Material Girl by Louise Kean Page A

Majestic went from holding a spectacular one thousand seats to a mere six hundred and forty-three. Some of the bigger bitches of the time suggested that “The Majestic” was far too grand a name for a two-tiered theatre, and that it should be changed … But after an extensive renovation that lasted five years and employed the art deco style so popular in Paris at the time, although in clumsy contrast to the front of house, The Majestic, still known as The Majestic, reopened in 1918.’
    ‘Ta da!’ I say. ‘And then they showed some plays, and then it was Dolly Russell’s turn, and then …’
    ‘Stop it. I’ve nearly finished.’ Tristan glares at me.
    ‘Do you promise? I feel like I’m back in my history A-level,’ I say.
    ‘But weren’t they good times?’ he asks.
    I think about history class, sitting next to Helen, flirting with Simon Howells across the room over textbooks filled with black and white pictures of war.
    ‘Yes, actually,’ I admit with a shrug.
    ‘Good. Then learn something new. The Majestic became known for its musical theatre, staging 267 performances of No, No, Nanette before it transferred to The Palace Theatre at Cambridge Circus. And although The Majestic fared well in the Twenties with numerous Noël Coward productions, nothing ever seemed to really take off. The Majestic just couldn’t get a hit. It became known amongst actors and crew as a “warm up” theatre, with shows that sold reasonably butrarely sold out. It was then that The Majestic earned its nickname, in theatre circles, as The Bridesmaid. For example …’ He takes a step back and strikes an affected pose.
    ‘Fur and feathers and lipstick: “ What’s next for you, darling ?”’
    He jumps a foot and turns to face the space he has vacated.
    ‘Cravat, purple shirt and slacks: “ I’m starting rehearsals next month for Noël Coward at The Bridesmaid, darling .”’
    A jump. ‘Fur and feathers and lipstick: “ Where were you hoping for, darling? ”’
    Jump. ‘Cravat, purple shirt and slacks: “ The Apollo. Damned shame. Maybe next year. Drink, darling? ”’
    He stands still and straightens his now-crooked glasses.
    ‘A faulty oil lamp started the blaze that ravaged the old girl again, in 1931. It swept through The Bridesmaid like fleas in a halfway house, killing two tramps who slept under the sympathetic curves of the front entrance each night. The theatre was left for dead for two years, occasionally sighing and groaning to let Londoners know it was still there. She was past her best, charred and black with soot, damp from fire hoses, with rotting carpets and rats, the terrible rats, infesting her again, chewing at her insides. A sad and lonely old Bridesmaid, hoping for a little luck and love.’
    ‘Why are you looking at me like that, I have luck and …’ My words trail off.
    ‘Make-up, don’t be so sensitive. The Majestic was spectacularly reopened on the third of September 1939! Ta da! Of course, the timing was a little unfortunate, and her big night was dampened spitefully by the speech made by Neville Chamberlain at eleven fifteen that morning –
    “ This country is at war with Germany … now may God bless you all, and may he defend the right. For it is evil things that we shall be fighting against …” Still, the old girl wasup and running again just in time: some nights they acted by candlelight, some nights they acted in the dark, which was more than could be said for other prettier theatres who dropped their curtain at the first sound of a siren.
    ‘Ivor Novello musicals trilled though the Forties and Fifties, with their beguiling talk of kingdoms of love and beauty and starlight, stepping lightly aside for the more sombre, stern faces of The Postman Always Knocks Twice and A Streetcar Named Desire as the Sixties drew in. The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore first opened in 1968.’
    ‘With Joanna Till?’ I ask, feeling, finally, like I can contribute – I read that name in