The Pandorama
Although the party was not supposed to begin till six o’clock, Bert
turned up at half past four, bringing the “Pandoramer” with him.
At about half past five the other guests began to arrive. Elsie and
Charley Linden came first, the girl in a pretty blue frock trimmed with
white lace, and Charley resplendent in a new suit, which, like his
sister’s dress, had been made out of somebody’s cast-off clothes that
had been given to their mother by a visiting lady. It had taken Mrs
Linden many hours of hard work to contrive these garments; in fact,
more time than the things were worth, for although they looked all
right—especially Elsie’s—the stuff was so old that it would not wear
very long: but this was the only way in which she could get clothes for
the children at all: she certainly could not afford to buy them any. So
she spent hours and hours making things that she knew would fall to
pieces almost as soon as they were made.
After these came Nellie, Rosie and Tommy Newman. These presented a much
less prosperous appearance than the other two. Their mother was not so
skilful at contriving new clothes out of old. Nellie was wearing a
grown-up woman’s blouse, and by way of ulster she had on an
old-fashioned jacket of thick cloth with large pearl buttons. This was
also a grown-up woman’s garment: it was shaped to fit the figure of a
tall woman with wide shoulders and a small waist; consequently, it did
not fit Nellie to perfection. The waist reached below the poor child’s
hips.
Tommy was arrayed in the patched remains of what had once been a good
suit of clothes. They had been purchased at a second-hand shop last
summer and had been his “best” for several months, but they were now
much too small for him.
Little Rosie—who was only just over three years old—was better off than
either of the other two, for she had a red cloth dress that fitted her
perfectly: indeed, as the district visitor who gave it to her mother
had remarked, it looked as if it had been made for her.
“It’s not much to look at,” observed Nellie, referring to her big
jacket, “but all the same we was very glad of it when the rain came
on.”
The coat was so big that by withdrawing her arms from the sleeves and
using it as a cloak or shawl she had managed to make it do for all
three of them.
Tommy’s boots were so broken that the wet had got in and saturated his
stockings, so Nora made him take them all off and wear some old ones of
Frankie’s whilst his own were drying at the fire.
Philpot, with two large paper bags full of oranges and nuts, arrived
just as they were sitting down to tea—or rather cocoa—for with the
exception of Bert all the children expressed a preference for the
latter beverage. Bert would have liked to have cocoa also, but hearing
that the grown-ups were going to have tea, he thought it would be more
manly to do the same. This question of having tea or cocoa for tea
became a cause of much uproarious merriment on the part of the
children, who asked each other repeatedly which they liked best, “tea
tea?” or “cocoa tea?” They thought it so funny that they said it over
and over again, screaming with laughter all the while, until Tommy got
a piece of cake stuck in his throat and became nearly black in the
face, and then Philpot had to turn him upside down and punch him in the
back to save him from choking to death. This rather sobered the others,
but for some time afterwards whenever they looked at each other they
began to laugh afresh because they thought it was such a good joke.
When they had filled themselves up with the “cocoa-tea” and cakes and
bread and jam, Elsie Linden and Nellie Newman helped to clear away the
cups and saucers, and then Owen lit the candles on the Christmas tree
and distributed the toys to the children, and a little while afterwards
Philpot—who had got a funny-looking mask out of one of the
bon-bons—started a fine game pretending to be a dreadful wild animal
which he called a Pandroculus, and crawling about on all fours, rolled
his goggle eyes and growled out he must have a little boy or girl to
eat for his supper.
He looked so terrible that although they knew it was only a joke they
were almost afraid of him, and ran away laughing and screaming to
shelter themselves behind Nora or Owen; but all the same, whenever
Philpot left off playing, they entreated him to “be it again”, and so
he had to keep on being a Pandroculus, until exhaustion compelled him
to return to his natural form.
After this they all sat round the table and had a game of cards;
“Snap”, they called it, but nobody paid much attention to the rules of
the game: everyone seemed to think that the principal thing to do was
to kick up as much row as possible. After a while Philpot suggested a
change to “Beggar my neighbour”, and won quite a lot of cards before
they found out that he had hidden all the jacks in the pocket of his
coat, and then they mobbed him for a cheat. He might have been
seriously injured if it had not been for Bert, who created a diversion
by standing on a chair and announcing that he was about to introduce to
their notice “Bert White’s World-famed Pandorama” as exhibited before
all the nobility and crowned heads of Europe, England, Ireland and
Scotland, including North America and Wales.
Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of Bert’s speech. The box was placed
on the table, which was then moved to the end of the room, and the
chairs were ranged in two rows in front.
The “Pandorama” consisted of a stage-front made of painted cardboard
and fixed on the front of a wooden box about three feet long by two
feet six inches high, and about one foot deep from back to front. The
“Show” was a lot of pictures cut out of illustrated weekly papers and
pasted together, end to end, so as to form a long strip or ribbon. Bert
had coloured all the pictures with water-colours.
Just behind the wings of the stage-front at each end of the box—was an
upright roller, and the long strip of pictures was rolled up on this.
The upper ends of the rollers came through the top of the box and had
handles attached to them. When these handles were turned the pictures
passed across the stage, unrolling from one roller and rolling on to
the other, and were illuminated by the light of three candles placed
behind.
The idea of constructing this machine had been suggested to Bert by a
panorama entertainment he had been to see some time before.
“The Style of the decorations,” he remarked, alluding to the painted
stage-front, “is Moorish.”
He lit the candles at the back of the stage and, having borrowed a
tea-tray from Nora, desired the audience to take their seats. When they
had all done so, he requested Owen to put out the lamp and the candles
on the tree, and then he made another speech, imitating the manner of
the lecturer at the panorama entertainment before mentioned.
“Ladies and Gentlemen: with your kind permission I am about to
hinterduce to your notice some pitchers of events in different parts of
the world. As each pitcher appears on the stage I will give a short
explanation of the subject, and afterwards the band will play a
suitable collection of appropriated music, consisting of hymns and all
the latest and most popular songs of the day, and the audience is
kindly requested to join in the chorus.
“Our first scene,” continued Bert as he turned the handles and brought
the picture into view, “represents the docks at Southampton; the
magnificent steamer which you see lying alongside the shore is the ship
which is waiting to take us to foreign parts. As we have already paid
our fare, we will now go on board and set sail.”
As an accompaniment to this picture Bert played the tune of “Goodbye,
Dolly, I must leave you”, and by the time the audience had finished
singing the chorus he had rolled on another scene, which depicted a
dreadful storm at sea, with a large ship evidently on the point of
foundering. The waves were running mountains high and the inky clouds
were riven by forked lightning. To increase the terrifying effect, Bert
rattled the tea tray and played “The Bay of Biscay”, and the children
sung the chorus whilst he rolled the next picture into view. This scene
showed the streets of a large city; mounted police with drawn swords
were dispersing a crowd: several men had been ridden down and were
being trampled under the hoofs of the horses, and a number of others
were bleeding profusely from wounds on the head and face.
“After a rather stormy passage we arrives safely at the beautiful city
of Berlin, in Germany, just in time to see a procession of unemployed
workmen being charged by the military police. This picture is hintitled
‘Tariff Reform means Work for All’.”
As an appropriate musical selection Bert played the tune of a
well-known song, and the children sang the words:
“To be there! to be there!
Oh, I knew what it was to be there!
And when they tore me clothes,
Blacked me eyes and broke me nose,
Then I knew what it was to be there!”
During the singing Bert turned the handles backwards and again brought
on the picture of the storm at sea.
“As we don’t want to get knocked on the ’ed, we clears out of Berlin as
soon as we can—whiles we’re safe—and once more embarks on our gallint
ship, and after a few more turns of the ’andle we finds ourselves back
once more in Merry Hingland, where we see the inside of a blacksmith’s
shop with a lot of half-starved women making iron chains. They work
seventy hours a week for seven shillings. Our next scene is hintitled
‘The Hook and Eye Carders’. ’Ere we see the inside of a room in
Slumtown, with a mother and three children and the old grandmother
sewin’ hooks and eyes on cards to be sold in drapers’ shops. It ses
underneath the pitcher that 384 hooks and 384 eyes has to be joined
together and sewed on cards for one penny.”
While this picture was being rolled away the band played and the
children sang with great enthusiasm:
“Rule, Brittania, Brittania rules the waves!
Britons, never, never, never shall be slaves!”
“Our next picture is called ‘An Englishman’s Home’. ’Ere we see the
inside of another room in Slumtown, with the father and mother and four
children sitting down to dinner—bread and drippin’ and tea. It ses
underneath the pitcher that there’s Thirteen millions of people in
England always on the verge of starvation. These people that you see in
the pitcher might be able to get a better dinner than this if it wasn’t
that most of the money wot the bloke earns ’as to pay the rent. Again
we turns the ’andle and presently we comes to another very beautiful
scene—‘Early Morning in Trafalgar Square’. ’Ere we see a lot of
Englishmen who have been sleepin’ out all night because they ain’t got
no ’omes to go to.”
As a suitable selection for this picture, Bert played the tune of a
music-hall song, the words of which were familiar to all the
youngsters, who sang at the top of their voices:
“I live in Trafalgar Square,
With four lions to guard me,
Pictures and statues all over the place,
Lord Nelson staring me straight in the face,
Of course it’s rather draughty,
But still I’m sure you’ll agree,
If it’s good enough for Lord Nelson,
It’s quite good enough for me.”
“Next we ’ave a view of the dining-hall at the Topside Hotel in London,
where we see the tables set for a millionaires’ banquet. The forks and
spoons is made of solid gold and the plates is made of silver. The
flowers that you see on the tables and ’angin’ down from the ceilin’
and on the walls is worth £2,000 and it cost the bloke wot give the
supper over £30,000 for this one beano. A few more turns of the ’andle
shows us another glorious banquet—the King of Rhineland being
entertained by the people of England. Next we finds ourselves looking
on at the Lord Mayor’s supper at the Mansion House. All the fat men
that you see sittin’ at the tables is Liberal and Tory Members of
Parlimint. After this we ’ave a very beautiful pitcher hintitled ‘Four
footed Haristocrats’. ’Ere you see Lady Slumrent’s pet dogs sittin’ up
on chairs at their dinner table with white linen napkins tied round
their necks, eatin’ orf silver plates like human people and being
waited on by real live waiters in hevening dress. Lady Slumrent is very
fond of her pretty pets and she does not allow them to be fed on
anything but the very best food; they gets chicken, rump steak, mutton
chops, rice pudding, jelly and custard.”
“I wished I was a pet dog, don’t you?” remarked Tommy Newman to Charley
Linden.
“Not arf!” replied Charley.
“Here we see another unemployed procession,” continued Bert as he
rolled another picture into sight; “2,000 able-bodied men who are not
allowed to work. Next we see the hinterior of a Hindustrial ’Ome—Blind
children and cripples working for their living. Our next scene is
called ‘Cheap Labour’. ’Ere we see a lot of small boys about twelve and
thirteen years old bein’ served out with their Labour Stifficats, which
gives ’em the right to go to work and earn money to help their
unemployed fathers to pay the slum rent.
“Once more we turns the ’andle and brings on one of our finest scenes.
This lovely pitcher is hintitled ‘The Hangel of Charity’, and shows us
the beautiful Lady Slumrent seated at the table in a cosy corner of ’er
charmin’ boodore, writin’ out a little cheque for the relief of the
poor of Slumtown.
“Our next scene is called ‘The Rival Candidates, or, a Scene during the
General Election’. On the left you will observe, standin’ up in a motor
car, a swell bloke with a eyeglass stuck in one eye, and a overcoat
with a big fur collar and cuffs, addressing the crowd: this is the
Honourable Augustus Slumrent, the Conservative candidate. On the other
side of the road we see another motor car and another swell bloke with
a round pane of glass in one eye and a overcoat with a big fur collar
and cuffs, standing up in the car and addressin’ the crowd. This is Mr
Mandriver, the Liberal candidate. The crowds of shabby-lookin’ chaps
standin’ round the motor cars wavin’ their ’ats and cheerin’ is workin’
men. Both the candidates is tellin’ ’em the same old story, and each of
’em is askin’ the workin’ men to elect ’im to Parlimint, and promisin’
to do something or other to make things better for the lower horders.”
As an appropriate selection to go with this picture, Bert played the
tune of a popular song, the words being well known to the children, who
sang enthusiastically, clapping their hands and stamping their feet on
the floor in time with the music:
“We’ve both been there before,
Many a time, many a time!
We’ve both been there before,
Many a time!
Where many a gallon of beer has gone.
To colour his nose and mine,
We’ve both been there before,
Many a time, many a time!”
At the conclusion of the singing, Bert turned another picture into
view.
“’Ere we ’ave another election scene. At each side we see the two
candidates the same as in the last pitcher. In the middle of the road
we see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot of
Liberal and Tory working men kickin’ ’im, jumpin’ on ’im, and stampin’
on ’is face with their ’obnailed boots. The bloke on the ground is a
Socialist, and the reason why they’re kickin’ ’is face in is because ’e
said that the only difference between Slumrent and Mandriver was that
they was both alike.”
While the audience were admiring this picture, Bert played another
well-known tune, and the children sang the words:
“Two lovely black eyes,
Oh what a surprise!
Only for telling a man he was wrong,
Two lovely black eyes.”
Bert continued to turn the handles of the rollers and a long succession
of pictures passed across the stage, to the delight of the children,
who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most enthusiastic
outburst of all greeted the appearance of the final picture, which was
a portrait of the King. Directly the children saw it—without waiting
for the band—they gave three cheers and began to sing the chorus of the
National Anthem.
A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance; the
lamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit—for although all
the toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with the
shining glass ornaments—and then they had some more games; blind man’s
buff, a tug-of-war—in which Philpot was defeated with great
laughter—and a lot of other games. And when they were tired of these,
each child “said a piece” or sung a song, learnt specially for the
occasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect was
little Rosie, and even she—so as to be the same as the others—insisted
on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on the hearthrug, she put
her hands together, palm to palm, and shutting her eyes very tightly
she repeated the verse she always said every night before going to bed:
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look on me, a little child.
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee.”
Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed over
and began looking out of the window, and coughed, and blew his nose,
because a nut that he had been eating had gone down the wrong way.
Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after some supper
the party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none of
them were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought of
another entertainment to which they were going later on in the week—the
Band of Hope Tea and Prize Distribution at the Shining Light Chapel.
Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charley safely home, and Philpot
volunteered to accompany Nellie and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie,
who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they left
the house.
As they were going down the stairs Frankie held a hurried consultation
with his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after them
an invitation to come again next Christmas.