5th September 2014

 

As promised, I have installed the next portion of 'The Village Concert'.

'Intermission' and 'The Second Half Performance'

Intermission
In the room designated the manager’s office, Brian and Larry were having the head to head discussion that had been put off temporarily through the need to put on a show. Larry’s big
mouth was at the heart of it all.
‘Well, Larry, why did you do it? Why did you tell them?’ Brian glared at him.
The old comic's head fell forward and his face took on a strained look.
‘I didn't really mean to, Brian. It just sort of slipped out when I was talking to the stagehands. It must have been because I'm so worried about what's going to happen to me. You know how good I've been at keeping secrets over the years.’
Brian looked thoughtful as he took onboard this excuse.
‘That's true, I suppose, up to a point. Let's see. You and I have been together for five years now, is that right?’
The compere took a gulp of tea and nodded as he did so.
‘And I think it would be true to say, Larry, we've been able to tolerate each other because of our sense of humour.’
Again his companion agreed, afraid to look up.
‘Well, I don't see why I should forget how important that has been to us. This might be the stickiest corner we've been in yet, but we won’t allow a little slip to spoil a long friendship. Will we?’
He smiled ruefully. Larry face, which had been concentrated and strained, visibly relaxed; but his eyes continued to search Brian’s countenance.
‘So, Brian, as far as you can see, this is our last show together. Is that right?’ At his age he knew the consequences were dire for him if this was truly the case. Who would give a job to a stage has-been in his late fifties?
‘Looks like it, old son,’ Brian answered with a sigh.
The sounds of voices and feet approaching the office were heard by those inside. The door was rapped loudly. Brian and Larry stepped outside, where they were faced with a deputation from the cast: Trixie, from the chorus; the oldest Trapp; Angie Smith, the female impersonator; and Ike Wells, the ventriloquist. Trixie’s voice reflected the anxiety they were all feeling.
‘What's going to happen to us, Brian? Is the show folding?’
Trapp, the juggler added his bit, ‘Yes, please to let us know where we stand. All is so, how do you say, uncertain.’
On the defensive, Brian spread his arms wide.
‘Look, I'll speak to everybody at the end of the show. Now is not the right time. I know you're all worried, that's only natural; but you’re not helping things by demanding an answer now. Concentrate on the show. Please! Do a good job; for my sake, if for nothing else.’
He shooed them away with his arms. ‘Now away with the lot of you, that's all I'm saying just now.’
They all moved off, grumbling, Larry as well; all except for the ventriloquist, who approached very close to the manager so he would not be overheard.
‘I want my money, Brian; and I want it now. I don't think you've got enough cash to pay everyone and I really need my money. I’m not going to be left out when you tell us all at the end of the show that there isn't enough in the pot.’
‘But you haven't even been on yet, Ike.’
‘Doesn't matter, Brian; you have an obligation.’
Brian looked at him balefully, reached into an inside pocket and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t trust the man, but wanted no ructions at this delicate stage. He was needed for the second half of the show.
Without a word, the manager peeled-off the notes, which were grasped by Wells who stuffed them into his trouser pocket, turned on his heel and without a word of thanks, made-off backstage.
Brian watched Ike disappear. The words: ‘What I have to do,’ formed on his lips. He looked at his watch and then deliberately plastered a large grin on his face and began speaking to himself. ‘Eight minutes left to curtain up. Just keep smiling maestro.’
His next step was to visit Jake, Andrew and Tam in their committee room. Enroute, he made a point of beaming at every face he met on the way. On arrival, he found the three seated around a table. In front of them were bundles of notes and two bags with coins. Jake welcomed the manager.
‘Better just check what we’ve taken so far, Brian: entrance money and cash from the sale of lemonade and crisps.’ He threw in the comment, ‘They seem to be selling well. Isn’t that right, Tam?’
‘Oh, aye, especially thon crisp things. The folk are fair gobblin' them up, so they are. Aren't they, Andra?’
For a brief second, Andrew glanced up from the racing section of the paper he was studying, mumbled, ‘Aye, looks like it,’ and returned to his scrutiny of the horses.
And he was the one I specifically asked to care for the money, Brian thought to himself, in self-mockery.
He began a rough count of the paper money on the table. It appeared healthy enough; but he hadn’t the time, there and then, to count coins, so didn't know how much there was in each bag.
‘How does it look, Jake?’ he asked, anxiously.
There just has to be enough to cover costs, he whispered to himself.
Scratching his head, the committee man glanced at the figures noted down on a scrap of paper. He had already counted the coins in the bags, but wasn’t inclined, at that point to inform Brian of the total amount. After a pause, he gave the impresario a grin, which slowly developed into a smile.
‘A' think we're all right, Brian. We've had a great turn-oot; although maybe we should have charged more at the door.’ He examined his nails for a moment and then shrugged.
‘Never mind, I've also got more lemonade, crisps and things on sale, right this minute, just in case we’re short.’
Brian breathed a sigh of relief. At least as far as paying the cast and covering costs, all seemed to be well. If there should be anything left, he decided he would pay everyone a little something extra, just to soften the blow of breaking up.
Jake cast a glance at the clock on the wall.
‘Should you no' be getting back?’
Brian followed his gaze, threw his arms in the air and left the room grumbling, ‘Where does the time go.’

***

(Curtain up: Second half)
Donning his stage manager hat, Brian was to be found once more occupying his accustomed place in the wings. There remained five minutes to curtain up. He had arranged for the whole cast to assemble at his spot; and had taken care to have a special word with Larry, the compere, beforehand.

Brian heard the band limber up again; and listened to the murmur coming from the audience as people regained their seats and started to settle down. Over the years, he had found the noise made by the crowd to be quite informative. In this instance, it was a partly-satisfied sound he heard. With a little bit of luck, he thought we might be able to build on things.

Fingers crossed, the heroic manager looked up and said a little silent prayer. The suggestion of a smile made an appearance on his lips. When all were assembled, he addressed his players.
‘Good, you’re all here.’ His eye wandered over them all, taking care to miss no-one. A large smile was fixed upon his face.
‘Now listen. Everyone is going to be paid in full for tonight's work; so don’t worry.’ This announcement was well received. It immediately generated an atmosphere of relief all round.
‘And here’s a little incentive: The best act, then second best and third, will receive an additional £2, £1 and 10 shillings, respectively. The way it’s going to work is this: Once the show is over, each act will have exactly two minutes of reprise time, reminding people of just how good you are. Afterwards, you will all line up at the back of the stage. The reaction of the audience to each turn, as you are brought forward, will decide things. If it's an act with more than one person in it, then I'm afraid you must split the money among you.
Any questions? You have precisely half a minute to tell me.’ He looked at the assembled cast and paused. There was a moment of silence while this news sank in; then an excited buzz filled the air.
‘No questions? Good. But I'm here anyway, if someone's worried at all. Remember, you've only got two minutes of reprise time. Go for it—and good luck everyone; and thanks for everything you have done so far this evening; all of you are a credit to your profession. Again, thank you.’
Tom Cairns had been asked by Brian to join them; and now there was an excited babble as the performers surrounded the music man; each act let him know the number they wanted played for the reprise.
Brian gestured at them, unsuccessfully, to keep the noise down.
In the orchestra pit, the band was playing a selection of melodies, as Brian had ordered. The villagers were singing along, just as planned, indicating a good mood in the auditorium. Tom, the band leader, now slipped down among his fellow-musicians and lost no time in enlightening them that their pay was assured. This good news seemed to be reflected in the lively music that now began to play.

*

The moment had come for the show to go on. In the wings, Brian turned to his compere.
‘Are you all set, Larry? This is your big moment, old timer.’
Larry smiled ruefully. ‘Let's get the curtain up and put this show on the road, Brian.’
The stagehands, Willie and Geordie, hauled the curtains wide, and Larry Jones marched on stage to play his finest part.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, after the second half of the show that you are about to see, we have a real surprise for you. This was the signal for a short fanfare from the orchestra pit.

The compere was holding his arms aloft to retain the audience's attention. It will be up to you, ladies and gentlemen, to play your part in "Make Your Mind Up Time". Larry voiced this phrase as loud as he could.
Yes folks,' he continued, 'this is a new concept in music hall entertainment. For the very first time anywhere, we invite you, the paying customers, to participate in the show with, "Make Your Mind Up Time" and decide which have been the best acts.
A great murmur arose in the hall as the audience reacted to this novel development. The hum quickly rose to an excited buzz. Larry went on to outline what would now happen; that their appreciation, in the form of applause, would decide things. The crowd was informed that the acts were lined up to perform in the order that had been advertised, which would make the whole operation flow smoothly.

In the body of the hall, Phil Sharpe and Stan Atkins were bolt upright in their seats. This was something new and unexpected. It had definite possibilities. They were wide-awake and determined to miss nothing that happened.

*

The second half of the concert was a great success—and each act was cheered and applauded, especially the chorus line. When it came to reprise time, Larry was magnificent and everything went off perfectly, just as Brian, with fingers crossed, had planned it.
Tom Cairns made sure each act performed for two minutes only; and the villagers in the Welfare Hall politely clapped each turn. They were reserving themselves for the moment when with a great deal of ballyhoo, Larry brought forward the performers, one act at a time, from the back of the stage where they were all paraded waiting their turn.
The villagers were more than ready to let rip their applause for their favourite artistes, and the noise was deafening.
Larry then told them he would signify the winner and runners up after receiving the verdict of the judges, who, they were told, would be band leader, Tom Cairns and his fellow musicians). It was judged they were best suited and placed to determine the volume of applause given to each act. Their decision was final.
Although the verdicts were made very quickly, the judges cleverly made a show of debating and discussing, for about two minutes, who would be the winners.
The audience, as planned, was now raised to a pitch of excitement. At last, Larry approached the mike to make the announcement, a piece of paper in his hands.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, based on your applause, the judges have come to a decision.’ He looked down at the note in his hands, pausing, deliberately, for about seven seconds.
‘The winners are the chorus girls.’

His next words, ‘They won by a mile,’ were drowned out by the thunderous applause, whistles and cheers from the audience—not to mention the squeals of delight from the chorus girls themselves.
When some sort of order was achieved, Larry continued:
‘I think you will all agree, folks, it was not in much doubt that the girls would be the winners.’ There were more cheers and applause.
‘Second, was, Angie Smith.’ This was received with more cheering and clapping. ‘She again gave an excellent impersonation of Gracie Fields, even in the short time allowed, and your applause showed this was appreciated.’
When the ovation had died down, he carried on:
‘Third place was a close thing, but will you please give a big hand to our boy soprano, John Scott, who just pipped Serena Dvorak.
Another bout of clapping burst out. He is one for the future.’ To soften the blow for Serena, he mentioned that she had, ‘performed on radio on many occasions.’ As planned, this brought forth a round of polite applause.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, for our final farewell, it only remains for me to bring forward to the front of the stage, everyone associated with our show tonight. But before I do so, I want you to give yourselves a big cheer; you have been one of our very finest audiences. I really mean that;’ and he did. ‘On behalf of the entire Company, thank you very, very, much.’
All the staff assembled on stage, including Brian Clarke and the stagehands.
The village people cheered, clapped and whistled. The cast and back-stage workforce waved and shouted cheerio. But there were no encores, no curtain calls—by order of the committee—who wanted to close up and get home as soon as possible.
It also suited the cast, their thoughts returning to the dismal days of unemployment and worry that lay ahead. The villagers gave a great concluding cheer as the cast took their final bow, and the curtains closed.

***

Next Week the story ends with the 'Postscript'