Louis rested his bicycle against the wall in Villiers Street underground tunnel and placed his cap on the ground in front of him. He took out his violin, rubbed resin along bow hairs and began to play.
He didn’t look at the people passing by as he played, but was aware that some walked briskly past looking away from him if they didn’t make a donation. Those that did donate nodded briefly in his direction, and Louis would nod back in gratitude
Ah well, he thought, I can’t blame the ones who look away as he knew that he too would have to do that if confronted with someone playing for money. He just hoped that by lunchtime he would have enough to buy a bite to eat at the tea shop in The Strand.
Louis played from memory throughout the morning, grateful for the acoustics, which amplified his music along the tunnels. Warm winds whooshed through the underground, so feeling relatively comfortable he didn’t mind playing for the majority of seemingly disinterested passers-by. Occasionally someone would throw a couple of pence his way, and sometimes he got lucky and had a shilling tossed into his cap. Whatever came his way, he was grateful.
After buying some food for himself that day, he would put the rest away in a tin at home. Cat called it the Goin’ Home Tin.
He withstood the cold in their home each night when he arrived home because without Cat and the children there, he didn’t bother to light the fire. He saved the money normally spent on coal.
Nothing he felt was as bad as the cold misery he had experienced in the trenches. Often though, when he had played all day and only earned a few pence, he went to bed at night chilled, exhausted and hungry.
He had lost a lot of weight and as he rarely saw the light of day, his complexion grew more sallow and dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes. But, as he told himself each morning cycling to London from Eltham, he was working, and therefore earning money.
Unable to find work of any other kind, he had been forced to fall back on the one thing that he could do expertly and which cost him nothing to do and that was playing the violin. He didn’t have to be nicely dressed to appear publicly as he would if he’d been playing in an orchestra or working in an office. In fact, if he was honest, he rather liked the freedom this life gave him.
The only thing that began to worry him as April drew nearer was the possibility of Cat finding out. He knew she would be furious at his lack of self-respect and could almost hear her scolding him for stooping so low as to beg for a living.
Consequently, his letters to her had been rather vague on the subject of work. He hadn’t exactly hidden the truth from her, but after a couple of experiences of losing jobs because the next man would work for less money, he was forced to busk. His one dread was that he would come face to face with someone he knew.
Approaching midday, one particularly miserable Wednesday morning, he was playing Vivaldi’s Spring, when he noticed a man standing a little way off, watching him. The man was neatly dressed in a dark suit and overcoat with an cream
-coloured silk scarf showing between the lapels. He held a dark trilby hat in his hand.
It occurred to him that maybe the man was someone from the Underground Authorities and would report him for begging. He stopped playing immediately, put his violin away, tied the case to the carrier of his bicycle and headed for the exit. It was not too early to visit the tea shop and he could certainly do with a cup of tea and something to eat. He rode the bicycle quickly up Villiers Street, past Charing Cross Station and crossed over The Strand.
After leaning his bicycle against a building, he entered the teashop. The sound of teacups chinking in the warm steamy atmosphere cheered him as he found a table and ordered a bun and a cup of tea from the waitress.
Just as he was about to bite into his bun, the man who had been watching him in the Underground sat down at his table. Louis was instantly worried that he was in trouble as he’d seen many a tramp moved on in the tunnels and knew begging was a blight on the British public. But since the war it had increased with many thousands of men unable to find work and the most unlikely types forced to sell items such as boxes of matches to earn a living. He looked the man in the eye and put his bun down.
The man shifted in his seat and took off his hat and smiled at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind my following you, but I want to speak to you. I’ve heard you playing most days in the Underground and I’ve seen you come here before, so thought I may find you here.’
‘Look,’ Louis began, ‘I don’t mean any harm. I won’t return if it’s against the law, but I don’t have a position right now and I have a wife and three children to provide for.’
The man stopped smiling and looked serious, then from his inside pocket withdrew a business card and handed it to Louis. He read the card – Roland Andrews, Musician.
The man continued. ‘I’m not here to chastise you for producing the most wonderful sound I have heard in a long time – other than at the Royal Albert Hall my dear fellow.’
Louis’ hands were trembling and his mouth had dried. The last thing he wanted to endure was the shame of telling Cat that he had been prosecuted for busking. He wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I know talent when I see it my man, and I can see you are not the usual run-of-the-mill beggar.’
Louis looked down, embarrassed at hearing someone refer to him as a beggar.
‘I run a small orchestra, nothing very large you’ll understand, but we play every weekend in The Strand Palace Hotel.’ He paused and leaned forward. ‘I was wondering if you would be interested in auditioning for my orchestra?’
Louis’ fear receded instantly; this was marvellous news! The very best piece of luck he’d had in years, to actually be paid for something he had considered the delight of his life! Well, what could be better?
He controlled his excitement, as this was business and felt he should react seriously to the man’s proposal. They agreed that Louis would appear at The Strand Palace on the following Saturday for an audition, two hours before the orchestra struck up for the evening repertoire.
Then Roland Andrews’s expression changed. ‘Of course you will need an evening dress suit. I trust you have one?’
Louis thought for a moment. ‘It won’t be a problem. By the way, I’m Louis Ross,’ he said holding out his hand for Roland Andrews to shake, in the hope it would deflect him from questioning him more about an evening suit.
‘Good,’ Roland Andrews was smiling, ‘then we’ll expect to see you this Saturday at around six o’clock.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he sounded confident, relieved he was not in trouble, ‘and thank you for this chance.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ Roland said standing up. ‘If you play as well on Saturday as I have recently heard, I’m sure things will work out fine. We’ll provide the music. Oh, incidentally, I take it you do read?’
‘Yes, I do. I just play from memory normally.’
Roland Andrews left the teashop, put on his hat outside, nodded to Louis through the window and melted into the crowds. When he had disappeared from sight Louis sat thoughtfully for a while unable to take it in. Then he beckoned the waitress to his table and ordered himself a bacon sandwich, something he would never normally do, but suddenly he could see a way out of his poverty.
As he sat munching the sandwich, Louis thought about the evening suit and realised he had no idea how much such an item would cost, except he knew he would be an extravagance he could ill-afford. His next stop, he thought, had better be an outfitters shop. He just hoped they did Easy Terms.