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September 10th, 1910- Letter extract, Clem Gillespie to Daisy Gillespie

I am certainly seeing a side of Greater Windenburg we never saw when Aunt Minnie used to take us to the pantomime at Christmas. You can tell Mother rest assured that I have not quite sunk into a pit of vice and voluptuousness, but my horizons have certainly been expanded. Our boarding house is in Villareal Square, and there are more kinds of people here than I knew existed! Just walking down to buy a loaf of bread in the morning one hears half a dozen languages. It makes me feel excited to be alive!

The boarding house is run by Mrs Travers, who was an actress herself in her youth. She is enormously proud of all the stars of the stage who were inhabitants of the house in their humbler days; singers and dancers and actresses and acrobats, even some I had clippings of in my scrapbook back home! The parlour is fairly papered with their framed photographs, and on her merrier evenings she is a goldmine of stories. We told her we were newlyweds. I'm not sure she really believed us- she looked us up and down and said that she wasn’t one to ask questions ‘if the rent is paid and the premises is orderly.’

Our fellow lodgers certainly aren’t what you would call orderly. All those years I longed to live among bohemians, I never knew how noisy they were! But what a collection of people.

Miss Christina has a popular female impersonation act. It feels strange to call her a female ‘impersonator’, when she lives as a woman on-stage and off. Everyone calls her Miss Christina. (I called her Miss Pickering once and everybody laughed.) I don’t know what her male name is and have no inclination to ask; I can’t imagine calling her Mr Anything. I suppose in a way she is like me.

Mr Berel and Mr Rivkin are quite a different kettle of fish. They work backstage, like me, and are very political. They stay up until all hours of the night arguing about Marx and drinking dreadful Russian spirits, and usually finish up singing maudlin songs in Yiddish until someone goes and thumps on their door. Otherwise they spend their free time going to political meetings in Vatore Street in the Jewish neighbourhood, near where Eli’s family lives! Although they argue incessantly they are plainly devoted to each other.

Then there is Bella Rosen. Some days the door rings two or three times with deliveries of flowers, bonbons or love-notes from one of her gentleman admirers. I can well understand why. She is very popular in the vaudeville and musical comedies, and some of her costumes are quite astonishingly skimpy, but I think she could stand stock still in the middle of the stage wearing a potato sack and still bring the house down. Her rooms look as though they were transposed from the more scandalous sort of French novel. Mother People back home would say she was no better than she should be, but so far as I can see 'as good as she should be’ is perfectly sweet. She is forever passing on boxes of bonbons from her admirers, and I know she gives half of the jewellery she receives to Miss Christina, with whom she is great friends.

Miss Hammond and Miss Healy work in scenery and wardrobe respectively. Miss Hammond is rather fierce. She smokes cigarettes just like a man and wears knickerbockers on her bicycle and even on occasion about the house! I suppose it would be rather rich of me to cast stones in that regard. Miss Healy is Irish and rather scatty. They are friends of long standing and share a room.

And lastly there is Cecilia Rheinhold, who is in the play with Hon. She is from Germany and apparently already quite well-known there. One certainly gets that impression to hear her talk, in any case. But Hon seems very taken with her. She says she is being perfectly sweet to her in rehearsals and showing her how things are done, etc. and even offered to ‘run lines’ with her (that means practice) outside rehearsal. The play is called The Cherry Orchard; it is by a Russian and apparently it is supposed to be a comedy. I must say the Russians must have a very odd sense of humour.

At present I am still working backstage as a sort of general dogsbody or factotum, generally with Mr Berel and Mr Rivkin. The work is so much more exhausting than anything we ever did on the farm. I fall into bed aching all over and some evenings it’s all I can do to stay awake at dinner! So you can rest easy knowing I have no time for fleshpots or debauchery.

All this is so I can make myself useful until Leslie King, the celebrated male impersonator, returns from tour. I am to be trained up as a sort of apprentice, and if I am good enough I might even have my own act some day. Just think of it! You might come and see me in top and tails. Quite a way from the Little Windenburg Dramatic Society!

Enclosed is a studio photograph of Hon and me, paid for extremely rashly out of my first month’s wages. You can’t think how exciting it is to have money one has earned oneself- even if it is hardly more than the pin money I used to get back home.

Your loving brother,

Clement

P.S. Please convey my gratitude to Eli for his willingness to pass on my letters.