Remember Me (8 page)

‘Yes, Joe, so she is. Although I don’t think that is how I would describe her. She’s…she’s lovely,’ Dan said simply, no longer able to feign indifference. ‘Lovely to look at, and I’m sure she’s a very nice person as well.’

‘I know where she’s lodging,’ said Joe. ‘I know which house it is in Albert Road. D’you want me to show you?’

‘Oh no…no, I don’t think so.’

‘Ne’er mind what our mam says about keeping on with yer studying, or about anything else. You could go and see her – Maddy, I mean – and tell her how much you enjoyed the show. We could both go; she knows me, and I could introduce you, like.’

Dan smiled. ‘No, thank you; I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, what about you? You like her, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but she’s too old for me,’ said Joe. ‘I reckon she’s about eighteen or so; she might even be nineteen, same as you. Anyroad, I’m not all that used to girls.’

‘Neither am I,’ said Dan with a wry smile.

‘No, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t be. I’ve told you; never mind what Mammy says. She’s got a one-track mind where you’re concerned.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ said Dan. ‘Just leave it, Joe. I don’t think it’s a very good idea to go running after her…or after any girl for that matter. But for heaven’s sake, don’t say anything to Mammy.’

‘D’you think I’m stupid?’ said Joe, laughing.

‘No…’ Dan sighed. ‘But I think it might be best to leave things as they are.’ Nevertheless, his brother’s suggestion stayed with him.

After a few days had gone by, however, he had still not acted upon it. Joe did not say anything further; but Daniel, of course, had asked him to leave it alone and maybe his brother thought that he had decided the lovely girl he had seen on the stage was not for him. His parents, who went on the Tuesday evening, said they had enjoyed the show and how very good it was for a pier entertainment; but they did not comment on any individual act.

His mother was busy preparing for the Easter weekend. They were expecting the largest number of visitors they had entertained since they had taken over the boarding house last October. The guests would be arriving on Saturday, which was generally changeover day in the resort, although visitors who arrived on spec on other days usually managed to find accommodation. The beds of the departing guests would need to be changed, and all the bedrooms made spick and span to give the very best impression.

Daniel would not be working at the gents’ outfitters on Friday, as it was Good Friday and all the stores were closed on that day. As well as assisting with the sales he was responsible for the bookkeeping and the ordering. Mr Jonas Grundy, the elderly gentleman who employed him and who
owned the shop, would have been only too pleased to give him a full-time position, but he understood that Daniel, in time, would leave and move on to an entirely different career.

So, on Friday he would be assisting his brother, preparing the house in readiness for what was officially the beginning of the spring season. There might, then, be a lull of a few weeks before the summer season began in earnest at the Whitsuntide weekend. His father might even lend a hand as well as he, too, would not be working on that Good Friday. Thomas Murphy was employed by a local building firm and did not often take much part in the running of the boarding house. That was almost solely his wife’s concern. Soon after they had arrived in Blackpool, Anna, following the example of many of her fellow landladies, had put up a framed notice outside the front door. ‘Mrs Anna Murphy, late of Liverpool and of Galway, welcomes guests from all regions.’ That was a question of expediency, Anna’s desire not to show discrimination. After all, Liverpool folk sometimes chose to go to Southport, and there might be only a few who would make the journey from Dublin, across the Irish Sea to the fishing port of Fleetwood, just north of Blackpool. Anyway, time would tell, and this would be their first full season.

Daniel was thoughtful as he walked along the promenade, near to the North Pier, on Thursday afternoon. He had finished his morning’s work in
the shop at one o’clock and was supposed to be on his way home. He had not been able to resist, however, taking a roundabout route, passing the pier entrance and seeing the name of the girl he admired on the poster: Madeleine Moon, Yorkshire’s own songbird. What did he expect? he mused. It was not likely that she stayed near to the pier all day, and the first house did not start until five-thirty. He chided himself for being such a fool and kept on walking briskly. When he came opposite the Tower, approaching the spot where he could cross the tramtrack and make his way home, he stopped dead in his tracks.

He stared at the girl who was leaning against the railings, looking out across the expanse of sand towards the grey-blue sea. He wondered for a moment if his thoughts had conjured up a vision, or, more likely, if he was mistaken and the girl was just someone who bore a resemblance to Madeleine Moon. But as he continued to watch her from a distance of a few yards he realised that it was, indeed, the girl he had been longing to meet. Her golden hair was drawn back from her face and she wore a close-fitting little hat. She suddenly turned, as though aware of his glance, and looked at him. And then she gave a tentative smile, as though she recognised him…

Chapter Seven

M
addy turned round, suddenly aware that someone was staring at her. She gave a smile of recognition, stepping towards the young man. ‘Joe…’ she said. ‘Fancy seeing you…’ Then she stopped, putting her hand to her mouth in confusion because it wasn’t Joe; just someone who looked very much like him, maybe a little older though.

‘I’m sorry,’ she went on. ‘I mistook you for someone else, a young man I met the other day. I only saw him once and so…’

‘And would that be Joe Murphy, by any chance?’ asked the youth, smiling at her in a most friendly way.

‘Yes…’ she nodded, a little puzzled.

‘Then I’m not surprised that you mistook me for him. Folks tell us we’re very much alike. Joe’s my brother, my younger brother; the only one I’ve got, in fact. And I’m Dan, Daniel Murphy.’ He held out his hand. ‘And I know that you are Madeleine Moon. I’m very pleased to meet you, Madeleine.’

She took hold of his outstretched hand, smiling back a little unsurely into his green eyes, which
were shining with interest and good humour. ‘Yes, I’m pleased to meet you too,’ she said. ‘But how did you know…? Oh yes, of course. You must have seen the show. Joe said he might take his brother along with him.’

‘And so he did,’ laughed Daniel. ‘On Monday night. And a very good show it was, too. I must say how much I enjoyed your singing, Madeleine… You don’t mind me calling you Madeleine, do you?’

‘Of course not, but I’m usually called Maddy. That’s what most people call me. But I decided I would be Madeleine when I’m on the stage. It sounds – well – more grown-up, more distinguished, sort of.’

‘So it does,’ agreed Daniel, with a more serious air. ‘And I will call you Madeleine, if you don’t mind. It’s a lovely name. Do you mind if I join you for a little while? You’re not meeting anybody, or doing anything special?’ he enquired tentatively.

‘No, not at all. I decided I’d have a couple of hours enjoying the sea breeze before the first house starts. That’s at a quarter to six – five-forty-five, I suppose I should say – and the second house is at eight-thirty. But I don’t mind if you join me.’ She had decided that she liked the look of this young man. He had the same green eyes and dark gingerish hair as his younger brother, with an open, honest-looking face and an engaging smile; quite a handsome lad in a homely sort of way. But it was not just his looks that attracted her. She had felt at once that there was something about his personality
that reached out to her, and she knew she would like to get to know him.

‘You’re certainly kept very busy,’ Dan commented. ‘Er…shall we walk on? Which way were you going?’

‘Same way as you were, I suppose,’ she replied. ‘I thought I might walk as far as the next pier, Central Pier, isn’t it? I haven’t been that way before.’

‘Have you eaten?’ asked Dan. ‘Your lunch, I mean, or do you call it dinner at midday? I know most northerners do, including my family since we came to live here.’

‘Yes, I’ve had my dinner,’ she laughed. ‘I’m a true Yorkshire lass – dinner at dinner time, tea at teatime. As a matter of fact, Mrs Jolly, our landlady, makes us a cooked meal at quarter past twelve, so it has time to settle before we go on the stage. Then we might have a sandwich later, sometimes between the first and second house. What about you? Have you eaten, Dan?’

‘Yes, I took a sandwich with me and ate it before I left the shop.’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘Oh, of course you don’t know do you?’ he continued. ‘I work part-time at a gents’ outfitters on Church Street, and the rest of the time – well, some of it – I help my mother in the boarding house.’

‘Yes, Joe told me about that. Adelaide Street, isn’t it, the next street to where we’re staying? So…were you on your way home?’

‘In a roundabout way. I try to get an hour or so
to myself in the afternoon, and we’re not very busy this week. It’s on Saturday that we will start in earnest, for Easter week. Then we’ll be rushed off our feet; Mammy will be at any rate, and our Joe, but I just help out part-time. We serve a cooked breakfast, midday dinner and then ‘high tea’ at five-thirty. It will be Mammy’s first full season. We only moved here last back-end, and I guess she’ll have to get some extra help for the summer season – a chambermaid and a waitress maybe.’

‘Yes, the visitors certainly get good value for money in Blackpool,’ Maddy commented. Walking along Albert Road each afternoon, on her way to the pier for the first house, she had seen the tables near the windows all laid ready for ‘high tea’. There was usually a three-tiered cake-stand with a silver handle, the bottom plate holding white bread and butter cut in triangular pieces, the middle plate buttered scones, and the top plate an assortment of cakes, known as ‘fancies’. Sometimes the meal would be ready and waiting on the plates; a slice of boiled ham or tongue, with lettuce, tomato and cucumber at the side, with the cruet, a jar of salad cream and a jar of pickled onions in the centre of the table.

‘I’m sure they get good value in Scarborough as well,’ she added. ‘That’s where I come from. But I’ve never had anything to do with the boarding house trade. My father has a very different sort of business,’ she added with a wry grin, determined to be truthful about it.

‘Oh, and what is that?’ enquired Dan. ‘May I ask?’

‘Yes; he’s an undertaker,’ replied Maddy. ‘It’s a family business. My grandfather, my dad and my brother, they run it. And we have a shop as well. We sell clothes for funerals and for all sorts of other occasions. My stepmother is in charge of that.’

‘I see,’ said Daniel. ‘And what about you then, Madeleine? You left Scarborough to go on the stage, did you?’

‘Yes, two years ago…’ She told him about the Pierrot shows where she had started singing, and how her father had allowed her to join the travelling company when she was fifteen.

Dan looked at her in some surprise. ‘So you are…how old? Seventeen?’

‘I’ll be seventeen in June,’ she replied. ‘Why? You look surprised.’

‘I thought you might have been…eighteen, perhaps. But it doesn’t matter, does it?’ He grinned at her. ‘And I will be twenty next September.’ He hesitated a little before continuing and she thought he looked at her a little regretfully. ‘I might be going to college then. At least…well, that’s the idea at the moment.’

‘What for?’ asked Maddy. ‘I mean…what will you be doing at college? Are you going to be a teacher?’

‘Sort of…’ He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right – a teacher. But I’m not terribly sure about it, you see.
I’m quite happy where I am, or I’ve been thinking about getting a job in an estate agent’s office and working up from there. The…er…teaching, that’s really my mother’s idea.’

‘But surely you should be able to choose your own job, your own…career?’ said Maddy. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she went on when he did not answer. ‘That was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?’

‘No, of course it wasn’t,’ replied Dan. ‘You are quite right. But it’s rather complicated. Let’s not think about it at the moment, eh? Tell me some more about yourself, Madeleine.’

‘I don’t know what there is to tell really,’ she said. She felt, suddenly, a little shy, as she saw the warmth shining in Dan’s eyes as he smiled at her. ‘I’m just an ordinary sort of girl who is lucky enough to be earning a living doing what I love best, and that is singing.’

‘I don’t think you are an ordinary girl,’ replied Dan. ‘Far from it; and you certainly have an extraordinary voice. Did you have singing lessons? Somehow I don’t think you did,’ he went on, answering his own question. ‘Your voice has such a clear, unaffected tone, so perfectly natural.’

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ smiled Maddy. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve never had singing lessons, but I did learn to play the piano, after a fashion, and so I do understand the – what do they call it? – the rudiments of music, and that has helped me a lot. And I used to sing in the chapel choir at home
before I started with the Melody Makers. Not a proper choir; just a few men and women – all of the others were older than me – who like to sing. Methodists love a good sing,’ she laughed.

He was looking at her keenly, a little oddly, she thought. ‘You are a Methodist then?’ he asked.

‘Well, yes, sort of,’ she replied. ‘That’s what my family are, Methodists. A lot of folk in Scarborough are. My grandfather’s always telling us how the great John Wesley used to preach there, not very far from where our undertaker’s yard is. He doesn’t remember him, of course; it’s ages ago. But his own grandfather used to listen to him, to John Wesley, and so it’s become a family tradition to attend the Methodist Chapel.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Dan, nodding thoughtfully.

‘What about you?’ asked Maddy. ‘I take it that you’re not…?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not a Methodist. But I do go to church, a different sort of church, though.’

‘That’s all that matters then,’ replied Maddy. ‘My grandad says it doesn’t matter where you worship – that’s what he always calls it, worship – because we’re all heading for the same place and following the same God.’

‘A very sensible way of looking at it,’ replied Daniel. ‘Would that everyone saw it that way…’ he added quietly, almost to himself.

‘I’ve never really thought much about it to be
honest,’ said Maddy. ‘Not to worry about it, at any rate. My father sometimes goes to the Church of England now because that’s where my stepmother likes to go. And my grandad, well, he’s not narrow-minded like some of ’em are. He said he signed the pledge when he was a lad – they were all forced to by their parents – but he likes a drink of beer now and again. And I’m afraid I haven’t been to chapel for ages because we’re usually travelling on a Sunday. I expect I shall go on this Sunday though, on Easter Sunday. I noticed there’s a chapel near to Central Station…’

‘Oh look, there’s a Punch and Judy show,’ she called out, noticing the red and white striped box on the sands below them. ‘That reminds me of home. I loved watching Punch and Judy when I was a little girl, when I wasn’t watching the Pierrot shows, of course.’

They stopped, leaning against the iron railings, looking out across the wide expanse of sand. ‘Seven golden miles’ was Blackpool’s boast regarding the length of its beach, and certainly, looking northwards and southwards, it did seem to go on for ever. The tide was well out but the beach on this Thursday afternoon before the Easter weekend was not at all crowded. A few children and adults were clustered in front of the Punch and Judy booth. It was fairly near to the sea wall and Maddy could make out the writing on the front of the box, ‘Prof J Green, est. 1880’.

She read the words out loud. ‘An old Blackpool family, I suppose,’ she commented. ‘It’s the same in Scarborough. The Punch and Judy men are very proud of their heritage.’

‘Yes, I believe so,’ replied Dan. ‘We haven’t been here very long, as I told you, but our next-door neighbours have always lived here and they’ve told us a good deal about Blackpool’s history. The Green family, apparently, was a famous circus and music hall family at one time.’

‘Look at Dog Toby,’ said Maddy, ‘sitting there so patiently. He must be very well trained.’ The white dog with brown patches on his back and brown ears, and with a red and white ruffle round his neck, was sitting motionless, whilst near to him Mister Punch was banging around with his stick and calling out in his squeaky nasal voice, ‘That’s the way to do it…’

It was rather a dull day with a fitful sun doing its best to shine, and there was a stiff breeze. A group of three donkeys was standing forlornly near by, their heads bowed and their bells jingling softly in the breeze as they waited for customers.

‘You should see this stretch of beach at the height of the season,’ observed Dan. ‘It gets so crowded you can scarcely find room for a deckchair or a towel. We came here a couple of times last summer, before my parents actually bought the boarding house, and I was amazed at the number of folk on the sands. The donkeys have their run, usually
nearer to the sea, but nearer to the prom and the sea wall you can hardly move for the crowds. It’s the herd instinct, I suppose. Some people feel happier when they’re in a crowd. I prefer a bit of solitude sometimes, or the company of just one other person.’ He turned to look at her and she nodded.

‘Me too,’ she said quietly, ‘some of the time.’

There were a few brave souls sitting on deckchairs and some even braver ones paddling at the edge of the sea; men with their trousers rolled up to their knees and women with their skirts held high, holding a little child by the hand. But they didn’t linger for more than a few moments.

‘Let’s walk as far as Central Pier, shall we?’ said Daniel. ‘Then we can cross over and walk back along the other side of the prom.’

Central Pier, the middle one of Blackpool’s three piers, looked pretty similar to the North Pier from the frontage. But whilst the North Pier boasted two entertainment pavilions, the Central Pier had a large area devoted to open-air dancing or, alternatively, roller skating. A poster outside the pier entrance stated that the Blackpool Steamboat Company Ltd had daily excursions to Douglas, Llandudno, Bangor, Liverpool, Southport, and Morecambe, on their fine saloon steamers, the
Queen of the North
, the
Bickerstaffe
and the
Wellington
. And there was the
Bickerstaffe
, moored near to the jetty.