Free Shirley by Muriel Burgess Page A

have a pair of knickers to her name, and her own aunt, Iris Freeman’s mother whom Shirley called ‘Auntie Bella’, had had to lend the girl knickers so she could go sliding down the slag heaps with Iris.
    The memory led on to reminiscences about their childhood in Tiger Bay and Louise pondered on the difficulties for children of mixed-race parentage. As a coloured girl from Tiger Bay, she had found life in London very difficult at first. London wasn’t yet geared to multi-racialism, and she sometimes found herself wondering just exactly who she was. Years later, Louise said, ‘The day I accepted that I was black everything fell into place and my life became easier.’
    Shirley Bassey never seemed to have the problem. She told a journalist in an interview that, ‘My mother was white so I never thought I was anything else.’
    That night in Jersey, however, she had other things on her mind. Mr Sullivan had said, ‘I promise I can make you a star.’ For the first time in her young life she believed that here was a man who had spoken the truth.

5
A S TAR IS B ORN
    BEFORE MICHAEL SULLIVAN left Jersey for Guernsey and his meeting with his partner, Berry, he gave Shirley his Shaftesbury Avenue office telephone number and told her to ring him as soon as the Ballet arrived back in London. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell her where he lived – round the corner from his office at the Mapleton Hotel – which led to a big mix-up when the unexpected happened.
    Sullivan had caught influenza and instead of being at his office when Shirley arrived back from Jersey, he lay shivering in bed at the hotel. Shirley was staying at Harold Wood with Pam and Ben, from where she rang his empty office constantly. Meanwhile, Juhni, Sullivan’s wife, was waiting in vain outside the office looking for a dark girl – answering her husband’s description of Shirley. At last, in desperation, Sullivan telephoned Ben Johnson at the rehearsal rooms and asked him to send Shirley round to the Mapleton.
    An hour later Juhni opened the door to Shirley, wholooked dazzling in a vivid orange dress under a silvery see-thru plastic mac. She was very unsure of herself in this unfamiliar situation of coming to meet a man who was ill in bed – and a hotel bed at that. She had never met anybody who actually lived in a hotel.
    She sat nervously on the edge of a chair, almost as if to ensure a quick getaway from this man who lay in bed coughing and sneezing, and who didn’t at all resemble the polished ball of fire who had promised her one hundred pounds for her costumes.
    Sullivan cleared his throat and told Shirley he had booked her a room at Olivelli’s, a nearby Italian restaurant with accommodation above which was rented out to theatricals. He didn’t tell her that he had asked Papa Olivelli, the owner, to keep an eye on her, and if he was ever concerned about her, to get in touch with him.
    ‘You’ll have breakfast there, if you want, and dinner at night. It’s inexpensive,’ Juhni Sullivan told the clearly apprehensive girl.
    ‘How long do I have to stay there?’ asked Shirley warily.
    ‘At least three months,’ Sullivan replied.
    ‘So long!’ Shirley looked worried. ‘What do I have to do?’
    ‘Work hard,’ said Sullivan shortly. ‘Every afternoon you’ll be in a rehearsal room with a pianist. In the evening I’ll teach you the things you have to know. You’ve got a lot to learn, and not just about singing. You’ve got to learn voice production, and we’ve got to get rid of that accent.’
    ‘What accent?’ asked Shirley.
    Juhni interrupted. She could see the girl was getting agitated. ‘You’ll enjoy it. Every good performer has to go through this.’
    ‘All right,’ said Shirley, getting up. ‘All right.’
    ‘Sit down,’ ordered Sullivan. ‘Now we come to the important part. The contract. You’re still a minor so your mother has to sign for you. I’m going to read it through to you carefully, clause by clause, until