The Songbird

A waiter came over and asked us if we would like to move into the dining room. It was the right time as the bar was becoming crowded and I could see people looking at Cate with querulous expressions. I knew what was going through their minds. Was she who they thought she could be? Alternatively, was it someone who looked like her a lot. Cate ignored the looks, I supposed she was used to it. We followed the waiter and he showed us to the table Cate had booked. We sat down and he placed a menu before each of us and hovered with the wine list before placing it in front of me. She then startled me. "It's the hair that does it. They are not sure. Getting my hair cut short was the best disguise I could have used." She looked at me accusingly. "But it didn't fool you."

"That's because I'm an Essex boy. Essex boys have got nous." I said putting on my Estuary English accent.

Smiling broadly Cate replied. "Well I'm an Essex Girl, and you know what they say about them?"

"A much undeserved reputation. Any way you aren't wearing white stilettos."

"I did when I started out. I must have looked a sight. All that long hair, make-up plastered on with Dusty Springfield eyes and white stilettos. Ugh!"

"You could sing though, and that made a difference. Dusty was fantastic and when you came along you had much that reminded people of Dusty."

"In what way?"

"It was the delivery. She sang and people would believe that she was singing with personal experience. However she had an aura of being untouchable and unavailable. You had that same delivery but you could have easily been the girl next door."

"Well in your case I was almost the girl next door."

"If you can ignore the sixteen miles between Southend and Upminster."

The waiter returned and I ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir. We were both having the Roast of beef.

"If you liked Dusty and Kat Lacey, you must have been into Rock at one time." Cate was delving.

"All I know of Dusty is video from her best years. What were we at that time, seventeen, or eighteen? If you wanted to find a girlfriend then you had to go where music was playing, so yes, I did listen a lot to Rock."

"Were you successful?" She smiled as she asked.

"Here and there, from time to time."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Like most lads of the time I enjoyed the company of girls; unlike most lads how much I did and with whom I did it must remain confidential between the girl and me."

"If you didn't boast, you must have been even more successful. Girls like a guy who doesn't tell everyone what they got up to."

"Exactly."

"So where did your interest in Swing come from."

"As I said I heard a lot of Rock then, for the reasons I mentioned, but I didn't buy Rock music. I bought Classical. You know Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, and Beethoven. Stuff like that."

"I am sure you didn't boast about that. That would be a complete ugh, as far as girls were concerned."

I laughed. "Yes you are right. I got some very funny looks when I mentioned it."

The waiter arrived with the wine and of course wanted to go through the ceremony of offering a little taste for me to agree it was drinkable. He filled our glasses upon my giving the ok. Then I carried on with my musical history. "It was when I was about twenty-one that I started listening to swing. That film 'The Glenn Miller Story' was on television one afternoon. I was home recovering from a broken leg. Normally I wouldn't have watched such a film, but that was the days before remote controls and I couldn't get up to switch the channel, so I had to endure it as I thought. Endure didn't come into it when I heard his music. That was it, I was hooked."

"And the rest is history." Cate laughed.

"Yes, it was literally history. I was blown away by music of the nineteen thirties and forties. It's a disease, you know. Incurable, but no bad side-effects."

"So what exactly is the appeal?"

I had to take some time to formulate an answer. "It's emotional for me. I am not being nostalgic about the music being played when the whole world was at war; but I can understand why many people who lived through that could relate to swing with a nostalgic emotion. I suppose it could be the way that twenty or thirty musicians could play different parts of one melody at the same time; you know, melody, harmonics and counterpoint blending into one homogenous sound. A sound that would get you swaying, moving your feet and feeling happy." I shook my head. "That is a very simplistic explanation and I don't even think that I have got to the core of it. Whatever the reasons, the sound makes me happy."

"Twenty or thirty musicians?" Cate was shocked. "How could they get that many together?"

That was an easy one. "Back in the thirties, jobs were scarce, here and in the States. Music and dancing was one way to allow people to forget for a moment the struggle of low income and the lack of jobs. Becoming a musician was almost a guarantee of regular work as there were so many dance bands touring the USA, so learning to play an instrument properly was sensible. At that time pretty well all of them could pick up a music score and play the music almost immediately."

That plucked a chord with Cate. She nodded her head sagely. "We still have musicians like that and they are in constant demand for recording. They make a good living too. Some of the groups I have toured with were useless. It was their tour because they had made a smash hit or three. Acts like me were booked as the group needed help. They play their half a dozen hits and that's it, they're done. The audience had paid for an evening's entertainment and the group could only fill about an hour of the evening. Therefore, people like me were carried along to fill out the Bill. That's when you find out that the smash hit was made in a studio with professional session musicians. I know of a few who acted as if they were playing, but in actuality were lip-synching to their own recording. Their guitars were not even plugged in to the amplifiers!"

"You're talking about manufactured groups."

"Yes. They sling the guitars around their necks, act like they know what they are doing, but in essence it's a big con."

"Well I can say one thing. Swing Orchestras played it for real, and as I have heard you sing live, I can say the same for you."

"Thank you kind sir." Cate grinned widely.

I didn't taste too much of the meal, the conversation was far more stimulating. As I was leaving, Cate came out with me to the hotel entrance. I turned to thank her for the meal and the interesting evening, and then impulsively asked her when she was leaving Derby.

"Not until Monday." She told me.

"What are you doing Sunday?"

"Nothing is organised."

"Would you like me to pick you up here; I can show you some of the Derbyshire Dales and take you to see my primitive hovel?"

Cate smiled broadly. "I would like that. Yes please."

"I'll pick you up at ten, if that's ok."

She nodded. "Ten will be fine." Her hand went up and picked at the shoulder of my jacket. "Just some fluff." She said in explanation. She then leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "See you Sunday."

"Well, I'll see you Saturday evening, but you won't probably be able to see me."

"I'll know you are there, anyway."

CHAPTER FOUR

Cate

It was good for me in Derby. The Thursday gig was a little down on numbers but Friday and Saturday made up for that. Saturday evening went really well and I sang my heart out. It could have been because Jack was in the audience, I don't know, but I really gave it everything. The audience responded; their clapping and shouting for more went on for a long time. I came off stage, happy, wet with perspiration and quivering with the excitement of the gig. It was almost like the old days. I took a much-needed shower and dressed in my usual jeans and a sweatshirt. The wig was packed carefully along with my stage clothes. The dress I had worn that evening would go for dry-cleaning and the whole lot would magically appear at the next venue, thanks to my assistant, Jacqui who had been with me for years. I intended to walk to the hotel, but the stage door manager shook his head. "Not a good idea, Miss Lacey. Best I get you a taxi." I understood why when travelling in the taxi. There were quite a few groups of young men along the way, carrying bottles of booze with them, shouting and yelling.

Back at the hotel, I went straight to my room, poured three fingers of Vodka, added Tonic and lay down on the bed. My mind turned to the morrow, I was looking forward to the day, a day of not being Kat Lacey, but being Caitlin Laine for a day with a rather nice guy, whose company I really enjoyed. I blushed as I remembered picking a small piece of fluff from his jacket. There wasn't any fluff there; it was just me telling Jack that I would like to get closer. I wondered if he caught the signal. I surprised myself when I did that, it just came unexpectedly. Afterwards I realized that I wanted to give Jack a signal. It didn't mean that I wanted to jump into bed with him, well not yet, it was more my saying let's keep this going, I like you and I think you like me, let's see where it goes.

As usual after a gig, it took me some time to wind down and finally sleep. I awoke at eight feeling refreshed. I phoned Room service for coffee and scrambled eggs then took a shower. Clothes for the day were easy and comfortable and I was dressed when breakfast arrived. I didn't bother with the full make up, just a little foundation and some lippy to emphasise my lips. The sun was shining but there seemed to be a little bit of a breeze so I got out a woollen wrap just in case. Nine fifty-five found me out in front of the hotel enjoying the fresh air and waiting for Jack certain that he would turn up on time. I was right, he was that sort of man, and he drove up on the dot of ten. I smiled and waited, knowing that he would want to come round and open the door for me. Bingo! He did just that. I brushed my lips on his cheek as I got in the car and we were off.

Jack

"You were fantastic, last night." I told Cate the moment we drove off.

"Thank you, Jack. I could feel a buzz when I came out on stage and that pushed me to give it everything I had. The group felt it as well and backed me brilliantly."

"The highlight for me was when you did the Diana Ross number 'Chain Reaction'. That was brilliant."

"I've always loved that song. My agent wanted me to cover that, but there were all sorts of copyright issues. The Bee Gees wrote it with Diana in mind so I suspect they would be upset as well. They knew I wanted to do it and Barry contacted me years ago saying that I could do it on stage, but not record it."

"That was nice of them." I replied drily. "What gob-smacked me was how you managed to sound like Diana as well. I know I said you had a good range, but I didn't think it extended that far."

"So I can add mimic to my C.V.?" replied Cate laughing. "I suppose I shall have to work on copying Dusty now to please you."

"No, Cate. You please me enough as it is." I said those words to mean musically, but there was another, unintended meaning. As I thought about it, I decided that I would let it stand and Cate could take it either way. My left hand was resting on the automatic selector, and Cate put her hand over mine, just for a moment. I understood how she had taken my comment and felt quite happy about it.

Cate

I heard Jack's words and I felt warmth inside me. Men don't show their emotions with little touches and signals as women do, and they are quite reticent about declaring feelings. His words, although capable of another interpretation told me that he understood the signal I sent him and he in his way was telling me that we should go on and find out where this would lead us. Whatever the day would bring, for me it was a good day already.

Jack

I took the A6 out of Derby and shortly after we passed through Belper we were in the Derwent Valley heading into the Peak District. The hills at first were soft and gentle. Agriculture had claimed much of them, but as we came nearer to Crich and Matlock Bath they took on their true nature, tall crags intersected by steep-sided valleys, the road becoming a switchback with frequent bends. Matlock Bath was interesting as it nestled into a gorge cut by the river. The cable cars taking tourists up to the heights swung in the breeze funnelled by the steep sides of the gorge. I asked Cate if she wanted to stop and look around.

"I don't think so, Jack. I have a hankering for wild moorland and vistas."

"Ok. We will have to turn round and go back to Cromford." I replied. I did so and retraced just a mile or so to Cromford, Passing Masson Mill on our left.

"That's impressive." Cate remarked.

"It was built by Richard Arkwright the man who developed volume production of cotton yarn." I turned right at the traffic lights and we entered Cromford village. "Look to the left." I told her. She did. "That's North Street, also built by Richard Arkwright, but for his workers."

"I am sure I have seen that on television!" She exclaimed.

"You will have done. It's been used by a few production companies in their historical dramas." We started climbing the steep hill out of Cromford. Cate had noticed the road sign for Via Gellia.

"That's an odd name!"

"It's a road not a place. Named after the family that built the road. They owned lead mines around Wirksworth and built the road to bring the ore down for smelting at Cromford. Their name was Gell and they claimed to be of Roman descent, so Via Gellia was a little bit of pomposity. There was another mill in that area, W. Hollins and Company. They produced a fabric of mixed cotton and merino wool. They called it Viyella after Via Gellia."

"How the hell do you know all this?" Cate laughed. "Am I travelling with the Brain of Britain?"

"Not at all. I live in this area and you just pick up things. I have an enquiring mind."

We crested the hill and I took a right turn. We were quite high and the vista to our right was quite spectacular. Cate craned her neck this way and that trying to take in the views. "It gets better in a while." I told her.

"Better?" She queried. "How can it beat this?"

"You'll see." I made another right turn and shortly we joined the A 5012. I could have taken this road in Cromford village, but wanted to show Cate North Street on the way. The road twisted and turned gradually climbing until we came out near Grangemill and took the first view of the Moor. The vistas were stunning, extending for miles, just occasionally punctuated by a hilly crag where harder rock had resisted the wind and rain that had smoothed the limestone. There was little traffic so I slowed down, giving Cate as much time as she needed to take in the picture. Even so we soon came to the junction with the A 515, the main road from Buxton down to Ashbourne. "Which way do you want to go, Cate?" I asked. "North to Buxton or south to Ashbourne?"

"I've played Buxton, so south to Ashbourne please, that's nearer to your hovel isn't it?" I grinned and turned left. The 515 is a good road, long straights with sweeping bends. In time past I would drive the road like the devil, timing myself from Buxton to Ashbourne, cursing the quarry Lorries that impeded my speeding. With hindsight I know that I took too many risks to achieve a better time. The impetuosity of youth has cut short many a promising life. Now the Derbyshire council has imposed a fifty mile per hour speed limit on the whole section. Today I didn't mind as I listened to Cate exclamations of delight as yet another vista presented itself for her appreciation. Suddenly her head whipped round.

"Was that a Railway?" She was astounded.

"Yes it was. It was closed years ago, and the authority has gravelled the path for walkers. Its thirteen miles long. Do you want to walk a little?"

"I would love to, but." She looked down at her shoes, flat but lightweight. "I don't think I am actually dressed for that." She paused and took a deep breath. "Could we do it some other time, Jack? I know I am making a big assumption, that there will be another time, so I suppose I am asking if we are going to see each other again."

"The answer is yes and I was hoping that we would." Cate relaxed back into her seat. I looked over quickly and she had a happy smile on her face.

"Good." She relapsed into silence and returned to the scenery. A little later she spoke as if she was talking to herself. "In all these years I have never been able to do this. I was always Kat Lacey, but today I am Caitlin Laine, just an ordinary woman on a day's outing with a good friend." She turned with a smile on her face. "A really good friend and I would like to see a lot more of him." She paused, then giggled. "And you can take that anyway you want."

In next to no time we were in Ashbourne and I took the road to Hulland. Two miles short of Hulland I turned right into a lane that was unsigned. "How do people find their way round here without signs?" Cate sounded shocked.

"Well the locals know their way and it deters others if they don't have a good map. We locals are quite happy about that."

"Obviously!" She laughed. "I can see why you have a Range Rover, these lanes must become treacherous when it snows." The lane was quite narrow and I didn't drive quickly even though I knew the lane like the back of my hand. There are others who don't know the lane, who drive too fast for safety. I took another right into a lane, which if possible was even narrower than the first. This lane meandered quite a lot and it would be easy to lose your bearings with its twists and turns. After a mile or so I made another right and rumbled over a cattle grid. Cate saw the sign 'Beware of the Bull'.

"Is this it?"

"Yes. I swept the sheep droppings out this morning so it is quite presentable." The gravelled path veered to the left and then a long right curve, which took us round a granite outcrop. As it straightened out you could see the tiled roof of my cottage. As Cate looked to her left, she saw the view I had described to her, rolling acres of pasture and arable fields all gently falling away into the distance. The gravel gave way to rough hewn slabs and I brought the car to a stop just alongside the sidewall. I got out and walked round to open Cates' door. "Welcome to the hovel."

CHAPTER FIVE

Authors note: Harwich used to be the main cross-channel port for northern Europe before cheap air travel and the Channel Tunnel.

Her face showed her disbelief. We walked round to the front of the cottage. I had stretched the truth a little when I said it was a farm labourers' cottage. It was at one time, but originally it had been the farmhouse. As such it had outbuildings and a barn. When I bought the property they were very dilapidated, but were still standing, which was important as I could rebuild them as part of the cottage living space. The old barn was high enough to incorporate a first floor, which became a bedroom and a bathroom, the ground floor became a large lounge, complete with hardwood floor and two large double glazed patio windows. The actual cottage had a kitchen cum living room, bathroom and one bedroom, which was modernized. Damp proofing had been installed in all the walls. The connection from the barn to the cottage was through one of the other outbuildings, which was slightly extended to contain a mudroom as well as the walk from one side of the building to the other. The local planning authority looked askance at my re-building ideas as I was stretching the planning laws a little beyond the norm, but agreed to my plans when Harry Gill's brother who was the local Council representative put in a word for me.

Cate looked at the place then at me. "Hovel." She said in a derisory tone. "Hovel! You need to take your tongue out of your cheek before you bite it off." She laughed at my expression of hurt. "Come on, Jack. Show me around this...this hovel. Oh and point me to the bathroom on the way." I did as she said and told her I would get some coffee on the go. She joined me later in the kitchen.