Young May Moon Page 4

  Six

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING May and Pomona met Carmen outside the exclusive dress shop in the square. There were no puff sleeves on the stylish frocks draped on the plaster models in the window, the designs for younger woman were sleeveless. The simple shifts did not emphasize waist or bust, ensuring that the frocks were comfortable to wear as well as elegant. The materials were summer weight: georgette, silk or fine cotton. Rigid corsetry was a thing of the past. Women were emancipated, even if they hadn’t yet got the vote.

  ‘Well, May, do you like what you see?’ Carmen asked.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ May agreed.

  ‘Well, let us go inside – and Pomona, don’t touch anything, please, the assistant looks very superior!’

  Some of the frocks had patterned borders to the skirt. Others were striped or checked. Some had a bow loosely tied around the hips or at the neckline; there were no fussy collars. May chose a soft green material, with a poppy patterned border. There was a matching cloche hat, but as the assistant remarked: ‘You have far too much hair for this model! Now, if you were to have the new Eton crop—’

  ‘Certainly not!’ her mother cried. ‘Her hair is her Spanish heritage!’ May agreed: her father had loved her long hair. But she decided to have the Mary-Jane shoes, even though she was not keen on pointed toes.

  ‘What about me?’ Pomona asked plaintively, as the dress and shoes were parcelled up.

  ‘You will be back at school next week, I shall buy you a new jacket in the children’s-wear shop,’ Carmen told her.

  ‘Oh, pooh!’

  ‘Thank you, Mum,’ May put in quickly, ‘I’m not sure when I can wear such a pretty dress, but.…’

  ‘You have a young man, I understand? He may ask you out!’

  ‘Young man?’ May blushed. She wished she could prevent herself from ‘colouring-up’ as Aunt Min put it.

  ‘She means Paddy, of course,’ Pomona chipped in, to her sister’s further embarrassment. ‘Actually, you two are always arguing, aren’t you? Like Danny and me, although I usually get the better of him.’

  ‘You are the least tactful person I know,’ May hissed in her ear.

  ‘Come along, girls; my friend Carlos will be waiting for us in the coffee shop. If you are nice to your sister, Pomona, you shall have a double helping of ice-cream.’

  ‘Good-oh. But don’t tell Jenny, May, or she’ll say it’ll spoil my lunch. I can’t bottle this afternoon on an empty stomach.’

  ‘So,’ Carlos said pleasantly, when they joined him at a round table set in the recess of a bay window. ‘You have your new frock?’

  ‘It’s green,’ said Pomona mischievously, ‘So, if she wants to, she can perform on stage with the O’Flahertys in their green kilts!’

  ‘Is this what they have suggested?’ Carmen asked sharply.

  May managed to speak before Pomona this time. ‘No, of course not!’ She thought, why is Mum making a fuss about me and Paddy? I’m not ready to have a boyfriend yet. She’s been away so long she has no idea how I feel. Growing up is enough to cope with at the moment.

  On Friday evening, after the O’Flahertys left for the Pier Theatre, Jenny suggested that May and Pomona might like to have a bath. ‘You will have the kitchen to yourselves, as Percy and I will be busy in the bar; there’s always a dominoes match going on, and someone has to sort ’em out, when players get too hot under the collar. I’ll get Percy to bring the tub in. I’ll fill the clothes copper, so you have plenty of hot water, you can mix that with cold, can’t you? Leave the tub for Percy to empty last thing – he’s the expert, eh? I’ll put two big towels to warm on the airer over the stove, and there’s a new bar of Fairy soap, unless you prefer Pears transparent?’

  They chose the Pears soap. It was a big tin tub, and took several jugs of hot and cold water to fill. There was room for the girls to sit one at either end. ‘We haven’t shared a bath since you were a baby!’ May told Pomona. ‘And don’t you dare make any personal remarks!’

  ‘I’ll close my eyes until you’re under water!’ Pomona quipped back. She whipped up the soap flakes which Jenny had also kindly supplied, into a froth. ‘Now you’re concealed by the bubbles!’

  ‘Shut up and wash your neck and feet – those are the bits you usually ignore….’

  ‘And you can hurry up and wash yourself, because when you get out I’m going to swim from one side of the tub to the other – I bet Gertrude Ederle has a private pool! How many strokes d’you think that will take?’

  ‘Not enough – more likely a flood on the floor!’ May said.

  Pomona dodged the wet sponge her sister threw at her. The sponge landed on Toby instead, as she rested her pointed chin on the rim of the bath and gazed soulfully at them. She yelped.

  ‘Be quiet, Toby,’ May warned, ‘unless you fancy a bath, too!’ Toby removed herself smartly.

  They were sitting in their nightgowns, worn beneath thin wrap-around dressing-gowns because it was summer, sipping mugs of milky cocoa, when they heard the first strains of music. Jenny was playing the piano, and the pub regulars were joining in the chorus. ‘I wish we …’ May murmured wistfully. Then she had a bright idea. ‘Finish your cocoa! We’ll sit on the snug stairs: no-one will know we’re singing too!’

  Friday was pay day for the hard-working agricultural labourers, their night for a glass or two in the pub. It was men only, but some took home a bottle of stout as a treat for the wife. Tonight, they were joined by fishermen back from trawling herring, with coins jingling in their pockets. So sea shanties were much called for.

  What shall we do with the drunken sailor, May and Pomona sang with them.

  They were startled when the kitchen door opened and Brigid tiptoed along the corridor. She’d guessed what they were up to.

  She grinned. ‘Room for me on the stairs? I gather you had a bath! The boys are emptying it, to save old Percy a job. When they’ve done that, Brendan will make us toasted cheese for supper. Would you like a midnight feast?’

  ‘It’s not that late,’ Pomona said, with a huge yawn. Then, ‘Yes, please! But can I have my supper in bed?’

  ‘You go ahead,’ May agreed. ‘I’ll bring it in a little while.’

  When she followed Brigid into the kitchen she saw Paddy sitting in the rocker with Toby on his lap. Brendan was slicing bread at the table. There was already a delicious aroma of melting cheese.

  ‘Danny gone to bed, too?’ Brigid enquired.

  ‘He has,’ Brendan replied. ‘Are they still singing in the bar?’

  ‘They are … but I’ll make the big pot of tea. Though there’s the glasses to wash and the place to tidy before Jenny and Percy join us. Not many landladies are as obliging as Jenny, eh? They don’t let the theatricals anywhere near the kitchen!’

  ‘Ah, she has a generous nature,’ Brendan agreed. ‘Especially as I have used up all the cheese!’

  Brigid turned to May. ‘Maybe this is a good time to ask you….’

  ‘Ask me what?’

  ‘Well, now we no longer have the top spot before the finale, that’ll be your mum and her partner. Please don’t think I’m complaining, because the new acts always get a chance at that! I am wondering if we can introduce something different into our performance … you’ve got a pleasant singing voice—’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t sing on stage!’

  ‘Could you do a jig? To Young May Moon, for instance?’

  ‘Not an Irish jig – it’s more a Scottish tune, or played in a morris dance,’ May said. She thought about it for a minute. ‘Grandpa showed me the basic steps: one, two, hop, then hop back, two, three and four.…’ She sprang to her feet to demonstrate, but it was difficult in slippers. ‘My new shoes would be better.’

  ‘You really need the proper shoes,’ Brigid said, ‘but I’m sure you could do it!’

  ‘Sit down and eat your toasted cheese.’ Brendan handed May a plate. ‘Then you can take your sister her share. Look, if we decide to include you tomorrow evening – after all, you�
�ll be in the audience to see your mother’s performance anyway – it must come as a surprise to everyone else, including Pomona, if the spotlight picks you out, and you are invited to join us for a special number.’

  ‘I won’t say a thing,’ Paddy put in with a grin. ‘Promise!’

  ‘You’ve helped me with the Punch and Judy, so I’d like to do something in return for you all! I’m not sure my mum will approve!’

  ‘She’ll be proud of you,’ Brigid said optimistically.

  Later, when sleep eluded her, no doubt due to the cheese supper, May suddenly remembered her mother’s sharp words earlier, about her appearing on stage with the O’Flahertys, in their green kilts. Had she been too quick to say ‘yes’, when she’d only known them for a week, though it seemed longer than that? Would she now be cast as the devious one?

  Seven

  THE CHOIR BOYS were not in evidence on Saturday evening. No doubt they were at home, their spots being dabbed with that universal remedy, bicarbonate of soda, mixed to a paste with a few drops of water, and temperatures lowered with a crushed aspirin, administered in a spoonful of jam.

  The billboard outside the little theatre proclaimed:

  STAR ATTRACTION!

  CARLOS & CARMEN FROM SUNNY SPAIN!

  May was blushingly aware of some admiring glances, as they settled into their front-row seats. She felt conspicuous in the pretty new dress with her hair all loose, and apprehensive too. Oh, why had she agreed to perform with the O’Flahertys? Suppose Carmen made a scene? Her toes were cramped in the new shoes which also rubbed her heels. Fashion could be painful, too!

  Most of the acts were the same as last week. The O’Flaherty family appeared just before the interval. When it came to the duet Tea for Two, May began to get butterflies in her stomach. She said to herself, maybe they will change their minds, not call me up. Then Brendan stepped forward and announced: ‘By popular demand, that evergreen tune, Young May Moon! Once again, we have the young lady herself in the audience. Spotlight, please! May, would you care to come up on stage and take part?’

  A penetrating whisper came from an excited Pomona, as her sister sat there, illuminated, but unable to speak for a moment. ‘Oh, go on, May!’ May stood up, the audience clapped, and Brendan came down to escort her up the steps.

  The music began, and May concentrated on the basic steps – arms at her sides, raising one knee, pointing her toes; hopping on the other leg; taking three little steps back, and before she knew it, she was in rhythm with the tune and gaining confidence with each repeated sequence. It seemed surreal, like a dream. The clapping and cheers, as Brigid encouraged her to take a bow, made her realize that she had done it, performed as herself, not as the hidden manipulator of rascally Punch and company.

  Back in her seat, she was patted on the back by the elderly couple sitting behind her and with the lights up for the interval, she was aware of others trying to catch her eye and waving. She could guess what would inevitably happen next, and she was right. Her mother appeared, with a cloak over her stage clothes and said simply: ‘Girls, follow me.’

  In the small room reserved for the top-of-the-bill acts, off the communal dressing room, they sat on a couple of hard chairs. Carmen had her back to them, seated at the long shelf below the wall mirror, which was crowded with pots of cold cream, sticks of greasepaint, cotton-wool and other items of theatrical make-up. They stared at her reflection in the glass as she powdered her face with an enormous powder puff.

  Carlos was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the bar, May thought uncharitably.

  ‘You need to enhance your face, May; the spotlight drains your natural colour,’ was all Carmen said.

  Relief washed over May. ‘You didn’t mind, Mum – me going on stage?’

  ‘No. I was proved right. You have real talent, May. However, you can do so much more. Carlos and I, we would like you to join us now and then, in our own act. You would need instruction first, of course. We could arrange this so it would not interfere with your Punch and Judy time. What do you say?’

  ‘Say yes, May!’ Pomona butted in.

  ‘I – I’m not sure. It would have to be before eleven o’clock in the morning. It’s not fair if I leave the setting-up on the beach to Paddy – Pom and Danny will be at school next week.’

  A bell was heard, signalling the end of the interval. Even as they rose to go, May – she didn’t know why, blurted out: ‘Are you going to marry Carlos, Mum?’

  ‘I thought I made it clear: we are partners on the stage. There is no great romance. He has, however, been a good friend to me and helped me to resume my dancing career. But I am realistic. Carlos is several years younger than me. I am already forty and the flamenco is a dance full of vigour and passion. It is inevitable, I think, that the time will come when he will want a younger partner. Why else does he look in your direction? You are like the girl I once was.’ She looked ruefully at her plump upper arms and her tight waistband. ‘I try to say no to the cakes, but.… Hurry, now, before the lights go down. Wish me luck, tonight!’

  ‘We do,’ the girls said together.

  The acrobats bounded across the stage, seemingly tying themselves into knots, then unfolded their limbs before they took their final bow.

  There was a feeling of expectation, a hush in the audience, aware that the highlight of the evening was about to commence. The curtains parted and the stage appeared empty, except for a high black screen. Then the spotlight picked out Carlos, plucking the strings of the classical guitar and adding emphasis to the tune by drumming with his fingers. Then he began to sing a lament about a beautiful girl, but as it was in Spanish May could only pick out a few words. She’d been quite fluent as a very small child, and maybe, she thought, that understanding would return if her mother stayed long enough.

  The spotlight shifted. From behind the screen Carmen, in full flamenco dress with a tiered frilled skirt and hand-painted shawl, emerged, snapping her fingers to the music. As she strutted in high-heeled red shoes that matched her dress, her stamping added to the staccato beat.

  ‘Real flamenco dancers don’t use castanets,’ May murmured to Pomona. ‘Some of them prefer fans, but Mum believes in the old tradition.’ You can see Mum’s gypsy ancestry tonight, she thought, and feel it too, through the dancing and the music. All that is missing is moonlight and a flickering camp fire. What was it Mum used to say, you must experience the duende – the spirit of flamenco….

  When the music faded away to a few plaintive notes, and Carlos ceased singing, in his pleasant tenor voice, there was a moment or two of hush before the audience applause.

  This wasn’t the end of the act; there was more to come. Carmen slipped away behind the screen. Carlos bent his head over the guitar. This time the music was louder, faster, and he did not sing.

  Pomona gripped May’s arm. ‘Look!’ she whispered. Another dancer, a life-size puppet was being lowered skilfully over the screen to the stage. This figure did have jingling castanets, which were attached to her wrists. These were obviously necessary because the puppet’s feet moved almost silently, although the dancing was as energetic as that of her real-life counterpart.

  Abruptly the music ceased. The puppet dancer turned, beckoned to the guitar player. Now he was fully in the spotlight, his costume revealed in all its glory: matador breeches, Cuban-heeled shoes with silver buckles, a scarlet cummerbund matching the lining of his shoulder-cape. Carlos bowed to the puppet, inviting her to dance with him. This time there was no musical accompaniment, just the sound of the castanets and his heel-tapping. They danced side by side and the effect was spellbinding.

  At the end of the dance he bowed to the audience and the puppet dancer sank down in a graceful curtsey. She remained in that posture as the lights went up and Carmen emerged from behind the screen, smiling and waving to the crowd. They took a final bow, supporting the puppet between them.

  ‘Did Mum really pull the strings behind the screen?’ Pomona exclaimed. ‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’


  ‘Wonderful,’ May agreed. She thought, Dad didn’t like Mum performing after he came home from the war. He thought her place was to be with us, supporting him. I can understand now why she wasn’t happy, she needed the duende – to be a free spirit. We have to accept that she won’t change.

  They knew the way backstage now. They met up with the O’Flahertys, who were full of praise for the new act.

  ‘We’ll wait while you congratulate your mother,’ Brendan said.

  ‘You must be very proud of her,’ Brigid added. ‘As she should be of you.’

  That night, back at the Swan, there was a lot to tell Jenny and Percy. Except, of course, that neither of the girls mentioned what Carmen had said about Carlos, or his interest in May.

  ‘You’re hobbling, darling,’ Jenny said, concerned. ‘Take those shoes off and let me see your heels. My, what a blister!’ She fetched her tin of Zambuck, the soothing ointment.

  Eight

  THE SCHOOL WAS five minutes’ walk away from the Swan. It was a typical Victorian building, with high windows to deter children from looking out, and Gothic-style oak doors which matched the ones on the nearby church, which had founded the school. There were other schools, privately run, nearer the sea, including a girls’ school where the pupils wore smart uniforms and straw boaters with a ribbon in the school colours, but the free church schools provided a sound education for most.

  Big changes had taken place in the local school over recent years. The two big rooms had each originally been divided into two sections to accommodate much wider age-groups. Boys and girls still studied together, but there was not such a range of ages, which made it easier for the two teachers to cope. One class catered for the six-to eight-year-olds; the other, the nine- to eleven-year-old pupils.