Bone Street/Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
STILL REHEARSING
When they arrived at rehearsal on Monday night the London chorus had come, and that meant a hard week for the local girls, for the new-comers were mostly drawn from touring comedies, and, being accustomed to the dances and ballets, learned the movements quickly; but in one thing the local girls had the advantage, that was knowing the music. Nevertheless they all had to work hard, excepting the men, who, in the words of Billy Yates, “Had simply to look bonny and sing.” So most of the time the men sat in their own corner while the girls worked hard practising the ballet dances. The whole show was being rehearsed except that of the principals, who would arrive a week later.
The majority of the London chorus were just nice girls, bent on having a good time while they were young, and evidently determined to take all the good things life offered. Their high-pitched cockney voices sounded strange to Jack after spending his entire life in the north and hearing mostly dialect from youth up. There was not much spare time for chatting together, but occasionally one of them would fire a question or observation at Jack; sometimes their remarks were understandable, but mostly they were unintelligible to his north-country ear. Noticing this they took a keen delight in teasing him by asking questions rapidly to prevent him getting their meaning, but for all their frivolity and fun he found them to be jolly decent girls.
He noticed one in particular, a tall dark reserved girl of about twenty years. Somehow she differed both in appearance and ways from the others. A healthy complexion contrasted with the pallor of the city girls, and her reserve was not so much that of aloofness as a difference in temperament. She displayed a pleasant tolerance to the horse-play and sallies of the others, but never at any time joined in their boisterousness. Nor was she so accustomed to the work as the others, for even the inexperienced eye of Jack could see she depended on her side partners for the dancing, but her contralto voice was good and not too amateurish, which caused the conductor to select her for the big chorus.
All the company were summoned for a full stage rehearsal with principals on the following Sunday, and at two-thirty in the afternoon they assembled. Jack saw with interest the principals, some of whom he had seen on previous occasions when visiting the theatre. The Principal Boy, Nellie Noon, was a woman of ample proportions, whose main qualification was a fine chorus-singing voice and sufficient personality to get the audience to sing with her. Her bulk completely overshadowed the Principal Girl, Bessie Gilmour, who was petite, but with an abundance of fun shouting at you from her merry face and eyes. Mr. Wilson Humley was the actor engaged to play Cassim Baba, and attracted all eyes to him by his exaggerated tragedy manner, but later he completely won all hearts with his intense reality and deep love for acting.
The comedian was a tall lanky man with an india-rubber face whom the name of Jim Chubb suited admirably. Then there were others who played minor parts, but without whom the show would not have been complete. The full orchestra was also present, for an attempt was to be made to rehearse the whole show. The theatre was to close for a week, and the whole company had to make every effort to be ready for the commencement of the pantomime on Christmas Eve.
At two-forty-five after a lot of preliminaries the chorus, principals, and all others were quite ready. Mr. McFee occupied the conductor’s chair; and Mr. Frankland was seated in the stalls. The chorus struck up the overture, then as the curtain rose the chorus was “discovered” singing the opening “Hark to the loud alarm!”
Apparently the show proceeded not too successfully. The principals read their parts as though bored with the work, as probably they were, for most of them had travelled all night from their previous engagement. It was a scrappy affair, and to the inexperienced eye of Jack it seemed impossible to get perfection out of such hopeless chaos. He was most attracted with the acting of Mr. Humley in the big scene, who alone played his part with vigour. However, they continued till six o’clock, when Mr. Frankland stood up in the stalls saying: “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That will do for to-day. I am well satisfied with the rehearsal, and if we continue as well there will be a good show for the public on Christmas Eve. Will the principals take the call to-morrow at two, and the chorus at six-thirty prompt.”
Jack was amazed at the satisfaction expressed by the manager, and said so to Ernest. “Oh,” was the reply, “we’ve not done so bad. I can assure you it was much worse last year. The principals were jealous of each other; the jealousy extended to the chorus, which meant a rotten show; but the boss has weeded them out this year; you’ll be surprised to-morrow night at the change, for when the principals have had a rest and a further practice they’ll be all right. One thing, they are an improvement on last year, for they were too stuck up even to speak to the chorus, and these do appear approachable.”
The last week of rehearsals was passing steadily along, the show was being polished up very satisfactorily. The pruning knife was being used in one place, and a new bit substituted in another.
The principals were working together like trojans, which gave encouragement to the chorus to follow their example. Mr. Susanah was delighted with the progress and spirit of real team work displayed by all. Watching them one evening, he was heard to remark to the manager, “Never have I worked with a more satisfactory company. Look there,” he said, pointing to the O.P. side. “That’s the way I like to see them.” There in the wing was the Principal Girl, Bessie Gilmour, chatting in an undertone to one of the chorus girls, and as if making explanations, drew her skirts up and executed a small step. The other girl watched her intently, then at the invitation of the principal attempted the step herself.
“That’s the way I like to see them,” exclaimed Mr. Susanah enthusiastically. “Nothing stiff-necked about Bessie. Oh, they’re a crowd after my own heart.”
Mr. Frankland nodded his agreement. “Yes,” he replied. “They’re all triers, and I want nothing better.”
Eventually the night for the full-dress rehearsal arrived, and no one without actual experience can understand the emotions, fears, and doubts one feels at dress rehearsal, every member of the company in full pantomime costume, “make-up,” etc., as though actually playing before an audience.
Under the instructions of Ernest, Jack had purchased his “make-up,” consisting of a few ounces of coco-nut butter, a stick each of flesh, carmine and black grease paint, a powder puff, and a quantity of powdered Swallow Starch, the latter being less expensive than toilet powder.
They arrived at the theatre at six o’clock, ready for the commencement of the show at seven. It was bustling confusion everywhere; the stage carpenter and his men were busy setting up Scene One, and everybody seemed falling over each other. Jack made his way to the dressing-room, which was a small three-cornered room about ten feet on the widest side, the other sides being about five feet, with the door at the apex. A rough table was placed down the long side, while hung on the other two sides were hooks to hang costumes, etc., on. Four of them had to join in one room, so they were likely to get squeezed, but as yet the other two had not arrived.
“Now,” said Ernest, “off with your coat, waistcoat and shirt, and watch me.” They both undressed, after which Ernest commenced to make-up. He took a small piece of coco-nut butter in his fingers and thoroughly daubed his face, afterwards rubbing the face vigorously. “This,” said Ernest, “is to form a basis for the paint.”
Following the example of Ernest, Jack then took the flesh paint, and applied it to his face as though using a shaving stick, then rubbed it in all over, until his face and upper part of the neck was a pale pink. Then a little carmine was applied to the cheeks and gradually worked in, so that it blended with the pink. Then eyebrows were thickened with the black stick, and the eyelashes with the lake liner, while a small spot of carmine was put in the corner of each eye. Next the lips were worked with carmine, giving them cupid’s bows such as Nature never gave, after which they drew back from the mirror and looking at each other burst into laughter.
“Well,” said Jack, “we do look freaks; Marthalice wouldn’t recognise me now.”
“Aye,” said the other, “we do, but we’d look bigger freaks before the footlights without make-up. Our eyes would appear like burned holes in a blanket without it. You must remember the audience are a distance from the stage, and we must exaggerate our features or those at the back wouldn’t see our faces distinctly.”
It was now six-thirty, and the other two had not yet arrived, which led Ernest to say, “That reminds me, Jack, I advise you not to get slack. The other two who room with us are good chaps, and good singers, but they aren’t very particular how they dress or make-up. It doesn’t pay. The boss may not notice it, but in any case I’d rather do my best while I’m here.”
Jack agreed and stored the advice away.
Just then the footsteps of the other two were heard, and almost immediately they walked into the dressing-room. “Good evening, boys,” they said, “made-up already. Righto, we can have the glass now,” said Billy Yates, and they commenced to divest themselves of their clothing.
“Now,” said Ernest, “tights on.” And he showed Jack how to bring the tapes round and fasten them while bending, so that on rising erect they fit skintight; then they donned trunks and tunic, a gaudy sash, and a tall headdress. This completed their dressing for Scene One, and they were ready for rehearsal. Jack felt horribly self-conscious in his new dress, particularly the tights, for he had a feeling that something was lacking. Billy Yates noticed this, and commenced to chaff him, remarking “that he did look bonny,” but good-humouredly advised him “to think nowt about it,” it would wear off. “I wor the same once mysen,” he added.
It was now six-forty-five and Ernest suggested going to the stage, so off they went. Ernest tucking a piece of pencil and paper in his trunks, and noticing Jack’s enquiring look, volunteered the information that it was for writing down their several cues for entry.
“Aye,” said Billy, “if it wasn’t for Ernest we would miss half our cues.”
Arriving at the stage they found several of the girls also dressed and waiting. The curtain was down, and the stage was set, the limelight men were in attendance. Then the property man came on the stage with a bundle of props, otherwise stage properties, for it is almost an unwritten rule in pantomime that the chorus should never be empty-handed. Their own particular props consisted of wooden scimitars painted to resemble steel, together with murderous knives for their sashes. Soon the chorus was all assembled, and Mr. McFee was giving them a final word before going to the orchestra. “Now, boys and girls, you all know your parts perfectly, forget everything but the show.”
A smiling nodding of heads and a chorus of “Depend on us,” they speeded him away satisfied.
“All ready,” said the stage manager from the prompt box after a look round to see that the chorus were in their places. He pressed the button which rung in the orchestra, the conductor waved his baton, and the overture commenced. A few bars and the chorus commenced walking round the stage. Up went the curtain. The bell tolled the alarm, while the chorus spiritedly took up their parts. Mr. McFee was delighted, and nodded encouragement.
So the show proceeded. There were hitches, and again the pruning knife was used, but the unanimous verdict at one o’clock in the morning was— “A huge success.”
Mr. Frankland complimented the entire company for the show, and thanked them very sincerely for their hard work. A tired cheer answered him, and they departed to the dressing-rooms tired but happy in the knowledge they had given of their best.