Bone Street/Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
REHEARSALS
Rehearsals commenced the following Monday at seven-thirty prompt, and Jack was informed by Ernest that for three weeks it would be ding-dong work, every night from seven-thirty till nearly ten, and when the principals arrived on the last week it would probably be after midnight.
The manager had engaged a club room in Gray’s Lane close to the theatre, and at seven-fifteen on the Monday night the two young men arrived. One would have thought from the appearance of the room it was just an ordinary “hop,” for there were chairs round the room, and a piano at the far end.
The stage manager, a Mr. Susanah (engaged specially for the pantomime), was there, also Mr. McFee, the conductor of the orchestra, for as the music had been written by the latter, that portion of the show was to be rehearsed under his personal supervision. Twenty small girls about ten years old were seated in a row learning their songs, and the wee bodies swayed to and fro, while their sweet baby voices sang:
My little soldier boy.
He’s my little chocolate soldier
And my only pride and joy.”
Several tall young women sat round nodding their heads and tapping their feet at the rhythm, and all lips pouted in smiles at the evident delight the children were feeling in their work.
“Now, children,” said the stage manager, “we’ll just try the movement once more.” They trooped into the centre of the room. “Boys to the right; girls to the left,” commanded the stage manager. “Now, Rosie,” he admonished one wee maid, “you’re a boy, you know, and your girl is waiting for you, look alive. Ready, Mr. McFee.” The piano struck up the air, while the kiddies walked gravely down the room, trying to hold themselves like wooden soldiers. They parted company at the end of the room; boys turned to the right, girls to the left. Half-way back, both lines returned to the centre, forming couples again for the next movement.
Quaint kiddies they looked, some respectably dressed, some otherwise, some with clogs on, and some wearing boots, but all with smiling faces, and all evidently finding a keen enjoyment in work which was play to them.
At seven-thirty Mr. Susanah called out, “That will do for to-night, children; be here at six o’clock to-morrow, and don’t forget your songs and choruses. Good-night, kiddies.”
“Good night, sir,” came a chorus of replies, and off they went to their respective homes.
By this time there were about twenty young women and the six men waiting. Mr. Susanah was a man of fifty years, small and stout, with a ruddy, clean-shaven face that shone with humour. Before starting, he addressed them thus:
“Now, young people, I want this show to be the biggest success there has ever been in Beckton; the chorus will number forty altogether, and the music has been specially written for this pantomime by Mr. McFee. If it goes as I anticipate, it will be a tiptop show, but that cannot be unless we all pull together. That’s the secret, pulling together, working for the success of The Show. Think of that every time— The Show. You who have been in Panto before, pull together; help the new ones all you can—you were once new yourselves—and above all no jealousies. If it’s a success, it will have a long run, and you’ll have a happy time, but if you don’t all pull together the show will fail.
“Now I’m leaving you all in the hands of Mr. McFee to give you the music for a few nights. I’ve other work to do. The ballet mistress will be ready in a few days. So work hard at it, you folk, and think on The Show. Good night.” And off he went, to a chorus of “Good nights.”
Mr. McFee then took his turn, sitting at the piano facing his audience. “How many can read music? Hands up.” Six of the girls and all of the men raised their hands. “Good,” he said. “Now, please, girls. Trebles on one side, and altos on the other.” There were a fairly even number, so after arranging the chairs he gave each a copy of the score, placing the girls who could read music in the front; the men he placed at the back, and half facing them at the piano said, “I’m going to play the opening chorus once to get you accustomed to the air; those who can join in, do so; you boys might sing the air first.” And he plunged into the chorus, accompanied by the men. Then some of the girls joined in, and by the time the chorus had been gone through most of them were trying their best. “That’s fine for a beginning,” he said. “Now try and forget yourselves entirely, and sing heartily. The scene opens out in the Market Place, when the alarm comes that the forty thieves are coming. Once again please.” And they sang:
Hark to the loud alarm!
The Forty Thieves, The Forty Thieves,
The very name wild terror weaves;
With trembling fear each bosom heaves.
Oh save us from the forty thieves.”
“That’s fine, girls. Now, men, please sing your own parts, let’s hear how the harmony sounds. I’ll play the introduction first this time.” Then, “Once more, please.”
Six men to harmonise with twenty women; it was indeed a task, but they made a real effort, and to some extent succeeded.
Mr. McFee swung round to face them. “Splendid,” he said. “Splendid, keep it up like that and we’ll have a fine chorus. There are ten London girls to come yet, and ten supers, but they will not arrive for another week; if you progress like that you’ll be able to teach them when they arrive. Now we’ll have another try at the big chorus. It is supposed to be the robbers’ cave, where Cassim Baba is caught by the forty thieves and their captain, and where he is doomed to die. It is a tragic scene, and I only want the best voices to take part in it; of course all of you will be in the picture, but as complete harmony as possible is required. Anyway we’ll just run through it. Now, men, pull all your weight.” Cassim pleads, “Spare my life, most noble Captain.” Captain sings:
Farewell to home and all thou lovest, farewell to life now say.”
They struggled through, once, twice.
“That’s fine,” said Mr. McFee, “you’re getting the hang of it. Now let us return to the opening chorus.”
They hammered away, first at one thing then another, for more than two hours, at the end of which time Mr. McFee rose from the stool.
“Thank you,” he said. “I never expected to get so far to-night. Later I will select the girls who are to sing in the big scene. I shan’t require more than twenty, and see to it that you can beat the London Chorus when they come. Of course some of you cannot sing.” And observing the smiles said, “Hands up those who know they cannot.”
About six hands went up. He nodded appreciatively.
“There’s the spirit. That leaves six to be selected from the London girls. That’s all, girls. Thank you. Good night. Will you men walk down with me to the theatre? I want to say a few words to you.”
There was handshaking among the old members of the chorus, and introductions for the new-comers. Jack was gravely introduced by Billy Yates to the girls as the new chum. They were mostly factory girls, glad of the opportunity of earning a few extra shillings, but they appeared to be a happy crowd. Slowly they took their departure, the men remaining behind for Mr. McFee. He locked up, and walking slowly down the road, said reflectively:
“Now, boys, I want you on my side. This is my chance. I’ve never produced in Panto before, but I’m sure that with your help I can make a success of it. This show is written differently from most pantos. There is a tragic side to it, and if the robbers’ cave scene is well played and sung it will make a hit. Mr. Frankland has engaged a good man to play Cassim Baba. So please do your best, boys, and let it be a good show. Seven-thirty to-morrow evening. Good night.” And into the theatre he went.
Rehearsals were persevered with every night for the remainder of the week, and every night they improved, till by the end of the week most of the chorus knew their parts without the score. In addition to the big chorus they had learned the choruses of the songs. Almost every night there was another half an hour rehearsal at Bone Street, the girls insisting on them calling straight from practice.
On Sunday Ernest invited the whole of them to his home for tea, and they had a merry time, young Bella enjoying herself immensely. She was Principal boy, Principal Girl; in fact she was all the show in turns, including chorus. Mrs. Dickinson immediately took to Marthalice, and the two women laughed themselves sore at the antics of the young ones. The eyes of Marthalice followed Jack with undisguised affection. “Aye,” she said turning to her companion, “they’re a pair of grand lads.”
“That they are,” replied the other. “Ahr Ernest has been a good lad to me, I don’t know what I’d have done without him. This ud have been a poor home if he’d been careless like, but he’s been a trier and a fair comfort. Aye, he’s a grand lad is ahr Ernest.”
Thus they talked while the young ones enjoyed each other’s company, but all good things end, and they parted for that day, Ernest escorting them down the street. When he returned home his mother said: “She’s a nice lass is young Bella, isn’t she?”
The young man coloured.
“Nay, lad,” said his mother, “I’ve lived longer nor thee an it’s nowt to be ashamed on; I can see tha like’s t’lass, an I’ve been wondering what was the attraction besides Jack.”
“Well, she is a nice lass, mother,” he said, while mother nodded her approval. “An’ when I’ve chance I’m going to walk her out, that is if she will.”
“Oh, she will hard enough,” was the reply. “I’ve been watching her an’ all, an’ she’ll do for thee, and that’s saying a lot, lad.”
Ernest nodded silently, then catching her hands, fondly kissed her good night.