A Song for Joey (17 page)

Smiling, Steve headed back into the bar, while Dolly had me sit at the kitchen table
while she made my tea, still chattering incessantly. She was slim, with thick, black hair,
tied up in a bun. Within half an hour, I knew the story of her life. I discovered that she
was well known around Norwich, and further afield, for her singing, and that they called
her Dolly because most English people couldn't pronounce her real name, which was
Addolorata ... "Add-ol-o-ra-ta," she carefully enunciated for me. She and Steve had been
married for six years, but had no children. For a moment, she looked sad, but immediately
changed the subject.

"Dolly, it's complicated; forgive me if I don't tell you everything. There are parts of my
life that are painful to recall."
She put a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches in front of me, then sat opposite with
hers.
"Belinda, dear, you tell me just as much or as little as you feel comfortable with. You'll
find that we have quite a lot of guests passing through, and many of them have doubtful
pasts. We don't ask questions. Everyone has their special reason for being where they are
in their life."
"The thing is," I continued carefully, unsure quite how to explain it. "I ran away from
someone who was brutal to me, and now I'm homeless. I have money; I ..." I hesitated.
Did I need to tell her? Actually, it was a relief to let it out, to share it with someone, and I
felt safe with Dolly. "Well," I resumed, "he exploited me for over a year, so the last thing
I did when I left was to steal his money."
She laughed loudly. "Good for you, girl. Well, look, you don't need to worry, you are
among friends now. You probably don't know it, but there are many Italian families
settled here in Norwich, and we will take good care of you. Now, is it right you can sing?"
"Oh yes, I love to sing."
"Wonderful, it's ages since I shared a song with another woman. Come on down to the
bar, and I'll get Steve to accompany us on the piano. He's not the best, but he can keep
time."

Steve and Dolly took me into their hearts and introduced me to the huge community of
Italian expats in Norwich, and they welcomed me like a long-lost daughter. Not since the
innocent days of my childhood with Gran had I felt so secure. I cleaned up my room and
feminised it with nice curtains and new bed linen. Cleaning the cooker was a mammoth
task, occupying a whole day, but when it was done, it looked like new. Well, nearly.

When my memories escaped from their box and invaded my consciousness, dragging
me back down into the past, the view from my windows lifted my heart again. From my
position, high up under the roof, I could see right across the river to the railway station,
and beyond that to the high ground on the far side of the river basin. Nearby I saw the roof
and floodlights of Carrow Road, the home of Norwich's football team.

The months passed, winter closed its icy cloak over my world. Christmas arrived and,
once enjoyed, departed.
The love of my new family wrapped around me like a warm blanket, encouraging and
protecting me, so that I began to believe in myself again. Nobody ever again called me
that horrible name, the one from my childhood.
Steve took me on to replace the lazy Marlene as barmaid, and I worked every day from
opening time until the evening staff took over. After paying my rent, and buying food -
both of which I insisted on doing, even though Dolly tried to tell me that I should not - I
still had a good amount left from my wages each week to add to my Post Office savings.
I carefully put ten pounds into an envelope and posted it to The Reverend Potter, to pay
for another year for Joey's grave. Somehow, it was important to me that I used my own,
honest wages, and not any of the dirty money I had taken from Burroughs.
Then, in the evenings, I sang - sometimes with Dolly, sometimes alone, and sometimes
with other singers and musicians who were part of Dolly's entourage. Singers like George
Keeble, who often sang with Dolly, Maggie Lopez, legendary blues artist, and other
regulars like Joe Banks, awesome boogie-woogie pianist.
We performed jazz and blues numbers for an appreciative audience, and I found I was
building a following of my own. I was also learning about the technicalities of musical
notation, rhythms, styles and the jargon that musicians used. It was here that my
unpolished talent became a glittering diamond.
As more people heard me singing at Dolly's, I also started to receive bookings from
other venues - jazz clubs, folk clubs, theatres and dance halls all over Norwich. My
reputation was growing, and when Norwich City Football Club won the League Cup, I
was chosen to sing with the Barry Spence orchestra at the celebratory dinner.

Barry picked me for the gig himself. Dolly had told him about me, and he had been to
The Lion In Winter
to see me perform several times.
I rehearsed with the band intensively for a week. It was not that I didn't know the songs most of them were already locked in my memory - but I had to learn their established
routines and arrangements, when to step forward to the centre microphone, when to join
the other girls for harmonies, and when to raise my hands to encourage the audience to
join in by clapping to the rhythm. There were a few I had not heard before, but with my
gift of remembering new things at the first hearing, and my newly-acquired musical
knowledge, they presented no problems. I was confident that I would not let the band
down.
On the day of the show, I found myself with butterflies for the first time. This was the
biggest performance of my life, performing to nearly twenty thousand football supporters
at their Carrow Road stadium, and with a full orchestra behind me. A gigantic platform
had been erected at the edge of the pitch, open on all sides, but covered against any
possible rain, with a roof that looked like an enormous parasol. Thankfully, the weather,
though chilly, stayed dry, and the sky remained clear.
Early that afternoon, the musicians carried their equipment through the players' entrance
out onto the pitch, and set them up on the stage. Then we all departed for the pub to wait
for the performance.
At dusk, we filed out onto the stage, and I stared with awe at the swaying sea of heads
all around. There was a continual hubbub from the excited fans, standing on the pitch or
sitting in the terraces, all proudly wearing their Norwich City shirts or scarves in the team
colours of yellow and green.
At the appointed time for the show to begin, the floodlights around the ground were
switched on, bathing the crowd in an eerie yellow glow. George Swindin, the manager of
the football team, and Ron Ashman, their captain, climbed the steps onto the stage,
holding the trophy high in the air, to the delight of the crowd, who roared and whistled
and clapped enthusiastically - the noise was like the thunder of the enormous Royal Air
Force Vulcan jet bomber that had once flown over Great Yarmouth.
After the din had subsided a little, the manager stepped up to the microphone. Even
with the power of the public address system, it was hard to hear what he said.
"..... without you. Sorry we couldn't get to the first division this year, but we will do it
next year." Again, uproar exploded from the massed fans, and it was several minutes
before they had settled enough for him to continue. "Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you
had a great party this afternoon. The enjoyment continues now with our evening show,
featuring the top-class local Barry Spence Orchestra, with the beautiful voice of Belinda
Bellini."
He rejoined the team's captain and once more they held aloft the gleaming cup, to more
ear-splitting adoration, before trotting off stage.
And I was on, waving to the crowd, then singing first the Canaries' anthem, "On The
Ball, City." I could not hear my own voice, and neither could anyone else, because the
fans sang along at full volume. It was an amazing experience that helped to relax me for
the remainder of the show. After that, we worked through our planned set, ending two
hours later with a deafening repeat of the club's anthem.

When the show was over, Barry escorted me back to
The Lion In Winter
, my diminutive
five feet two inches making me look like an elf beside his towering six feet four. I had
grown to like Barry immensely. I wasn't attracted to him, although if he had been younger
I might have been, but I respected him for his caring nature, which balanced perfectly his
total professionalism. No matter how much the members of his band bitched about each
other and squabbled, as they did frequently, no-one ever said a bad word about their
leader - they all loved him.

Barry was quiet for a while, and I began to worry that something was bothering him. I
studied his face; from my position, ten inches below his chin, it was like looking up at
Gulliver. His craggy face was set in a frown, with furrows between his eyebrows and his
top lip drawn into his mouth. He noticed that I was observing him.

"Belinda, that was a good performance today, as good as anyone I have worked with,
and that includes many top recording stars. I would like very much if you would consider
joining us full time." I went to speak, but he continued quickly: "You would have a proper
contract, and a salary, a good salary."

I thought about it very carefully. It was a wonderful offer - regular income and the
prestige of working with one of the country's top bands, but ...
"Barry, I doubt I will ever get a better offer, thanks for asking me. But the fact is, and I
can't really explain this, I need to make it on my own."
"I understand, Belinda, and I respect you for it." He put an arm round my shoulders.
"For what it's worth, I believe in you, I'm sure you will be a big success."
"It's scary, though," I said, resting my head on his arm. "Here I am turning down a good,
secure job for the sake of what ... pride?"
"It's not pride, and it's more than ambition. I can see in you something that has driven
me since I was in short trousers - a deep love of music and a need to share that love. Am I
right?"
"That's part of it, but there's more. Whenever I have relied on other people, they have
either left me or misused me. I don't trust anyone any more, not even someone as good as
you, Barry. So, to protect myself, I need to be in control."
"Well, I'll always be here if you need me, and I really mean that. Ok, one more question,
will you join us for the tour?"
"I will have to ask Steve and Dolly, but if they don't mind giving me the time off, yes, I
would love to."

Three weeks later, with the blessing of my new family, I set off in a coach filled with
sixteen men and only two women, on a three month tour of the United Kingdom. We
played thirty-two venues, sometimes arriving within an hour or two of curtain-up. It was
gruelling, exhausting and exhilarating, the best experience a young singer could have. I
learned to deal with the bitching and whining, to cover up when someone boobed, to
change into my stage gear while holding up a sheet to protect my modesty, and to carry on
singing when a fight broke out in the audience (oh yes, it happened).

As spring lifted its daffodil yellow face to the sun, and sparrows began checking out
nesting sites, romance unexpectedly arrived in my life.
It happened during the evening of my eighteenth birthday - ok, my sixteenth, but, as far
as the world was concerned, I was eighteen. I needed to be eighteen, the age of consent,
voting age, drinking age. I hated deceiving my new friends, my family, but I had to
become an adult.
That day was celebrated with joy by my new family, and culminated in a musical jam
session I shall remember forever. Every evening at
The Lion In Winter
was filled with
music, but on May eleventh, nineteen sixty-two, we raised the roof. The place was packed
with all the regulars, and the visitors who passed through - the awesome Mel Jones, the
enigmatic Phil Switch, the delightful Magdalena Esposito, too many even to count as they
arrived, drank, sang and left again.
As the evening progressed in wild party mood, and I alternated between singing on the
little stage and helping Steve at the busy bar, I noticed a young man staring at me. He was
about seventeen, I guessed, with short, dark hair and a face like a baby. I stuck my tongue
out at him, and he responded in kind, making me laugh, and he smiled. After a while, I
saw him leave.
Half an hour later, however, he returned, pushed through the crowd to the bar and
nervously handed me a bunch of flowers, to raucous cheers from the patrons.
Embarrassed, I shyly accepted them. "What are these for?" I shouted above the noise.
He squirmed nervously, struggling to find the tongue that had earlier poked easily from
his lips, and eventually stammering: "Because I like you very much, and ... er... I want to
ask you to go out with me."
"What, now?" I couldn't resist teasing him.
"Pardon?" he shouted.
"You want to take me out now?"
He coloured up. "Oh no, no, no. One day when you are free. Perhaps we could go to the
pictures ... er, if you like ... or, er ..." He trailed off, his face a picture of uncertainty.
Suddenly, he remembered something. "Oh, my name is ... erm ... Luke."
"Are you sure?" I teased.
"Oh yes, definitely, Luke, yes. Luke Fisher"
Poor boy, I was being cruel. I gave him a smile. "Thanks, Luke, I would love to have a
date with you. Come round in the morning, when it's quieter, and we can fix up
something. Now let me put these lovely flowers in water, then I have a hundred
customers to serve."

The next day, when Luke came to see me, I told him I didn't want to go to the cinema
for our first date. "Let's go to Chappelfield Gardens, instead," I suggested.
He looked disappointed. "But I wanted to treat you to an evening out."