Young May Moon by Sheila Newberry Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t use castanets,’ May murmured to Pomona. ‘Some of them prefer fans, but Mum believes in the old tradition.’ You can see Mum’s gypsy ancestry tonight, she thought, and
feel
it too, through the dancing and the music. All that is missing is moonlight and a flickering camp fire. What was it Mum used to say, you must experience the
duende
– the spirit of flamenco….
    When the music faded away to a few plaintive notes, and Carlos ceased singing, in his pleasant tenor voice, there was a moment or two of hush before the audience applause.
    This wasn’t the end of the act; there was more to come. Carmen slipped away behind the screen. Carlos bent his head over the guitar. This time the music was louder, faster, and he did not sing.
    Pomona gripped May’s arm. ‘Look!’ she whispered. Another dancer, a life-size puppet was being lowered skilfully over the screen to the stage. This figure did have jingling castanets, which were attached to her wrists. These were obviously necessary because the puppet’s feet moved almost silently, although the dancing was as energetic as that of her real-life counterpart.
    Abruptly the music ceased. The puppet dancer turned, beckoned to the guitar player. Now he was fully in the spotlight, his costume revealed in all its glory: matador breeches, Cuban-heeled shoes with silver buckles, a scarlet cummerbund matching the lining of his shoulder-cape. Carlos bowed to the puppet, inviting her to dance with him. This time there was no musical accompaniment, just the sound of the castanets and his heel-tapping. They danced side by side and the effect was spellbinding.
    At the end of the dance he bowed to the audience and the puppet dancer sank down in a graceful curtsey. She remained in that posture as the lights went up and Carmen emerged from behind the screen, smiling and waving to the crowd. They took a final bow, supporting the puppet between them.
    ‘Did Mum
really
pull the strings behind the screen?’ Pomona exclaimed. ‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’
    ‘Wonderful,’ May agreed. She thought, Dad didn’t like Mum performing after he came home from the war. He thought her place was to be with us, supporting him. I can understand now why she wasn’t happy, she needed the
duende
– to be a free spirit. We have to accept that she won’t change.
    They knew the way backstage now. They met up with the O’Flahertys, who were full of praise for the new act.
    ‘We’ll wait while you congratulate your mother,’ Brendan said.
    ‘You must be very proud of her,’ Brigid added. ‘As she should be of you.’
    That night, back at the Swan, there was a lot to tell Jenny and Percy. Except, of course, that neither of the girls mentioned what Carmen had said about Carlos, or his interest in May.
    ‘You’re hobbling, darling,’ Jenny said, concerned. ‘Take those shoes off and let me see your heels. My, what a blister!’ She fetched her tin of Zambuck, the soothing ointment.

Eight
    T HE SCHOOL WAS five minutes’ walk away from the Swan. It was a typical Victorian building, with high windows to deter children from looking out, and Gothic-style oak doors which matched the ones on the nearby church, which had founded the school. There were other schools, privately run, nearer the sea, including a girls’ school where the pupils wore smart uniforms and straw boaters with a ribbon in the school colours, but the free church schools provided a sound education for most.
    Big changes had taken place in the local school over recent years. The two big rooms had each originally been divided into two sections to accommodate much wider age-groups. Boys and girls still studied together, but there was not such a range of ages, which made it easier for the two teachers to cope. One class catered for the six-to eight-year-olds; the other, the nine- to eleven-year-old pupils.
    There was segregation in the playground: one side for the girls and the infants, the other for the boys, who played more vigorous