Scrap 64

SCRAP 64
The sun has decided to put in an appearance and the adults are sitting in deckchairs waiting for the Donkey Derby to get going. Dawn and Mavis are discussing the latest IRA bombing, which has killed and maimed innocent people. ‘Where will it all end?’ Mavis asks, folding the newspaper and placing it in her shopping bag along with the many necessities she has brought with her from the chalet.
Pete Parker and six other entertainers saunter towards the playing field, where the donkeys have been waiting with their handlers, enjoying the attention of the gathered crowd. They bring with them a notice board which they set up near the putting green. On it are written the names of the donkeys, the times of the races and blank spaces for the riders’ names and results to be added.
Volunteer jockeys jostle with each other for the chance of glory at the races. The donkey handlers pick the ones they think will be most suitable, including some very large ladies in skirts guaranteed to fly up in the breeze and some very small jockeys who look like having a chance of winning races.
The names of the ‘lucky’ few are written on the board alongside the donkeys they will ride and Pete announces the starting prices for the first race. A stampede of campers rushes to place their bets and the other entertainers issue them with receipts, carefully placing the cash in a metal tin. Donkey Derby is always a lucrative event for the entertainers, who share in the profits; quite illegally of course but it has been going on for years and they take it in turns to run the book.
The racing gets underway, with the crowd shouting encouragement and the donkeys variously roaming about nowhere near the course, stopping altogether or trotting in the right direction. The same donkeys are used every week and the entertainments personnel are well aware of how they will behave. Despite the obvious rigging of results, the campers seem to take it all in good humour, some of them actually winning more than they lose, and everyone has a good laugh at the fat women falling from their steeds or the bald men fighting to keep their comb-overs in place.
The winners are cheered as heroes and proudly collect their plastic prizes, holding them aloft for the photographs, which will be on sale in the shop later in the day.
After six races the entertainments staff thank everyone and hope they have had a good time, which brings cheers from the crowd. They pack up their equipment and head back to share out the loot before handing in a proportion of the takings at the office. The donkey handlers will get their share later and are already making a bit extra by giving rides to the campers who have stayed around.
Most of the crowd have drifted off towards the Pig and Whistle for a drink before dinner and Scotty’s group are no exception. ‘Don’t forget we’re going to the talent show later,’ says Dawn. ‘Oh yes,’ winks Scotty, ‘we can’t miss the talent show. You’ll come with us won’t you Frank?’ Frank gives a pained look but agrees to go if there is nothing else on offer. For once Scotty surprises him by buying the first round.
The theatre is half empty as the entertainments manager springs in from the wings, microphone in hand, calling out a cheery welcome to all who have put in an appearance. ‘We have a wonderful evening of entertainment lined up for you folks,’ he goes on, a la Hughie Green, ‘so let’s get the show started by welcoming onto the stage the Tapping Twins.’ He stretches his arm in the direction of the wings, the organist strikes up the music and two tubby twelve year old girls clatter into the spotlight.
Frank gives a sideways look at Scotty, who is sitting down the row between his two girls. He is wondering why the whole family have turned out to watch what is bound to prove an evening of dire acts who have been practising in their living rooms all winter for this chance at fame and fortune.
The Tapping Twins clump through their routine and bow to tepid applause. The entertainments manager reappears, smiling and thanking the girls for their wonderful performance, which he reckons has been a fine opening to the show.
Over the next half hour an assortment of campers climb on and off the stage, giving their all in the name of showbiz. Then Frank almost chokes on his boiled sweet as he is called up onto the stage, to wild clapping and cheering from his ‘friend’ and his party. ‘You bastard,’ mouths Frank as he reluctantly takes his place on the stage. ‘Have you got any music?’ whispers Pete Parker, who has taken over especially to introduce one of ‘his’ campers.
Frank had no intention of taking part in any talent show and consequently has no music. ‘I’ll sing a capella,’ he whispers back. Pete gives him a puzzled look, turns towards the organist with a shrug and announces: ‘Give a big hand everyone, for Frank Ridley singing Acapulco.’ He hands the microphone to a bewildered Frank and strides off the stage, leaving him standing in the spotlight in his baggy trousers and yellow cardigan. He can hear the smans from the audience but takes a deep breath and sets his feet square underneath his shaking legs. He could bloody murder Scotty at this moment.
The crowd sit expectantly as the organist crosses his arms and stares back at them. Then Frank opens his mouth and out comes the most astonishing tenor voice. As the first phrase of Ave Maria fills the auditorium, the audience gasp, sit forwards in their seats and stare in awe at the sound issuing from this odd looking man.
People in the foyer begin pushing in through the doors to listen, and by the time he is finished, the theatre is almost full. Thunderous applause fills the room; some people get to their feet and cheer loudly in appreciation and Pete Parker hurries to congratulate his ‘find’.
Frank takes a quick bow and scurries off stage, across the auditorium and out into the cold air, followed by admiring shouts of ‘well done,’ and ‘fabulous voice,’ from the audience.
Scotty rushes after him but Frank is in no mood for a chat. ‘Don’t ever do anything like that to me again,’ growls Frank, pushing a startled Scotty in the chest and knocking the wind out of him. He marches off into the night and Scotty does not follow.