A CHORUS GIRL’S EVENING.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16350, 12 February 1921, Page 6

A CHORUS GIRL’S EVENING.

(By ONE OF THEM.) Eight o’clock, and. all London preparing to amuse itself. inside the theatre, where the latest musical comedy is being presented, all is hurry and bustle. '1 ho orchestra is tuning up, and down the long corridor goes tho Cali Boy, monotonously banging at each door: “Overture and beginners, please!” Late ones tug frantically at tapes and hooks and give final dabs to their “ make-up.” Tho dressing-room doors open and shut, snatches of song and laughter aro heard—the sound of hurrying feet, and th© whirring ol : the lift. Everyone converging on the stage . . . life . . . movement Arrived there, the blaze of electric light bathes one in its cheer and magic, and an indescribable odour meets the nostrils—subtle, indefinable—size.” paint a hundred and one things, all mixed up, the never-to-be-forgotten, fascinating smell of the theatre. On the other side of the curtain the orchestra up, a bell shrills, up shoots the curtain, and a sea of black and white—-the audience—unrolls itself before you". The night’s work has begun. The opening chorus over, once more to tlue dressing-room, careful glances in the mirror, and little dabs to lips and cheeks. “Have I got a nico ‘make-up' on to-night? What? Too much colour? Too white round the nose? Nonsense! I am sure it looks well from the front, dear.” Such delightful little interludes between “ calls.” Dainty bits of sewing can be finished, and letters—love letters —answered. Every night, too, sometime between 8 and 11. tho errand boy must be sent across the way for a bun or a roll, and sometimes for a glass of pickled cabbage with the roll. “ Vulgar,” you say ? No—delicious ! Such happy evenings—how we laugh, and welcome such small excitements as a note from “ the front,” perhaps Sweets or flowers, and “Will you make a fourth at supperP” How wo hurry after the finale, when the curtain is rung down and the stage darkened. Patty is going to supper at the Savoy Dolly to Romano’s, and I? no Rolls-Royce waits for me, but if I pop my head caufcionsly out of the high window I can see someone standing near the stage-door. As I pass out he steps forward to meet me, and we go home blissfully—on top of a motor-omnibus! “ And don’t you find it very monotonous doing the same things every night P” asks a friend. Monotonous? Tt’s enchanting!— (The Daily Mail.”)