Laurie Graham - Mr Starlight

He said, ‘This is insulting. Where am I supposed to hang my suits?’

I said, ‘We could be worse off. People like the greasers and the bellboys are ten to a billet.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Could be worse. That’s your way of looking at a situation, Cled. Could be better. Should be better. That’s my way of looking at things.’

The night before a sailing was always organised chaos. Crew who turned up at the last minute, crew who didn’t turn up at all, companion ways like Piccadilly Circus, trolleys of liquor and cigarettes and linens being pushed along the working alleys. ‘Burma Road’ they called it down there. And all the while cargo being winched aboard. Three tons of butter, according to Jim Ganey. Fifty thousand pounds of spuds.

We had a pep talk from Massie, the entertainments manager. ‘Punctuality, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Please remember to adjust your timepieces every night. And remember you’re here to do a job of work. Don’t venture into passenger areas. Don’t presume to fraternise with the clientele. Any questions?’

I don’t think he expected any.

‘Yes,’ Sel said. ‘How about if the clientele try to fraternise with me?’

‘Mr Boff,’ he said, ‘I believe you’re engaged as a vocalist. This is no time to try being a comedian.’

We piled down to the mess room for Beef à la Mode with three veg, cheese and biscuits and a choice of ice cream, then somebody set up a card school and a dartboard in the post room. You couldn’t have your usual recreational facilities the night before sailing or the night before docking. The social club was in the baggage area.

Sel was sitting down the table from me, chatting to an older man with epaulettes on his shirt.

I said, ‘Are you coming for a game of arrows?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve made other plans.’

I heard somebody say, ‘Good lad. Keeping Mother happy. You’ll go far.’

Sel’s new pal was Mess Room Steward Noel Carey, but everyone called him Mother and he took a shine to Sel right from the start. You need company if you’re below decks all the time. We musicians at least got to move about a bit, but Carey never went up for air. He led a lonely life, but Sel humoured him, and when Mother Carey had been humoured the door to the pantries would swing wide open. Once my guts had got accustomed to the way the ship rolled, I enjoyed a late supper, after showtime. Ham and eggs, or a flash-fried steak slapped between two slices of bread. All thanks to Sel’s cheery personality. But a ship’s crew is a close community. You need to go carefully. He said, ‘I’ll see you later. Noel’s got something he wants to show me.’

I said to him later, ‘We only just got here, so take things steady. When you’re a newcomer you have to be careful not to tread on anybody’s toes.’

‘What?’ he said. ‘Whose toes?’

I said, ‘That pantryman with the gappy teeth. After you went off to see Mr Carey’s theatre programmes he said, “I wonder if he’s going to show him his etchings as well?” sarcastic like. I think I detected a note of envy.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘Envy’s something I’m going to have to get accustomed to. Listen, I had a look in one of the First Class staterooms. You get a three-piece suite, Cled, not just a bed. And a coffee table and a drinks cabinet. That’s the way to travel.’

I said, ‘You’ll be getting the sack before we’ve even sailed. You heard what the boss said. No snooping off limits.’

‘I wasn’t snooping,’ he said. ‘Noel took me up and showed me around. It’s beautiful, Cled. Elegant. That’s what I’m going to have some day. A stateroom, with a pink leather settee and a telephone and a fresh bowl of fruit every morning.’

‘Shut yer yap, pretty boy,’ Feifer said. ‘Some of us is trying to sleep.’

There was no peace once the boilers were fired and the baggage lifts started up, but Sel lay on his bunk like the Queen of Sheba anyway, cucumber slices over his eyelids and curlers in his quiff. ‘Preparing to meet my public,’ he said. ‘You don’t get a second chance at first impressions.’

I said, ‘Come upstairs with me. You’re the one with the open sesame. See if we can get near a rail. Watch for big names arriving on the dockside.’

The word was Henry Ford was expected plus a Guinness millionaire, a mysterious star of the British stage and, of course, the Duke and Duchess.

Wilkie said, ‘You won’t see them. They’ll come aboard from a launch once we’re under way.’

But I went up anyway with a little Eyetie from the Tourist Class barber’s shop who knew a window we could watch from, and we had company. A girl called Ginger from the beauty parlour, very jolly with lovely knees. She let me light two smokes for her before she mentioned she had a fiancé.

Her friend was quieter. Black wavy hair and skin so pale you could see the veins on her temples. Hazel. Not my usual type. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘There’s Lady Clackmannan.’

But it was only Lady Clackmannan’s maid, down on the quayside supervising where the trunks were going.

‘Princess Olga,’ she said. ‘Mr Vansittart.’

She was reeling off all these names, but they were just the servants down there. Hazel worked in the passenger laundry, so it was the maids and the valets she knew.

I said, ‘Isn’t it boring down there, dhobi-ing? Never seeing daylight?’

‘It is not,’ she said. ‘Dhobi-ing! Cheeky beggar. What do you think I do? Bash shirts on rocks?’

Ginger said, ‘Don’t bite his head off. He’s new.’

Hazel said, ‘What’s your name, new boy?’

‘Cled Boff,’ I said. ‘Musician.’

‘Well, Cled Boff,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy your work as much as I enjoy mine. I get to handle couture garments. They come to me when they need a delicate touch, see? Hopeless cases, that’s my speciality.’ She smiled at me. ‘And every stain tells a story,’ she said.

Ginger shouted, ‘There’s Rex Harrison!’ And it was the actual man himself, climbing out of a taxi.

Sel was still stretched out on his bunk, reading Tit Bits .

I said, ‘I think I just got lucky.’

‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘I hope she won’t be disappointed when she sees your love nest. I hope she likes the smell of second-hand onions. See any notables?’

I said, ‘Rex Harrison. The Windsors’ pug dogs. And there’s a Princess Olga come aboard.’

He sat up. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘What, tiara and everything?’

I said, ‘No. Felt hat and an overcoat.’

‘Glad I didn’t stir myself, then,’ he said. ‘If I had a tiara I’d never leave home without it. I won the toss, by the way. I’m letting Tex do the big one tonight.’ Tex Lane was the other support singer and the two of them had to cover six spots a night. If you did the First Class Dining Room, you finished with the ten o’clock spot in Cabin Class. If you did a turn in Tourist, you opened the late show in First Class, the Starlight Club in the Veranda Grill priming the pump for the star vocalist.

I said, ‘I thought you were gagging to play the Starlight Club?’

‘I am,’ he said, ‘but not the first night out. I want Tex Lane to go over the top first, let them see how mediocre he is. Suits me to warm up on the peasants. By tomorrow night I’ll be ready for anything.’

He slipped in the back of the Grill after he’d finished his last spot for the night, although I didn’t see him. He must have blended in well, in his new dinner suit and a crisp new shirt. Not like Tex Lane with his frayed cuffs. But Sel wasn’t interested in Tex. Glorette Gilder was the one he was there to study, in her fishtail gown and her dangling earrings. ‘She’s nothing special.’ That was his verdict. ‘Wait till they see me in action.’