Remember Me

Chapter One

‘A
nd now, for your delight and delectation we have a dainty, adorable and – oh so demure! – young damsel… Ladies and gentlemen, please give a big welcome to… Miss Madeleine Moon…’

Maddy grinned at Percy, the master of ceremonies. She still couldn’t help but feel a giggle inside her at the effusive introduction afforded not only to her, but to all the members of the troupe. To a ripple of applause she stepped onto the stage, then stood in the spotlight, looking out at the darkness in the auditorium and the sea of faces, only those in the first couple of rows being distinguishable. Samuel would be there somewhere, much further back she guessed, so there was no point in trying to look for him.

She gave a nod to the pianist, Letty, in the orchestra pit below her, and after a single note on the piano she began to sing…

She sang this first song unaccompanied, in the way that traditional folk music, like this lovely Irish air, was supposed to be sung. It was what she had always done when singing with the Pierrots on the beach at Scarborough. Percy Morgan, the leader of the troupe, had wondered at first whether this type of singing would go down as well with the music hall audiences, who tended to be more worldly and certainly more critical. But he had soon realised that his fears were unfounded. The audiences in the Yorkshire and Lancashire towns that they visited during the autumn and winter of each year, when the summer Pierrot season finished, had taken Maddy to their hearts, accepting her simplicity and sincerity at face value. She was an unaffected young girl with no airs and graces; a pleasant change, indeed, from some of the more raucous acts that they saw from time to time. Though never, it had to be said, when Morgan’s Melody Makers were performing.

All eyes were drawn to Maddy as she stood perfectly still in the centre of the stage, her lilting silver-toned voice ringing out clearly across the rows and rows of seats. She was a picture of innocence and purity in her simple dress of cream-coloured silk and lace, with a sweetheart neckline and large puffed sleeves. Her golden hair was loose, waving gently around the nape of her neck and her forehead. A sweet and pretty girl whom the audience guessed could not be more than sixteen or
so, standing in front of an idyllic painted landscape of hills, trees and flowers.

Their guess was correct. Maddy would be seventeen years old in the June of 1907, that would be in three months’ time. And she already believed herself to be deeply in love. Her thoughts strayed to the young man who was the object of her affections as she sang the last verse of her song.

The applause that followed was spontaneous and sustained. She could feel the warmth of feeling reaching out to her from the members of the audience. You could always tell when you had a receptive audience and she knew that they certainly had one tonight. She smiled and bobbed a curtsy before continuing with her second song.

Percy Morgan had decided that enough was enough with regard to the soulful, often plaintive, folk music that Maddy sang unaccompanied, and that her second song should be more in keeping with the mood of a music hall audience. Letty, who
was the pianist for the troupe as well as being Percy’s wife, always played for her second number, which was usually a popular song of the day. ‘Just like the Ivy’, Maddy sang, with friendliness now rather than with longing in her voice. She raised her hands, beckoning to the audience to join in the last chorus.

Once again she curtsied to the audience, gave a cheery wave of her hand and tripped off into the wings. Barney and Benjy, the tap-dancing duo who were the next act, were waiting there. She gave them a thumbs-up sign as Percy Morgan stepped onto the stage again. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have the dashing, debonair dancing duo, Mr Barnaby Dewhurst and Mr Benjamin Carstairs. Please give a big hand to… Barney and Benjy.’

The strains of ‘Lily of Laguna’ followed Maddy as she went backstage to the dressing room she shared with the other women in the troupe. An odd couple, Barney and Benjy, she mused as she went up the flight of stone steps to the rather shabby, but clean, room that the ladies had been allotted for their week in Leeds. This was not the famous Leeds
City Varieties Theatre, where such renowned stars as Marie Lloyd and Vesta Tilley had performed, but a much smaller theatre tucked away in a narrow street off the Headrow.

There were five women in the troupe. Their room was quite large enough, though basic, and fortunately they all got along quite well together. Susannah Brown, who was known as the ‘soubrette’ of the group – a comedienne who sang light-hearted songs and joked with the audience in a friendly and somewhat cheeky manner – was putting the finishing touches to her hair and make-up. Hers would be the last act before the interval. As a new innovation this season, however, she would be joined in her act by Frank Morrison, the ‘Music Man’. He could play a variety of instruments as well as being a passable singer and quite a comic. As the two of them had recently become a couple in their private life, they had decided, with Percy’s permission, to join forces on the stage as well, now and again.

‘Barney and Benjy seem to have sorted out their difference of opinion,’ Maddy remarked as she sat down on one of the bentwood chairs. The only armchair, of worn plush and with sagging springs, was occupied by Queenie Colman, the eldest lady of the troupe, who considered it her right. She always had trouble getting up from it, though, as she was certainly no lightweight. ‘They were smiling at one another while they were waiting to
go on. A strange pair, Barney and Benjy, aren’t they?’ Maddy continued. ‘I’m not saying anything wrong about them, ’cause I like them, I really do. They’ve been ever so nice to me since I joined the troupe. But they do seem to fall out a lot… I wonder why they’ve not got married, either of them. They’re both handsome, aren’t they? And the ladies in the audiences seem to like them a lot.’

Susannah laughed and shook her head and Maddy saw her exchange an amused glance with Queenie. ‘Get married? Barney and Benjy? Good gracious me, no! You’re barking up the wrong tree there, luv. They’re wedded to…their art, shall we say? And falling out and making up again is part of their…friendship. Don’t you worry your head about them. And you can be sure that their quarrels don’t make any difference to their performance on stage. They’re true pros, both of them. Now, I’d best love you and leave you…’ Susannah blew them a kiss and hurried out of the room, a bright pink confection of frilly satin and lace, finished off with a large-brimmed hat covered in pink roses, like the icing on the cake.

Queenie was engrossed in a copy of the
Stage
magazine so Maddy, who found the older woman rather difficult to talk to anyway, busied herself by filling the kettle and putting it on the single gas ring. They would all be glad of a cup of tea during the interval and it was Maddy’s job, as the youngest member, to make it.

Maddy was still the same innocent young girl that she had been eighteen months ago when she had persuaded her father to let her join Morgan’s Melody Makers on their autumn and winter tour. And as she had turned fifteen and had left school two years previously, William Moon had agreed. She had been singing with the Pierrot troupe – Uncle Percy’s Pierrots, as they were known when they performed each summer in Scarborough – quite frequently, ever since she had won their talent contest at the age of eleven. Since leaving school at thirteen she had worked in the gown shop of Louisa Montague, an old family friend, where she had learnt some basic dressmaking skills. But singing was what she had set her heart and mind upon, and despite a little homesickness at first, she was happy and proud to be a member of Percy Morgan’s fine troupe. Percy was a good man, trustworthy, hard-working and fair-minded, who set a high standard of behaviour for the troupe, as did his wife, Letty. If it had been otherwise Maddy’s father would never have allowed her to join them.

It was a busy, and at times a hectic life, but Maddy, being young, strong and enthusiastic, had adapted to it very well. They usually gave ten performances in all throughout the week, varying slightly in whichever town they happened to be in. Here, in Leeds, they gave two performances each night, except on Wednesday and Saturday when there was a matinée followed by only one house in
the evening. Monday night’s first house in all the towns consisted largely of free seats handed out to shopkeepers and others who had displayed posters in their windows, or to landladies at the various digs, or anyone, in fact, who was connected in any way with the players or the theatre. It was regarded as a ‘warming up’ session by the artistes, when they could become acquainted with the stage and lighting and the positioning of the props and backcloths.

They were free during the daytime to do as they wished. Many experienced pros, who had seen it all before many times, spent the mornings in bed catching up on lost sleep. But for Maddy, especially during her first year, it had been an opportunity to explore the different towns of Yorkshire and Lancashire, most of which she had never visited before. This was her second visit to Leeds; she had also become acclimatised with York, Bradford, Halifax, Sheffield and Doncaster, and across the other side of the Pennines, the cotton towns of Rochdale and Oldham, Blackburn, Bury and Bolton, and the largest of them all, Manchester.

Percy had insisted at first that she should have another member of the troupe with her on her explorations, especially when she was making her way back to her digs late at night. And so she had come to know Susannah Brown quite well, also Nancy Pritchard, who had an act with performing dogs, and Letty Morgan. Letty was a very motherly
person who had no children of her own and she had developed a fondness for the teenage girl. A feeling that was reciprocated. Maddy had become very fond of Letty, and having lost her own mother a few years previously she had been glad of the comforting presence and the help and advice of this warm and sympathetic person. She had been very close to her step-mother, however, back in Scarborough, the woman whom she still referred to as Aunty Faith. But Faith was miles away with Maddy’s father, William; her brother, Patrick; and three of Faith’s own children, Maddy’s stepsisters and stepbrother. The worst thing about all this travelling around was that she saw her family only infrequently, not nearly so much as she would have liked to have done. During the summer, though, she lived at home again, becoming a Pierrot in a white costume and pointed hat, like the rest of the troupe.

Sunday was their travelling day when they boarded the train with all their bags and baggages, their props and portable items of scenery, and moved on to their next port of call. They had travelled from Bradford last Sunday, only a short distance away, and next week they had a booking in Wakefield, which would involve a rather longer journey.

Another thing that artistes had to get used to was the unpredictable meal times. Some landladies might provide a midday cooked meal, with others it might be in the early evening, or not at all. Maddy
had been used to regular meal times; dinner at six o’clock on the dot every evening, which was the time best suited to the working hours of her father and grandfather. First house in most towns started at six o’ clock, followed by the second house at eight-thirty. She could not sing after a large meal and there was often very little time left for food. So Maddy would snatch a sandwich when she could or sometimes ate a meal very late at night, a habit which did not seem at all unusual to the rest of the company.

But tonight she was looking forward to a leisurely meal in the company of her stepbrother, Samuel. He was the eldest of Faith’s four children, aged twenty-one, and was in his final year at Leeds University. When he had heard that the troupe was performing in Leeds he had contacted Maddy. They had arranged that he would meet her after the Wednesday evening performance at nine-thirty or so. He would take her out for supper and then see her back safely to her lodgings, not far from City Square.

When she had finished her next appearance in the second half of the show she changed out of her cream-coloured dress into her smart costume, the one that she wore for best or if she was going anywhere special. She felt that it made her look much older, much more a woman of the world, than the simple girlish dresses she wore for her stage appearances. It was made of a royal blue light
woollen material and had an ankle-length pleated skirt and a double-breasted jacket edged with red braid, and sported shiny golden buttons. With it she wore a small brimless hat with a red ribbon bow and pom-pom. It had been featured in the shop as a ‘sailing costume’, but she guessed that many of the women who wore a similar costume would, like Maddy herself, not be going anywhere near a boat. She had worn it only twice since she had bought it in January, but tonight was a very special occasion. She wondered if the lightweight wool would be warm enough; the March weather could be unpredictable and there had been a chilly wind when she had walked to the theatre earlier that evening. On the other hand, she doubted that she would notice the weather when she was in the company of Samuel.