Free Martha's Girls by Alrene Hughes Page A

black tap shoes, short red taffeta skirts with white embroidered gypsy blouses. They joined them and kept a seat for Peggy, who was still welcoming new-comers and taking their details. The girls passed the time until the auditions began by scanning the packed room trying to guess what sort of act each person might perform. Then a young man arrived and sat across the aisle from Pat. She studied him closely: smartly dressed with fair, neatly cut hair. He straightened his cuffs and Pat was impressed to see a flash of silver cufflinks.
‘He’s a comedian,’ said Irene, following her sister’s gaze.
‘No, he’s a musician, I think.’
‘But where’s his instrument?’ asked Irene.
‘Where do you think?’ whispered Myrtle and Irene threw back her head and laughed. Pat didn’t. Truth be told, she found Myrtle a bit common.
‘He’s a pianist of course. He’ll play the piano over there.’
By the time Goldstein stood up in front of the microphone it was well after seven. He looked dapper in his pinstripe suit, set off by a crisp white shirt and a paisley dickie-bow, which gave him a jaunty air. He appeared a little nervous as he juggled his papers and gold spectacles, eventually putting the papers down temporarily to adjust the spectacles around his ears. Despite his accent, he spoke excellent English with the formality of a BBC announcer.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight to what I hope will be a momentous occasion.’ He paused and looked over his spectacles, eyes sweeping the room, giving everyone present the feeling that he was speaking directly to them. His voice became grave. ‘We are at war … at war with a tyrant. One who will not easily be defeated and we are all soldiers in this struggle, but not all of us will carry guns. This is a call to arms, but we will arm ourselves with music and dance and laughter, a company, not of infantry, but of entertainers.’
Pat could sense a stillness fall over the room; all shuffling, whispering, coughing ceased as they gave Goldstein their full attention.
‘Imagine a troupe of variety artistes using their talents to raise the spirits of a city as it faces the ordeal of war. Imagine if in doing so, they could also raise funds to help those in need, or to support vital services.’
Yes, Pat could imagine that quite easily. It was the natural thing to do, not to be a part of it would be squandering their talent.
‘So, ladies and gentlemen, I am looking for twelve excellent acts to join this company. The auditions will begin in five minutes. Good luck to you all!’
Goldstein left the stage to thunderous applause. If this was his audition for inspirational leader, he had won the part, not to mention the hearts of all there. He made his way to a small table set out at the front of the room. Before sitting down he straightened his papers, produced a silver fountain pen from his inside pocket and carefully arranged everything on the polished surface. Almost immediately, a young man with unfashionably long dark hair jumped up on to the stage. ‘Let’s get started, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll call each act in the order in which they signed in tonight. Good luck everyone. Our first act is Lizzie Riley.’
Peggy leaned towards Irene and whispered ‘That’s Horowitz, a friend of Goldstein’s. The two of them will decide on the twelve acts.’
‘He’s quite good looking in a sort of foreign way isn’t he,’ said Irene. ‘Is he married?’
‘How would I know? I only met him tonight!’ hissed Peggy.
Lizzie looked about sixteen and was clearly flustered at being the first to perform. She was painfully thin and her navy pinafore, drawn in at the waist with a belt, made her look as though she had come straight from school. She heaved a sizeable instrument case on to the stage, unclipped the fastenings and pulled out a piano accordion, glistening red and gold. With it strapped over her shoulders, she looked in danger of toppling over on to Goldstein’s