Annabelle Claudia Holland
All that I am I owe to Miss Roberts.
Even by the fourth year I had never met her, although she was one of the French teachers at the local boys’ grammar school which I attended. Indeed, to be honest, I wasn’t that interested in French or in her. What I liked best was English, and especially Drama. So when Mr. Jackson, our English teacher, announced that the end-of-year school production was going to be “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and that he wanted some of us fourth-formers to audition for the smaller parts, I had no hesitation in volunteering.
It was at the auditions that I first encountered Miss Roberts, because she came along and was obviously involved in making the decisions. And as we hung around, each waiting to show what we could do, I began to take notice of her. The most obvious point was that she was tall and attractive. She was about five foot seven, with short, closely cropped dark, indeed, black, hair, with green eyes that shone like emeralds, and a slim body whose curves and undulations not even the dull clothes of a schoolteacher could disguise. Her legs were long and thin, and her hands too had an elegance which even a fourth-year schoolboy could not help but notice. What age she was I could not tell at the time, but I knew that this was her first teaching post, and I guessed she must be in her early twenties.
I didn’t think much more about her - I was far more interested in how the audition went. And a couple of days later I was delighted when Mr. Jackson stopped me at the end of the class and said, “Anthony, thank you for coming along to the audition. And I’m pleased to say that we want to offer you a part in the play. I’m afraid it’s a very small one, but I warned you about that, didn’t I?” I nodded happily, but then I became crest-fallen as he continued. “Miss Roberts and I think that you would be excellent as Cobweb, one of the four fairies. She thought you moved so very well, and we can’t use older boys for these parts.” He noticed my reaction, and carried on, “Don’t be downhearted, Anthony. It’s your first play, after all. You’ve got to start somewhere!” I seriously thought about jacking the whole idea in, but I knew that if I did that I might never get another chance. So, very reluctantly I agreed.
The other three boys, who were playing Peaseblossom, Mustardseed and Moth, were, I soon discovered, a good deal happier. When we met up, Jack Reynolds, who was playing Mustardseed, said, leeringly. “Think of it, guys, all our gear is being organised by Miss Roberts. She’s a bit of hot stuff, I reckon. Wait till we feel her hands around our waists. Anyone fancy their chances there?” I was a bit put off by all this kind of chat, but I went along with it - I didn’t want to seem the odd one out.
But Jack was certainly right about the fact that Miss Roberts was supervising us. Not surprising, really, since it was basically a matter of dance and movement. The first thing she did was measure us for our costumes. “I’ll have to work all over the Easter holidays making your costumes,” she said, “so I need to get started now.” Despite myself, I found, as she took the tape measure to my body, a thrill of excitement at her presence beside me. Gosh, Anthony!” she exclaimed, “you have got a slim waist. Almost like a girl’s.” I blushed like mad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you like that,” she quickly added. “It’s just that you’ll be perfect for the part.”
As we started rehearsals, the first few weeks went well enough. I didn’t think, however, that I was really any good, and I worried in case I never got another part. I wasn’t that worried about this part, ‘cos I didn’t really want to do it. The future was what I was concerned with. I saw myself playing Hamlet one day. But Miss Roberts persisted and kept on showing me how to move. The others thought she paid far more attention to me than to them, and reckoned she fancied me, so I got teased. I was quite proud of that, but didn’t let on.
Just before half term, Miss Roberts said that she wanted us to try on our costumes at the next rehearsal, so that she could make any final alterations over the holiday. We had to make sure, therefore, that we brought swimming trunks to wear under the costumes. The next Monday we all arrived duly prepared. “Come on, Jack, you’re first. Let’s see how you look as Mustardseed!” Off he went to a cubicle, and five minutes later he emerged, beetroot-faced. He was wearing a light brown cloth tunic with underneath leggings of a much darker brown, and embroidered on the tunic was a flowing and intertwining green stalk from whose top sprouted flowers of bright mustard yellow which spread across the upper part of his chest. Next came Edward, who was playing Moth, and he emerged even more embarrassed by the diaphanous wings attached to his back.
“Now it’s Cobweb’s turn. Come on, Anthony!” I went into the cubicle. Miss Roberts stood outside. “You must strip now, right down to your trunks. Then put these on, and she handed round the door a pair of grey fishnet tights. “Roll them gently up your legs and pull them up tight. Make sure that they don’t sag below your trunks.” This was a sensation I’d never experienced before, as the smooth nylon hugged my legs. I was surprised, both because I’d thought that they would be rough with their fishnet weave, yet they were smooth, and there was a tingling pleasure that ran up my legs. After a long struggle, I announced that I had done as I had been asked. Then Miss Roberts said, “Turn round with your back to me and spread out your arms. You need to put on a bra, just like the other two.” I was horrified, for, amazingly, I hadn’t noticed the bulges on their chests. I hesitated “Come on, now, don’t be silly.” So I did as I was told and felt the white nylon of a plain bra grasp and embrace my chest. Miss Roberts pulled me round and put some cotton wool in each cup. She was so efficient, almost like a nurse, that I accepted the strange garment without a murmur.
“Right, now let’s put on your costume.” She brought out from a box a costume of silver grey and raised it above my head. As Miss Roberts gently lowered the costume over my head and onto my body I was aware only of the soft texture of the material and the smell of its perfume faintly echoing that which Miss Roberts herself was wearing. She pulled the costume right down onto me, adjusting the straps on my shoulders and smoothing the costume down to its elasticated waist which held me tight in a satin embrace. I looked down at myself, and saw the costume of silver satin, its bodice covered in the lacy web pattern of the spider’s cobweb. From the waist there flowed a short tunic skirt of the same satin. As I stepped into a pair of matching silver ballet shoes, I realised that my costume was much more feminine than either Jack’s or Edward’s. I should have been embarrassed, but all I felt was strangely comfortable. “Off you go, Anthony,” said Miss Roberts brusquely, “I have to dress Brian now, and then we can rehearse.”
The rehearsal went well, at least as far as I was concerned, although oddly enough Jack, the great lad who had fancied his chances with Miss Roberts, was near to making a fool of himself. But I could sense that, for whatever reason, I was putting in a far better performance than usual. Indeed, Miss Roberts congratulated me on the improvement, and used my example to urge the others on.
At last it was time for the real thing. We were doing three performances in the last week of term. For each one we not only had the usual dressing-up to do, but there was stage make-up to be put on, which Mrs Appleton, an English teacher whom I’d never much liked, assisted with. Despite that, the feel of the foundation cream on my cheeks and the lipstick on my mouth combined the perfumed powder which she dabbed on, and the eye shadow all made me feel that I was Cobweb, and not just playing a part in a play. Miss Roberts insisted on me having sparkle dust in my hair and on the costume. It was a fine touch which spurred me on even further. My parents came on the second night, and I think they were both delighted at how well I performed, even if the part was tiny, but horrified at the kind of part I played. “It’s just acting, you know,” I said. “It’s a good laugh, and we learn a hell of a lot. And I know if I do well, I’ll get bigger and better parts in the future.”
On the last night I knew as I moved and danced on the stage that I was playing the part of Cobweb better than on any either night, either at rehearsals or for real. When I came off the stage at the end and we made our way to the changing-rooms, Miss Roberts came up to me. “Anthony, you were absolutely marvellous, a true Cobweb! Here, you deserve this.” And she pressed her lips against my cheek briefly.
Some significant changes occurred in my life after that Midsummer play.
Firstly, I got much better at French, even though Miss Roberts was not my teacher. Secondly, in the next year I began to get some speaking parts, even if tiny, in plays, and after GCSE’s were over I even got a big part. These became quite varied: I played a rock musician in a comedy musical, a butler in an Oscar Wilde play, and finally the part of a grieving widow in a dreadful Victorian melodrama which we played for laughs. It looked as if I might well become a success at drama, and I began to think that my ambitions to play Hamlet would be fulfilled.
Even if my success on stage seemed likely, I was worried about my GCSE’s, far too worried about them even to notice the occasional presence of Miss Roberts helping out with productions. To my huge relief, however, August saw really good results in English, History and French, the subjects I now hoped to do for A-level.
When I returned to school a few weeks later, now a sixth-former, I found myself, for the very first time, in one of Miss Roberts’ classes, for she was teaching a special option in French drama, which only three of us were taking, me, Jack, who had, you will remember, played Mustardseed, and Alan Johnson, who reckoned he was the best student of French there could be. Shame about that! I was therefore determined to beat him hands down, and as the first few weeks passed I could see that Miss Roberts was helping me to achieve that aim.
The weeks flew by, it was soon Christmas, and for all three of us our French was improving in leaps and bounds. Whatever else, Miss Roberts was a brilliant teacher and she had a real and infectious enthusiasm for her subject. So when in January she suggested that we should put on a little play, we all agreed without hesitation.
“I’ve been trying to think of a suitable play,” she said. “It’s got to be fairly short, and it has to be a three-hander. But it must be interesting, I don’t think any of us could put up with rehearsing some dreadful run-of-the-mill nonsense.” We all agreed to that too. “So, what I’d like to suggest is a play called “Le Piège”. What’s that mean, by the way? Alan, of course, knew. “The Trap, Miss.” “Quite right, Alan. This is a story about a man who owns a factory, and who is afraid that he will be outwitted by his second-in-command. So he persuades, or thinks he persuades, his wife into pretending to his junior that she loves him and wants to have an affair with him, and so wreck that man’s marriage. As you’ll see, that’s what happens, but there’s an extra trick up the playwright’s sleeve which I’m not going to tell you about until later.
“Obviously, the problem is that there are two male parts, but also one female part. So if anybody feels uncomfortable about one of you playing a woman, say now. Remember, though, the play’s just for us, so there’s no need to get embarrassed. Anyway, take a bit of the play home tonight, think about it, and we’ll take it from there.” Off we all went, having been persuaded to take the idea seriously. The next morning we had a quick chat before school started, and both Jack and I were quite happy to go ahead on any terms. But Alan said he wouldn’t do it if he had to play the woman and he thought it was all a bit dodgy anyway. “Look!” we said in unison, “both Jack and I have played female parts on stage. It’s no problem for us, so you’re just gonna have to lump it. Miss Roberts is a great teacher, and she won’t let us down if we don’t let her down.”
Miss Roberts’ class was immediately after the morning break. “Well, boys, have you made up your minds?” was her immediate question. For once I took the lead. “Yes, Miss, we’re all keen to do the play.” “I’m so pleased,” she answered, touching me on the arm. “Now what we’ve got to do is decide who plays each part. Alan,” she said, turning to him, “I think you should play the part of the businessman, Bernard. I know it’s the smallest part, and your French is so good you could work with something bigger. But you haven’t got the acting experience of Jack and Anthony. Would you mind terribly?” But Alan was so pleased at not being picked for the female role that for once his greed for the biggest and best took second place.
“Now, Anthony, Jack. This is trickier. I suppose you’d both like to play the part of the dashing young lover Jean-Claude. But one of you’s going to have take the female part.” We waited, I eagerly, Jack, for all his brave words earlier in the morning, tremblingly. “Anthony, would you mind taking that part? After all, you’ve done some female parts before very, very well, so it won’t be too strange. And there’s something else quite odd, for the woman is called Annabelle. I’m not usually superstitious, but the resemblance in your names is something I don’t want to ignore.” “Of course, Miss, if you think that’s best,” I said, trying hard not to show my pleasure, for that’s the part I’d really wanted. And Jack was happy too, for he wasn’t really comfortable with female parts.
With such a good start on the casting, you would have thought that the rehearsals would go really well. And indeed they did to some extent. Jack was as good as I had expected him to be, and even Alan put on an adequate show in the read-throughs, although he was a bit stiff and wooden – but after all, that was part of Bernard’s character. The trouble was me. For whatever reason, over-eagerness, over-confidence, whatever, I was, and I knew I was, horribly unconvincing.
At last Miss Roberts could stand it no longer. After one rehearsal she took me aside. “Look, Anthony, this isn’t really working. You know that, don’t you?” I nodded, miserably. “What do you want to do?” she continued. “Should we pack it in?” I shook my head and looked at her. “Isn’t there anything we can do, Miss? I so want to do the play.” “I really don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe you’re just being too self-conscious. Would you like to rehearse just by yourself, without Jack and Alan? You’ve done good work of this kind with me before. Do you want to give it a try?” “Oh, yes!” “Well,” she said, “why don’t you come round to my house on Friday evening, if you’re free? We could run through the first scene, at least, and see how it goes.”
After some hesitation, I agreed, for I was desperately keen to get the part right. And so, on Friday evening I stood and rang the bell of Miss Roberts’ flat. I was astonished when she opened the door, for I had never seen her in such fine clothes - a dark green silk shirt blouse with a short tartan pleated skirt, black stockings and green stiletto shoes. The green blouse matched her eyes and the green in the pattern of the skirt, and a soft gold necklace stood out against her tanned skin. I felt ashamed standing there in my check shirt, jeans and trainers. But she took no notice of that and simply ushered me indoors, and sat me down at a table, where the copies of the play already lay.
“OK, Anthony, shall we make a start straightaway?” And so we read through the first scene, Miss Roberts taking the parts of both Bernard and Jean-Claude. Twice, because I made a complete hash of it the first time, I was so nervous. And even the second time round I wasn’t that much better. “This isn’t working, is it, Anthony? I think there’s only one last chance. For I’ve noticed you’re always better when you’re dressed for the part. So I’ve brought some of the school costumes home with me, together with some old stuff of mine. Come here.” And she led me into her bedroom.
“See, here’s a summer dress of the kind I think you can wear for the production,” and she showed me a simple dress with a yellow and white striped pattern. “Do you want to try this on, and then we can run through the scene again?” “It must be worth trying, Miss. It’s the last chance we’ve got to get things right, as far as I can tell.” “OK, why don’t you got to the bathroom and change into the clothes you’d wear for Nicole. You’ll need these as well,” she added, handing me a white nylon M&S bra and panties and a pair of tights, together with some cotton wool. “You can do this for yourself, can’t you, ‘cos I can’t help, you know that!” “Oh yes, Miss,” I said, for I’d dressed up for a few school plays by now.
So off I went to the bathroom. As soon as I’d taken off my own clothes and started to put on the stage clothes I could feel a transformation beginning in my body, for the stage clothes were turning me, by their own magic, into Nicole. When I re-emerged, Miss Roberts noticed that at once. “Gosh, Anthony,” she exclaimed, I don’t know what happens when you change, but I can see already that this is going to be a success!” And indeed, the third read-through went really well. It wasn’t perfect, that’s true, but some of the character of Nicole was coming through, and even my French was ten times better.
After we had finished the read-through, Miss Roberts said. “Anthony, I think we’ve done it. It’s all going to work out, I can see that. Can’t you?.” “Oh, yes!” I gushed. “But I guess that’s enough for tonight. You’d better go and get changed, and we’ll see you again at Monday’s rehearsal.” So off I went, and when I was back in usual clothes I thanked Miss Roberts and went off home full of confidence and a sense of wonderment at how the simple change of clothes had been such a success.
Monday’s rehearsal went pretty well, and both Alan and Jack were surprised at how much better I was, and wondered what had happened, but I just told them that I put it down to luck and everything coming out right in the end. This proved too optimistic, for on Thursday, at the next rehearsal, I was back in my bad old ways again. Once again, Miss Roberts took me aside. “Look, Anthony, I think we need another shot, for last Friday’s only had a short-term effect. Can you come round on Saturday evening, if you’re not doing something else? We can work at it for longer then, with a bit of luck.” I was happy to agree, for by now I was quite worried. Was it still all going to be a flop?
When I agreed Miss Roberts added, “That’s good, but this time I want you to prepare yourself properly for the part of Nicole, just as you would for the performance. And I’ve thought of some nicer clothes for you - luckily you’re about the same size as me, so there’s plenty of stuff in my wardrobe to choose from. We won’t need to stick with the clothes from the Drama cupboard. Nicole wouldn’t, after all, would she? So make sure you shave all over, your legs, your arms, your chest and so on and have nice smooth skin like a girl’s. Even that might help! You can leave the rest to me.”
© 2000, Annabelle Claudia Holland
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