As Friday and their first television lesson drew near, excitement among the ‘Babies’ mounted.
‘Who is the teacher going to be?’ Maddy asked Snooks.
‘A Mr Manyweather,’ said Snooks. ‘Leon Manyweather. He’s a famous television producer.’
‘Did he produce the show you were in?’
‘No, a lady produced ours.’
‘We must wear our best clothes tomorrow,’ announced Maddy, and it was a very smart ‘Babies’ class that turned up at the Academy on Friday. Zillah had been the only problem.
‘Shall I wear my Sunday?’ she had asked Maddy.
As her ‘Sunday’, a particularly unpleasant mauve velvet, was slightly more hideous than her tan-coloured everyday dress, Maddy said hastily, ‘Oh, no, I don’t think I should be as formal as that.’
For once, Maddy laid aside her favourite red slacks, put on a new pale-blue summer dress and white socks, and even cleaned her shoes. By the time she had finished with it, her hair, too, looked less like a bird’s nest than usual.
Their lesson with Mr Manyweather was to be the last before lunch, and when they trooped into the classroom they found nobody there except a young man with a thatch of reddish hair and large spectacles, who was thumping out some jazz on the rickety piano.
His playing was more enthusiastic than accurate, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He finished with a clash of discords and swung round on the piano stool to face the class.
‘Hullo. Are you the Babies? You’re bigger than I expected from the name. My name’s Manyweather.’
Their jaws dropped in astonishment, and there were a few stifled giggles.
‘Now, I’m supposed to teach you about television. It’s a big subject, and nobody knows all about it yet. I wonder how much you know already? How many of you have television sets at home?’
Half a dozen hands were raised.
‘And how many of you have acted on television?’
Buster and Snooks raised their hands importantly.
‘Good. Well, I hope more of you will have a chance before long. Now, first of all I’m going to try and give you a rough idea of how television works. And for that I’ll have to draw on the blackboard. But don’t be alarmed. It’s not a bit dull.’
It wasn’t. His drawing was very eccentric, but he livened up his diagrams with little matchstick men with ‘balloons’ coming out of their mouths saying, ‘I am a cameraman’ or ‘I am a producer.’ A lot of pupils did not understand the technical details of what Mr Manyweather was saying, but they listened eagerly because of the flow of jokes and the funny drawings.
When the lesson was nearly over he said, putting down the chalk with a large gesture, ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’re any the wiser, but that’s my idea of how television works. We haven’t even got round to the technique of television acting, but before we finish for the day I’d like to see each of you do something, so that I can feel I know you a bit. Now, all I want from you at the moment is sincerity. The camera does not lie. A television camera can see right into your soul through the windows of your eyes. You don’t need any tricks—any theatrical gestures—hardly any voice even. All you need—or nearly all—is sincerity. Try to remember those points when you do your party piece for me.’
He pointed to people at random, but there was only time for a few before the end of the lesson. After each performance he said much the same thing.
‘No, much too big. Too many gestures. Too theatrical. I know that you have been used to the theatre up till now, but you’ve got to forget everything you’ve learned and start again for television.’
The only performance he liked was from the younger of the choir-school boys, who did a speech from Henry V. Up till now he had been accused of underacting, but this seemed to suit Mr Manyweather. ‘Jolly dee,’ he said. ‘Just the job. Now do you see what I mean?’ he appealed to the others. ‘Very quiet, very untheatrical, quite sincere.’
Then Maddy was called upon. ‘Come on, Gretchen. You next.’
‘I never call people by their names; I call them what they look like. You’ve got fair plaits like a little Dutch girl, so I shall call you Gretchen.’
Maddy did a speech of Maria’s from Twelfth Night and when she had finished Mr Manyweather laughed kindly and said, ‘Well, I can see you’re a comedienne, but that was much too broad—much, much too broad. But don’t worry. We’ll soon get you toned down enough for a television camera. Now, then, what about Velia?’
Everyone glanced round the room to see who Velia might be. It made life interesting, no one being called by their correct names.
‘The witch of the wood,’ giggled Maddy. ‘Who’s that, Mr Manyweather?’
Then she saw that he was indicating Zillah.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked her.
‘Zillah. Zillah Pendray.’
‘What a wonderful name. I was almost right, wasn’t I?’
Zillah did a speech of Cordelia’s which Maddy had made her learn, telling her that she could not go on saying the Twenty-third Psalm for ever, and when it was finished Mr Manyweather looked at her speculatively for a long time.
‘Interesting,’ he said at last. ‘Very interesting. Excellent for television in a way—no tricks, no gestures, very sincere, but your accent, of course, makes you quite impossible in a speech like that. Learn some Joan of Arc for next week, will you, please? Then I shan’t be distracted by the accent. And everyone, for next week please prepare something specially for me. I don’t want any old speech that you’ve known for years, just polished up. I want you to prepare something entirely new, remembering what I’ve told you today. O.K.?’
They all agreed enthusiastically. The bell rang, and Mr Manyweather put on a very shabby duffle coat, picked up an even shabbier briefcase, together with a frying pan inadequately wrapped in paper, a roll of music and a shooting stick, and disappeared, crying, ‘See you next week.’
‘What a funny man,’ said Maddy when he had gone.
‘Isn’t he young?’ chorused everyone, and immediately started discussing what speeches they would learn for the following Friday.
‘I wish next Friday was tomorrow,’ said Maddy impatiently. ‘I want to learn more about television. It sounds such fun.’
While they were eating ham rolls in the canteen, where you had to shout in order to be heard above the din, Maddy said to Snooks, ‘You’ve got television at home, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Snooks casually. ‘Why?’
‘We haven’t. Neither at home in Fenchester, nor at Mrs Bosham’s. I’ve hardly ever seen any. Have you, Zillah?’
‘No. Never.’
Maddy turned to Snooks again.
‘There you are, Zillah’s never seen it, and I have hardly ever.’
‘Well, I can’t help it…’ began Snooks, then saw the light. ‘Oh, I see. Yes. Do come to tea tomorrow and watch television. Saturday’s is usually a good programme.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ said Maddy with satisfaction. ‘Had you better ask your mother? Ring her up, I mean?’
‘No,’ said Snooks. ‘I often have people in on a Saturday afternoon—usually friends from my old school. I’ve never had any from the Academy before.’
She looked doubtfully at Maddy and Zillah.
‘It’s all right,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ll wear this dress and lend Zillah a blouse and skirt, if she’d like. You would like to come to tea, wouldn’t you?’ she demanded, noting Zillah’s expression of terror.
Zillah nodded miserably, and Snooks turned her eyes up to the ceiling in despair.
Maddy was extremely pleased at having secured an invitation, for in London weekends were rather a problem. She could not often afford the fare to Fenchester, and it was very dull at Mrs Bosham’s when there was no Academy to go to. And going out, though nice, was expensive.
Snooks gave them minute details of how to get to her house, and when she noticed Buster looking wistful she included her in the invitation as well.
‘Which shall we call you at home, Gladys or Gloria?’ demanded Maddy.
‘Gladys, I’m afraid.’
‘O.K. We’ll try to remember.’
‘My mother’s not particular about it, though,’ said Snooks. ‘She’s not particular about anything really—except about not wearing high heels with slacks.’
Maddy thought she must be rather a remarkable mother, and couldn’t wait to see her.
When Mrs Bosham heard that the two girls were going out to tea she was delighted.
‘It’ll be nice fer you,’ she said, ‘to see a bit of life.’
‘We’re going to watch television,’ Maddy told her.
‘Coo, have they got the telly? I wonder whether I ought to get one—on the never-never, you know. The lodgers often ask, when they first come, ’ave I got the telly. If I’ad, I could put me terms up…’
She pondered on it, and Maddy said, ‘Well, it would be a good idea to have it, but not to put your terms up, because then no one from the Academy could afford to come here…’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t put them up fer the students—only fer the commercials.’
‘That’s right,’ urged Maddy. ‘Then the students could look at the television that the commercials were paying for!’
Next day Maddy had a hard job to persuade Zillah to accept the loan of any clothes.
‘I’ll wear my Sunday,’ she insisted. ‘That’s what it’s for—going visiting…’
‘But it’s too dressy,’ said Maddy desperately.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Zillah looked hurt. ‘It’s new. My mother made it—specially for London.’
‘I should keep it,’ said Maddy, inspired, ‘for wearing on the stage. If we do a modern play at the end of the term, we have to provide our own clothes, you know.’
‘Do we? Then I’d better. But can I wear my everyday…’
‘Here, borrow a white blouse of mine, and my grey skirt.’
‘It’ll be too short…’
It was, but the white blouse suited her so well that Maddy persuaded her to wear the outfit.
‘You can wear my grey blazer too, and it looks almost like a suit, you see. I’ll take my mackintosh in case it rains.’
‘Mother’s making me a real summery frock for later on,’ said Zillah. ‘So I shan’t need to borrow anything again.’
They set out early to make sure of getting to Snooks’s in time. In fact, they started before lunch, and Mrs Bosham gave them some sandwiches to eat in the train. Zillah was terrified of Victoria Station, with all the bustle and scurrying people, and the constant train noises. She was quite pale, and Maddy had to take her by the arm and drag her along. They caught the train with plenty of time to spare, and found an empty carriage. As soon as they sat down Maddy suggested they should eat their sandwiches—‘before they got stale’. Mrs Bosham was not a very good sandwich cutter—the bread was too thick and the meat was too lumpy, and apt to fall out. They both agreed that she was not so good at sandwiches as their own mothers.
‘Where are we now?’ Zillah kept demanding, once the train had started.
‘London still,’ Maddy kept replying.
‘Isn’t it big,’ cried Zillah. ‘Where does it end?’
Maddy was amazed to find that not only had Zillah never been to London before she came to the Academy, but until then had never left her village of Polgarth.
‘Never?’ inquired Maddy incredulously.
‘No. Never. Dad used to go over to town to market, but he never took Mum and me…’
‘Goodness!’ Maddy snorted. ‘Didn’t you insist?’
‘You don’t know my Dad!’ said Zillah darkly.
When they reached Sutton, Snooks was at the station to meet them, waving and shouting ‘Yoo-hoo’ with as much excitement as though she hadn’t seen them for six months.
‘We didn’t think you’d expect us quite so early,’ said Maddy.
‘I guessed you’d come in good time,’ said Snooks. ‘It’s a long way to our house. Shall we take a bus or walk?’
‘Walk,’ said Maddy. ‘There’s plenty of time, isn’t there? I mean, television doesn’t start yet, does it?’
‘No. Not for ages.’
They dawdled along, looking in shop windows and talking and giggling, until Snooks said, ‘Oh, help, I’d forgotten Buster. She’ll probably be waiting at home. We’d better get a move on.’
They hurried along to Snooks’s house, where Buster, looking very clean and tidy, was sitting rather stiffly on a settee talking to Mrs Snooks. Mrs Snooks was large and pretty and nicely dressed, and determined to put her daughter’s friends at their ease.
‘I’m having my tea in here,’ she said. ‘I’ve laid yours in the dining-room. I’m sure you’ll like to have it by yourselves, won’t you? And afterwards you can come in here to watch the television.’
‘Will you call us immediately it starts, even if we haven’t finished?’ asked Snooks anxiously.
‘Yes,’ laughed Mrs Snooks. ‘Do you really mean that the programme’s more important than food?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Snooks and Buster promptly. And even Maddy agreed.
The tea was enormous and delicious, including jelly and blancmange and three sorts of cake, but the girls hurried through it, so that they were back in the lounge when the children’s television started.
They sat in a row on low humpties and stools and watched in earnest silence from beginning to end, except when Snooks put in, ‘This bit isn’t as good as usual,’ or ‘This is a new item—I’ve never seen her before.’
The first part of the programme was a band show, with some children singing and dancing, and the second was a play, in which there were two boys and three girls, all about twelve years old.
When it was over and Mrs Snooks had switched off, Maddy said, ‘H’mm, wasn’t bad, was it? But we could be as good as that, don’t you think? Where do they get the kids from?’
‘Other schools like ours,’ said Buster. ‘I know, because we met some when we did our show.’
‘Did you like it, Zillah?’ asked Maddy, trying to bring her into the conversation, for she had hardly spoken since she arrived. ‘Did you like it better than the pictures?’
Zillah looked at Maddy blankly.
‘I’ve never been to the pictures.’
‘Never been to the pictures?’ they all repeated.
‘My dear child,’ cried Mrs Snooks, ‘where have you lived?’
Zillah was so embarrassed that Maddy told her life story for her—as much as she had heard from the Blue Doors—occasionally saying to Zillah, ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ ‘No, no,’ Zillah would reply frantically when Maddy’s imagination roamed too far from the truth.
Mrs Snooks was fascinated, and looked at Zillah as though she were some strange animal.
‘You poor little thing,’ she said. ‘Now you’re here we must see that you do go out. Shall we all go to the cinema tonight—just to show Zillah?’
‘Oh, yes,’ they all cried, and made a dash for the evening paper to see what was being shown locally. Finally they decided on an exciting double-feature programme, which included a cowboy film and a comedy. Before they got ready for the cinema Snooks took them all round her home, and Zillah saw for the first time a refrigerator, an electric hair-dryer and a washing machine.
‘Isn’t it a lovely house!’ she breathed to Maddy, who agreed, but secretly thought she would probably prefer the farmhouse at Polgarth, which was Zillah’s home. Snooks’s house was very comfortable but awfully ordinary, she felt.
When they went into the cinema the cowboy film had started, and as they stepped into the darkness of the auditorium there was the sound of hooves, and stampeding wild horses seemed to leap out of the screen at them. Zillah gave a scream of terror, and made to run back into the foyer. Maddy grabbed her by the arm.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s only on the screen.’
‘But it’s so… so big.’
It surprised Maddy to hear someone complaining that the cinema screen was too big. She had heard that people used to the cinema often found a television screen too small, until they became accustomed to it, but she had never heard of anyone who objected to the size of a cinema screen.
At the end of the programme they were all bleary-eyed and exhausted and it was very late. Poor Zillah had dark rings under her eyes and looked as if she were half asleep.
‘It was wonderful,’ she said to Mrs Snooks. ‘I can never thank you properly.’
Mrs Snooks laughed a little and straightened her smart hat.
‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it. I’m afraid it’s so late that there isn’t time for you to come back for supper, so we’d better all see you and Maddy on to the train, then we’ll walk home with Buster.’
In the train Zillah fell asleep and slept all the way to Victoria. Maddy studied her carefully. She really was a strange girl! Asleep, she looked so beautiful that it was difficult to realise she was so… so simple when she was awake. And how did she manage to be such a good actress, when she had never been to a cinema—let alone a theatre? In some ways she was rather a liability to have around, because she seemed so dumb, and yet there was a great satisfaction in showing her things for the first time.
It was so late when they reached Fitzherbert Street that Mrs Bosham was quite worried.
‘Thought you’d bin kidnapped,’ she cried when she opened the door.
‘My father always says that if anybody ever kidnaps me they’ll soon send me back,’ laughed Maddy as they went inside.
‘Did you ’ave a good time?’
‘We’ve watched television and been to the pictures,’ said Maddy.
‘And seen a refrigerator!’ added Zillah, with shining eyes.
Mrs Bosham had the grace not to laugh.
‘Well I never! What a day. Now off to bed, both of you, and I’ll bring you up a nice supper. What would you like to eat?’
‘We had an enormous tea,’ said Maddy. ‘But perhaps a little something…’
They ate slices of Mrs Bosham’s home-made cake, which was of a soggy consistency, and Maddy said, ‘What shall we do tomorrow?’
‘’Tis the Sabbath,’ said Zillah picturesquely.
‘Er—yes,’ said Maddy. ‘So ’tis.’
But it sounded different when she said it.
‘I go to Chapel,’ said Zillah. ‘Is there a chapel in London?’
‘There must be,’ said Maddy. ‘Would St Paul’s count, I wonder?’
‘St Pauls’s—that be a cathedral…’
‘Is a cathedral,’ Maddy corrected her. ‘Not be a cathedral. You don’t mind if I correct you?’
‘No, surely, I don’t. That is a cathedral. I’d dearly love to see it. Would it be so very wicked to go, think you?’
Zillah was constantly amazing Maddy.
‘Wicked! To go to a cathedral! Oh, Zillah, of course not,’ Maddy assured her.
‘Are you sure? Everything’s so different in London,’ said Zillah in a bewildered fashion. ‘Isn’t it all worshipping idols, though?’
‘We’ll go to St Paul’s tomorrow,’ said Maddy firmly. ‘And then you’ll see…’
Next day was beautifully sunny, and Mrs Bosham decided to accompany them, leaving the joint and potatoes to roast in the oven. Zillah wore her ‘Sunday’, Mrs Bosham wore her best and most atrocious hat, and for once Maddy looked quite subdued beside them.
‘How do we get there?’ demanded Zillah.
‘I dunno, I never bin.’
‘Never been? And you’ve lived in London all your life! Really, you two are a fine pair,’ Maddy told them. ‘You’d never get anywhere without me.’
Nevertheless, under Maddy’s guidance, they took two wrong buses and the service had started by the time they arrived. They were all extremely impressed by it, especially Zillah.
‘It’s ever so different from Chapel,’ she whispered.
When the service was over they stood on the steps and watched the congregation depart. There were visitors of every race and colour.
‘Look at all the black people,’ cried Zillah delightedly.
‘Sh!’ Maddy hissed at her, as though she were a small child. ‘They’ll hear you and be hurt. Do you really mean to say you’ve never seen any coloured people before…?’
‘No, we never had them in Polgarth.’
Zillah was the only person who made Maddy feel old.
When they got back to Fitzherbert Street, on the right bus this time, the Sunday dinner was cooked to a turn, and Maddy and Zillah ate theirs with the other lodgers, in the dining-room. This was the only meal of the week at which they met the others, and Maddy always enjoyed it enormously, chattering sixteen to the dozen to the ‘commercials’ and the university students who made up the rest of Mrs Bosham’s household. Zillah huddled in her chair, however, keeping her eyes on her plate, and looking terrified that someone might speak to her.
The girls were so replete after lunch that they went and lay in Regent’s Park, and worked on their speeches for Mr Manyweather.
‘It’s no good my doing a serious speech,’ said Maddy. ‘He says I’m a comedienne, so I shall have to be one.’
And she chose a comedy speech from Junior Miss, which she proceeded to rehearse with an American accent.
Zillah did her Saint Joan speech several times, and Maddy was very much impressed by it. But to her amazement Zillah asked after a while, ‘Who was Joan of Arc?’
‘Who was Joan of Arc?’ ejaculated Maddy. ‘Goodness, girl, didn’t you ever go to school? She was—she was—well, she was Saint Joan,’ she finished lamely.
‘But where did she live?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake read the whole play and find out. I can’t understand how anyone can deliver that speech as well as you do, and yet not know who Saint Joan was.’
Maddy was quite indignant about it.
‘If Mr Manyweather found out you didn’t know he’d be furious.’
So Zillah spent the rest of the afternoon reading Bernard Shaw, while Maddy yapped away beside her in an infuriating juvenile American accent.
The ‘Babies’ worked on their speeches all the week, to the detriment of their other homework, and when Friday came everyone was determined to impress Mr Manyweather. He turned up late for the lesson, as untidy as he had been the previous week, saying, ‘Now, we must get a move on or we shan’t get through. And I particularly want to hear you all because this week there’s a prize—one for a boy and one for a girl.’
His pupils looked towards the strange assortment of parcels he was carrying. Whatever could the prizes be?
‘That knobbly-shaped one looks nice,’ whispered Maddy to Snooks. ‘I’d like to win that one.’
‘I think it’s books,’ said Snooks. ‘He’s got lots of books with him.’
All did their best to remember what Mr Manyweather had told them the previous week. They didn’t use large gestures, they didn’t use too much voice, they tried not to overact, but at one moment Colin, the elder of the choir-school boys, suddenly made a sweeping gesture of pointing right into the distance, and then looked at his own finger in a horrified fashion. Everybody roared with laughter, including Mr Manyweather.
‘I’m sorry,’ Colin said. ‘That one got away by mistake. I learnt it in Shakespeare.’
Zillah was already shaking with apprehension, and Maddy, too, was unusually nervy as her turn approached.
‘Come on, Little-by-little,’ said Mr Manyweather, and Eric, the younger choir-school boy, resigned to this nickname all his life, stood up and did his speech. Mr Manyweather had approved of him last week, and this time he was obviously even more delighted.
‘He’s won the boy’s prize all right,’ whispered Maddy. ‘Go on Zillah, you get the girl’s.’
But poor Zillah was so nervous she dried in the middle. She just could not remember, and had to give up, although she had said her speech perfectly a dozen times to Maddy.
‘What a shame. It would have been good,’ said Mr Manyweather regretfully, ‘very good. Still, I’d rather have people nervous than feeling nothing. You’ll learn to control it.’
Although they had both appeared on television, neither Buster nor Snooks put up a very good show. They both overacted, and Mr Manyweather told them they appeared affected, which made them very crestfallen.
Maddy’s stomach was turning over in a most unpleasant fashion, when Mr Manyweather said, ‘Come on, Gretchen, it’s your turn.’
She gave a covetous look at the knobbly parcel on the floor beside his briefcase, and got up and did her Junior Miss speech, trying not to overdo the comedy. Her American accent was hideous, and very funny, and all the class began to giggle. She kept her voice at a conversational level, and directed her speech at one imaginary person standing quite close to her.
The whole class clapped when she had finished, and Mr Manyweather roared with laughter.
‘What a little horror!’ he cried. ‘I’ve never seen anything so nauseating, but excellent!’
The last few speeches were not particularly good, and Maddy began to feel excited.
‘You’ve got it—you’ve got it,’ whispered Buster and Snooks.
‘Whatever can it be?’ thought Maddy.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Mr Manyweather. ‘You’ve all worked jolly hard, I can see that. Now who shall have the prizes?’
‘Eric and Maddy,’ cried several voices.
‘Yes, that’s what I think,’ said Mr Manyweather. ‘I’m glad you all agree. Now, Maddy—and Eric.’
They stood up, and the class clapped and Maddy looked to see which parcels he would pick up. But he didn’t pick up any.
‘Your prize,’ he told them, ‘will be a visit to the television studios.’