of this,’ she said pulling out a piece of chalk from her pocket. ‘Some of the marks I’ve made get rubbed off during morning rehearsals so . . .’ She shrugged and pulled out a bundle of string. ‘I think we’d better get on with it.’
With a tape measure, chalk and knotted string it took them three-quarters of an hour to measure out where the walls and furniture for French Without Tears would be set. Helena appeared with mugs of tea for them and took two more to the painters in the scene dock.
‘Don’t usually get to have a cuppa during a strike,’ said Isla, smiling. ‘Helena and I usually leave Judy to make it for the others but she’s always too busy painting to do it.’
‘Judy? Oh, is she the youth painting?’
Isla nodded.
‘Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . It’s just I couldn’t see under her hat that she was a girl.’
‘And the fag hanging permanently from her mouth doesn’t help, does it?’
‘I didn’t expect there to be so many girls back-stage.’
‘It’s the best way of getting acting work. I’m ASM, that’s assistant stage manager, and I get to play small parts occasionally.’
‘I thought I’d seen you. Oh, you’re good!’ Ralph felt himself redden again.
‘Tell that to my father,’ she added sardonically.
‘Doesn’t he think you are?’
‘Nope. Mind you, I’m beginning not to care.’
‘So he wants you to stop acting, is that it?’
‘Oh, no. He just wants me to be better at it. Well, as long as I don’t overshadow him. He’s Geoffrey Leighton.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘I’m sorry,’ began Ralph. ‘I’m not very good at names.’
‘It’s refreshing,’ she said airily and she gave a broad smile. ‘It’s quite funny really. Most ASMs are bursting to get on to the stage. Here we are in a good rep with an ASM who can take it or leave it and Helena, who’s general dogsbody, who’s changed her mind.’
‘Is that true? That you can take it or leave it?’
‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘Still, I’m not much good at anything else, except walking dogs. So this will have to do.’
Just then Helena reappeared. She didn’t look like someone who was changing her mind. She looked positively jaunty.
‘Is it true for you too?’ he blurted out.
‘Is what true?’ she asked, scooping up the mugs.
‘That you’re changing your mind about acting. You look so happy.’
‘I am happy. But to be honest, I am not a very good actress.’
‘But she’s superb at sound,’ said Isla. ‘She can hit the right band on a record blindfolded. She has nerves of steel. Correction. She has no nerves.’
‘I like it. That’s all.’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Arthur is going to let me help him set up the lights on Monday.’
‘Arthur’s the chief electrician,’ explained Isla. She stood up. ‘Now I suggest you stay in the scene dock while the flats are being put in. You can help with the furniture downstage once the walls are in.’
‘Do you want me to set them on the marks?’ he asked eagerly.
‘We can’t really do that while Sam and Judy are still painting. We’ll have to keep dustsheets on the floor till they’ve finished. Anyway, best to stay out of sight in case Mr Johnson decides to leave his office and pop in.’
Helena laughed. ‘His office is the Rose and Crown,’ she explained.
Ralph found some glue near the table where the shepherdess had been dumped. It was congealed in the bottom of a paint tin. With a small stick he pasted it on the shepherdess’s neck and gently pressed her head back on to it. The join was just visible, but with a bit of paint or a ribbon around the neck he was sure it wouldn’t show. Suddenly Isla and Helena came dashing out from one of the flats on stage.
‘Can you give us a hand with the props!’ yelled Isla. Ralph leapt up as if in a dream.
‘Some of them need to go on the set,’ Isla explained. ‘The others can go on to the prop table.’ She brought out two lists. ‘These tell you what goes on-stage and what’s set in the wings. I’ll do the on set props, and you can help Helena with the prop table.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Helena. ‘At this rate we might get home before light!’
‘Personal props will go this end,’ said Helena pointing to the end of a long table in the wings. ‘And the rest at the other end.’
‘What are personal props?’ asked Ralph.
‘Things like a cigarette case, or a particular book an actor has to enter carrying, or spectacles or a watch.’
As he and Helena busied themselves setting up the prop table Isla walked past them and disappeared behind the set with armfuls of books and ornate French lamps. And then she was by their side.
‘Slight problem,’ she said. ‘The French lesson books haven’t been done.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought Judy was doing them,’ said Helena.
‘She’s been so busy she forgot. We’ll have to carry a dozen books back to our digs and cover them there.’
‘Why can’t you cover them here?’ asked Ralph.
‘Because there’s no time to do it tonight.’
‘I can cover them.’
‘There’s white paper by the glue table,’ said Helena.
‘We’ll still have to take them home and write something French on them.’
‘No one will be able to read them from the audience.’
‘The fur brigade will.’
‘Who are the fur brigade?’ asked Ralph bewildered.
‘People who always sit near the front in their furs,’ she said.
‘Why can’t I write in French on them?’
They stared at him in amazement. ‘Can you speak French?’ they chorused.
‘Well, School Cert. standard.’
‘Marvellous. Helena, can you show him where everything is? Judy and Sam are working on the left flats now. We can start setting stage right.’
Back at the glue table Ralph settled himself down with a dozen books, and covered each book as carefully and speedily as he could. And then he had a brainwave. After years living in the rectory surrounded by theology books he began to paint on the spine of the book in italic writing. To his horror the paint ran in rivulets and he had to tear off the cover and put another one on. He found a pen and a bottle of black ink and supporting each book with one hand, spine upwards, he was relieved to find that the ink didn’t run. Swiftly he wrote Le francais pour aujourd’hui vol. I and drew a small fleur-de-lis underneath. He lined the books up next to one another to make sure the writing and the fleurs-de-lis were level with one another.
Behind him, from the stage there was the sound of general banter and laughter and banging of nails, and in spite of sitting on his own he felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years.
He was busily working when he heard footsteps. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack Walker approaching. He looked down hurriedly, aware of his fingers trembling. The master carpenter stood behind him and said nothing. Ralph began to sweat. As delicately as he could he finished