THAT SAME EVENING WAS Polly’s swansong on stage in Birmingham. She had all the patter now to link the songs. Mira’s coaching had, after all, been invaluable – she looked up, and sang to the gallery loud and clear. She had the toffs in the stalls rising from their seats with a roar of approval when she cartwheeled across the stage and showed off her trademark garter. ‘Polly Garter, mistress of mischief and mirth,’ the chairman with his pince-nez and oiled back hair, announced.
Polly wasn’t yet aware that Arthur had travelled up to see her last appearance there, and to take her home, the following day, Sunday.
After the saucy songs, then a quick change of costume in the wings, Polly appeared in a crinoline ballgown, clutching a large ostrich feather fan, to render the most popular song of the day, ‘After the Ball was Over’, a tearjerker if ever there was one. The entire audience sang the chorus with her:
After the ball was over, after the break of morn –
After the dancers’ leaving, after the stars are gone,
Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all –
Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball.
Polly waved the fan in acknowledgement of the cheers which greeted her bow. However, she was not quite finished yet, a stage hand handed her a penny whistle. As her pa had taught her, she raised it to her lips, and repeated the tune of the chorus. The audience erupted once again. One final cartwheel and the curtain came down.
‘Polly, you’re a star!’ Arthur cried, when he burst into her dressing room without knocking.
‘I knew you would come!’ she said, flinging her arms round him.
‘You’ve smothered me in cold cream and greasepaint,’ he said.
‘D’you mind?’
‘Not at all – but we’ll both need to clean our faces before we ask your landlady if she can find me a bed for the night.’
‘If she can’t oblige, you can share mine.’
‘Polly – you’re shameless,’ he said.
‘I know, but I’m honest, I say what I think. Before we go back to my digs, we’ll have to celebrate with my friends here – they plan to take me out. You can come along, eh?’
‘So this is to be my role in life – follow my leader!’
‘D’you mind?’ she demanded once again.
‘I don’t believe I do,’ he said, feeling bemused.
The ball was far from over, as Arthur shortly discovered when he tagged along behind the motley crew of dancers, comic singers, a family balancing act, a pair of jugglers and a lone ventriloquist with his dummy in its bag, which ‘piped up’ from time to time. They jostled one and another to walk beside the star attraction, Polly Garter.
They piled into the nearest hostelry, with its beer-stained tables and a jovial bartender, who filled a row of tankards as he saw them come in. Before Polly could take one, Arthur managed to attract the bartender’s attention and ordered a carafe of wine and two glasses.
‘Find us a table for two,’ he hissed in Polly’s ear. She said loudly, ‘Oh, we mustn’t disappoint the girls and boys – they want me to entertain them here, this last time, as I am booked solid for the London halls when I get back to Brixton.’
‘You’re going to sing?’
‘Of course I am!’ she declared.
A damp cloth was flicked across a long table, and more chairs were brought over to accommodate the crowd.
The ventriloquist had a further talent – he could play the piano. He placed his beer on top of the instrument, cracked his knuckles and settled to his task.
There was a rhythmical thump of fists on the table – ‘Up you go, Polly!’ they cried. She was hoisted up by the jugglers and set down in the centre of the table.
‘What d’yer want?’ she asked in fair imitation of Marie Lloyd.
‘‘After the Ball’!’ they shouted.
Polly wasn’t in a crinoline dress now, but she lifted her skirts to display her neat ankles and sang her heart out. As she swayed, the beer swilled, and Arthur caught some coarse comments from the regulars propping up the bar.
When she had finished singing, she held out her hand to Arthur to help her down. ‘Drink your wine,’ he said hoarsely, ‘Then we’ll leave . . .’
‘But they’ll want an encore—’ she protested.
‘They can want all they like. I came a long way to see you, and this isn’t what I had in mind. If you won’t come, I shall leave by myself, and you won’t see me again.’
‘Arthur! You don’t mean it, do you?’
‘Yes I do. I reckon you think I’m jealous – well I am. I was proud of you on stage, but not here, among this boozy lot. What would your pa say, or Harry and Hester and Big Peg? Granny Garter would have a fit, fond though she is of you.’
Polly was actually smiling. ‘Well, as you can see, my young man wants me all to himself! I’ll say cheer-ho then, ‘til we meet again, eh?’
‘The only bed I can offer,’ said the large landlady, suspiciously sniffing to ascertain if they had been drinking, ‘is the sofa in Miss Garter’s little sitting room.’
‘That will suit me, thank you,’ Arthur said gratefully. ‘Is there any chance, I wonder of a sandwich – I haven’t eaten since lunch time.’
‘I’ve got a cold sausage if you’d like that, with bread and butter.’
‘You must put that on my bill.’
The landlady snorted. ‘That’s my intention. I’ll be up in a while.’
‘Tea for two?’ his charm was irresistible.
‘That lot’ll cost you a bob,’ she said promptly, then bustled away to the kitchen.
‘The sofa’s not long enough, your feet’ll hang over the end,’ Polly giggled, when they were upstairs.
‘You don’t imagine I’m going to sleep on that, d’you?’
She giggled again. ‘I’ve only got a single bed.’
‘That’ll do – we’re two single people now, but I aim to change that shortly. When my contract finishes with the tunnel, what d’you say I become your manager – you need someone to keep the hordes at bay.’
‘Are you actually asking me to marry you? I thought you said, it wasn’t on the cards.’
‘Well, after tonight, it definitely is. Where’s that sausage sandwich, I’m starving!’
*
They sat opposite each other in the carriage, because they’d both wanted the window seat. Arthur smiled Polly. ‘Compromise,’ he observed, ‘I can see what our life together will be like.’
‘Changed your mind?’ she retorted, not bothered whether the two men earnestly perusing their newspapers at the other end of the carriage were listening or not.
‘After our reunion last night? Certainly not.’
‘I haven’t met your parents yet, they might not like me.’
‘I’m sure they will. You could say they are liberal minded.’
‘What if I joined them suffragettes? I believe women should be equal to men.’
‘So do I. Most of ‘em are, anyway,’ he said wryly, ‘even if they haven’t got a vote.’
‘Are you goin’ to ask me pa’s permission?’
‘Naturally. Though it seems to me you usually get what you want. You’ve been an independent young lady for some time, now.’
They had left the great city and the tall smoking chimneys behind and were now travelling past row upon row of railway houses, with long, narrow gardens. Soon they would be looking out on fields, ploughed into furrows – a rural scene.
Polly had been silent for some time, turning the pages of a magazine. She leaned over, tapped his knee. ‘Don’t go to sleep!’
‘I was just thinking,’ he said. ‘You’ll find things have changed when you get back to Lula’s. She has had to give up the business. You knew that might happen, eh? Well, you’ll be a lodger there now, like I am at your pa’s house.’
‘Why didn’t anyone write and tell me?’ she demanded.
‘They thought it best to let you enjoy your success on tour.’
‘Laura – where is she?’
‘All the students have departed, Laura included. She’s gone home to her mother. Harry’s not allowed to call on her there.’
‘Poor Laura – and poor Harry!’
‘He says he’s going to join the Merchant Navy – continue his studies by post. I hope he stays around long enough to be our Best Man, though Granny Garter’s already decided to move into his room.’
‘When do you plan to tie me down?’
‘Don’t put it like that! Soon as we can arrange it.’
‘Where’ll we live?’
‘I imagine my parents will help us out in that respect.’
‘And I’ll soon be able to keep you in the style to which you are accustomed!’ she reminded him.
Arthur had no answer to that.