Annie Groves - Hettie of Hope Street

As Hettie listened to this impassioned speech she acknowledged that, appalled as she was by her landlady’s deceit, if she were to inform her parents of it they would insist on her returning home immediately. Upset and intimidated though she had felt by the landlady’s manner towards her, and the other revelations from the other girls, she couldn’t bear to lose the job she had wanted so badly for years.

‘There’s a lad down at the ironmongers who’s a bit sweet on Aggie, he’ll put yer a padlock on yer trunk for yer if she asks him nice enough.’

A tall, blonde-haired girl who had been examining her feet straightened up and screwed up her face. ‘Well, you’ll have to come with me, I ain’t going to be left on me own with ’im. Nasty clammy hands he’s got!’

‘Aw, listen to it. Bet they ain’t anywhere near as clammy as old Basher’s. Calls himself an impresario. A dirty old man, more like. You should ’ave seen them costumes he wanted us to wear for that bloody revue in Blackpool, d’yer remember, Lizzie?’ another girl chipped in.

‘’Ow could I forget, Babs, mine felt like it were cutting me in two,’ Lizzie answered whilst Hettie looked on perplexed when they all burst out laughing.

‘Gawd, my feet,’ Babs complained. ‘But that’s what you get for being a chorus girl – corns and blisters.’

‘Are you all in the same chorus?’ Hettie asked her a little timidly. These girls were nothing like any of the girls she knew back in Preston. Their language, for one thing, and their loud confidence. But nevertheless, she liked them, she decided.

‘At the moment there’s a big panto coming off at the Royal Court Palace, and there’s two hundred girls in the chorus, plus the understudies. We’ve bin rehearsing for the last six weeks, plus doing our ordinary shows as well – six nights and six matinées. It’s damn near killin’ me. So what do yer sing, then, Hettie?’ Babs asked.

‘Soprano,’ Hettie replied automatically.

‘Oh, soprano is it,’ Lizzie mocked, putting on an exaggeratedly posh accent.

‘Oh leave off, Lizzie, give the poor kid a break,’ Babs told her, giving Hettie a friendly smile.

‘Don’t mind Lizzie. Her tongue’s sharper than her wit sometimes. No, I meant what sort of songs do you sing. You know, what’s your repertoire?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t got one,’ Hettie admitted.

‘Well, you should have,’ Babs reproved her. ‘And with them dark looks of yours being all the rage right now, you want to cash in on them and get yourself a repertoire that will get you some decent parts. Lor, but I’m hungry,’ she moaned, changing the subject and taking the spotlight off Hettie, for which she was very grateful. ‘Anyone else want to go out and get some supper?’ she called out.

‘Go out for supper?’ Hettie repeated, concerned. ‘But I thought that all our meals were included in the rent?’

‘Did you hear that, girls?’ Lizzie called out, shaking her head and laughing mirthlessly. ‘The only supper you’ll get here is a bit o’ mouldy bread and some soup wot looks as though Misery Guts peed in it.’

Hettie made sure she joined in the others’ laughter as though such coarse talk was as familiar to her as it obviously was to them.

‘You don’t ’ave to come with us if you don’t want,’ Babs told her. ‘I’ll bring you back a nice bit o’sommat if you want – not fish, though, cos if Misery Guts smells it she’ll be wanting more rent off all of us – it’s extra if you bring in your own grub. Still, at least ’ere’s clean, not like some of the digs you can get. Lor, but I were scratching for months after one place where I stayed, covered in bites I were and me hair full o’nits.’

When Hettie shuddered, Babs laughed and shook her head. ‘My, but you’re a green un, aren’t you? Never mind, we’ll tek care of you and you’ll soon find yer feet. Just don’t let Ma Buchanan boss yer around. Dance do yer as well as sing?’

‘A little,’ Hettie agreed.

‘That’s good,’ she approved, getting up off her bed.

Lizzie called out impatiently, ‘’Ere Babs, are you coming wi’ us or what?’

‘Give us a minute,’ she called back before coaxing Hettie, ‘Go on, come wi’ us. A bit o’ fresh air will do you good.’

Uncomfortably aware that both her parents and John would have been shocked by and disapproving of Babs and the others, Hettie gave in to the hunger in her stomach. Besides, if this was to be her home for the foreseeable future, she would have to try and fit in.

The street might have been quiet when they all spilled out on to it, but its silence was quickly shattered by the laughter and chatter of the girls. Despite their aching feet, two of them suddenly took hold of one another and danced along, performing a high-stepping routine that caused two men on the opposite side of the street to stop and stare.

‘Ere, Lizzie, go over and tell those two gawpers over there that that’s two shilling and sixpence worth they’ve just had.’

‘Mary, you’re out of time and you missed a step,’ another criticised, causing the dancing pair to stop as one of them – Mary, Hettie assumed – turned on her critic.

‘Sez who?’ she demanded. ‘You couldn’t keep time even if it was beaten into yer. That’s why yer at the back of the line and I’m at the front!’

‘Who does she think she’s kidding?’ Hettie heard someone else mutter. ‘The only reason she’s still in the bloody chorus at all is because she’s been keeping old Charlie sweet.’

Fifteen minutes later, squashed up on the narrow wooden bench seats in the snug between Babs and Lizzie, a plate of appetising beef and dumpling stew on the table in front of her, Hettie felt a world away from the person she had been this morning. Her eyes widened as she saw the relish with which the other girls were drinking the port wine they had also ordered.

‘Try it,’ Babs urged her.

Unwilling to be mocked yet again by sharp-eyed Lizzie, Hettie dutifully sipped at the liquid Babs had poured into her empty glass, and then fought not to show how sour and unpleasant she found it, valiantly emptying her glass.

It was shortly after that she became aware of how very tired she was, and now her eyes were starting to close as her head dropped toward Babs’s shoulder.

‘Look at ’er, Babs,’ whispered one of the others. ‘Poor little kid. What a bloody shame.’

After studying Hettie’s sleeping profile Babs sighed and said determinedly, ‘Come on, we’d better get her back.’

‘Lor, Babs, we ain’t bloody nursemaids,’ Lizzie protested, but even her expression softened a little as she looked down at Hettie, sleeping peacefully as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

It was almost two weeks since Hettie had moved into the boarding house, and in that time she had learned that, behind her sharp manner, Lizzie hid the kindest of hearts, and that she had not just herself to support but her mother and a sick sister as well; that Babs with her easy-going nature was the one who always calmed the others if trouble threatened to erupt; that quiet, blonde Aggie was nursing a broken heart having fallen in love with a theatre manager who was married; that shrewd Mary wasn’t averse to leading on any man if she thought it would benefit her; and that the twins Jenny and Jess were the naughty girls of the troupe, continually playing practical jokes on everyone and getting up to all manner of japes.

She was now as familiar with the girls’ dance routine and songs as they were themselves, and Babs had taught her all the steps of the modern new dances, including the tango, claiming that she would need to know them just in case, as she had put it, ‘some young spark teks it into ’is head to dance with yer one afternoon. I mean, yer wouldn’t want ter make a fool of yerself by not knowing all the newest steps, would yer?’