by Pamela Brown
Here followed their names in full. The Blue Doors read it when the paper came out on the following Thursday, and thought that it looked very well, but they were not prepared for the storm of protest and approval that it brought forth. All day the telephones in the three neighbouring houses rang, and people they had never heard of before said:
“But what a mad scheme!…”
“Fenchester has needed a theatre for years…”
“It is a lot of nonsense…”
“We shall certainly support it…”
“Well, what do people want?” cried Sandra in despair. “The people who don’t want a theatre needn’t be so irate about it. They just needn’t come, that’s all. No-one will force them to.”
It seemed hardly safe to go out. First they were attacked by an old lady who waved an umbrella at them and shouted, “I’d like to give you—theatre! What you all need is a box on the ears and a little hard work for a change.”
“Hard work! Hard work!” seethed Lyn. “I’d like her to do a stiff rep. season and see how she’d like it.”
Maddy giggled. “She’d be rather difficult to cast, wouldn’t she?”
But perhaps the people who approved of the idea were the worst. They gushed.
“And now, I’ve got a little niece who’s a lovely little actress. Never had any training of course, but I wondered if you would be able to give her a start.”
“Give her a start,” groaned Jeremy afterwards. “Let’s get our start first, for goodness’ sake. If things don’t get a move on it will be time to go back to the Academy and we shall have settled nothing.”
They moped about, going to the cinema too often and trying not to talk about the Blue Door Theatre in case it should all fall through. They felt hurt and baffled somehow, to think that after taking it for granted all these years it should suddenly present so many difficulties. And then they heard that the next council meeting was to be held one afternoon just before they departed for the Academy.
“But shall we know before we go back?” Vicky asked.
“I wish we could be there,” said Nigel, “and hear all the nattering that will go on.”
“Let’s hide ourselves behind the curtains of the council chamber, and at the most dramatic moment run out and fling ourselves on our knees at their feet,” suggested Maddy.
“Why bother to hide?” said her father. “There’s a public gallery where you are perfectly entitled to sit and hear the whole proceedings.”
“Can we? Oh, how lovely. How awful it will be, though! As bad as it was waiting to hear the results of the Seymore Contest.”
“Yes. For just as much, if not more, will depend on it,” agreed Lynette.
“What shall we wear?” asked Vicky, returning to the eternal feminine question.
“We must try to look very, very grown-up,” said Sandra, “otherwise they won’t think we are capable of such an undertaking.” The girls all pinned their hair up, except Maddy who was not allowed to, so she compromised by tying it back tightly, to look as much like a bun as possible.
They even wore hats to look respectable, and the boys put on dark lounge suits instead of their usual shapeless corduroys. They were glum and silent as they walked to the Town Hall.
“What an ugly building it is!” observed Lynette. “All that red brick—and those turrets!”
“Shall we be allowed to speak?” asked Maddy, as they mounted the ornate marble staircase.
“No!” said Sandra firmly. “If you as much as open your mouth, I shall take you home.”
“But there’s so much I’d like to say.”
“Wouldn’t we all!”
“If Mrs. Potter-Smith sits directly below us, I shall want to drop something on her, I know I shall,” threatened Maddy.
“This is terrible,” said Lyn, after they had sat in silence on the hard wooden chairs for some minutes. “Like waiting to hear one’s own death sentence.”
All round the walls of the lofty hall were enormous oil paintings of past councillors of Fenchester, wearing robes of office and clasping scrolls.
“What a batch of stooges!” observed Maddy. “I hope the present lot are a bit better.”
At this moment the councillors began to troop in and take their places round the long table in the centre of the hall. They were not a better-looking lot than their predecessors. Except for Miss Gaunt and Lord Moulcester they all looked rather dreary. And when Mrs. Potter-Smith sailed in, beaming all over her plump face, the Blue Doors hissed softly under their breath.
“What an entrance!” observed Lynette.
“What a part!” rejoined Nigel.
After much coughing and shuffling, the meeting began by the Town Clerk reading out the minutes of the last meeting. During this, which was long and boring and quite inaudible, Maddy sneezed loudly, and one of the lady councillors, looking up at the public gallery, saw the Blue Doors sitting there. She turned to her neighbour and whispered, and soon the news had gone right round the table.
“Like that party game,” observed Vicky. When Mrs. Potter-Smith heard the news she gaped up at them, quite taken aback.
“Now she realizes she can’t say all the rude things behind our backs that she had intended,” said Maddy. The flower on the top of Councillor Potter-Smith’s ridiculous hat quivered ominously.
There was quite a lot of business to be settled before the question of the Blue Door Theatre was brought up, and the seven in the gallery fidgeted and sighed and worried, with heavy frowns on their faces. At last the Mayor said, “And now I have here a petition handed to me by the Bishop on behalf of seven young Fencastrians.” He read out the petition that the Blue Doors had signed, asking for the use of the Blue Door Theatre and for a loan to be granted. Immediately a buzz of opinions went round the table. Bald heads and matronly hats got together in conclave.
“I should like,” said the Mayor, “to have your views on this separately. For my part I—er—feel that we have got on quite well without a theatre all these years.” The Blue Doors groaned inwardly. Then Miss Gaunt got up and spoke. The Blue Doors felt a wave of deep affection for their ex-headmistress.
“I think that this is one of the most exciting pieces of news Fenchester has had for a long while,” she began. “How it has happened that a town of this size should still be without a theatre I cannot imagine. I can vouch personally for the integrity and ability of the seven young people concerned, and I think that a theatre would add considerably to the attraction of the town, both for tourists and the country people from round about, as well as providing a much needed cultural interest. Should this excellent idea be carried out, I shall myself be a patron of the theatre.”
“Good old Gaunt,” breathed Bulldog.
Next, a very old gentleman got up and announced that he didn’t hold with the theatre, and what on earth were the Council doing, considering lending money to a lot of play-actors?
“You’d never see it back again,” he finished in an aggrieved manner. Maddy jumped up, pink with rage.
“Oh, yes, you—” Sandra clapped a hand over her mouth, and pulled her down into her seat. “You little idiot! You’ll ruin everything,” she hissed.
Then Lord Moulcester rose, his little goat beard sticking out at an aggressive angle.
“Mr. Mayor,” he said, “I wish to state that if the council refuses this chance of a first-class theatre, they will be very foolish, for there are plenty of other towns that will jump at the opportunity, and to one of those towns this company of young professionals will certainly turn if we refuse them. When you consider how much more prosperous the town has been since the film Forsaken Crown was made at Fennymead, surely it must be realized that a little publicity and a go-ahead spirit are needed here.”
“Good old Lord Moulcester,” said Maddy. “And he used to be such an old stick-in-the-mud.”
“There are plenty of funds that could be diverted to the loan that would be required at the start,” continued Lord Moulcester. “The Education Committe
e surely could do something, and we could stipulate that every so often the repertory company should do a play suitable for children, and give matinees for the schools.”
There were a few “Hear, hears!” from some corners of the table, and the Blue Doors crossed their fingers.
“Finally, I should like to say,” concluded Lord Moulcester, “that I too know these young people, and if anything should happen to prevent them repaying the loan, I should have pleasure in personally vouching for the amount required.”
“The dear thing!” whispered Maddy, wriggling in her seat. “I told you he was a duck.”
But then the worst happened. Mrs. Potter-Smith rose, bridling with determination.
“I really cannot understand,” she began, clasping her plump white hands affectedly, “how the council can consider spending money on such expensive luxuries as a theatre, when there are so many necessities still lacking. What about the new hospital—the repairs to the almshouses—and the rebuilding of the public conveniences?”
“My goodness!” sighed Lyn. “I think we’ve had it.”
“When I think,” Mrs. Potter-Smith’s voice softened dramatically, “of all the poor sick people needing hospital beds, all the dear old people seeking a haven in which to spend the autumn of their days, and of—well—all that sort of thing—I cannot understand how you can contemplate such a rash move. Surely there is enough amateur talent in the town, without letting a professional company monopolize one of the few public halls. I’m sure we all remember what chaos the film people caused in the town. Surely we don’t want the same type of person to be amongst us regularly?”
There were some noises of agreement, and the Blue Doors registered their agony of mind in varying ways. Maddy hissed audibly, Lyn banged her forehead with her fist, two tears rolled slowly down Vicky’s face, Sandra sat very still and prayed hard for something to happen to make Mrs. Potter-Smith shut up. Bulldog said all the bad words he knew under his breath. Jeremy got out his empty pipe and sucked at it feverishly, and Nigel buried his face in his hands.
“Finally, I should like to say,” said Mrs. Potter-Smith, shooting a malicious glance up at the gallery, “that I too know these young people.” And she sat down heavily, while the rest of the council coughed in a somewhat embarrassed way, conscious of the Blue Doors in the gallery.
Then Miss Thropple got up.
“I agree with everything that Mrs. Potter-Smith has said,” she twittered. “Everything.” And she sat down again, breathing hard.
“I can’t stand this much longer,” said Lynette. “I shall just get up and scream.”
“What a yes-woman that Thropple is,” breathed Bulldog.
The ex-mayors of Fenchester looked down at them without pity, the sky over the glass roof began to darken, the lights were lit, and glared into the anxious eyes of the Blue Doors. The little group of people down below seemed to be the only people in the world, for on them the future depended. The voices rambled on and on, arguing and contradicting, politely and interminably.
At last the Mayor rose to his feet and said, “As there seems to be some difference of opinion on this matter, I think we had better put it to the vote. Who will propose the motion that we allow the Blue Door Company the use of the theatre and grant them such loan as they and we may deem necessary?”
Lord Moulcester raised his hand.
“I propose it,” he said.
“And I second it,” said Miss Gaunt quickly.
“Those in favour?”
Some hands were raised, and the Blue Doors leaned forward counting earnestly.
There were seven in favour.
“And those against?”
Seven hands were raised against.
“Oh, gosh!” cried Vicky. “What now?”
There was an empty chair at one end of the table, and at this moment who should hurry in but the little antique dealer from near the Blue Door Theatre.
“It’s Mr. Smallgood and Whittlecock!” cried Maddy delightedly. “Oh, dear Mr. Smallgood and Whittlecock. He’ll vote for us, I know he will!”
“But will he, will he?” Lyn repeated wildly, fixing the grey little man with an hypnotic stare. The motion was hastily explained to Mr. Smallgood and Whittlecock, and he was asked whether he were for or against the project.
Maddy stood up and waved violently, mouthing “Yes! Yes!” but he did not appear to see.
“Well, er—I really don’t know—” he began.
“Your vote, please,” said the Mayor, who was beginning to be tired of the whole subject.
“Oh, well—by all means—”
“In favour?”
“Er—yes—”
“Then the motion has been carried that we should allow the Blue Door Theatre Company the use of the hall as a theatre, and grant them a loan for the commencement. And now we must turn our attention to the subject of drainage.”
There was a scuffle from the public gallery as the Blue Doors shot out of the door like arrows from a bow, laughing and shouting maniacally. Down the marble stairs they danced, Vicky tapping madly, Maddy sliding down the banisters. The boys fought playfully on the mat at the bottom, and they talked at the tops of their voices.
“Now then, now then,” said the little man in uniform at the door. They were so excited that they had to run and run through the dark streets to the milk bar where they had first drunk to the success of the Blue Doors.
“What a narrow shave!” cried Lynette, as they gulped down their milk shakes. “Bless little Mr. Smallgood and Whittlecock! We must take him some flowers or something in the morning.”
“I knew he’d help us,” said Maddy.
“Don’t be silly,” said Jeremy. “He didn’t even know who we were. He was just thoroughly dazed and vague, and said the first thing that came into his head.”
“Thank goodness it was yes!” sighed Sandra. “Oh, how lovely life is! Now there’s nothing to stop us. We can go straight ahead with plans. It’s too heavenly for words.”
For a long time they were so crazy with relief that they could not settle down to discuss plans sensibly, but ordered all the different coloured drinks they could find on the menu and mixed them indiscriminately.
“Bovril is lovely with orangeade,” announced Maddy.
“I think we ought to go back to the town hall, and as they come out say ‘thank you’ to the people who supported us,” suggested Sandra.
They walked more soberly back, each thinking how terrible it would have been if their plea had been unsuccessful. They surrounded Miss Gaunt and Lord Moulcester and pumped them by the hand.
“Thank you! Thank you!” they all cried. “Oh, isn’t it heavenly?”
“It is indeed,” agreed Lord Moulcester. “And when are you going to open?”
“Next September, sir,” Nigel told him. “All being well. I want to go into rep. elsewhere next Easter holidays, and learn about the business side of it.”
“Very wise, my boy, very wise. Ah, well, I envy you considerably, and I wish you every success.”
“So you’re leaving me next term, Madelaine,” Miss Gaunt remarked.
“Yes. Aren’t I lucky?” said Maddy.
“Maddy!” cried Sandra. “Oh, Miss Gaunt, she doesn’t mean it that way!”
“Of course she does. And I quite understand. The Academy should provide her with just what she needs.”
“And I’m sure she’s no loss to you,” smiled Jeremy.
At this moment little Mr. Smallgood and Whittlecock came out and started off down the road, a bent little figure.
Maddy ran up behind him and embraced him violently.
“Thank you a thousand times!” she cried.
“Er—the same to you,” and he passed on completely bewildered.
The Blue Doors laughed until their tummies ached. It was time to go home and tell their parents the glad news. They received it enthusiastically, glad to know that now there would be no reason for their children to be away from home once they had left the A
cademy.
Next day Nigel set about the problem of getting an architect to consider building on the dressing-rooms in the waste space behind the theatre, and they both crawled about on hands and knees, measuring with footrules.
“It’s going to cost an awful lot,” Nigel said at lunch-time. “I must go and see the secretary of the Education Committee and find out how much we can borrow.”
The remainder of the holiday sped by in a whirl of plans and arrangements. They went round to all the local shopkeepers from whom they hoped for support, asking for commodities to be supplied to the theatre at special rates.
“We’ll have to arrange about the new seating when we’re in London,” said Nigel. “And the curtains.”
A local builder was to put up the dressing-rooms and enlarge the stage. There seemed to be a hundred and one details to be considered, and they dashed about like mad things, right up to the time of their departure to London once more.
“We shall need another holiday to get over our holidays,” observed Bulldog.
Maddy was nearly crazy with excitement. She had been allowed to spend some of her film earnings on new and more grown-up clothes for the Academy, and was very proud of a pair of red slacks, a green dancing-practice dress, and her first pair of shoes with heels that were not absolutely flat. Her mother had given her a beautifully bound Shakespeare and her father a large wardrobe trunk.
“I really feel like an actress now,” she sighed happily, as she repacked it for the hundredth time.
On the day of their departure they had quite a crowd of friends and relations to see them off.
“Life is all arrivals and departures,” said Lyn.
“What a lot of them we’ve had already—”
“And it’s nice,” said Maddy, “not to be one of the people who are left waving on the station, and have to turn round and stooge home!”
As the train pulled out Vicky leaned from the window, and shouted to the receding streets of the town: