Now and Then.
Judith swirled her glass of Chardonnay and raised her glass in a silent toast to herself. She knew that she had never given a better business presentation and she thoroughly deserved the multi-million pound order which today’s negotiations had secured for the firm .The meeting had even finished early, leaving time for her to enjoy a decent meal in an exclusive restaurant instead of a tasteless sandwich from the buffet car of the 8.15 train back to London. She smiled in happy memory of the compliments she had received and the enthusiasm with which the buyers looked forward to doing future business with her.
Having ordered her meal she sat back and gazed contentedly round the restaurant: subtle lighting, tables resplendent with immaculate white cloths, gleaming glasses and cutlery, quietly efficient staff attending the customers’ every need and on a slightly raised platform at the far end, a pianist quietly playing background music.
Suddenly and inexplicably, Judith’s mood underwent a total transformation. Her face flushed scarlet and her eyes filled with tears. She realised she was gripping her glass convulsively and felt an overwhelming urge to flee. As she forced herself to breathe calmly, she stared frantically around the restaurant to locate the source of her panic. The few early diners were still peacefully enjoying their meals. The waiters were going unobtrusively about their tasks and the pianist was playing a jaunty, lilting tune. That was it! That tune. Judith hadn’t heard it since she was a child. She hadn’t known its title then and she still didn’t but it was a simple melody, which had enjoyed a brief popularity when she was seven or eight and had then faded into obscurity. Now in the peaceful restaurant it had returned to remind Judith of that dreadful day.
She hadn’t wanted to go to Christine’s birthday party and Christine certainly hadn’t wanted to invite her but mummy and Mrs Bramall, or “Auntie Dorothy” as she had to be called had lived in the same road when they were children. As adults they had little in common but because they still lived less than a mile apart they maintained a half hearted friendship, meeting for the occasional cup of coffee or to see a film. As they both had daughters of similar ages they bought birthday and Christmas presents for each other’s children. Judith grimaced at the memory of those Christmas presents from Auntie Dorothy: a prayer book when she was five, a manicure set when six and two pink, padded coat hangers when seven. To this day, Judith could not work out whether Auntie Dorothy had chosen these presents because she couldn’t be bothered to find anything more suitable or whether they were a deliberate snub for a child she considered to be a failure.
Auntie Dorothy’s own two daughters, Janice aged eleven and Christine, now to be eight were tall, pretty and athletic. The Bramall staircase wall was covered with framed certificates charting their progress in swimming, elocution, ballet and piano playing. At school they both played in the rounders teams, sang in the choir and were class prefects.
Judith, unlike Christine had been in the A class at junior school and usually came top in the end of term exams but she was small, plump and wore national health glasses which did not suit her round face. Her sporting prowess was non-existent and she was painfully shy. Whereas the Bramall girls were always to be found at the centre of a boisterous crowd of confident friends, she preferred to spend her time reading, writing stories or looking after her pet rabbit. Such behaviour was incomprehensible to Auntie Dorothy and family. However, the friendship between the mothers meant that Auntie Dorothy felt obliged to invite Judith to Christine’s eighth birthday party and mummy felt obliged to accept gratefully on Judith’s behalf.
No amount of pleading had allowed Judith to escape the dreaded event and on the appointed day she had been squeezed into last year’s party dress, a frilly lilac creation which had not suited her even when it had fitted properly and mummy had led her firmly by the hand to the Bramalls’ house and deposited her on the doorstep armed with a wrapped gift and an injunction to enjoy herself.
An hour later Judith had flapped her kipper ineffectually, failed to pin the tail on the donkey and had been first out in musical chairs. The last game before tea was to be pass the parcel. As the girls obediently sat cross-legged in a circle, Judith was hopeful that she could get through this without another disaster. She had, however, reckoned without Auntie Dorothy’s individual twist to the game. When the music stopped, the child holding the parcel was to remove one layer of paper under which she would find a card bearing a forfeit. This she must bring into the middle of the circle, read out and then perform the task.
By the time Susan had kissed four bare legs and one bare bottom to great hilarity, Angela had made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to eat three dry cream crackers in a minute and Christine had given a word-perfect and spirited rendition of “The Listeners” to an admiring audience, Judith had worked out that the game was rigged and that everyone would be made to perform.
Christine’s older sister, Janice, was providing the music, playing a jaunty tune on the piano. Judith recognised it but couldn’t put a name to it. She was vividly aware of how its cheerful notes contrasted with her own feeling of impending doom. Panic vied with hope as more and more layers were removed from the parcel and Judith managed to escape unscathed by dint of immediately flinging the parcel to her neighbour as soon as it reached her hands until a moment’s clumsiness was her undoing. The parcel slithered through her fingers and into her lap and the music stopped.
Awkwardly, Judith removed the layer of paper and picked up the card. She slowly rose to her feet and walked to the middle of the circle and silently read the task. “Stand to attention and sing the first verse of the National Anthem.” She gazed at it in horror, knowing the total impossibility of ever singing anything in front of anyone, let alone in front of Christine and her friends.
Until a few weeks ago, Judith had enjoyed singing and used to look forward to singing lessons at school. Unlike other children who sneered at the traditional hymns and folk songs, she would happily warble away and knew all the words by heart. This had changed when she had moved up from the infant school to the juniors and fallen prey to Miss Clements.
The main purpose in life of Miss Clements was to bully the scholarship class into passing their eleven plus exam but she was also the school’s music teacher. At the start of the first lesson she had lined up the pupils, girls in front, boys behind. She then explained that they were to sing ”Lord of the Dance” while she walked through the rows listening to each child. Anyone she tapped on the shoulder was to stop singing and to stand at the far side of the room as he or she was a “grunter” and would be taking no more part in singing lessons.
The class sang obediently as Miss Clements patrolled among them bending her ear to each child in turn. Every so often another red-faced boy or girl would be tapped and would shuffle shame-facedly across the room, the boys trying to look delighted, the girls close to tears.
Judith could not believe it when she received a tap on the shoulder and was sent to join them. Not only was this excruciatingly embarrassing now but it meant that she had been unwittingly making a fool of herself in every singing lesson since school began. Mortified she made a vow never ever to sing in public again in her whole life.
“Come on Judith. What does the card say?” snapped Auntie Dorothy. “Just read it out and get on with it. We’re all waiting.”
Soundlessly, Judith moved her lips. She couldn’t even speak let alone sing. Tears streaming down her face, she tremblingly handed the card to Auntie Dorothy.
The adult Judith could see the scene clearly as if she was watching from above; the plump, scarlet-faced child in the tight dress standing crying in the centre of a circle of sniggering girls while Auntie Dorothy stood with her arms folded, looking disgusted. She ached to comfort the desolate child who was her former self and to tell her that she would get over this, that in time she would lose weight, gain confidence and make a success of her life, that this wasn’t important. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t sing in tune and that the opinion of a bunch of eight year olds and an insensitive adult did not matter in the least. But tears pricked her own eyes as she knew that even now as a confident and successful woman who had built up her own highly successful business from scratch, if she had been transported back in time to the centre of that circle of hostile girls, she could not have sung a note to save her life.
