Here is a review of the book by Pearl Harris, writer, proofreader, translator and editor:
Here is a random chapter from Faint Harmony:
SALLY BRYANT
Here we were
in the middle of 1943, still living in the Muswell Hill flat which had survived
the blitz despite the devastation of so many other properties in nearby
streets. Vera and I had expected to have travelled to all the war zones in the
world with ENSA by this time, but most of our concerts had been held in various
parts of Britain, more often than not at military hospitals, village halls and
munitions factories. Our particular party was made up of women of all ages, but
most of the men were over the age of call up for it was a very rare occurrence that
younger men could get exemption from military service to become entertainers
with ENSA unless they had some medical problem which had prevented them from playing
an active part in armed combat.
The munitions
workers usually worked night shift as their factories were disguised as
something more innocuous, so we often did one show at midnight and another in
the early hours of the morning as a bit of respite for the next shift of tired
workers.
I could never
get used to seeing the wounded soldiers in hospitals, many of them probably
wondering how they would manage to face civilian life after the war, some
blinded, some burnt, some without legs or arms. Many would be confined to wheel
chairs for the rest of their lives. We were all gratified to see their anxiety
dissolve during the hour or two we managed to entertain them, making them
laugh, and forget their pain and anxiety for the short time we spent with them.
At the rate we
were going, we would need to be inoculated all over again if we were eventually
called on to travel to war zones abroad, for the original jabs that were done
at Drury Lane at the beginning of the war would have expired by that time!
During the
worst of the blitz Vera and I had makeshift beds made up on mattresses inside
the Morrison shelter installed in our Muswell Hill flat. This shelter doubled
up as our dining room table during the day. When the air raid warning sounded
we would stagger from our warm beds and make our way to this cramped shelter in
our small dining room. Vera was petrified at the noise and chaos of the falling
bombs, the anti-aircraft guns, the aeroplanes
overhead and the searchlights on the ground trying to locate them. She was far
more afraid than me that our building might receive a direct hit, so we often
clung together for warmth and comfort, covering our heads under our blankets in
a vain attempt to deaden the abrupt sound of bombs hissing and exploding around
us, sometimes at a distance, sometimes very close to home, until the all clear
sounded – more often than not only in the early hours of the morning. Just like
everyone else who had survived yet another sleepless and terrified night, we
still had to rise, face the new day and get on with our work, no matter how
little sleep we had the night before.
And what of
Malcolm in the midst of all the carnage? I was so busy performing and preparing
new routines for future concerts that I had little chance to think clearly
about how much I still missed him, but no matter what I was doing, there was
always a nagging ache in my heart which made life far less palatable than it
had been when we were happily married and I had been under the illusion that
our marriage would last forever. I had always known the worth of his beautiful
voice and would never forget. the happy times when we had appeared together at
joint engagements, particularly that shining summer season when we had worked
together with the Starlight Concert Party in Margate. All these years later, it
was still very difficult for me to accept that those days were gone forever.
Of course I
didn’t begrudge him becoming a top oratorio soloist and taking his rightful
place at so many performances at the Royal Albert Hall and with the Hallé
orchestra in Manchester. He had been singing at the Queens Hall shortly before
it was destroyed by a Nazi incendiary bomb. He had always considered that hall to
be his favourite, so I knew he must have been very sad to see it brought to
ruin in a matter of minutes.
In the dark,
uncertain days of the early forties I was upset that Malcolm was now so busy
with the lighter side of entertainment with Marina that he was probably unable
to accept many serious engagements.
Malcolm and
Marina Dunbar were doing well in their joint career on the variety circuit
where they had become popular and well-paid star variety artistes in a very
short time. They were soon making records together, appearing in musicals
together, singing on the radio together, and making films together.
They had
received very bad publicity in newspapers and magazines about our divorce and
all our old friends had felt sorry for me having to go through the whole thing
on my own, but of course people have remarkably short memories.
Once Malcolm
and Marina started performing together, audiences had taken to them in a big
way and our old friends who had supported me staunchly during the divorce, were
inclined to distance themselves from me and renew their friendship with the
more successful Malcolm and Marina, leaving me to get on with my life as best I
could.
They were all
over the place. It was very difficult to avoid them. If there wasn’t an article
about them and their ideal marriage in the illustrated papers, they were on the
radio, and singing in variety theatres all over the country playing to crowded
houses, the majority of the audience being women snatching a night of
relaxation and enjoyment as a break from their strenuous wartime lives so
filled with anxiety.
These women,
clad in their drab pre-war wardrobes, unable to buy anything new because of the
stringent limitations of clothing rationing, were suitably amazed at Marina,
bedecked in jewels, and wearing a series of glamorous gowns as though there was
no such thing as wartime rationing and austerity. They all wondered how she
managed to appear so sumptuously clad when they were all making do and mending
their old clothes furiously, but still fighting a losing battle to look
attractive and feminine. Most of these young women’s husbands were absent,.
serving in the war in some capacity or other. Even though they were tired after
doing war work, often spending sleepless nights in air raid shelters, and
caring for their children, they were also sex-starved and all too ready to be
enthralled by Malcolm’s beautiful voice, immaculate appearance and handsome
looks. Their husbands might be absent, but by the way Malcolm treated his wife
on stage, they could all imagine only too well how he would treat her in the
bedroom.
They probably
went home after the show to dream of him as they settled down to sleep in lonely
double beds which they had once shared with absent husbands who had made love
to them regularly and vigorously several times a week or more if they were
lucky. If the women in their audience had such dreams about Malcolm, they were
not mistaken in them. The ethereal Marina would be enjoying what I had once
enjoyed, nearly every single night when he and Marina arrived home, elated and
excited after another triumphant performance. Like all the women out there with
absent husbands who would return to them when the war was over, I could only
dream about Malcolm, who would never return to me.
Certainly people
in the profession wondered why they hadn’t joined ENSA like the rest of us. We
heard a rumour that Malcolm was unable to travel to the tropics because he
suffered from a chronic illness and therefore could not be inoculated against
certain tropical diseases. As long as I had been married to him I had known
nothing about this mysterious disease. He had always seemed perfectly healthy
and vigorous to me. Even after our divorce, I still wanted to believe the best
of Malcolm, but even I could not help thinking that the chronic disease had
raised its head quite opportunely as far as performing in tropical climes for
ENSA was concerned.
I had also
heard about the son he had discovered a year or two earlier. Apparently the boy
and his younger brother often spent their school holidays with him and Marina,
and Malcolm was paying their school fees at a good private school near Wigton
where they lived.
In the
meantime I had been absolutely shocked when I was notified by Malcolm’s lawyer
that he wanted to stop paying alimony to me because he had taken responsibility
for the education of his son and his brother, and therefore couldn’t afford to
pay my alimony any longer! After the shoddy way in which I had been treated, I
had never had any qualms about accepting the alimony payments. I had certainly
suffered great emotional pain when Malcolm had discarded me in favour of Marina
Dunbar.
I was earning
about £10 a week from going on numerous rigorous ENSA tours. We would do two or
three performances a day often after travelling vast distances in an
uncomfortable charabanc, while he and Marina probably received more than ten
times that amount for one concert in a comfortable warm theatre or concert hall.
I had every right to insist that he should go on paying me the alimony to which
I was entitled. But, for some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to challenge
him about it. The thought of fighting the shameful case in the courts was too
much for me. It would be as unpleasant an experience as standing by myself in
that unfriendly divorce court. I was the wronged party, but I was the one who
had to appear in court and go into the most intimate details of the breakdown
of our marriage. If he didn’t want to pay the alimony rightfully due to me, I
wasn’t going to beg for it and set myself up as a helpless victim, even though
I would be begging for something that was rightfully mine. I might not have
been in Malcolm’s class in the profession, but I had been earning my own living
on the stage from the age of eighteen.
-O-
Vera and I
were still active members of the CAA. I was alarmed to discover that I had been
booked as the hostess at a Monday night concert when Malcolm and Marina were
due to sing after we had watched the acts of those who were hoping to be
accepted as members of the CAA by showing us that they were good enough to join
the ranks of the pros.
“You’ll have
to find a substitute,” I told Ernie, who had organised that particular concert.
“I can never have anything to do with the Craigs now that I’m divorced from
Malcolm. Surely you should have had the common sense to realise that, Ernie.”
“I’d forgotten
that you had ever been married to the man! It’s far too late to find someone
else now, Sally,” he said. “You’re a pro. I know you’ll be able to handle it
without breaking down or causing any embarrassment to the Craigs. We’re
extremely lucky that they have a gap in their diary and are free to sing for
us. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong.”
There was
nothing much I could do on this particular occasion but I made up my mind to
stipulate that I would never accept work on the same bill as my ex-husband or
his present wife in future. But what difference would that clause make? I would
be the loser in the long run. They were the stars. Who would care whether I was
on the bill or not? Ernie could easily find someone else who would be only too
glad to act as hostess at any concert featuring this scintillating couple.
The first half
of the concert went according to plan. I did my best to put all the young
hopefuls at ease. None of them were shrinking violets but they probably found
their appearance before fellow performers far more nerve-wracking than anything
they had done before. To be accepted into the CAA because fellow artistes had
approved of them was one of the most satisfying achievements of their lives. I
remembered how I had been accepted into the CAA at the tender age of eighteen
after presenting my own act to this same critical, but encouraging, audience.
Malcolm and
Marina arrived during the interval. They gave me a very frosty greeting when
they met me in the Concert Hall. They certainly didn’t appear at all put out
that I was to be the hostess that night. I, on the other hand, was trembling
and near to tears after they swept past me to greet some of their friends most
effusively. I didn’t much care whether Marina acknowledged me or not, but to
have Malcolm treat me like a distant stranger was more than I could bear. I had
no idea how I was going to get through that night.
Consequently,
introducing them to the audience in that intimate concert hall of the CAA, was
a far more harrowing experience than I had imagined. I really don’t know how I
managed it, but I introduced their act with a light and cheerful touch, as
though I was delighted that they were there and couldn’t give a damn that I was
introducing the ex-husband I still loved and the woman who had usurped me.
But after that
introduction which had taken every ounce of my professional experience to
accomplish, I had to rush to the cloakroom and retch my guts out in the nearest
toilet. By the time I had stopped shivering and retching, and had managed to
rinse out my mouth, wash my pallid face, and reapply my streaked makeup, I had
missed half of their sugary performance - just as well, as far as I was
concerned! I slipped back to my place in the hall, still shivering. I don’t
think anyone noticed that I had been away. The audience was far too engrossed
in listening to the star performers.
As usual, they
were beautifully groomed and dressed, as though they were appearing at the
Palladium rather than in the more intimate and informal concert hall of the
CAA. I wondered by what means Marina had acquired her exquisite midnight blue
gown in the middle of the war. He wore a gardenia in the buttonhole of his
finely tailored dress suit. The suit was a cut above the one he had worn for
concert performances when he was married to me. No doubt he had a smart and
expensive tailor in Saville Row these days, not to mention having his shoes
hand made from a last! by someone equally fashionable and expensive.
Their whole
act pivoted on their apparent adoration of one for the other. They made sickly,
arch remarks, calling each other intimate pet names, gazing into each other’s
eyes with unrestrained adoration. Despite my discomfort, I felt sad to see
Malcolm singing trite romantic duets with Marina, taking care to tone down his
wonderful voice to blend it considerately with her thin, scooping, sugary
soprano. I thought the rest of the pro audience would see through all that
excess of synthetic honey, but, no! They applauded loudly and were as delighted
with their performance as any less sophisticated audience in a provincial
variety hall.
I felt sad
that Malcolm had put on a performance like that in front of me and that he
hardly acknowledged my presence at all. I hoped I could leave when everyone was
having drinks afterwards, but I was still the hostess of the evening, for my
sins. I was supposed to make everyone feel comfortable while all I wanted to do
was to curl up in a dark corner and die. I need not have worried. Nobody paid
any attention to me. Even my close friends at the CAA had forgotten quickly
enough that Malcolm and I had once been man and wife. They flocked round Marina
and Malcolm, congratulating them on their performance. Out of the corner of my
eye I saw Marina head for the cloakroom by herself. Perhaps she felt as sick at
the insincerity of the evening as much as I had done. I wondered if Malcolm
might at least greet me properly now that she was out of the room. So much for
our years of marriage.
I tried to
make light-hearted conversation with some of my friends, but I was a poor
companion that night. My usual vivacity and sparkle had deserted me.
I was suddenly
aware of a tall figure looming over me. He spoke to me in bracing tones as
though he was addressing a casual acquaintance and not the woman with whom he
had once shared every possible intimacy.
“Sally, my
dear. How are you? We didn’t realise you were to be the hostess tonight until
the very last minute. I don’t suppose you wanted to introduce us any more than
we wanted you to do so. We could all have ended up feeling very awkward, but
you made it easy for us. You’re a real pro, as always.”
I turned to
look at Malcolm. I knew then that I would never “get over” him as long as I
lived. It didn’t matter what he had done to hurt me in the past, I was silly,
deluded, and weak enough to forgive him anything.
“Malcolm,” I
breathed. “I wanted someone else to take over from me when I heard you were
going to sing here tonight too, but apparently it was too late for Ernie to
find someone else at short notice.”
“I’ve often
wondered how you were getting on, Sally and I’m so sorry about the alimony. I
hope you don’t mind about it, but I’ve had a lot of extra expenses lately
paying for my son and his brother’s education. I could hardly send Graham to a
private school and leave Edgar to make do with the local county school, could
I?”
I could hardly
believe what he was saying. How dared he plead poverty to me when we were poles
apart in what we earned? Yet he looked at me with those sad brown eyes so that
I almost felt sorry for him, although I was the one who was being done out of
what was rightfully mine. It took all the self-control I could muster not to
lose my temper and shout at him, or burst into floods of tears. Vera and I were
really struggling to pay the rent on the Muswell Hill flat now that the alimony
payments had ceased.
“Of course I
mind,” I replied coldly, “How could you possibly think that I don’t mind? I’m
going to have to move somewhere cheaper soon for we can’t really afford the
flat any more. I didn’t take any action because I just couldn’t face going to
court again to challenge you about it, so it looks like you’ve got your own way
again. You and your new wife are doing very well for yourselves in comparison
to me. I would have thought you could very well afford to go on paying me. I
just can’t believe that it was you who decided not to pay my alimony any more. Have
you forgotten what we once meant to one another?”
He had the
grace to look embarrassed and he was probably very relieved to see Marina
walking purposefully towards us before he could answer me. She had been
charming everyone in the room, but she certainly did not look her usual smiling
and charming self as she approached us. She glanced at me suspiciously. The way
she was behaving you would have thought that I had done something wrong instead
of them. She ignored me completely and spoke directly to Malcolm.
“I think it’s
time to be going now, darling,” she murmured, putting her hand on his shoulder
possessively. “We have a table booked at that sweet little restaurant. Have you
forgotten?”
Malcolm
mumbled a shame-faced goodnight to me under his breath as Marina put her arm
through his, as though warning me to leave her husband alone and not dare do
anything further about the alimony he had stopped paying me. I watched their
somber mood change swiftly as they left me standing all by myself feeling completely
drained by the taxing evening.
They were
saying light and frothy goodbyes to everyone. Even those who had despised
Marina and supported me when I was divorcing Malcolm, were fawning on them now.
My knees were trembling and I thought I was going to be sick again. I forgot my
duties as a hostess. I went to the cloakroom, found my raincoat and umbrella
and left the warmth of the club without anyone noticing that I was leaving. As
I walked through the damp and darkened streets all by myself, I glimpsed Marina
and Malcolm’s imposing car passing me by. To make matters worse, at just that
moment, the air raid warning siren sounded. Somehow, I didn’t much care if I
was annihilated by a bomb that night. All I could think about was how Malcolm
and Marina had managed to build such happy and successful lives and careers on
the back of my misery, without giving me a second thought.
I was sick
again when I eventually arrived home. I shivered under the blankets and wept
miserably the whole night through, hardly sleeping at all. Between them, they
had hurt me and ruined my life. I had always made excuses for Malcolm, but now
I was inclined to think that he was just as cold and unfeeling as Marina.
The following
day Vera and I received letters from ENSA. With the rest of our party we were
to embark on a ship sailing for the Middle East in a week’s time.
Fiona Compton
©
26 August 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment