Gatley - The End of the Line

By Peter Boden

16. SCHOOL CONCERT AT THE CHEADLE INSTITUTE.

Spring came and we held our first school concert; this was to be performed on the stage of the Cheadle Institute, opposite the “George & Dragon” hotel on Cheadle Green.

We rehearsed and rehearsed. I was with nine other boys and we were dressed in black mock busbies, long black trousers, scarlet jackets. We were armed with small wooden rifles. When lined up on the stage, we were given a number. The tallest boy, Fred Potts, whose father owned a farm off Styal Road, was number one. He learned to lead his file of solders round and round the stage in an act called “Ten Little Soldier Boys”. I was number two, who followed number one, my leader Fred.

The other eight boys, positioned in decreasing height, followed me more or less in step with the music. The smallest boy was Sidney. He carried a drum which he tumped, more or less in time with the march being played on a gramophone record. We were very, very proud of ourselves and our mothers were very proud of the uniforms which they had made.

As long as Fred knew where he was going all would be well. He knew the routine of when to march, when to kneel and when to shout, “Fire!”. In turn we would aim at the audience, and then fire to the sound of Sidney’s drum roll. Fred also knew how to set the finale. He would line his troop across the stage. Triumphantly, he would bellow out the order:
“Halt!” followed by,
“To the front Sa-lute!” Our act should then reach its grand finale as we should be drowned in widespread applause.

Disaster struck on the afternoon of the dress rehearsal. Fred was ill in bed. Against my personal will and desire, I was promoted to number one. Rather short of confidence and also any clear knowledge of the act, I was given intense instructions (the show must go on!), but I became more and more worried.

The concert was to be held for the edification, if not entertainment, of numerous parents and friends that evening. With rising panic I was unable to eat my tea and in a dream, I was dragged to the Institute in my father’s Morris Cowley.
I had to be made up and dressed up as the brave Number One Soldier Boy. I have never felt less brave before nor since that evening. Fifteen minutes before the curtain was due to rise a pale shaken Fred arrived backstage with his parents. I nearly kissed him for his dedication to Mrs Ada Higson’s first school concert. Our act was received with generous applause. Afterwards I collapsed in the wings from nervous exhaustion, but I felt wonderful. I kept that soldier’s uniform for many years until my mother “lost” it.

After the interval the next act was received with a great deal of hilarity from the audience. Unfortunately this was not quite appropriate for it was not a comic item. The curtains had parted to the sound of “rustic” music, possibly “In an English Garden”, but there was no person visible. The music faded away.

After a few moments silence a thin piping voice could be heard from behind the pile of mock rocks at the back of the stage. The words were something like:

“Oh! I am Mary,
A dainty little fairy,
Back from a night-long sleep.
Now I’ll wave my wand,
All o’er the land,
And round up those naughty sheep!”

I think it was Dorothy Fields who was far from being dainty or small. She slowly rose into view between lines two and three of the above dissertation. She was waving a long sparkling, fairy-like wand. This was surmounted by a little fairy holding another long, sparkling wand. Both were wearing large sparkling wings. Somehow the complete scene was so utterly ludicrous, even to ten little soldier boys.

It is sad to report that, after an initial quiet titter, the noise from the audience turned into mad hysterical howls of laughter. This spread to the watchers in the wings of the theatre., including the little lambs. We could see rippling waves of parents, rocking back and forth, with tears streaming down their faces. Handkerchiefs were everywhere. The noise was appalling. My mother said afterwards that it was the most comical thing she had ever seen in her life since grandma Martha fell off her rocking chair in 1920 and broke a leg!

Reluctantly the laughter died away. The piping voice had faded into silence. There was a short, silent pause. Poor fat Dorothy wobbled off the stage, her talent lost to acting for ever! We never heard the second verse, which was probably just as well. After an enforced tea interval two sisters gave a staid tap dance which helped to settle the audience. There followed several other acts. One was Charlie’s (Charles to his parents) who gave a conjuring act. Most of his tricks failed, but he received sympathetic applause.

The finale, as always in the thirties, had everyone on stage. This included Mrs Ada Higson and the three teachers but excluding Dorothy and her parents. After a rousing drum roll from Sidney we sang “Soldiers of the Queen”. The audience stood up as we closed the Show with “Jerusalem”. That evening has never been forgotten by me. I wish I had photographs!

Chapter 17