SQUINT INTO STAR

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 303, 23 December 1939, Page 7 (Supplement)

SQUINT INTO STAR

8y... Ralton Barnard

rMMY TAMPLIN an American? Not on your life! Tommy's as English as the cliffs of Dover. His accent? That's put on. I ought to know. We were born in the same street, off the Waterloo Road, went to the same school, and later fell for the same girl. Many a time I've -sent him tuppence to buy a packet of fags when he was out of work, which was pretty often in those days. Tommy never could keep a job for long. Real unlucky he wae. I used to blame those eyes of his. Is his squint natural? I should pay it is! Not exactly born boss-eyed, but very near it. He was less than a year old when a big, black dog jumped up at him in his pri*m and nearly frightened the life out of him. His mother thought he'd never stop screaming. When he did come out of that fit, both his eyes were crossed. Tough luck! Tommy's always been touchy about his eyes. No wonder. They've caused him a lot of misery. When he W&s a nipper, thoughtless people seeing him in the street, would say: "What a horrible looking kid!" And mothers would say to their children when they were naughty: "If you don't behave yourself, a big black dog'll jump up at you and make you boss-eyed like poor Tommy Tamplin." It wa# a threat that seldom failed even with the naughtiest kid. But you can see how that sort of thing made Tommy feel. „ When he left school he got a job as nn errand boy at a grocer's. He hadn't been there many weeks before the. customers began to complain. "He frightens the children," one woman said, "and I'm sure he brings bad luck to the house." So poor Tommy got the sack. His next job was in a pickle factory. The first week or so the men merely treated him with derision, but after several chaps had accidents they begun to look on Tommy with suspicion. Then ono of 'em was caught in a machine and was killed, and they decided that Tommy was the Jonah. Next day the foreman saw the manager and told him Tommy would have ' to go. "The men swear he's bringing Lad luck to the place," he said. So 'ionimy got paid off. After that lie went from job to job, always getting sacked after a few weeks. At last, in despair, he gave up looking for work. Ono morning lie was waiting outside the labour exchange to aign for his dole. It was cold and drizzling with rain. Tommy felt fed to the teeth. On his \v.iy to the labour exchange he'd seen a nice blue serge suit in the thirty-

shilling tailor's that had taken his fancy. Dressed in that smart blue suit he was sure Gertie Brown would look on him with more favour. Gertie was the girl who served in the shop where me and Tommy used to buyWoodbines. We were both Sweet on her. Nice girl was Gertie. She had red hair and lovely white teeth. Tommy was nuts about her, but-he'd never had the p!uck to tell her so. If only he had the money to buy that.suit. But with his mother in bed with rheumatism, which mean't she wouldn't be able to go out charing for a while, there was no chance of sa-ving anything out of his dole. Deep in gloom Tommy stood in the queue with his hands thrust In his trousers pockets. Suddenly he felt that someone was staring at him. Like all boss-eyed people, Tommy was sensitive about his squint. He hated people to stare at him. Glancing round, he noticed a tall, dark man eyeing him tip and down. Then he. beckoned to him. Sulkily Tommy left his place in the queue and slouched over to the man. "Want a joh 1" the man said. "What sort of a job?" Tommy was a bit suspicious of the bloke, "On the films." Tommy scowled. "Think you're funny, don't yer —trying to malce game of a chap."

Tm serious," the man said. **I want someone to act the part of a cross-eyed " man." o Tommy had been made a fool of too v often to be taken in by that yarn. So s he told the fellow where he got off. t "Then I take it you don't want the a job:" Tommy hesitated. Perhaps the chap was on the level after all, he thought. "If I do take it, how much do I get?" he asked. "Three guineas a day." * Three guineas a day! Why, that was J nearly double as much as he'd earned in a week at the pickle factory. '' - "Here's the address." The man ® thrust a card into Tommy's hand. "Be f at the studio at 12 to-morrow, and bring . the card with you." " Punctually at 12 next day Tommy *' got to the film studio. The clerk in the office eyed him with suspicion. !j "What'-do you want?" he demanded. "I've come about a job." "No vacancies!" snapped the clerk. si But Tommy didn't intend to be got h rid of so easily. He must have that Y blue serge suit at the thirty-shilling S tailor's. "Mr. Sinclair told me to call here at 12 o'clock. If you don't believe me, have f< a dekko at this card." tl "Why didn't you say so before?" si barked the clerk. d After some time Tommy was given e: some clothes, and a dresser helped him to get into them. Tommy told me d afterwards that he felt an awful fool f< in those togs. The bright-coloured a handkerchief round his neck nearly ci choked him, and under his make-up his fl face felt hot and sticky. He wanted to ii blow his nose, but he daren't.

BM * | In this scene," Mr. Sinclair told him, 'you're supposed to be the ringleader of a gang of toughs. I want you to walk out of that cafe over there, stand still for a moment, then look furtively to the left, light a cigarette, slouch serosa to the blue door opposite, kick it. open, and walk in. Got that?" Tommy nodded. "Right! Then we'll try it over." Tommy walked across to the scene, trying hard to remember what he'd been told to do. He strolled out of the cafe, looked to the left, then felt in his pocket for a match to light the cigarstte he'd taken from behind his ear. He couldn't find a match. Frantically be searched all his pockets. At last, in the hip pocket of his corduroys, he Found a box of matches. In his haste to light the cigarette, he dropped the box, scattering the matches over the door. "Don't stop to pick up every match!" jhouted Mr. Sinclair. "Get on with the business. And slouch, man, slouch! k'ou're supposed to be a tough, not a Sunday school teacher." A group of supers started to titter. "Try again," yelled Mr. Sinclair, "and for the love of Mike remember you're ;he terror of the neighbourhood. And ilouch! You slouched all right yesterlay when I saw you outside the labour ;xchange." Tommy gritted his teeth dived his hands ieeper into his corduroys, and slouched "or all he was worth. Just as he was ibout to kick open the blue door he ■aught his foot in a torn piece of the loor covering, tripped, and fell sprawlnjr to the ground. The titters from the supers broke into t roar of laughter. Mr. Sinclair tore lis hair and Cursed. At that moment an elderly man itrolled on to the set. "Who's the new comedian, Sinclair?" le asked. "Comedian? He's no comedian, beieve me, Thorne. He's a ruddy tragedy!" "Well, he's making that crowd laugh ill right/' remarked the man they called rhorne. "I* guess a feller who can nake a bunch of supers laugh is some omedian." "You're telling me," said Mr. Sinlair. "But it's a squint-eyed tough I rant, not a comedian!" What happened afterwards is comnon knowledge. That chap Thorne ook Tommy over to America and got lim to act in a lot of funny films which nade them both world famous. Tommy's mother doesn't have to go ut charing any more. She lives in the ap of luxury at Brighton. Though tommy earns thousands of pounds of a ■ear, which his wife—Gertie Brown as ras—helps to spend for him, he still ends over to London for his Woodbines. )h, yes, Tommy's English all right, and iroud if it, too!