The Academy was three large houses joined inside by passages. Across the front had been written in large gold letters “Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training.” The words were divided between the three houses, but a bomb across the square had blown some of the letters away altogether, and others upside down. On the first house was written Ch and then a space, and then e upside down, and then s, and then another space and cad. On the second house was emy and then a space, and then D upside down. On the third house there was a d and then Stag, and then a space and then ing. Sorrel, Holly and Mark stood in the road puzzling what it all meant. It was Mark who worked it out and Sorrel who noticed the static water tank in the corner and guessed it had once been a house and that was how the letters had got blown away.
Grandmother had made an appointment for the children to see Madame Fidolia at eleven o’clock. Hannah had been so afraid they would be late that it was only a quarter to eleven when they arrived, so they were shown into a waiting-room. It was a large, rather bare room with green walls. All round the walls were benches. Hannah sat down in the corner farthest from the door. The children walked round looking at the photographs, which were interesting. They were of children dressed in ballet skirts and each child was standing on its points, but best of all, each child had signed its name. There were some funny old ones which were getting faded, with names like Little Doris, and Babsy, and Baby Cora to Dear Madame, written on them. But the newer ones, and much the best photographs, had quite sensible names, like Janet and Ann. As well there were large groups of pantomimes and these the children liked much the best, because it was fun trying to work out which pantomime they were meant to be. Mark amused himself by giving imaginary prizes for handwriting to the different children. The somebody called “Little Doris” was winning. It was a very old photograph but it had got almost first prize when Sorrel called the others over to look at a picture of the prettiest girl they had ever seen. She was dressed as Alice in Wonderland, except that instead of Alice’s shoes she wore black ballet shoes and was standing on her points. Across this picture was written, “With much love to dear Madame. Pauline.”
“I call that a lovely little handwriting,” said Sorrel.
Holly climbed on to the bench to see better.
“There’s a picture of that girl over here.” She dragged at Sorrel to make her come and look, “only she’s dressed as a boy.”
Holly, when she wanted you to look at something, kept on bothering till you did, so Sorrel and Mark came and looked. It was an enormous group, almost all of children. In the middle was the same girl who was Alice in Wonderland, only her hair was turned underneath to look like a boy’s. She was dressed in knickers and a coat that seemed to be made of satin, and holding her hand was a little dark girl dressed as Red Riding Hood.
“Now I wonder what pantomime that is,” said Mark. “Look, there’s a cat! Do you think it’s ‘Puss in Boots’?”
“It couldn’t be,” Holly objected. “That cat hasn’t got no boots on.”
“And anyway there’s a dog too,” Sorrel pointed out. “You couldn’t have a dog in ‘Puss in Boots.’”
Mark dashed across to Hannah. He was so excited his words fell over each other.
“Do you suppose you could earn money as an actor, being a cat or a dog?”
Hannah was still breathless from the escalator. She spoke in a puffy sort of voice.
“I should hope not indeed. Making fun of poor dumb creatures! They know it isn’t right to be made a show of even if we don’t.”
Mark bounced back to Sorrel.
“Do you think I could be a cat or a dog, or, best of all, a bear? If I could be a bear I wouldn’t mind a bit about going on the stage.”
“But you’ve got to mind,” said Sorrel anxiously. “You know what I told you last night. It’s only till you’re eleven. Oh, Mark, you won’t get liking it, will you? It will be simply frightful for Daddy when he comes back if he finds you aren’t going into the Navy.”
Holly was still examining the picture.
“You said that I couldn’t be an actress like grandmother until I was twelve. But these little girls aren’t twelve. Lots of them are only about six.”
Sorrel and Mark knelt on the bench and had another look at the picture.
“It’s absolutely true,” Sorrel agreed. She laid a finger first on one child’s portrait and then on another’s. “This one is tiny and so is this one and so’s this.”
They were startled to feel hands on their shoulders. They turned round and found themselves looking at an oldish lady.
Madame Fidolia was, the children thought, a queer-looking lady. She had hair that had once been black but was now mostly grey, parted in the middle and dragged very smoothly into a bun on the nape of her neck. She was wearing a black silk dress that looked as though it came out of a history book, for it had a tight stiff bodice and full skirts. Round her shoulders was a cerise shawl. She leant on a tall black stick. But the oddest thing about her was the way she was finished off, as it were, for on her feet were pink ballet shoes, which are the last things you expect to see on the feet of an oldish lady. She gave a gesture with one hand, which, without words, said clearly, “Stand up.” The children slid off the bench and stood in front of her. Her voice was deep with a slightly foreign accent.
“How do you do? So you are the Warren children.”
Mark’s head shot up.
“No, we’re not. Our name is Forbes.”
Madame Fidolia looked at Mark with interest.
“You don’t wish to be a Warren. Most children would envy you.”
Sorrel was afraid Mark might be rude, so she answered for him.
“Our father is a sailor. Our great-grandfather was an admiral, and Mark’s going to be an admiral too. At least, we hope he is, but, of course, it’s not easy to be an admiral.”
Madame Fidolia was looking at the picture behind them.
“You three remind me of three little pupils that came to me many years ago. This picture you were looking at was the first play in which they appeared. It was a special matinée of ‘The Blue Bird.’ You’ve read ‘The Blue Bird,’ I suppose?”
Sorrel could tell from Madame Fidolia’s voice that they ought to have read it, so she answered apologetically:
“I’m afraid we haven’t. It wasn’t in our grandfather’s house.”
Madame Fidolia laid a finger over the picture of the boy in the satin suit.
“This is Pauline.” She touched the portrait of the child dressed as Red Riding Hood. “And this Petrova.”
Her fingers searched amongst the small children and came to a stop against a tiny girl with her head all over curls. Her voice warmed. “And this is Posy.”
The children knelt up on the bench to look again at the picture.
“Are they sisters?” Sorrel asked.
Madame smiled.
“Not exactly. Adopted sisters, brought up by a guardian. You’ve seen Pauline, I expect, lots of times. Pauline Fossil.”
She said Pauline Fossil in exactly the same voice as Alice had said “Didn’t you know Henry Warren was your uncle?” so Sorrel hurried to explain their ignorance.
“I’m afraid we haven’t. We’ve spent our holidays in the vicarage, and in a vicarage you don’t see stage people much.”
Hannah gave a snort.
“Brought up very decently, they’ve been.”
Madame Fidolia gave her a lovely smile and came across to her, holding out her hand.
“I’m sure they have. Mrs.…?”
“Miss Fothergill,” said Hannah firmly. “Looked after the children’s grandfather, I did, and there’s nothing about vicarages anyone can teach me.”
“But nobody calls her Miss Fothergill,” said Holly. “Everybody calls her Hannah.”
Madame Fidolia was shaking Hannah’s hand.
“And may I call you Hannah too? Now, if you’ll come with me, I’m going to take the children to a classroom; we must see what they can do.??
? She was leading the way out of the room when she thought of something. “You children will call me Madame, and when you first meet me in the morning and last thing at night, and before and after a class, or any time when we meet, you make a deep curtsey and say ‘Madame.’ And you, Mark, lay one hand on your heart and bow.”
None of the children dared look at each other, because they all wanted to giggle, and obviously Madame was not the sort of person that you giggled in front of.
“Now let me see you do it,” said Madame firmly. She looked at Sorrel. “You start.”
Sorrel and Holly had learnt dancing at Ferntree School, but curtseying had not been part of it. Sorrel, crimson in the face, did the best she could. She bowed both knees a little and muttered “Madame” while she did it. Madame Fidolia shook her head. She gave Mark her stick.
“You hold this. I’ve had a little trouble with rheumatism in my knees but I can still show you.” She moved one foot sideways, put the other leg behind it, held out her skirts and swept the most beautiful curtsey down to the ground, saying politely, “Madame.” Then she stood up took her stick back from Mark and nodded at Sorrel. “Now, child, try again.”
Shorts are the most idiotic things to curtsey in, but Sorrel was quick and did her very best. Madame seemed quite pleased. Then she looked at Holly.
“Now you.”
Holly had been charmed by the way Madame’s skirts billowed round her and it was no trouble at all to pretend that she had skirts too, so instead of holding out her shorts as Sorrel had done, she lifted her hands as if she were holding up silk, and swept down to the floor. “Madame,” she said politely, and then added as she got up, “I’m wearing pale blue with little stars all over it.”
Madame laughed.
“I could see you were wearing something very grand. Now, Mark.”
Sorrel prayed inside her, “Oh, please God, don’t let Mark argue.” But Mark, oddly enough, did not seem even to mind being made to bow. He swept a really grand bow. “Madame.” The only thing he did not do very well was saying her name. He spoke it in a low deep growl. Madame’s eyes twinkled. She took Mark’s chin in her hand.
“And what had you got on when you bowed to me?” Mark wriggled, but she smiled down at him, holding him firmly. “Tell me.”
Mark looked cross for a moment and then something in Madame Fidolia’s face made him feel friendly.
“I was wearing a bearskin. I was a bear in the Antarctic who’s travelled miles to call on the Queen there.”
Hannah was thoroughly ashamed.
“Really, Mark, what a way to talk!”
But Madame did not seem to mind at all. She took Mark’s hand in hers.
“And a very nice thing to be,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll lead the way, shall we?”
In a long room a lot of small girls and boys were doing dancing exercises. A tall, ugly girl with a clever, interesting face was teaching them. She had on a practice dress, a very short black tunic, worn over black tights. The tights finished at the ankle, and she had on white socks and black ballet shoes. As the door opened this girl and all the children stopped work and bowed or curtseyed, saying “Madame.” Madame beckoned to the girl.
“This is Winifred, children, who teaches dancing. We’re very short of teachers now, but we’re allowed Winifred because she teaches you lessons as well. Winifred came to me as a pupil when she was younger than you, Holly.” She turned to Winifred. “These are the Warren children.” She smiled at Mark. “Their name is really Forbes, and Mark, at any rate, wants to be called Forbes. This is Sorrel, this is Holly, and this is Mark. You might try them out and see what they know, but I imagine, with their tradition, acting is more in their line.” She turned to the rest of the class. “Sit, children.” The children, without a word, ran to the side of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor.
There was a piano at the far end of the room on which a fat woman in a red blouse had been playing. Winifred went over to her.
“You might play that Baby Polka, Mrs. Blondin.” She came back to the middle of the room. The piano struck up a gay little polka and she began to dance. It was only one, two, three, hop, but she did it so well that it seemed quite important kind of dancing. As she danced she held out her hand. “Come on, children, you do it too.”
Sorrel felt the most awful fool. She could not forget the eyes of all the children sitting cross-legged on the floor watching her. What must they think she looked like! Prancing about in her shorts. She was so conscious of the eyes that she danced worse than she need have done, and twice she fell over her feet.
Mark put on his proudest face and folded his hands behind his back while he danced. He did not pick up his feet very much, but slithered from one step to the other, and Sorrel, watching him out of the corner of her eye, could see that he was not minding dancing because he was not a boy dancing in a room full of children, but a bear skating in the Antarctic.
Holly had learnt the Baby Polka at school and she liked dancing, so she held out imaginary skirts and pranced round the room, only stopping in front of Madame for a moment to say, “I’ve changed now and I’m in white satin with blue bows.”
Winifred suddenly called out “Stop.” She came over to the children and one by one lifted first their right legs and then their left legs. Then she went to Madame and curtseyed.
“Elementary.”
Madame nodded.
“But watch Holly, Winifred, you never know. I thought there might be something.”
Winifred gave Madame a respectful but affectionate smile.
“Another Posy?”
Madame shook her head.
“One can’t expect to find two Posys in a lifetime, but I shall always go on looking. Come along, children.”
She stood in the door and Winifred and all the children curtseyed and said “Madame.” The fat woman at the piano just sat and stared. “I suppose she either doesn’t quite belong,” Sorrel thought, “or else she’s too bad a shape for curtseying. Lucky her!”
Madame took the children into her own sitting-room. It was a charming room, but so full of photographs hung on the walls that the quite lovely blue-grey of the walls scarcely showed. Madame sat in an armchair. Hannah sat on a small upright chair behind the door, looking respectful. It was quite a little chair and she bulged over both sides.
“Now,” said Madame, as if she were in for a treat, “let us see if there is any of the Warren talent, or Margaret Shaw’s charm, or your own mother’s genius about you children. I don’t want you to recite; I’m not fond of children reciting. Instead you will go outside the door and think out a little story, a fairy story, anything you like, and come back and act it.”
In the passage outside the children leant against the wall and tried to think what they could act. Sorrel knew right away that Mark would have to be a bear, as he was in that sort of mood, and Holly would have to pretend that she was well dressed, but for the life of her she could not think at first of a story that would fit these characters. Neither Mark nor Holly were any help, for Mark kept suggesting, “Let’s act the animals going into the Ark,” or “Let’s act the children being eaten by bears in the Bible,” and Holly would only say, “I’d like to be a butterfly; no I wouldn’t, I’ll be a queen.” Then suddenly Sorrel thought of something.
“Let’s do a kind of Red Riding Hood. Let’s have a little girl sent out to look for strawberries in the woods because they’re hungry at home, and there’s nothing to eat; and in the wood the little girl meets a bear and she’s terrified and runs home, and the bear follows her and he turns out to be a prince and he marries the little girl’s mother and they live happily ever after.”
“Where was the little girl’s father?” asked Mark.
“He died of smallpox,” Sorrel invented, “and that’s why they’re hungry, because there’s no one to work for them.”
“Pretty rotten for the bear having to turn into a prince,” Mark argued.
Sorrel lost her temper.
“All
right then, think of a better story yourself. I’ve made you a bear and Holly can be as dressed up as she likes to think she is, and all I am is just an old mother cleaning the house. I think you’re jolly selfish.”
“Keep your hair on,” said Mark. “We’ll do your story. Only I shouldn’t think you’re as old as all that, otherwise why does the prince marry you? Princes don’t.”
Sorrel was so thankful to have got a story settled that she did not bother to argue with him.
“Come on,” she said nervously. “Let’s do it just once before we go in.”
As soon as the door had shut on the children Madame Fidolia went to her desk and picked up a printed list and gave it to Hannah. Hannah was carrying a large brown bag with a zip fastener. She undid it and took out her spectacles. She put them on and read the list. It said across the top: “Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training. Rompers, two (pattern to be obtained from the Academy). Tarlatan dresses, white, two. Knickers, frilled, two. Sandal shoes, white satin. Black patent-leather ankle-strap shoes. White socks, six pairs. Face towels, rough, two. Overalls, two (to be obtained from the Academy).” And at the bottom, in large letters, “Everything must be clearly marked with the child’s name.” Hannah knew just what state the children’s coupon books were in, so she just stared at the list, looking hopeless. Madame did not give her time to worry long.
“That’s an old list, of course, from before the war. As you probably noticed at the elementary class we’ve just been in to, all the children’s things are made of different colours, and quite a lot of them were wearing shorts. I don’t like shorts myself as they don’t wash so easily as the rompers. Have the children got bathing dresses?”