The Fun Factory by Chris England Page B

comedically and intellectually.”
    “Which college did you go to, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Of course I don’t mind, young man, of course not. Cambridge, of course, as I said…”
    “No, I meant which Cambridge college? I am from Cambridge, you see, and I know them all.”
    “Oh?” His eyes narrowed.
    “Oh yes, I used to play cricket with porters from all the colleges. Jesus, Emmanuel, Clare, Trinity Hall, Peterhouse…”
    Robey looked a bit shifty now. “Ahem, indeed, indeed. What was the second one?”
    “Emmanuel? You were at Emmanuel, sir?”
    “Now, you see, you are running ahead of yourself. What I said was I had the
benefit
of a Cambridge heducation, which is to say, my tutor was a Cambridge man, yes, my tutor was heducated at … um…”
    “Emmanuel College?”
    “Just so, my tutor, the man who gave me the benefit of
his
Cambridge heducation…”
    “I see…”
    “…when I was at
Oxford
.” Robey allowed himself a little beam of self-satisfaction at having turned this round. I judged it was time to shut up. In any case just then there was a knock on the door, and Alf Reeves’s head poked into the room. The rest of him seemed reluctant to follow.
    “Alfred, there you are. Time for a snifter, what do you say?”
    “No thanks, George. I find it hard enough to control that blasted jalopy when I’m sober, and I should get this lad back to his bed.”
    “Suit yourself. Goodnight, young man. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” George reached over to shake my hand, and as Alf retreated into the corridor I felt myself pulled in close for a last private word.
    “I trust we can keep our earlier conversation, ahem, about my heducation, between the two of us? One doesn’t like to brag, you know?”

    That night at Forester’s was my first experience of music hall, and I fell in love with it. I saw success and I saw failure, and the heady balancing act between the two. I had a glimpse of what it was like to be a member of that secret brotherhood behind the scenes, how special that felt. Best of all, in Robey’s performance, I saw the Power in action, and I knew that was what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be. How to get there, of course, that was the tricky part, but all thoughts of slinking back to the college were put to one side.
    I was sure that I had, that very evening, met a man who would have a profound influence on the course of my career, and my life.
    What I didn’t realise was that I’d actually met two.

8
FRED KARNO’S ARMY
    THE next day, the Saturday, I was painting again, but now I was painting with a purpose. With every brushstroke I was calculating where the painting might ultimately lead me. Onwards and upwards.
    Saturday night was pay night, my first. Clara told me that the tradition was that all the performers from all the various Karno shows currently playing in the halls of London would head back to the Fun Factory at the end of the evening for their packet, and after dinner she dispatched me back up to Camberwell to join them.
    When I arrived the double doors were thrown open to the summer evening, and at least a couple of hundred people clustered around the gas lamps to gossip and swap stories while they waited to collect their wages.
    As I stood by myself I found my eye taken by a group of girls from who-knows-what show. They were all dazzlingly attractive, with their hair piled up on top of their heads, and dressed to be looked at, I reckoned, with their tight, brightly coloured bodicesand long, flowing skirts. So that’s what I did.
    One in particular held my attention, and she did seem to be the ringleader, holding court almost, making all the others laugh with comments she passed about the men within their orbit. She was quite short, buried almost under a pile of blonde ringlets, which I thought most becoming, and I liked the way she seemed to fizzle with pleasure as she amused her friends, keeping them in a constant giggle.
    As I watched her,