“Hold the board a little higher, if you will, Miss Freebody. That’s much better.”

Click. Squawk.

“Thank you. You can give the board to Jeanette now. And while we’re getting ready for the next photograph, would you show me your smile? That’s right, smile as if you mean it!”

Click. Squawk.

“Now, would you turn your head to your left and lift your chin? Very nice.”

Click. Squawk.

“And now the right side?”

Click. Squawk.

“Now, we’re going to film you using the moving picture camera. Jeanette, would you hand the board back to Miss Freebody? Thank you.”

I took the board, which said SARAH FREEBODY, D.O.B. 11.5.1907, and pressed it to my chest. Behind it my heart beat fast. I hoped the make-up that had been put on my face would hide how much I was perspiring. The lights that a young man had arranged in front of me were hot and very bright. They were so bright, in fact, that the man instructing me was invisible behind them. His attempts to “put me at my ease”, as he said, had failed. I had never felt so unsure, so detached from real life, nor so excited.

“Ready?” came the disembodied voice.

“Yes, I believe so,” I replied.

“Er, Miss Freebody, I was actually addressing the camera operator.”

“Oh, sorry!” Perhaps the make-up would conceal my blush, too.

“We shall be taking moving pictures of you, my dear,” continued the voice kindly, “so you must move. Do whatever you wish, letting us see you from every side, including the back. Keep moving. And don’t look at the camera.”

The camera began to work, not clicking and squawking like the one that had taken the still photographs, but making a loud whirring sound, like the wings of an enormous bird. Of course I looked at it. Jeanette, who was perhaps ten years older than me and wore large earrings and her hair in a mass of waves, came and removed the board. I tried to smile at her, but she took no notice.

The camera was still on. Without the board I felt naked, though I was wearing a light dress, a pair of borrowed shoes and my best underwear.

“Move, Miss Freebody!” came the instruction. “And don’t look at the camera!”

What did Lillian Hall-Davis do when the camera was on her? Into my mind came her face, flickering high above me on the screen, glowing with beauty and life. Copying her, as I had done so many times before, I took a few steps in a small circle, looking over my shoulder when I turned my back. I put my hands on my hips and swayed from side to side, trying not to imagine what I looked like. Maybe the invisible people behind the lights were smiling at my discomfiture. Anxiety swept over me; I bit my lip, recognizing dimly that I had forgotten to breathe. I took a big gasp of air, searching the blackness for any sign of someone who might tell me if what I was doing was acceptable, or stop me. But no one spoke. All I heard was the noise of the camera and my own rushing breath.

On and on it went. I seemed to have been standing in this wilderness of light for ages, moving my body awkwardly, like a child made to perform at a birthday party. Unlike such a child, though, I would not be indulged by my audience.

“Miss Freebody!” called a different voice from the darkness. “Dennis has asked you twice. If I ask you a third time, do you think you could possibly not look into the camera?”