
After a pleasant run through the Kentish countryside we settle in among the traffic on the A20 and head for London. We talk about the day and how rude the headmistress was and Lizzie says it’s lucky that Gerald’s sort don’t go in for scenes in public, considering the mayhem his wife caused when she caught them in bed together, and we have a laugh about how furious she looked, and how the feather in her pill box hat was shaking. When we get into London we decide to go home and change, then go out for a posh meal and on to a club. I park the Anglia on Hall Road and we walk round the corner to the flats.