of nuns, of course, but there certainly are one or two other roles that might be suitable for Tofu. There’s Baroness Schroeder. You may remember, children, that Captain von Trapp was engaged to a baroness when he first met Maria. Normally, when you are engaged to somebody that means you’re going to marry that person. But an engagement also gives you time to change your mind if you need to. So it sometimes happens that an engaged person meets somebody more suitable and decides to marry him or her. That’s what happened to Captain von Trapp. He realised that he preferred Maria to the Baroness and so he married Maria in the end. It was destined to be, boys and girls.”
Miss Harmony stopped. It was very romantic, she thought.
She herself would love to meet somebody like Captain von Trapp, who would sweep her off her feet and marry her. But were there any such men in Edinburgh? Or, indeed, in Salzburg?
Somehow she thought not.
She looked at the children. “So we need a Baroness Schroeder.”
There was silence before she continued. Then: “And Tofu, dear, I think you could perhaps play that role.”
This was a bombshell, and its target, without doubt, was Tofu.
“You see, boys and girls,” Miss Harmony went on, “there’s a long tradition of male actors playing female roles. In Shakespeare’s day, you know, all the parts were played by men and boys. So it’s nothing at all unusual for Tofu to be playing the Baroness Schroeder. I’m sure he will do it very well, won’t you, Tofu?”
Tofu opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
“Good,” said Miss Harmony, breezily. “So that’s settled then.
Now, boys and girls, we must get on with some other work. We shall start rehearsing the play tomorrow. There’s no need to get costumes organised just yet. We’ll start with a read-through.”
Bertie felt acutely uncomfortable. He was not at all sure about being Captain von Trapp and he had his doubts about the read-through. Did Miss Harmony expect them actually to read their parts? Olive, he knew, was unable to read yet, as were Larch and Hiawatha. That was a problem. And then there was the question of Tofu’s playing the Baroness Schroeder. Somehow, 196
he found it difficult to see that. It was true, perhaps, that some boys had their feminine side, but he did not think that Tofu was one of them.
When Irene heard that Bertie had been cast as Captain von Trapp, her initial scorn at the choice of the play was replaced by enthusiasm. She had always thought that Bertie had acting ability, and this pleased her, as did any sign of talent in her son
– and there were many such signs, and always had been. She herself had little time for actors and actresses, whom she regarded as brittle personalities with a tendency to both narcissism and egoism, and she would certainly not want Bertie to think of a stage career. But it was, she felt, only right that his talent in this direction should have been spotted and that he should have been given such a major part.
“I am very happy indeed, Bertie,” she said as they walked down Scotland Street on the way back from school. “Not only did you do so well at that audition for the orchestra, but now here you are being given the lead role in the school play! Truly, your little cup doth run over, Bertie!”
Bertie looked at his mother. Everything she said, it seemed to him, was opaque or just wrong. He had told her that he did not want to be in the Edinburgh Teenage Orchestra, and for a very good reason, too. Bertie was six and everyone else would be at least thirteen. Why could his mother not understand that this would be a source of acute embarrassment for him? Why did she want him to do so many things, when all he wanted to do was to be allowed to play with other boys? And now here she was assuming that he was pleased to be Captain von Trapp in
“Of course,” went on Irene, “
And, as it happens, Miss Harmony has made a very good choice in giving you the lead role. As long as you don’t actually believe in anything in the play, that will be fine.”
Bertie frowned. He was not sure of his mother’s point. Miss Harmony had told the class that
“I thought it was a true story, Mummy,” said Bertie. “Miss Harmony said that the von Trapp family lived in America after they escaped from Austria. She said that they used to give concerts . . .”
“Oh yes,” said Irene dismissively. “That’s certainly so. But what I mean when I say that you shouldn’t believe in it is that you should be able to see that the story is utterly meretricious, Bertie.
That’s all that Mummy meant.”
Bertie looked down at the pavement. He was not sure what meretricious meant, but it did not sound good. Melanie Klein, he assumed, would not have approved of
“I see that you’re puzzled, Bertie,” said Irene. “So let me explain. Captain von Trapp is an old-fashioned autocrat. That’s a new word for you, Bertie! He was very strict with his family.
He blew a whistle and made them line up in order of height.”
“But maybe that was because he had been a sailor,” interrupted Bertie. “Sailors love whistles. Daddy told me that. He says that Mr O’Brian . . .”
Irene raised an admonitory finger. “We can leave Patrick O’Brian out of this,” she said. “I know that Daddy likes to read his books. Silly Daddy. Patrick O’Brian appeals to men because he makes them think that they can escape from their responsibilities by going to sea. That is what the Navy is all about. And Mr O’Brian told a lot of fibs about himself, you know, Bertie.
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