The Coon Concert
At the end of the summer term it had always been the custom of the
school for each Form to get up a separate little entertainment, at
which the other Forms should act audience. This year it was
unanimously decided not only to keep up the old tradition, but to
extend the original plan by charging for admission, and sending the
proceeds to the Blinded Soldiers' Fund. This idea appealed greatly to
the girls.
"They've given their eyes for us, and we ought to do something for
them!" declared Linda emphatically.
"It must be awful to be blind," sighed Muriel.
"Yes, and some of them are such lads, too! Think of losing your sight,
and having your whole career ruined, when you're only nineteen or
twenty, and the ghastly prospect of living years and years and years
till you're quite old, and never being able to see the sun again, and
the flowers, and your friends' faces, or anything that makes life
beautiful! I don't think half of us realize what our soldiers have
suffered for us!"
"And they're so patient and cheerful!" added Veronica. "In my opinion
they prove their heroism as much by the way they bear their ruined
lives afterwards as by their deeds in the trenches. It has shown what
stuff British folk are made of. And you get such surprises. Often a
boy whom you've known, and always thought weak and selfish and silly,
will turn out to have any amount of grit in him. There's one in
particular--a friend of ours. He cared for nothing before except
amusing himself--the kind of boy who's always getting into debt and
doing foolish things. Well, he's utterly changed; he's not like the
same fellow. I think the war will have made a great difference to many
of our men."
"And to our women too, I hope," said Miss Beasley, who, unnoticed by
Veronica, had joined the group. "It would be a poor thing for the
country if only the men came purified out of this time of trouble. 'A
nation rises no higher than its women!' And now is Woman's great
opportunity. I think she is taking it. She is showing by her work in
hospitals, in canteens, on the land, in offices, or in public service,
how she can put her shoulder to the wheel and help in her country's
hour of need. I believe this war will have broken down many foolish
old traditions and customs, and that people will be ready afterwards
to live more simple, natural lives than they did before. The
school-girls of to-day are the women of to-morrow, and it is on you
that the nation will rely in years to come. Don't ever forget that!
Try to prove it practically!"
Miss Beasley seldom "preached" to the girls, but when she spoke, her
few quiet words generally had their effect. Hermie and Linda in
especial turned them over in their minds. As the result of their
mistress's last remark, they made a suggestion to their
fellow-monitresses.
"Some of us are leaving this term, and at any rate in a few years we
shall all have left, and be scattered about in various places.
Wouldn't it be nice to make a kind of League, and undertake that every
girl who has belonged to this school will do her very best to help the
world? It should be a 'Marlowe Grange' pledge, and we'd bind ourselves
to keep it. If a whole school makes up its mind to a thing, it ought
to have some effect, and it would be splendid to feel that our school
had been an inspiration, and helped to build up a new and better
nation after the war. There are only twenty-six of us here at present,
but suppose when we leave we each influence ten people, that makes two
hundred and sixty, and if they each influence ten people more, it
makes two thousand six hundred, so the thing grows like circles in a
pond. I don't mean that we're to be a set of prigs, and go about
criticizing everybody and telling them they are slackers--that's not
the right way at all; but if we stick up constantly for all that we
know is best, people will probably begin to sympathize, and want to do
the same."
Hermie's and Linda's idea appealed to the Sixth. They instituted the
League at once, and persuaded the entire school to join. They put
their heads together, and drew up a short code which they considered
should explain the attitude of their society. It ran as follows:--
MARLOWE GRANGE LEAGUE
AFTER-THE-WAR RULES
1. To do some definite, sensible work, and not to spend all my time
in golf, dances, and other amusements.
2. To read wholesome books, study Nature, and be content with simple
pleasures.
3. Not to judge my friends by the standards of clothes and money, but
by their real worth.
4. To strive to be broad-minded, and to look at things from other
people's points of view as well as my own.
5. To do all I can to help others.
6. To understand that character is the most useful possession I can
have, to speak the truth, be charitable to my neighbours' faults,
and avoid gossip.
7. To cultivate and cherish the faculty of appreciating all the
beautiful in life, and to enjoy innocent pleasures.
8. To realize that as a soldier is one of an army, so I am a unit of
a great nation, and must play my part bravely and nobly for the
sake of my country.
9. To remember that I can do good and useful work in my own home as
well as out in the world.
10. To keep my heart open, and take life cheerfully, kindly, and
smilingly, trying to make my own little circle better and
happier, and to forget myself in pleasing others.
11. Not to moan and groan over what is inevitable, but to make the
best of things as they are.
12. To be faithful to my friends, loyal to my King and my Country,
and true to God.
God Save the King!
In order to make the League a binding and lasting affair, the
monitresses decided to give each member a copy of the code, and ask
her to sign her name to it. For this purpose they made twenty-six
dainty little books of exercise paper, with covers of cardboard
(begged from the drawing cupboard) decorated with Japanese stencils of
iris, chrysanthemums, birds and reeds, or other artistic designs, the
backs being tied with bows of baby ribbon. After the list of rules,
were appended a few suitable quotations, and blank pages were left, so
that each individual could fill them up with extracts that she liked,
either cut out of magazines or written in her own hand. Most of the
girls admired Robert Louis Stevenson, so the selections began with his
wise and tender epitome of life:--
"To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little and to spend a little
less, to make upon the whole a family happier for his presence, to
renounce when that shall be necessary and not be embittered, to keep a
few friends, but these without capitulation. Above all, on the same
grim condition, to keep friends with himself. Here is a task for all
that a man has of fortitude and delicacy."
As Linda and Hermie could not agree whether this ideal of life or the
one by William Henry Channing was the more beautifully expressed, it
was agreed to put the latter's as well:--
"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than
luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not
respectable, and wealthy, not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk
gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages
with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await
occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and
unconscious, grow up through the common--this is to be my symphony."
As the League was to be nothing if not practical, everyone felt that
the best way of upholding its principles at the present moment was to
raise a good collection for the fund for the blinded soldiers. The
Sixth determined to give a theatrical performance, the juniors a
display of gymnastics and dancing, and the Fifth concentrated their
minds upon a concert.
"It's not to be just an ordinary concert," said Ardiune, addressing a
select committee of management; "it must be something extra special
and outside, such as we've never had before in the school, so rub up
your ideas, please, and make suggestions. I'm waiting!"
"Rather a big order to get anything entirely new!" grunted Morvyth. "I
should say everything on the face of the earth's been tried already!"
"But not here! How you catch me up!"
"There isn't time to get up an operetta, I suppose?" ventured
Fauvette.
"Hardly--in three days!"
"A patriotic performance?"
"Had one only last term, so it would come stale."
"Then what can we have?"
"I know!" exclaimed Raymonde, bouncing up from her chair, and taking a
seat upon the table instead. "I vote we be coons!"
"What's coons?" asked Katherine ungrammatically.
"Oh, you stupid! You know! You sing plantation songs, and wear a
red-and-white costume, and wave tambourines, and that sort of thing."
"Do we black our faces?"
"We can if we like, but it isn't necessary. We're not to be nigger
minstrels exactly. Coons are different. Of course, the songs are all
about Sambos and Dinahs, but white people can sing them with quite as
great effect. I believe the Bumble's got some castanets and things put
away that we could borrow."
"So she has! Bags me the cymbals!"
"Pity nobody can play the banjo."
"Never mind, we shall do very well with the piano."
The committee having decided that their concert was to be a coon
performance, the girls set to work accordingly to make preparations.
All the songbooks in the school were ransacked to find plantation
melodies, and after much discussion, not to say quarrelling, a
programme was at length arranged, sufficiently spicy to entertain the
girl portion of the audience, but select enough not to offend the
easily shocked susceptibilities of Miss Gibbs, whose ideas of songs
suitable for young ladies ran--in direct opposition to most of her
theories--on absolutely Early Victorian lines.
"Gibbie's notion of a concert is 'Home, Sweet Home' and 'Cherry Ripe',
and perhaps 'Caller Herrin' if you want something lively," pouted
Ardiune.
"Yes, and even those have to be edited," agreed Morvyth. "Don't you
remember when we were learning 'Cherry Ripe', she insisted on our
changing 'Where my Julia's lips do smile' into 'Where the sunbeams
sweetly smile?'"
"And she wouldn't let us sing 'The Blue Bells of Scotland', and we
knew it was just because it began: 'Oh where, tell me where, is your
Highland laddie gone?'"
"Don't you know it's highly improper for a school-girl even to mention
a laddie?" murmured Katherine ironically.
"How about the blinded soldiers, then?"
"That's another matter, I suppose."
"Look here--let's take our programme to the Bumble, and get her to
pass it beforehand, and then there can be no criticisms afterwards."
"Right you are!"
"I've got another idea," propounded Raymonde. "Suppose, instead of
having our concert in the lecture hall, we ask the Bumble to let us
have it in the barn instead? It would be just twice as coony."
"Top-hole! It would be a regular stunt!" agreed the committee.
A deputation waited upon Miss Beasley, and found her quite gracious
and amenable to reason, both in respect of the choice of plantation
ditties and the use of the barn as a place of entertainment. She even
vouchsafed the further and most valuable suggestion that they might
supply refreshments and charge for them, to help to swell the funds.
"You can send an order to the Stores at Gladford to-morrow for cakes
and biscuits. Cook shall make you some lemonade, and you may have the
oil stove in the barn and supply cocoa at twopence a cup."
"May we sell sweets, Miss Beasley?" asked Raymonde tentatively.
"Well--yes. I don't see why you shouldn't. You may put down chocolates
with your order for cakes and biscuits, if you like."
The delegates made a cheerful exit from the study, and hurried to
communicate their good tidings to the rest of the Form.
"O Jubilate! We'll make a night of it!" commented Katherine. "The
Bumble's turned into an absolute honey-bee!"
Great were the preparations for the event. Costumes had to be
contrived--a difficult matter with only the school theatrical box to
draw upon--and ten coons to be turned out in uniform garb. The usual
stock properties, such as the brigand's velvet jacket, the Admiral's
cocked hat, or the hunting top-boots, were utterly useless, and the
girls had to set their wits to work. They decided to wear their best
white petticoats with white blouses, and to make hats out of stiff
brown paper trimmed with rosettes of scarlet crinkled paper
(obtainable at the village shop), using bands of the same scarlet for
belts and ties.
"Of course we'd rather have had real rush-hats and ribbons, but if you
can't get them you can't, and there's an end of it, and you must just
make up your mind to do without!" said Raymonde philosophically.
"If I sing too hard I know I'll burst my waistband!" objected Morvyth,
who always looked on the gloomy side of events.
"Then don't sing too hard, and don't take any refreshments, if you've
such an easily expanding figure!" snapped Raymonde.
"We could stitch the crinkled paper over an ordinary belt, and then
it wouldn't break through," suggested Valentine.
"Scarlet's not my colour!" mourned Fauvette.
"Never mind, Baby, you look nice in anything!" returned Aveline
soothingly. "And your white petticoat's a perfect dream! I always said
it was a shame to wear it under a dress."
The entertainment was to take place in the evening, after preparation,
and on the afternoon of the day in question the Fifth Form took sole
and absolute possession of the barn, turning everybody else out, even
those indignant enthusiasts who were at work at the wood-carving
bench.
"Mind, our tools haven't got to be touched, or we'll have something to
say!" called out Daphne as she made an unwilling exit.
"I shall put them all in the box!" returned Morvyth, slamming the
door.
The wood-carving bench had to serve as refreshment table, so it was
cleared with scant ceremony, in spite of Daphne's protest; a clean
cloth, borrowed from the cook, was spread upon it, and plates of cakes
and biscuits, and packets of chocolates, were laid out as attractively
as possible, with vases of flowers between.
Raymonde, who was nothing if not inventive, suddenly evolved a new and
enterprising scheme.
"We must have a platform!" she decided. "Come along to the wood pile,
and we'll get some packing-cases and put railway sleepers over them.
It won't take us long!"
It turned out a more strenuous business than she had anticipated,
however, for it was difficult in the first place to find packing-cases
of the same height, and more difficult still to get the railway
sleepers to fit neatly together on the top of them.
"I hope it'll hold up!" said Aveline dubiously, when the erection was
at last complete.
"Oh, it'll just have to hold!" returned Raymonde in her airiest
manner. "I think it's nicer than a stiff platform, and more suitable
for a barn. It looks really 'coony', and suggests the Wild West, and
log-cabins, and all that sort of thing."
Immediately after preparation, the coons retired to make final
arrangements in the barn. The big stable lanterns were lighted and
hung up for purposes of illumination, and a cauldron of water was set
upon the oil cooking-stove. It was a horrible scramble, for time was
short, and they still had to change their dresses. Everyone seemed in
everybody else's way, and each gave directions to the others, though
nobody was in authority, and all got decidedly cross and snapped at
one another.
"It's not an atom of use sticking up that lantern unless you fill it
first," urged Valentine. "I tell you it's almost empty, and won't burn
twenty minutes. You don't want to perform in the dark, I suppose?"
"It ought to have been filled before!" grumbled Ardiune. "Here, give
me the paraffin can."
"Take care what you're doing! You're slopping into the cauldron!"
"I'm not!"
"But I saw you! We shall have to empty out the cauldron and wash it
and refill it."
"Nonsense!" interfered Raymonde. "There isn't time. Val, is that
lantern finished? Then hang it up, and come along and dress. We shall
have everybody arriving before we're half ready."
Almost every amateur concert begins late, and this was no exception to
the rule. By the time the coons had scrambled into their costumes, and
Fauvette had got her best lace-trimmed white petticoat fastened
adequately on to her blouse with safety-pins, and Katherine had
adjusted her tie to her satisfaction, and Muriel had induced her paper
hat to tilt at the right angle on her head, the audience was
clamouring for admission at the door of the barn, and making moral
remarks on the subject of punctuality.
"We're awfully sorry," panted Raymonde in excuse, undoing the padlock
which the coons had left fastened, and allowing the school to tramp
into the place of entertainment. "Your shillings, please! Yes, we're
taking the money first thing, instead of handing round the plate in
the interval. Where's the Bumble?"
"Just coming now, with Gibbie and Ma'm'selle."
The barn with its dark rafters, stable lanterns, and improvised
benches, certainly looked a most appropriate setting for a plantation
programme, and Miss Beasley glanced round with amused interest on her
arrival. She and the other mistresses were escorted to special posts
of honour, and the performance began without further delay. Everybody
admired the costumes; the red-and-white effect was quite charming,
especially when worn by all ten alike, and the paper hats with their
big rosettes gave a coquettish appearance that added to the piquancy
of the songs. There could, of course, be no piano accompaniment, but
the girls made up for it by a liberal clashing of cymbals, rattling
of castanets, and jingling of tambourines. They were as "cute" and
"coony" as they knew how to be, putting a great deal of action into
the songs, and adding a few comic asides. At Raymonde's suggestion,
they had decided during the performance of "The Darkies' Frolic" to
dance a lively kind of combined fox-trot and cake-walk measure to
illustrate the words. They had practised it carefully beforehand, and
considered it the _piece de resistance_ of the evening. But alas! they
had not calculated on the difference between the firm floor of the
barn and the extremely shaky erection on which they were perched. They
were only half-way through, and were capering in most approved darky
fashion, when the middle packing-case which supported the planks
suddenly gave way, and the platform collapsed. Some of the girls
sprang off in time, but several went down among the ruins, and were
rescued by the agitated mistresses, fortunately without real injuries,
though there were scratches and bruises, and at least half a yard of
lace was torn from Fauvette's best petticoat.
As "The Darkies' Frolic" was the last item but one in the first half
of the programme, and the performers were naturally ruffled by their
unexpected accident, Miss Beasley suggested that they had better have
the interval at once, and soothe their feelings with cakes and cocoa
before resuming the entertainment. The little spread on the
wood-carving bench looked attractive; the Stores had sent a tempting
selection of cakes, and the audience was quite ready for refreshment.
Ardiune, presiding at the cauldron, mixed cups of cocoa as speedily
as possible, and handed them out in exchange for twopences. At the
first sip, however, an expression of acute disgust spread itself over
the countenance of each consumer.
"Whew!" choked Hermie. "What's the matter with the stuff? It's simply
atrocious!"
"It tastes of paraffin!" proclaimed Veronica, pulling a wry face.
"There! I told you so!" whispered Valentine to Ardiune. "You have just
gone and done it this time!"
There was no doubt about the matter. The contents of the cauldron were
quite undrinkable, and the girls had to fall back on the small
quantity of lemonade which the cook had provided. It was a most
mortifying experience, especially happening just after the failure of
the platform. The Sixth were looking amused and superior, the juniors
were grumbling, and Miss Beasley was saying "Never mind, so long as we
help the blinded soldiers;" which was kind, but not altogether
comforting. The audience made up for the lack of cocoa by their
consumption of confectionery, and went on buying till not a solitary
cake or packet of chocolate was left upon the bench.
The second half of the programme had to be performed upon the floor,
but went off nevertheless in quite good style and with much flourish
of instruments. Fauvette, with her torn lace hurriedly pinned up,
piped a pretty little solo about "piccaninnies" and "ole mammies";
Aveline and Katherine gave a spirited duet, and the troupe in general
roared choruses with great vigour. Everybody decided that the
evening--barring the cocoa--had been a great success. The proceeds, in
particular, were highly satisfactory.
"One pound ten shillings!" announced Raymonde. "Just count it over,
somebody, please, to make sure I'm right! I don't call that half bad
for a Form concert. If the others do as well, we shall have quite a
nice sum. Shall I give it to the Bumble now?"
"She's gone upstairs. Besides, I believe it's Gibbie who's going to
send off the money. You'd better keep it till the others have had
their entertainments, and it can all be handed in together."
"Right-o! I'll take it and lock it up in my drawer. I say, it was
awful fun being coons, wasn't it?"
"Top-hole!" agreed the others.