The Girl in the Painted Caravan (25 page)

Anyway, whatever my feelings towards men, I certainly liked dancing with them, and that’s why I agreed to keep Iris company until her date turned up, after which I would meet Nathan and
our other new friends at the dance hall. Our social life in Brighton couldn’t be restricted to mixing only with Romanies, and the occasional travellers that we admitted to our inner circle.
It isn’t possible to live and work in a town without meeting and becoming friendly with gorgers, which is why the move from the road to permanent dwelling places has eaten away at the
traditional closed existence of Romanies. My parents realised that a lot of our restrictions had to be eased and, as a result, I was allowed to mix with gorgers. Not boys, of course, but gorger
girls.

Iris and I duly sat down in the plush seating of the Sussex Hotel in East Street and ordered ourselves a Babycham. We hadn’t long to wait until Vic turned up, but he must have been
entertaining the same kind of doubts as poor Iris, because he brought along a friend as well.

‘This is John,’ Vic said, introducing us to a very good-looking man, tanned and rugged.

‘Eva,’ John said, smiling at me warmly and holding out his hand. The corners of his bright-blue eyes crinkled up attractively.

I took an immediate dislike to him. In fact, I felt almost panicky. Oh God, not you, I thought, and then wondered why those words had come into my head. I’d never met him before in my
life. I didn’t want to be on some kind of double date, but at the same time I felt I couldn’t get out of it, not just because of politeness, but because, against my will, I felt drawn
to this man.

He was nine years older than me – not a boy, but a man. He had a lovely smile and, I reluctantly had to admit, a droll sense of humour. Most people, on learning my profession, immediately
start to ask me questions about themselves, or want me to read their hands, but John didn’t ask me any questions at all of that sort, and I think it was probably this that made me begin to
warm to him.

When offered a drink, I asked for a Babycham, which was my favourite at the time. John smiled and ordered a bottle of Möet et Chandon. This, to me, was terribly sophisticated, but I treated
the arrival of the Champagne with nonchalance, or at least I hoped it seemed like I did.

John was a yachting man and, since the age of fourteen, he had worked on boats of all descriptions, painting them, sailing them, repairing them. Just recently, his principal occupation had been
delivering sea-going yachts to their owners, mostly in the Mediterranean, and no doubt he had picked up his Champagne habits from some of his rich clients. In fact, he had obviously been a bit of a
playboy himself.

I’d never been the slightest bit impressed by men, apart from being madly in love with Rock Hudson, Larry Parks (who played the part of Al Jolson in
The Jolson Story),
Gregory Peck
(of course), Humphrey Bogart and Tony Curtis, who could have had me any time he wanted (not that he’d have wanted to!). But mere mortals held no fascination for me at all until the age of
twenty-two, when I first set eyes on Johnnie. I couldn’t understand why I went weak at the knees and my heart was pumping. I felt out of control of my emotions for the first time in my entire
life.

I didn’t know how to deal with this loss of control, so I told myself that I’d never see him again after that night, even though I knew deep down that I would.

The next day, Iris called at the flat to take me shopping. When we walked past the coffee bar next to our building, I saw Johnnie, bold as brass, sitting in the window with Vic. They came out
and invited us to join them for coffee. Johnnie was grinning, dimples in both his cheeks.

‘I can’t stop, sorry, errands, going to be late,’ I stammered. ‘You stay, Iris, don’t mind me.’ And I did a runner! What is wrong with you? I asked myself.
You’re not usually afraid of anybody or anything.

Three days later it was the weekend and a girlfriend, Eileen, was having a twenty-first birthday party. Together with Nathan and some trusted pals, I enjoyed the party, circulating and dancing
to the records. All of a sudden, the door opened and in walked Vic and Johnnie. I was very much aware of him, but deliberately kept my back firmly turned away. I pretended that I was in deep
conversation with a very boring girl who was, typically, asking me all about my work.

Then the door opened again and three young men arrived. No one seemed to know who they were, but after about ten minutes I heard a giggle and a shout of ‘Put me down!’ I turned to
see that one of the boys had picked up a girl called Mo and her legs were waving up and down. ‘Put me down!’ she giggled and screamed, loving it. I carried on talking until I felt
myself being lifted in the air. The young man’s face was right in mine. I didn’t scream and I didn’t struggle. Instead I grabbed his ears firmly and twisted as hard as I could. It
must have hurt, because he dropped me. Before I could get up from the floor, I saw Johnnie grab the boy and sling him out of the door. He then grabbed the other two by the scruffs of their necks
and pushed them out too. Someone shut the door on them all, including Johnnie.

I rushed up and said, ‘Isn’t someone going to help him? There’re three of them!’

Vic laughed and said, ‘John can handle it.’

I was worried for five minutes, until my hero walked back through the door, picked up a bottle of beer and took a long swig. We drifted towards each other, just like in the movies, sat down on
the floor and talked and talked and talked. He didn’t even ask for a date. I think we both knew then that fate had plans for us.

Sure enough, the following weekend, Nathan, Iris and a few pals had arranged to go to the Regent Ballroom. We usually met beforehand in Andy’s Coffee Bar in Preston Street, but Iris took
me to one side and said, ‘I’ve got a date. I’m meeting a guy in the Sussex pub in East Street. I can’t just stand in the pub on my own, in case he doesn’t turn up.
You’ve got to come with me.’

‘I can’t go in a pub,’ I said, horrified. ‘My parents would kill me.’

‘They’ll never know. Please, Eva, don’t make me stand there on my own.’

Once again, I let her talk me into it. As we walked into the Sussex, lo and behold, her date was Vic, and standing by his side was a grinning Johnnie. I turned to leave, but the three of them
talked me into having one drink. I suddenly realised I’d been set up. And you know what? I liked it!

We all went to the dance together. Johnnie and I danced to the slow dances and didn’t need to speak: ‘Mona Lisa’, made famous by Nat King Cole, and ‘Up on the Roof too. I
went home with my brother, but not before agreeing to a date for the next evening.

My problem now was how to shake off my shadow. In the end, I couldn’t see any way round it and had to confide in Nathan, and to my surprise and relief he was over the moon as it meant he
could now do his own thing. But we arranged to meet at 10 p.m. so he could take me home as usual. It suited him, and he became a co-conspirator in my romance.

Johnnie and I would talk for hours. He wanted to know everything about me and my life. He told me about his yacht deliveries. He used to deliver them all around the world and, during the summer
holidays in Brighton, he would run a speedboat from the pier. He told me all about his girlfriends, of which there had been many. Some of his stories were fascinating. Once, when taking
holidaymakers on a hair-raising trip, a young boy grabbed his arm and said, ‘Excuse me, but a lady’s just got off.’ When he looked round, there was a woman in the water. Her long
skirt had ballooned out and saved her from going under. He turned the boat around, dragged her, screaming, out of the sea and told her in no uncertain terms, ‘If you want to commit suicide,
don’t do it on my boat!’ She complained to the pier manager, but he had saved her life.

Our meeting place was the Sussex pub in East Street. By now we had firm friendships with the landlord and landlady, Harry and Cath, and quite a lot of the characters who were regulars there. I
still hadn’t told my mother about my boyfriend. I felt I should be open with her, but was afraid of hurting her or, worse, I was scared she might hate me because I was going out with a
non-Romany. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her.

I decided I didn’t need to tell her because, given time, I was bound to go off him.

TWENTY-SIX

While I was seeing Johnnie, my career began to go from strength to strength. In 1962 I was invited to go on a programme called
What’s My Line?
which was presented
by Eamonn Andrews. There was also a panel, which consisted of Lady Isobel Barnett, a doctor, the presenter Barbara Kelly, Gilbert Harding (the original Mr Nasty) and Gerald Nabarro, who was a
Conservative MP.

The idea was for them to guess what my occupation was. As you walk out onto the stage, there is a chalkboard and you are supposed to write your name on it. As my name is Petulengro, though,
Eamonn Andrews thought that everybody might guess my Romany roots immediately, so I told him that in English it translates as ‘man of horses’, which in turn, of course, is Smith. So on
I walked and wrote the name Eva Smith. I then had to do a mime and I had agreed with Eamonn that I would pretend to usher an invisible person into a room, as I would do a real client for a reading,
and then I took my seat next to Eamonn.

The panel are allowed to ask a question each, and Lady Barnett went first. ‘Do you have anything to do with food?’ she asked. This, I thought, must have been because she thought I
was showing someone to a table and therefore was a waitress or restaurateur or suchlike.

Barbara Kelly, however, guessed immediately. ‘Are you a clairvoyant or astrologer?’

The audience could see she was correct because the board at the top of the stage gave them the person’s real job in advance, and their reaction told her she was right. Before the clapping
stopped, Gerald Nabarro bellowed in a loud voice, ‘If you’re a clairvoyant, can you tell me if my party is going to win the next General Election?’

The audience went very quiet awaiting my response. I felt a little bit stupid at that moment, as I didn’t really follow politics and, to be totally honest, had no idea who he was. So I
said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Nabarro, but I don’t know which party you’re with.’ This was an honest response, but the audience obviously thought I was very clever and comedic
and erupted into gales of laughter and clapping and whistles, whereupon Eamonn Andrews added, ‘Well, I think a lot of people don’t know what party he’s with. So I think
we’ll close the show on that note.’

Off stage, everybody – producers and panel – congratulated me for my wit!

It was around this time that we got the news from Spalding that Uncle Nathan was seriously ill with kidney disease. Mummy went to be with him, as did all the family. The Romanies have a custom
of staying with whoever is ill when they are in hospital – even if they are there for weeks. When Mummy arrived at the hospital, the doctor told her that he wouldn’t last the night.

In fact, he hung on for three days. Granny, who was in her eighties now, was persuaded to go home to rest while the sisters sat outside the ward, knowing he was near the end, waiting. What do
you say in these circumstances? Nathan’s wife, Bertha, opened her bag and took out a pill box which contained Parma Violets for sweetening the breath. She offered the box around. Mummy took
one look and heard herself say, ‘What are these – purple hearts?’

The joke released the pent-up emotions of all the sisters and suddenly they couldn’t stop laughing. Just then, the doctor came into the waiting room and said, ‘I’m sorry to
tell you Nathan has gone.’

The laughter turned to screams and wails.

Sadly, Uncle Alger died shortly afterwards of brain cancer. And then Uncle Walter choked to death. So poor Granny lost her three sons in quick succession. It was a terrible time for her.

It was 17 November 1962. One evening, around seven o’clock, the doorbell rang and I opened it to find my cousin Daisy standing there. I yelled, ‘Mummy, it’s
the Herons.’ I found myself looking over Daisy’s shoulder, waiting for the rest of the family to appear, but instead, a young man was making his way up the stairs. Daisy nervously said,
‘I’m married, Eva.’ That was about all she could manage, and she looked at me and waited for a response.

Mummy pushed past me. She had heard what had been said and hugged Daisy, then put her hand out to the young man and pulled him inside the flat, exclaiming, ‘Come in, come in.’ She
looked sternly at the young man, who we would soon find out was called Sonny Boy, and said, ‘Show me your marriage lines.’ This is standard in our family, marriage lines meaning
marriage licence. After satisfying herself, she handed the marriage certificate back and seated them in our lounge. ‘Nathan, go out and get some Champagne, we’re having a party!’
Nathan disappeared. As is her usual way, my mother said, ‘Right, you children must be hungry. I’ve got some lovely steak in the fridge.’

They protested, ‘Maybe we could have something in an hour or so. We stopped and had something on the way.’ You could see from the way Daisy spoke that she was still finding it
strange to say the word ‘we’, as in a married unit, and she blushed as she said it. Sonny Boy Pattison was a true Romany, but from a family we hadn’t met.

As Nathan poured the Champagne, Mummy looked at Sonny Boy and said, ‘I bet you’ve got a beautiful voice.’

Daisy broke in. ‘He’s got a handsome voice, Aunt Laura.’

‘Right,’ demanded Mummy, ‘later you’re going to sing to me, but right now I want to hear how you two got together.’

Daisy hesitated and then said mischievously, ‘Well, Aunt Laura, we’d been casting glances at each other for some time . . .’ They had arranged their marriage licence and fixed
a date at Long Sutton in Lincolnshire, as Daisy and her family were staying at the old bakery site in Whaplode. Sonny Boy came down from Blackpool and they left home early in the morning and
arrived at the register office, but were told that they needed two witnesses. Sonny Boy went outside, dragged two people in off the street and asked them if they would oblige. They were only too
happy to. This was quite an unusual event for them and they would certainly have a story to tell their families when they got home.