Authors: Roberta Grieve
T
he question of Louise accompanying Sarah to London didn’t arise. To Sarah’s surprise – and that of the rest of the household – Dora declared her intention of chaperoning her daughter on the big day.
In the weeks leading up to the London trip, Dora was as excited as her daughter as she made daily excursions to the shops in the High Street and London Road, buying everything from shoes to handbags, scarves and gloves for both of them. They even had to have new underwear and
nightwear
, as well as matching luggage, for the overnight stay at the Grosvenor Hotel near Victoria Station, which Dora had been assured was a respectable place for an unaccompanied lady to stay. The BBC concert wouldn’t finish in time for them to make the journey back to Holton Regis the same day.
Although Sarah was pleased that Mother was taking such an interest, she really wished Louise were going with her. They’d have so much more fun.
When the big day finally arrived, Sarah could hardly contain herself. She was ready far too early and refused to eat any breakfast. When Mother clutched her head and declared that she would have to lie down if Sarah didn’t stop her incessant chattering, Louise frowned at her sister with a warning shake of the head.
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ Sarah said, instantly contrite. ‘Shall I get your cologne for you?’ The thought that Mother might refuse to go and would insist that Sarah stayed at home too wasn’t to be borne. This was her big chance. After today the name of Sarah Charlton would be on everybody’s lips. She would be the star of the show.
At last they were ready and Stanley got the car out to drive them to the station. Louise gave her a hug and wished her good luck. ‘I wish you were coming with us,’ she whispered.
‘Someone has to stay and look after Father,’ Louise said.
Sarah wondered why. He had Polly and Cookie to look after him; that’s what they were paid for. Still, he might be lonely if they all went away. But it was only for one night.
She hoped Mother would be all right. What would happen if she got one of her ‘heads’ just as they were about to leave the hotel for Broadcasting House? But she wouldn’t think about that. Everything was going to be just perfect.
They boarded the train and Father put their suitcase on the rack. They waved him goodbye and Sarah settled in her seat by the window, prepared to enjoy the unusual treat of being whisked through the Sussex countryside, while Mother opened her magazine.
As the train rattled over the points at the junction with the main line, Sarah gazed out of the window and hummed a little tune in time with the rhythm of the wheels. The hum got louder, then developed into a song. Sarah was never happier than when she was singing. Her mother tapped her arm impatiently.
‘I can’t concentrate on my reading, dear. Do be quiet,’ she said. ‘Besides, I think you should save your voice for later. We don’t want you getting hoarse, do we?’
Sarah nodded and sat back in her seat, pulling at a loose thread in her glove. She was so excited, she just couldn’t sit still. But Mother was glaring at her so she stopped fidgeting and looked out of the window again. Would they ever get to London?
At last the green fields gave way to rows of houses with large gardens backing on to the railway embankment. Gradually the gardens became smaller, the houses more grimy and dilapidated. There were vast stretches of railway line, criss-crossing and intersecting, and dilapidated buildings of blackened brick. Then the train was rattling over a bridge, the steely waters of the Thames sliding beneath, and suddenly they were pulling into Victoria Station.
A porter rushed up and took their bags and they followed him across the noisy concourse towards the hotel entrance, which was set in the corner of the vast railway station. Sarah’s feet dragged as she gazed about her
curiously
. She had never been to London before and felt overwhelmed by the vast echoing space, the crowds of people, the pigeons fluttering about their feet and the sulphurous smell of the huge steam engines.
But it was all quite wonderful and her steps slowed as she drank it all in. If Mother hadn’t been holding tightly to her hand, almost dragging her along, she would have stood and stared forever. There was so much to see.
When they reached their hotel room, Mother sank down on the bed and took off her gloves and hat. She waved a languid hand to the boy,
indicating
that he should put the bags down, and instructed him to send up some tea.
Sarah looked at her mother apprehensively. Maybe Louise should have come with them too. Poor Mother looked absolutely exhausted.
To her surprise Dora looked up and smiled brightly. ‘Well, dear, it’s a long time since I was in town but I’m sure we’ll manage. I’m so proud of you, my darling. I just had to come with you and share your big day.’
Sarah kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘It is exciting, isn’t it, Mother?’
The maid brought tea and they sat at a small table by the window, looking out over Buckingham Palace Road. There wasn’t much to see, apart from delivery carts and lorries, what seemed like hundreds of taxicabs swinging round the corner towards the front of the station and of course, hordes of people. Sarah had imagined a wide avenue lined with trees leading up to the palace.
‘You’re thinking of the Mall,’ her mother told her.
‘Will we see the king?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I think it’s highly unlikely, dear.’ Dora finished her tea and stood up. ‘Now, Sarah, we must get ready to go to Broadcasting House. A bath and a complete change of clothes I think. One gets so disgustingly filthy travelling by train.’
It was true Mother’s white gloves were a little grubby. They had kept the carriage windows closed but the smuts from the engine got everywhere and Sarah knew she wasn’t looking as neat and tidy as when they had set out earlier. She must look her best for the performance – even though no one would see her.
And she did look nice in her new white dress with the wide blue sash, a matching ribbon in her dark curly hair, white stockings and shiny black patent leather shoes. Mother gave a final tweak to the sash and nodded approvingly. ‘Get your coat and gloves, dear, the car will be here soon,’ she said, picking up Sarah’s music case. ‘I’ll look after this. It wouldn’t do to lose it now.’
There was plenty of time and, as a treat, Dora asked the cab driver to take them past Buckingham Palace and along the Mall so that Sarah had a chance to see the flags and decorations that had been put up for the
coronation
. She seemed almost as excited as her daughter.
When the cab turned into Portland Place, the driver turned and pointed out the imposing building, which had only been completed a few years ago. Its white stone gleamed in the spring sunshine. ‘That’s Broadcasting House, missus,’ he said. ‘Looks like one of them great big ocean liners wot you see down the docks, don’t it?’
Dora nodded as he pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. They got out and Sarah paused for a moment, looking up at the carvings over the main entrance. It still seemed like magic to her that from inside this building her singing would be heard all over the country, wherever people had
wireless
sets. When Sarah had won the talent contest, Father had gone out and bought one of the most up to date sets in a shiny walnut cabinet, so that he and Louise, together with Cookie and Polly could listen to the concert together.
Sarah followed her mother towards the entrance where a stout
commissionaire
inspected their letter of introduction. He beckoned a young man to show them through a warren of corridors to the studio. When they arrived, they were greeted by a tall thin man with glasses who introduced himself as the producer.
‘We’ll have a rehearsal first, then a break before the actual broadcast,’ he explained after a short chat with Dora. ‘Your mother and I will be up there,’ he told Sarah, pointing to a gallery behind a glass partition where several people sat wearing headphones.
The orchestra was tuning up and the conductor stopped sorting his music and turned to smile at her. She didn’t feel in the least nervous, though she knew that when the accompanist played the introduction to her song, for a few seconds her hands would grow clammy and her throat dry. Then she would open her mouth and the notes would soar out, almost
effortlessly
, and she would be lost in the glory and wonder of the music.
The producer was talking earnestly to her mother, whose eyes were
glittering
with suppressed fury. Her mother’s voice sounded irritable and Sarah forced her attention back to them, an apprehensive fluttering in her stomach. What was wrong?
Dora thrust the music case at the producer and turned on her heel. ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all,’ she snapped, and pushed through the swing doors.
Sarah watched her go, not sure whether to follow. ‘It’s all right, Sarah. Your mother was under the impression that she was going to accompany you at the piano. But as I explained, it wasn’t in the contract your father signed. Besides, we have our own pianist.’ The producer smiled
apologetically
. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’
Well, at least she hadn’t indulged in one of her fainting fits, Sarah thought with relief. Mother usually took refuge in feeling unwell when she didn’t get her own way. But what had made her think she would be allowed to accompany her today? She had said nothing about it to anyone and Sarah had had no idea that she was entertaining thoughts of sharing her daughter’s fame and triumph. And why should she? She’d had her chance. But she gave up her music when she decided to marry Father and have a family. Well, that’s not going to happen to me, Sarah told herself. My singing career will always come first.
And with that thought she gave the producer her most dazzling smile and took her place in front of the microphone. She glanced at the pianist and launched into
Poor Wandering One
from the
Pirates of Penzance.
After the first few notes she forgot her mother sitting in the booth with the producer, forgot her father and those at home sitting in front of the
wireless
. She just sang her heart out, as she’d been doing since she was only three and learned her first nursery rhyme. When she reached the end without a single false note, she knew that at last she was on her way. Of course, she wouldn’t be famous overnight, but soon she was sure the world would be clamouring to hear her sing. Maybe she’d even end up in films like Shirley Temple.
The thought sustained her on the drive back to the hotel when, despite the praise heaped on her by the musicians and studio workers, she lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence. Mother was in a bad mood – but it wasn’t her fault, was it? Still, it was no good saying anything. She was quite capable of forbidding her to ever sing in public again. And, although her father would be sympathetic, it was always Dora who had the last word.
Louise had managed to hide her disappointment when Dora insisted that she should be the one to go to London with Sarah. She’d been so looking forward to getting away from Holton Regis, even for just one day. She was beginning to feel stifled by the narrowness of her life and envied Sarah the chance to spread her wings. If only she had a talent like Sarah’s, something she was good at.
Her envy was not bitter or corrosive. She loved Sarah dearly and was truly pleased with her success. She and her father, together with Cookie and Polly, pulled their chairs close to the wireless set as the announcer spoke Sarah’s name.
‘Ooh, Miss – our Miss Sarah. Who’d’ve believed it!’ Polly said, her voice high with excitement.
Cookie shushed her as the music began and the pure sweet sound of Sarah’s voice swelled out of the magic box in the corner of the drawing room. Louise’s heart swelled with pride and a lump came to her throat and she saw that Cookie was wiping away a surreptitious tear with the corner of her apron.
She couldn’t wait for Sarah’s return to hear all about it. When she and her father met Sarah and Dora at the station the following day, Louise was surprised that her sister did not leap off the train and throw her arms round them, bubbling over with excitement in her usual irrepressible way. Dora too seemed a little subdued and Louise hoped that her stepmother hadn’t spoilt things by being ill.
At home Cookie and Polly were waiting to add their congratulations and during the ensuing fuss, Sarah regained a little of her sparkle, only to subside again when Dora’s voice cut into the babble of conversation.
‘Stanley, forgive me if I don’t join you for luncheon. The journey … I’m exhausted.’ Her hand went to her head and Stanley put his arm around her.
‘I’ll help you to your room, my dear. Polly will bring you up a tray.’
‘Nothing, thank you.’ At the foot of the stairs she paused. ‘Perhaps some tea and toast? Louise will see to it, won’t you, dear?’
Louise nodded, then smiled at Sarah. ‘Go and get changed for lunch, then you can tell Father and me all about it.’
Polly and Cookie returned to the kitchen and Louise followed them. By the time she’d settled her stepmother with her tray, her eau-de-cologne and a magazine ‘in case I can’t sleep, dear’, her father and sister were at the dining table.
Sarah could scarcely eat for excitement as she recounted everything in great detail. She did not mention her mother at all.
After lunch Stanley went up to see how Dora was feeling. When he came down he spoke quietly. ‘Your Mother’s quite worn out with all the
excitement
. I don’t have to go back to the office this afternoon so I’ll keep her company.’ He smiled at the girls. ‘Why don’t you go for a nice walk – leave Mother to rest? The fresh air will do you good,’ he insisted.
As they strode along the promenade, heads bent against the wind, Louise asked her sister if there was anything wrong.
‘The concert was wonderful – I already told you. They were all so kind and helpful. I wasn’t nervous at all,’ Sarah said.