The Wartime Singers by Lesley Eames

Author:Lesley Eames [Eames, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788545730
Publisher: Head of Zeus

21

They travelled to the convalescent home by underground railway. Polly’s eyes widened and her slim shoulders shuddered as they made their way along the tunnels. ‘You’ll soon grow used to it,’ Lizzie told her.

Polly looked doubtful and was clearly glad to get back in the fresh air. The convalescent home was in a former school. The administrator showed them into a large room which had a piano at the far end. ‘No stage, I’m afraid.’

‘We’re used to making do,’ Lizzie assured him.

Margaret played a few notes and grimaced. ‘When was this instrument last tuned?’

‘Some time ago, I imagine,’ he said. ‘I hope it isn’t going to be a problem?’

‘We’re used to working with less-than-perfect pianos too,’ Lizzie assured him, and the administrator looked relieved.

‘Is there anything I can bring you?’

‘Glasses of water, if it isn’t too much trouble?’

He went off to fetch them while Margaret and Lizzie settled down to practice with Polly looking on. Soon the wounded soldiers began to arrive and Polly’s expression softened with sympathy as she saw their bandages, empty sleeves and wheelchairs.

Some men grinned with cheerful enthusiasm. ‘They really are looking forward to hearing you,’ Polly whispered to Lizzie.

‘Let’s hope they enjoy it.’

They did enjoy it, listening enraptured to Margaret’s classical piano solos then livening up as the programme progressed to popular songs sung by Lizzie who encouraged the men to join in with the more rousing ones such as ‘Tipperary’. They did so vigorously, clapping their hands and even stamping their feet.

Polly clapped and stamped with them. ‘They loved every moment,’ she told Lizzie, when the men were leaving at the end.

‘That’s why we do this. The men are having a terrible time at the front and you can see that some have suffered awful injuries. We see our job as lifting their spirits.’

Polly nodded, looking thoughtful.

Monday came and Polly moved to old Mrs Bishop’s house. She called in on Lizzie on Thursday evening to let her know all was well. ‘I wouldn’t call Mrs Bishop an easy person, but she told me I was a good girl yesterday.’

‘You’re patient and gentle. She must know she’s lucky to have you.’

Polly was far too modest to agree.

‘Yesterday’s concert went well,’ Lizzie told her. ‘We have another on Saturday. Would you like to come along?’

‘Yes, please.’

This time they took the omnibus to a small cottage hospital where they were welcomed warmly. Margaret’s piano playing went well and so did Lizzie’s, but when the time came for her to sing, she took a sip of water and choked on it. Several coughs didn’t help. Eyes watering, she looked at Polly whose face drained of colour as she realised what Lizzie was asking.

Lizzie beckoned Polly closer. ‘The men are waiting,’ she got out hoarsely. ‘It would be a shame to disappoint them. Please, Poll. You can shut your eyes, if it helps. I shut mine the first time I sang in public.’

‘“Golden Barley”?’ suggested Margaret, knowing that Polly was familiar with the words.

Polly glanced at the audience and visibly quaked but she took some timid steps forward.

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