An extract from The Voice of Doom
In which Francis and Gordon Jones become involved in the making of a dreadful British “B” film
The Jones family would not have described themselves as filmgoers, but as filmgoers go, they went. Only last week Doris Jones had been to see Island in the Sun. The climate had done Harry Belafonte no end of good, and the cinema sweltered in tropical heat. One of the usherettes, with whom Mrs Jones was on nodding terms, told her the film had broken the Regal’s record for ice-cream sales. She wasn’t hopeful about next week. It was Ice Cold in Alex and the cinema manager was having the heat turned off.
At the Gaumont, Mr Jones sat through Naughty Mamselles from Marseilles, only to find it was about an unmanageable French poodle. Hoping to combine enjoyment with cultural improvement, Mr and Mrs Jones joined forces to see Hamlet and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Mrs Jones thought Seven Brides for Seven Brothers would have been better with Laurence Olivier, and Mr Jones thought chorus girls would have perked up Hamlet.
Francis and Gordon dipped their toes in the world of film at the Saturday morning childrens’ matinees, so named by someone who didn’t know much French. Today, the serial was The Voodoo Mystery. All week, the boys had eagerly looked forward to Part Four, The Terrifying Abyss, to see how the hero would cope with having fallen headlong into the terrifying abyss filled with writhing snakes. Last week’s episode had ended with him screaming as he plunged to certain death. This morning’s instalment had a change of heart. At the last moment, just as he reached the edge of the terrifying abyss, his companions pulled him to safety. Such, Gordon whispered to Francis, was the magic of film.
On reaching Branlingham, the boys were surprised to see Lady Darting’s Rolls Royce outside Red Cherry House. Her chauffeur, Dimple, hid the nub end of a Woodbine behind his back, but waved a hand when he saw them approaching.
‘Afternoon, lads,’ he called. ‘Been to the pics?’
‘Yes, Mr Dimple,’ replied Gordon. ‘Are you a fan?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to a couple of hours in the dark with Jayne Mansfield. But wait till you hear her ladyship’s news. I think you’ll be interested!’
Certainly, everyone at Red Cherry House glowed. Lady Darting was enthroned in the best armchair, balancing a slice of Mrs Jones’s ginger cake and a steaming cup of tea, while Francis’s parents looked on, obviously in a state of disbelief. No wonder: the film world was coming to Branlingham!
‘On location,’ screamed Lady Darting, scattering volumes of ginger crumbs in her excitement. ‘For one whole week!’
‘Well, I never,’ said Mr Jones, who was longing for his shed.
‘A most charming American gentleman, a Mr Rockefeller or some such name, such a fat cigar, has hired the Hall for the whole week, beginning next month. His lordship has already been cast in a non-speaking role, as an … oh, what is that word?’
‘Extra?’ suggested Mr Jones, hinting at an encyclopaedic knowledge of cinematic terms.
‘They wanted him to play a bartender in a night club scene, but he persuaded them he would be more convincing as a gypsy woman.’
‘He’s supplying his own costume, then?’ asked Mr Jones.
‘With castanets,’ replied Lady Darting. ‘To think that the Hall will soon be seen on screen all over the world!’
‘It’s amazing,’ said Francis. ‘Who’s starring in the film?’
‘Mr Guggenfeller informs me that contracts have yet to be finalised, but it seems certain that Stewart Granger and Merle Oberon have been cast. Dear Merle! How I look forward to entertaining her for dinner at the Hall.’
Mrs Jones was thinking she wouldn’t mind having Stewart Granger for any meal, preferably breakfast.
‘Who’s the director?’ asked Gordon.
‘Mr … how difficult it is to remember these names … did say. Now, what was the name of the director? Very distinguished, I know.’
‘Otto Preminger?’ suggested Mr Jones.
‘Ah … yes, it could well have been. Now I think, I’m sure that was the name. We shall give him the best room at the Hall. The Purple Room, but since the sun has faded everything in it, we’ll rename it the Pink Room. Then, of course, there will be the film premiere in London, with all the publicity that will involve. Vulgar, but it can’t be helped. And I shall need a new evening gown for the occasion. I’ll telephone Norm directly I get back to the Hall.’
‘Norm?’ enquired Mrs Jones.
‘Norman Hartnell, although speaking to him on the telephone is very difficult. His mouth is always full of pins. Then, I shall require careful corseting, Mrs Jones. Naturally, I place that commission in your hands.’
Anxiously weighing up Lady Darting’s sharp-boned torso, Mrs Jones made a mental note to order another supply of stockinette-lined rubber.
At last, Lady Darting turned to Francis and Gordon.
‘And of course I shall arrange with the headmaster at St Basil’s for you both to have the week off.’
The boys were puzzled. ‘The week off?’ asked Francis.
‘Certainly. You are to be … oh, what is that expression, Mr Jones?’
‘Best boys?’
‘Precisely. Best boys.’
‘Well, there’s a first time for everything,’ said Mrs Jones.
