Tales of a Tiller Girl by Irene Holland

Author:Irene Holland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-06-30T00:00:00+00:00

12

Disaster Strikes

Things don’t always run smoothly in the theatre – like life, I suppose – and little did we know there were a few obstacles coming our way.

The first happened during Monday morning rehearsals when we were going through a new routine for the last two weeks of the season that involved us splitting up and forming two circles. We were twirling around on the stage when suddenly I heard a bang and a yelp.

‘What’s happened?’ said Miss Barbara, raising her hand to interrupt the pianist.

Anne, who was one of the shortest girls, was lying on the floor writhing in agony.

‘I lost my balance and tripped over,’ she moaned. ‘I think I’ve hurt my ribs.’

We managed to help lift her up off the floor.

‘Did you not use the rosin box, dear?’ Miss Barbara asked.

‘I’m so sorry, I forgot,’ she said.

The rosin box was a little box full of yellow crystals that was always at the side of the stage. When you stepped into it, the crystals turned into a sticky white powder and coated the bottom of your dance shoes to stop you from slipping over on the stage.

Poor Anne was in agony after her fall.

‘I think you need to go to hospital, dear, and get checked over,’ Miss Doris told her. ‘You go with her, Kay.’

They came back later that afternoon.

‘She’s cracked her ribs,’ said Kay, helping her into the dressing-room.

‘You poor thing,’ I said. ‘You must be in agony.’

‘Anne, you should go home and rest,’ Sylvia told her. ‘You can’t dance with cracked ribs.’

But she shook her head.

‘They strapped them up so I should be OK for tonight’s shows,’ she said bravely. ‘I’ll just try and carry on as normal.’

I could tell she was still in a lot of pain and she was struggling to walk, never mind dance, but I knew that she was terrified about losing her place in the troupe. That was our worst fear and none of us wanted to be replaced.

We were all in the dressing-room getting ready for that evening’s first show when a short, tubby woman in her forties came in to see us.

‘Hello there, girls,’ she said. ‘My name’s Nessie and I’m the West End Equity rep.’

The trade union Equity had been going since the 1930s but it had only recently opened up its membership to dancers in variety shows, pantomimes and ballets. Nessie’s job was to wander round all the theatres in the West End persuading performers to pay their subs and join.

‘You’ll find most performers in West End theatres have union membership,’ she told us. ‘It’s highly advisable to protect yourselves.’

‘That’s all well and good, but what do we get out of it?’ asked Sylvia.

‘It means that all your jobs and future contracts will be looked at and vetted by Equity,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ve all heard of dancers being sent abroad and being exploited, or having contracts cancelled or breached? It means that all your contracts from now on will be Equity-approved. Have a think about it and I’ll come back tomorrow.

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