Irene Holland - Tales of a Tiller Girl

Despite the war, daily life at home went on as normally as possible. By the time I was ten, however, Mum had run out of patience with Miss Higgins.

‘I can’t look after that woman for a second longer or I swear I will kill her,’ she told me.

But work in the orchestras was in short supply during the war as some theatres had been badly bombed and were forced to close. Things were going to be tight financially again, so we were forced to move back in with my grandparents.

The day before we left the house in Norbury, a government inspector came out to check all the Anderson shelters in the street. Mum and I watched as he tapped the mortar between the bricks. To our horror, it crumbled instantly and his finger went straight through it.

‘Shoddy workmanship,’ he sighed, shaking his head. ‘If a bomb had dropped on that thing it would have been curtains for you two.’

Mum and I stared at each other in shock.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘To think we’ve been sleeping in there every night for nearly two years thinking that we were safe.’

By this time my grandparents had rented out their attic room to a ninety-year-old spinster called Miss Smythe, so Mum and I had to live on the much bigger and lighter second floor of the house. It felt like a palace compared with the poky, cramped attic. We had two bedrooms, and our own living-room and bathroom. Moving back to Battersea meant that I had to change schools to Honeywell Road Primary, but I still did my ballet lessons, which I absolutely loved.

One day Mum sat me down.

‘What you want to do when you grow up, Rene?’ she asked.

I knew my answer straight away, because since I was a little girl I’d only ever wanted to do one thing.

‘I want to be a ballet dancer,’ I said. ‘I want to be on the stage.’

A lot of other parents at that time might have just laughed or told me I would have to go out and get a proper job, be a teacher or a secretary, but Mum didn’t flinch.

‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go to stage school if you’re really serious about doing that. Where would you like to go?’

‘Italia Conti,’ I said without hesitation.

It was the world’s oldest and most prestigious theatre arts training school, the one that the older girls at dance class always talked about. I didn’t ever think in a million years that Mum would be able to afford to send me to stage school, but to my surprise she didn’t question it.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll contact Italia Conti and get some more information.’

Mum kept her promise and a few days later she told me what they had said.

‘It’s £20 a term,’ she told me.

My heart sank. That was a heck of a lot of money in those days, and I knew it was the end of my big dream. As a single mother who went from one job to the next as a violinist, there was no way she could afford expensive stage-school fees like that.

But in 1942 Mum made the biggest sacrifice of her life for me. She sat me down one day and took hold of my hands.

‘There’s something I need to tell you, Rene,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve found a solution to our problems. I’ve decided to join ENSA.’

ENSA stood for the Entertainments National Service Association, a group of performers who travelled around the world during the Second World War to entertain British troops and keep up morale. They had everything from singers, dancers and musicians to comedians, bird impersonators, contortionists and even roller skaters.

‘The pay is good, and having a regular wage is the only way that I can afford to put you through stage school,’ she said. ‘It means that I’ll be away from home for a while, but you can stay here with Papa and Gaga. They’re going to post me to Egypt, where I’ll perform as part of a quartet.’

It was a huge shock, and I couldn’t believe she was prepared to do that to help me achieve my dream.

Things moved so quickly. A week later I sat on my mother’s bed watching her put on her new ENSA uniform, which consisted of a khaki shirt and belted jacket, an A-line skirt with a pleat up the middle, and a peaked hat. It hadn’t really sunk in yet that she was going thousands of miles away and I wouldn’t see her for years.

‘Come on, then,’ she said, holding out one hand to me while in the other one she clutched her beloved violin. ‘It’s time to go.’

We caught the Tube to the Coliseum, the theatre from where the new recruits were departing. As we walked towards the entrance I could see a big fleet of three-tiered coaches waiting outside. It was pandemonium as hundreds of performers in ENSA uniforms said tearful goodbyes to their families. Mum handed someone her violin to load into the bottom section that was filled with an array of musical instruments. Then she turned to me and gave me a cuddle and a kiss.

‘Oh, Rene, I really don’t want to leave you,’ she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be all right,’ I said, as I hated to see her upset.

‘I love you very much,’ she told me.

Then she turned and walked away. I could see her dabbing her eyes with her hankie as she climbed onto the coach. I watched her take her jacket off, and as she sat down and waved to me through the window that’s when it finally hit me.

This was really happening. She was really going.

The only person in the world besides my brother that I loved with all my heart was leaving me.

I was in such a state of shock I couldn’t even cry.

As I watched her coach drive away I felt completely and utterly alone in the world.

I got the Tube home in a daze. I was used to being on my own and I was fiercely independent, but it felt very frightening at the age of twelve not having anyone looking out for me. With Mum and Raymond both away, there was literally nobody in my life that I could go to. No one to give me a kiss or a cuddle, or who would make sure that I was all right and put me first in the world. My grandparents weren’t interested, that was for sure.

When I got in that evening they didn’t ask me anything about Mum or whether she had got off OK or if I was all right. But as I walked through the door I couldn’t hold back my emotion any longer and I burst into tears.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ my grandmother asked.

‘I’m just really sad about Mum going away,’ I sobbed.

‘Oh, don’t be so selfish,’ she said.

I knew that was the way it was going to be and I just had to get used to it. Nobody was going to say what I so desperately wanted to hear right now, things like ‘Oh, come here and give me a cuddle, Rene, I know you’re missing Mummy. Sit down and let’s write to her together.’

Nope, I was by myself now. Raymond was still in his barracks up north and Mum was on her way to Africa.

That night it was hard going to sleep on my own. For all of my life I’d had Mum there beside me, but I knew I had to pull myself together and get on with it.

She had done this for me because she wanted me to achieve my dream of going to performing arts school. I had an interview with Italia Conti coming up, and I knew that I had to pass it. I had to get in. For Mum’s sake and for mine.

Walking towards the heavy black door, I swallowed the lump in my throat. Today was the day that I’d been waiting for. It was my audition at Italia Conti, the country’s most prestigious theatre arts school.

As usual I was here on my own. My grandparents hadn’t said a word when I’d told them about the audition. No ‘Good luck, dear’ or ‘I hope it goes well.’ Not that I’d expected them to say anything or take any interest in what I was doing, as I knew by now that wasn’t going to happen. I knew that it was down to me to do this. Mum had sacrificed everything and gone away so that I could achieve my dream, and I had to get in.