‘Take a seat, Margaret. Milk?’
‘Yes please, but no sugar. I’m watching my weight.’
Mrs Horton handed Margaret a cup of tea and picked up the biscuits. ‘You won’t want one of these then?’
Margaret could have kicked herself. She’d spoken before thinking. She had a habit of doing that and nearly always regretted it. ‘Well, Peek Frean’s are my favourites.’ She loved custard creams and the round ones with jam in the middle. ‘Perhaps one won’t hurt,’ she said, taking a custard cream and wishing she had the nerve to take a jam one too.
When they had finished their tea, Bert thanked Mrs Horton and returned to the stage door. Mrs Horton took Margaret to the sewing room and introduced her to the seamstresses who made the costumes for the shows.
‘Ladies, this is Margaret.’ Margaret opened her mouth to say hello, but Mrs Horton didn’t give her time to speak. ‘Margaret is going to help us with the costumes for the new show. This is Sylvie,’ Mrs Horton said, smiling at a fair-haired girl who looked half-starved sitting behind a big sewing machine at the back of the room. ‘Sylvie’s a machinist.’
Margaret walked over to Sylvie and shook her hand. Sylvie smiled shyly from under a thick fringe and whispered, ‘‘Ello.’
‘And this is Violet, our cutter. Violet’s been here longer than any of us. She’s made costumes for some of the West End’s most famous actors and actresses.’
‘Welcome to the inner sanctum, Margaret,’ Violet said, in a friendly but brisk and authoritative voice.
‘This is Ivy. Ivy’s a machinist and a cutter.’
Ivy gave Margaret a motherly smile. ‘Jack-of-all-trades,’ she said, taking Margaret’s hand and holding it in both of hers. ‘Hello, love.’
‘Hello, I’m --’
‘And this is where you’ll be working.’ The wardrobe mistress pointed to a chair and a small kidney-shaped table that was cluttered with boxes of beads, sequins, bits of fur and all sorts of other paraphernalia. Margaret didn’t have time to look at it properly before Mrs Horton was speaking again. ‘Violet’s in charge of the day-to-day running of the sewing room. She’ll give you your work and when you’ve done it, she’ll check it.’ Margaret nodded and smiled at Violet. ‘I also need help with the maintenance of the costumes, but we’ll discuss that later. I’ll leave you in Violet’s capable hands for the time being.’ Before Margaret could thank her, Mrs Horton had left the room.
The small table where she would be working was next to an open door. As she passed she peeped in. It was a big room with connecting doors to Mrs Horton’s wardrobe and the costume room. It had been painted white from floor to ceiling – and was empty except for a long trestle table in the middle with a low hanging light above it and a dozen mannequins along the back wall.
‘That’s the white room,’ Violet said. ‘It’s where the costumes are cut out, and then when they’re made, the artists have their fittings. Mrs Goldman, the boss’s wife, is the designer. She draws the costumes on a big white pad in her studio, dressing room seven, and then she comes and discusses which fabric would be best for which costume with Mrs Horton and me.’
‘Then she goes up to Berwick Street and orders it,’ Ivy said.
‘And that’s when the fun starts,’ Sylvie added.
‘Yes,’ Violet said. ‘It’s fun because the girls and me go to Berwick Street a few days later and collect it. Nine out of ten times the fabric isn’t ready, so we go across to Woollies for half an hour.’
‘And ‘ave a cup of tea and a fancy out of Mrs Orton’s petty cash,’ Sylvie said, giggling.
‘What if the material is ready when you get there?’ Margaret asked.
‘It never is,’ Ivy said, winking.
‘And you cut the dresses out in there too, do you?’
‘Not before I’ve made a pattern out of special heavy tissue paper. Only then, if Mrs Goldman approves it, do I begin cutting.’
‘Can we try the costumes on?’ Margaret asked.
‘Not on your life!’ Violet looked aghast. ‘Only the artists wear the costumes. Mrs Horton takes their measurements, I cut the pattern out and tack it together, and then the artists come in for the first fitting. If it doesn’t fit properly at that stage, we can alter it. Once it’s been machine stitched it’s more difficult, especially to let out.’
‘That’s what the horsehair dummies and the mannequins are for,’ Ivy said. ‘They’re the models while we’re making the costumes. When they’re made the artists come in for a final fitting.’
‘Sometimes it takes four or five final fittings before the dress is perfect,’ Ivy said.
Margaret’s first week was spent sewing sequins onto the bodices and hems of evening gowns – gold on gold, red on red, black on black, and so on. Black on black was murder. It was difficult to see the sequins against the shiny fabric, but easy to stick the needle in your finger, which she did constantly. Her next job was to cover tiny buttons in fabric to decorate cuffs, kick-pleats and shoes. She wasn’t sure which job was the most awkward. She liked working with silk best, because the needle went through it easily. But when fabric like taffeta was folded over, sometimes twice, it was a devil to get a needle through.
Margaret’s job as an usherette was long hours and her second job in wardrobe was hard work. Her back ached from bending over the small work table and her eyes stung from straining to thread needles and sew tiny beads and
