Bringing it to Life

From Uniform Girls 19 with Wendy Collings

Christina was over the moon. At long last, the big break had come. After dancing on decrepit stages in dubious old working men’s clubs, she was virtually dancing on air as she told her friends about the audition. ‘I’ve got it!’ She jumped up and down, waving the letter of confirmation. ‘A two-hour pilot and then the series; and it could run and run.’ She ran up to her room, and rang through to the production company’s office. ‘Yes. Christina Jones, here. Yes. Just to say I’ll be there, tomorrow at noon.’

Battlestar Vision was one of several up and coming small production houses providing television programmes to independent television stations through Europe: and their young Managing Director, Chris Thorne, was justifiably pleased with his company’s latest coup. A brand-new British-based soap opera, sold to one of the biggest cable-networks in Europe. The series would start with a major two-hour pilot, after which, it would settle down to a twice-weekly half-hour. Plenty of work for British actors, and plenty of money too, flowing in to the coffers of Battlestar Vision. And there was one really unique aspect to the package: it was a soap with a difference: historic soap was the catchword. A modern drama series with all the audience-attracting elements of conventional soap, but based in late Victorian Britain.

Christina was early for her interview with the casting team. She nodded politely as they explained the part they intended her to play. A maid. That’s right. A very useful role for the scriptwriters because a maid has access above and below stairs. She can hear and relay all sorts of gossip… They told her the planned production schedule. The script for the pilot was already written: the programme would go into production in two months’ time ready for completion in mid-summer. The network would be broadcasting it in the early autumn, ready for the big pre-Christmas audiences. Before that, each regular member of the cast would be sent on special assignments relating to their particular part. A doctor would be sent to an old hospital with access to the establishment’s Victorian records. The man and woman who would play the major roles of Lord and Lady Harmon would spend a month in one of Britain’s smaller stately homes: and Christina was to visit another minor stately home, to work as a maid.

Chris Thorne had made all the arrangements himself. ‘I am indebted to you, Sir Richard.’ He shook hands with the dignified old man who was willing to throw open his private home to a young nineteen-year-old actress. ‘She’s a bright lass.’ Chris assured Sir Richard. ‘She had to get her Equity card through dancing but nevertheless she’s a delightful little actress. Just you make sure she gets plenty of colour. She’s got to really live her role, you know.’

They shook hands again. Chris walked past the bronze Bentley in the driveway and unlocked his modest Rover. ‘Any problems, just give me a ring.’

A few days later, young Christina arrived at the end of the long drive. When she saw quite how far the walk would be to the house, she regretted having caught the bus, but she grasped hold of her suitcase and holdall and set off along the tree-lined gravel track. She was hot and a little weary when at last the enormous house loomed into view. It seemed very quiet. She stopped and listened. Apart from the occasional birdsong she could hear no other sound. ‘Thank goodness the days are getting longer,’ she thought to herself as she gathered together her bags for the final few yards walk. ‘This sort of place could be pretty creepy at night…’

Sir Richard answered the door himself. He beamed warmly at the young girl and extended a firm hand. ‘Ah. Miss Jones. Delighted to meet you. Do come in.’ She noticed immediately his rather unique way of talking; always in short phrases, with each phrase ending with almost a subdued chuckle. He seemed an amiable sort, and friendly too. Just as well in this gaunt and lonely place. She followed him as he slowly climbed the winding main staircase and led her along the landing towards her room. ‘The Blue Room,’ he wheezed, the exertion taking its toll on his respiratory system. ‘Make yourself at home, do.’ He flung open the door, and stood aside as she struggled put him with her case and bulging holdall.

‘James is preparing afternoon tea for five. Do join me in the Dining Room at that time.’ He dug deeply into his waistcoat to extract a small gold fob-watch. ‘That’s in an hour’s time. You’ll hear the grandfather on the landing strike the quarters.’ A final chuckle and he closed the door after him, leaving young Christina alone to assimilate her new environment.

Downstairs, Sir Richard puffed his way into his study. He dialled the sequence of numbers written down across his blotter. ‘Young Thorne, please. Tell him it’s Sir Richard…’ He waited for a few seconds while the internal extension clicked through. ‘Ah, Thorne.’ It seemed to be Sir Richard’s way of greeting everyone. ‘Miss Jones has arrived… on time as well.’ He waited while Chris Thorne opened a slim file on his office desk.

‘Good, Sir Richard. Now, I’m sure you know what we want. This project won’t work in Europe unless its convincing; and that means young Christina has got to really live the role; really get inside the character. You’ve got just a week or so to really get it into her; and of course, as one of our major shareholders, I am sure you will be looking for a good return on your kind investment…’ The old man chuckled quietly to himself. ‘You need not fear young Thorne. We begin our work this afternoon.’

Christina was amazed by the dated decor of her room. The bed was vast, and so high off the ground, and all around her the heavy ornate trappings of Victoriana dominated the room. The place seemed almost frozen in time. No wonder the casting people had suggested this short stay. She could almost touch the atmosphere; almost hear those young gossiping maids of almost a century ago. Almost smell the floor polish, the scented wood; the potpourri in the large earthenware bowl. She busied herself by unpacking her clothes, discovering the various drawers and cupboards in the room. She turned the large iron key in the lock and then stripped down to her bra and knickers, discarding her tee-shirt and jeans with the stale smoke and dust of the long bus journey. The tall grandfather clock on the landing outside her room tolled the three-quarters with a ponderous solemn sound.

‘Crikey. It’s almost five o’clock. Best not be late.’ She slipped into a pretty summer dress and light open sandals, unlocked the door, and skipped softly along the landing and down the wide curving stairs. ‘The Dining Room. I wonder where…’ She looked round and then spotted the enormous table through the opposite open doorway. She knocked politely on the dark oak. ‘Ah. Miss Jones. Do come in…’ She pushed the door further open and stepped inside. Sir Richard was sitting at the end of the vast table, a silver tea service gathered around him. As he looked up, his smiling countenance changed.

‘Miss Jones. I was under the impression that you were here to work as a maid?’ Christina looked quizzically at him. ‘Miss Jones. Your uniform has been provided. It was placed upon your bed. You have had an hour to get ready. Why have you come in here dressed like this?’ He emphasised the last few words of his angry question by tugging at her dress with his podgy fingers. ‘You have exactly five minutes to get changed.’ He pointed in the direction of the hall. ‘Or else you can leave right now…’

She scampered away from him, across the wide hall and back up to her room. Sure enough, across the end of the bed was draped a very long skirt, she observed as she held it against her hips. Shame really since she had the legs of a dancer. The blouse was really rather pretty; very delicate; very lacy and pure Victorian. ‘I could really get into this,’ she thought to herself as she fastened the skirt around the trim waist.

‘Shoes?’ She looked round the room. At the foot of the bed were some neat and sensible shoes; and to her surprise, they fitted perfectly. ‘Someone at Battlestar certainly did their homework,’ she noted as she set off for the Dining Room again.

‘Good.’ Sir Richard was waiting for her. ‘You may serve the tea in a moment. But first…’ The solid old man stepped forward towards her, and without any undue fuss, lifted the hem of her skirt and slapped her knickered bottom.

Poor Christina was speechless with surprise. ‘Your Victorian counterpart would have fared far worse, young lady. From now on, do as you’re told. Now pour the tea.’ Christina knew she was blushing as she stepped in front of him towards the long table. She wanted to rub the stinging patch on her bottom. More importantly, she wanted to put her hand across the arrogant old man’s face. ‘The dirty old man! Fancy slapping me!’ Her indignation grew, until her hands were trembling slightly with her silent rage. She had some trouble pouring the tea, not being used to the size and weight of a silver tea service. She carried the cup and saucer across to the man, and returned with the sugar bowl. He was smiling again now. ‘Do please join me, Miss Jones.’ She sat down close to him and sipped nervously at her tea. She hated the drink usually; but thought perhaps she ought to just keep quiet on this occasion.

‘I think I ought to make one thing quite clear.’ Christina had taken a deep breath before venturing to speak. The old man raised his eyebrows slightly, but remained quiet, obviously waiting for the girl’s momentous statement. ‘I am an actress, Sir Richard. Not your personal skivvy. And one thing you don’t do is… is smack my bottom…’ She was surprised when he burst out laughing, his mirth forcing him to place his cup and saucer on the table for safety’s sake. ‘Miss Jones. You are here to learn the life of a maid. And that means the real thing. I shall spank you whenever I consider it necessary.’

Christina leapt to her feet. ‘That’s what you think, Sir Richard. I…I’m reporting you to my producer!’ She marched the length of the room and opened the door into the hall. Hesitating slightly, she turned round. ‘I’m going to use your phone. I’ll leave the money when I go…’ She quickly closed the door, ran up to her room, searched through her little address book, and having found Battlestar’s London number, ran back holding the page open. She thought Sir Richard might be in the hall, intending to prevent her using the phone. But he was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, she picked up the handset, listened for the dialling tone and dialled the string of digits. The old phone seemed to take an eternity for its dial to return between each number, but at last she heard the distant number ringing. The usual receptionist answered. ‘Mr Thorne… please… quickly…’ She waited again. Eventually, she recognised his voice. ‘Oh, Mr Thorne. Thank Goodness I’ve got through to you…’

Sir Richard quietly gathered together the remnants of his tea and left the Dining Room through the doorway which led to the kitchens. James was already preparing the evening meal. ‘Sir Richard…?’ The old man placed the large silver tray carefully on one of the several preparation tables. ‘Don’t worry, James. All is under control. There is no need for worry; no need whatsoever…’

Quietly, he shuffled back towards the front of the house. The hallway was empty; the telephone was back on its rest. He crossed in front of the staircase and went into his study. He too dialled the number which Christina, moments earlier had been dialling. ‘It’s alright, Sir Richard. She’s been told, fair and square. She’s a self-righteous little madam anyway. If she wants that part with us, she’s going to have to change her ways. She’s been told that if we hear of any problems between you and her, she’s finished.’

Taking his time, the old man climbed the staircase and made his way towards her room. The door was open. She was sitting on the side of the bed. He pushed the door and it opened wider.

‘Well, Miss Jones?’ She stood up as soon as she saw him, and fingered her skirt nervously. ‘Are you staying?’ She looked at him. ‘Yes. I’m staying. Sorry for that little outburst downstairs.’ She offered him a smile. ‘Shall we start again?’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘A very good idea, young lady. A very good idea.’ He sat down on the large substantial bed. ‘Insolence… disobedience… cheek… insubordination… that should do for a start…’ He patted his knee.

She understood. Mr Thorne’s words were still ringing in her ears. She realised that she was willing to do almost anything to make sure of that acting role. International television and cable rights? Many actresses before her had sold their souls for far less.

Silently, she draped herself across the man’s lap, until she was lying face-down against the slightly musty bedspread. He rucked up her skirt, stared silently for a while at her beknickered bottom, and then used his chubby fingers to tug the flimsy white fabric down to her knees. ‘You do have a delectable bottom, my dear.’ He commented, patting each upturned cheek. ‘I think five minutes across my knee should put you right…’

It was almost ten minutes before Sir Richard wheezed his way back down to his study. She stood in front of the long Victorian mirror, her knickers still down around her knees. Holding up her skirt, she surveyed her crimson bottom. ‘Oh my God!’ she muttered. She ran some cold water into the wash-basin, washed her face and smoothed her wet hands over her hot bottom-cheeks. She sighed as the cold gave her some relief from the sting of her recent spanking. The grandfather clock outside struck another hour. ‘Oh, Crikey. It’s six already. I daren’t be late. Dinner at quarter past… heaven only knows what he’ll do if I’m late…’

Sir Richard knew exactly what he would do. Down in his study he pulled open a wide drawer. A cane… a large oval wooden-backed hairbrush… and a few other most interesting items. After all, the old man had a promise to keep. Christina would really know her role by the time she reached the drama studios. Yes. He would be very diligent in his work for the next week or so; he had his investment to safeguard. He fished around again for his fob-watch. She was late already. My word. This was going to be a long hard session!

The story continues in Join the Dots…