Nothing Like a Dame
by Edward Marston

 Frank Forster had been born and brought up in Middleton. He loved the place with a passion that only a true Middletonian could feel. Unlike most of the villages in the county, it had retained its character and identity. There was no house built later than 1930 and several that could trace their history back to Tudor times. Middleton had a medieval church, a village green, a large duck pond, and three country pubs that did not offer their customers muzak, gaming machines, television sets, or other such concessions to modernity. It was a community which time had forgotten and that was why Frank adored it so much. As a carpenter and joiner, he carried on a trade that he had inherited from his father who, in turn, had taken over the workshop from his father. For three generations, Forsters had dedicated their skills to the people and properties of Middleton. Whenever Frank went to church, he sat in a pew that had been built by his grandfather. It made him feel at home.
Christmas was his favorite time of the year because it signaled the arrival of the annual pantomime. Other villages staged entertainments of various kinds during the festive season but the Middleton panto was beyond compare. It was always well-written, well-acted, and directed with real flair. The indisputable star was Cecil Pellow, the publican of the Merry Maid—a big, fat, jovial man of astonishing vitality. No panto was complete without Pellow in the role of the Dame. Audiences marveled that such a manly man, who had a wife and six children, could transform himself so convincingly into a woman. Pellow was truly hilarious and nobody admired him as much as Frank Forster. The carpenter's one ambition was, in time, to succeed him as the Dame and to enjoy the same local renown. To that end, Frank studied the publican's performances with great care, taking note of his vocal tricks, his facial expressions, and his movements. In the privacy of his workshop, he rehearsed until he was the perfect understudy.
His chance came sooner than he had dared to expect. The phone call from Maggie Rollins, his ex-wife, shocked him. "Cecil is dead?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," she said. "Last night. A massive heart attack. His family is shattered."
"The whole village will be shattered!" "It's a terrible blow. Especially at this time." "I know," said Frank. "Rehearsals were due to start tomorrow." "How can we put on Mother Goose without a Dame?" Ambition flickered. "We'll have to replace him, Maggie." "Nobody can replace Cecil Pellow," she sighed. "He was out on his own. Yet we can't cancel the panto. Cecil would have hated that. We'll have to choose someone else to be Mother Goose," she said decisively, becoming businesslike. "That's why I rang you, Frank. You not only make the scenery for the panto, but you also play an important role in it each year. Could you possibly come to an emergency meeting tonight?"
"Of course, Maggie."
"Wonderful!"
"Just tell me where and when."
"Myrtle Cottage. Seven-thirty."
"I'll be there."
"Thank you, Frank. I knew I could count on you."
Putting the phone down, Frank did an impromptu dance of glee. He would have his moment of glory at last. Although he was distressed to hear of Pellow's sudden death, he was quick to spot the practical advantages. No longer would he be in the publican's shadow on stage. In the role of the Dame, he could be his own woman. The part had effectively been offered to him by Maggie Rollins, the director of the panto. Why else would she invite him to Myrtle Cottage? It would be the first time since the divorce that Frank would be able to enter that house without a twinge of regret. When he had been married to Maggie, it had been his own home and he had lavished a great deal of time and effort on the property. Being forced to leave had been the worst part of the divorce settlement. The best part was that he and Maggie had somehow remained on speaking terms, even after she had married Norman Rollins—a cadaverous beanpole of a man who ran a pullet-rearing business. It was a mark of their friendship that Maggie continued to rely so heavily on Frank when the Christmas panto came along. He had worked tirelessly over the years. Now, he was about to get the supreme reward.
Before leaving for Myrtle Cottage that evening, he was so confident of being the next Dame that he had learned one of the songs by way of an audition piece. Maggie opened the front door to him, gave him a peck on the cheek, then ushered him into the living room. Four other guests were there, all visibly grieving over the death of Cecil Pellow. Concealing his excitement behind an expression of deep sadness, Frank took a seat on the sofa.
His ex-wife did not believe in beating about the bush.
"Right," she said briskly. "Now that we're all here, I can tell you that I've chosen a new Dame for Mother Goose." Frank began to glow with pride. "In a crisis like this, we have to turn to someone we can really depend upon." Frank allowed himself a smile. "There's only one person who can save us at such short notice." Frank's smile became a full grin. "In short," she concluded, "the new Dame will be my husband, Norman."
Frank was flabbergasted. "Your husband?" he gulped.
"Who else?"
"Well, I was hoping that it might be your ex-husband."
"You?" said Maggie, unable to hide a faint hint of contempt at the suggestion. "Are you serious, Frank? You could never be a Dame."
"Yes, I could. I was one of the ugly sisters last year."
"Cecil had to carry you through every scene."
"That's unfair!"
"It's what everyone said."
"I've earned the right to the part."
"Not in my book. I'm sorry, but Norman is going to be our Dame."
"But he's never even been in a panto before."
"That makes no difference. He's got a natural talent."
"For what?" asked Frank bitterly. "Raising pullets?" Returned to the others for support. "Who would you pick? Me or Norman Rollins? Someone who's been a stalwart of the panto for thirty years or a complete unknown who happens to sleep with Maggie!"
"Frank!" she protested.
"All in favor of me as Dame, put up your hands."
Not a single hand even moved. Frank was categorically outvoted.
"There's your answer," said Maggie, folding her arms. "Now why don't you accept defeat with grace? Norman is the democratic choice."
Frank was fuming. He had not only lost out to an inferior actor, but he had managed to alienate Maggie as well, and that could have dire consequences for him. As husband and as Dame, Maggie had chosen Norman Rollins over him. All he could do was to mumble his apologies and sneak out of Myrtle Cottage. It was not going to be a happy Christmas for Frank Forster.

The first rehearsal was an ordeal for him. During the read-through of Mother Goose, he had to listen to another man taking the part that destiny had willed to him. Norman Rollins was surprisingly competent, and with his wife to drive him on he would be a comical enough Dame, but he had nothing of Frank's talent and experience. To rub salt into her ex-husband's wound, Maggie criticized him time and again while praising the work of his successor. Frank was mercilessly chastised. However, he had friends in the company. Several of them took him aside to say that they thought he would have been a better choice to step into Cecil Pellow's shoes. Rose Littlehurst, the church organist, a tiny bird of a woman who was one of the people who had been at Myrtle Cottage on the previous evening, went a step further.
"I think its iniquitous," she confided. "You should be the Dame."
"Then why did you vote against me?"
"We had to, Frank. You know what Maggie is like."
"Oh yes!" he groaned.
"Her word is law. We had to go along with her, in spite of Cecil's wish."
"His wish?"
"Didn't you know?" asked the organist. "He always said that Frank Forster was the man to take over from him when he retired from the boards. Norman is better than I thought but he's no match for you. As a true Christian, it's wrong of me to wish him ill. And yet," she went on, her eyes gleaming, "it would be poetic justice if he was forced to drop out for some reason. Maggie would have to turn to you then."
The seed of an idea was planted in Frank's brain.

"What?" she said with disbelief. "Are you telling me that Norman is in the panto?"
"He's playing the title role, Anthea."
"Do you mean that Norman is Mother Goose?"
"Unfortunately."
"But he couldn't act his way out of a paper bag."
"That's my view," agreed Frank.
"He couldn't play the goose, let alone the Dame."
"Norman is way out of his depth."
"How on earth did he get the part?"
"Can't you guess? Maggie is directing the show."
Anthea Rollins curled her lip in derision. She had never forgiven her former husband for ditching her in order to marry a second wife. When Frank had parted from Maggie he had done so with a measure of relief, but Anthea's experience had been very different. She had fought a running battle with her husband, refusing to countenance the idea of divorce and doing all that she could to blight his new romance. Anthea had failed. Instead of putting her husband off Maggie, she had unwittingly pushed him more firmly into her arms. While he went off to enjoy marital bliss, she was left alone in a small cottage in the neighboring village of Heyhoe. Iron entered her soul. Anthea Rollins wanted revenge.
Frank Forster had elected to fight fire with fire. Humiliated by one ex-wife, he decided to recruit another one to help him strike back. Anthea was the ideal choice. She had scores to settle with both Norman and Maggie. When she heard what had happened, she needed no prompting from Frank.
"We must stop him," she declared.
"How?"
"Any way that we can. I'm not having people applauding that bastard."
"Norman doesn't deserve the part."
"He wouldn't have gotten it without Maggie," she asserted, wagging a finger. "All he's ever done is rear pullets—and now he wants to be Mother Goose." She looked across at him. "You'd be so much better as the Dame."
"Would I?" asked Frank artlessly.
"Yes. I saw you as one of the ugly sisters in Cinderella. You were great. Why didn't Maggie pick you?"
"Spite."
"And malice. She's a vindictive cow."
"Only since she's been married to Norman."
"They bring out the worst in each other."
"And we're the losers."
"Not any more, Frank. It's time we got our own back on them."
"You'll help me, then?"
Anthea gritted her teeth. "Every inch of the bloody way!"

His trade gave him ample time for reflection. While Frank was making a bookcase in his workshop, he was able to examine all the possibilities of disabling Norman Rollins in some way. As he planed the wood, he pretended that he was slicing the blade through Normans throat. When he began to pound nails into the timber, he imagined that he was crushing the skull of his rival. It was curious. Until now, Norman had always struck him as a kind, helpful, inoffensive man who would hardly say boo to a goose (much less play the part of one). Since he had taken over the starring role in Mother Goose, however, he had become Franks archenemy. Frank now hated him with an intensity shared only by Anthea Rollins. As accomplices, they were well and truly matched.
When they had their next meeting at her cottage, Anthea had already taken active steps to achieve their common end. She produced a small bottle that was filled with a colorless liquid, holding it.
"This will finish him off!" she said.
"What is it?"
"Something that will take away all desire to get up on a stage."
"Poison?"
"Of a sort, Frank."
"We don't want to kill him," he said with alarm, "just force him to give up."
"Oh, he'll give up, don't worry. Two drops of this and he'll be in bed for a fortnight. I used to work in a pharmacy before I was married, remember? Trust me."
"How do I give it to him?"
"That's up to you."
"Well, it can't be too soon," he said, thinking it through. "It has to be during the last week of rehearsal when there's no time for anyone else to learn the part. I'll know it by heart, of course, so Maggie will have to take me on as the Dame."
"And all Norman can do is stay at home with a bellyache."
"You've come up trumps, Anthea."
"Left to myself, I'd have murdered the bugger."
"Let's not get carried away," he advised. "If we go too far, the panto will have to be cancelled and that would ruin everything. I want to play that part so much."
"Then give him some of this," she said, handing over the bottle. "It's tasteless. When Norman drinks some of this, he'll be in agony. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Frank beamed. "Or a Dame denied," he added.

Rehearsals were long and hard. Middleton had a reputation to maintain and Maggie Rollins was determined that Mother Goose would reach the same level of excellence as previous productions. Thanks to her private coaching sessions with him, her husband improved steadily as the Dame and she praised him constandy in front of the others. By the same token, she castigated Frank for his performance in a smaller role, taking every opportunity to hound and embarrass him. But the abuse did not end there. Given his chance of stardom, Norman Rollins underwent a change of personality. A quiet and innocuous man slowly turned into a vain and overbearing monster. He strutted arrogantly around the village hall and treated everyone—apart from Maggie, of course—with lofty disdain. He even felt entitled to offer gratuitous advice to Frank Forster.
"You should stick to making the scenery, Frank."
"Why?"
"You're hopeless in front of an audience."
"Who is?" said Frank, bristling with anger. "I've been in over twenty-five pantos in this hall. How many have you been in?"
"One," retorted Norman. "But unlike you, I started at the top." retorted Norman.
"There's no substitute for experience."
"Then why don't you get some? That last scene you played was pathetic."
"That's a matter of opinion."
"Maggie shares mine. On and offstage, there's no real spark in you, is there? I can see now why she got rid of you."
"She didn't get rid of me," said Frank. "Maggie and I parted by mutual consent. That's why we were able to remain friends afterwards."
"You're not friends with her anymore. In fact," said Norman, slipping a verbal knife between Frank's ribs, "if you hadn't built the scenery, Maggie would have kicked you out of the panto altogedier. You lower the standard."
"What standard?" "The one that one I'm setting as the Dame. I'm the best actor that Middleton has ever seen."
Frank bit back a tart rejoinder. Norman Rollins was odious but he had to be endured. If Frank tried to argue with him, Maggie would step in and take her husband's side. All that he could do was to suffer in silence. And so it went— each rehearsal worse than the one before. While the Dame was smothered in undeserved compliments, Frank was picked out time and again for stinging. And as soon as Maggie would finish chiding Frank, her husband would feel obliged to add his own cruel comments. By the time they got within a week of performance, Frank was seething with rage. It was the moment to hit back.
The plan was simple. One of the scenes in the panto was set beside the Pool of Eternal Youth. In the scene, Mother Goose drinks a glass of water from the pool in an attempt to recapture her younger days. Frank was the person who handed Mother Goose the glass. Rose Littlehurst, as property mistress, was responsible for filling the glass with water and waiting in the wings. Frank seized his opportunity. Anthea Rollins had said that two drops of the liquid would disable her former husband, but Frank wanted to create maximum agony. When the time came, he took the glass of water from the property rack and emptied the whole bottle into it. Right on cue, he surged onstage to offer the glass to Mother Goose, saying:

"Here is the potion that you desire
To replace age with youthful fire.
Drink deep of the liquid, ancient Dame,
And you will become a girl again."

Norman Rollins reached out to snatch the glass from him and spilled some of the water over his costume in the process. He immediately had a tantrum.
"Now look what you've done!" he yelled at Frank. "You threw that water all over me. Can't you get anything right? This is intolerable, Maggie," he went on, appealing to the director. "How can I give my best when I'm surrounded by idiots? I insist that you get someone else to bring the water on. Frank simply isn't up to it." And he threw the remainder of the water all over Frank Forster.

Anthea Rollins was full of sympathy. When she heard the tale from Frank that evening, she was horrified at the way he had been treated. She was also mortified to learn that their attempt at removing the Dame had come to nothing.
"I'm surprised that you didn't attack Norman on the spot." "It was all I could do to keep my hands off him, Anthea." "What does the rest of the company think?" "They're on my side," said Frank. "Rose Littlehurst told me that they're all appalled at the way Norman is behaving. She was shocked when he emptied that glass of water over me. And she can't bear the way that the director keeps picking on me." "We should have given Maggie that potion." "That would have brought the whole show to a halt." "Isn't that better than letting Norman lord it over you all as the Dame?"
"No," said Frank. "I've set my heart on that role and the only way I can get it is by edging Norman out in some way."
"I can get some more of that poison, if you like."
"I won't have the chance to spike his drink again. Besides, I want to see him suffer, Anthea. A bellyache is not enough for me. I want blood."
"That makes two of us," she said, rubbing her hands together. "We want to cut Norman down to size and leave him writhing in agony. Any ideas?"
"Lots."
"And how far are you prepared to go?"
"All the way."
"As far as murder?"
"Oh, yes!" said Frank. "As long as he dies after I've starred as the Dame." 

The next few days they made a sustained attempt on the life of the egregious Norman Rollins. He was to be badly wounded in what would appear to be an accident so that there would be no chance of his carrying on in the panto. When the show had run its course, Frank and Anthea agreed, they would, between the two of them, kill their victim. Their joint aims would then be achieved. Frank Forster would step into the breach as the Dame and an embittered woman would get her revenge on the husband who had abandoned her. In theory, it looked so simple. In practice, however, it proved far more difficult.
The one thing that they had not allowed for was the fact that Norman Rollins led a charmed life. Every assault on him somehow failed. Knowing that the Dame danced on the trap door in the stage, Frank loosened the catch so that it would not take the weight of a grown man. Yet—miraculously—it did. The Dame did his jig but nothing happened. It was only when Eric Lentle, the smallest and lightest man in the cast, stepped on top of the trap door that it gave way—sending him rushing downwards at great speed to break born ankles. It gave Norman an excuse to have another spectacular tantrum.
Frank tried again—sawing through one of the legs on a throne that Mother Goose occupied at one point in the show. Since it was set up high, a fall was bound to injure the Dame. For the second time, however, Frank was thwarted. The leg of the throne held. Norman Rollins escaped to attend another rehearsal. Frank had tried and failed once more. Nothing he contrived could touch the incumbent Dame. And the closer they got to the first night, the more insufferable the man became.
Rose Littlehurst was dismayed at the abuse handed out to her friend.
"It's so unfair, Frank."
"I know," he sighed.
"Norman is behaving like a.prima donna. You've shown the patience of Job. If anybody else had been rebuked like that by Norman, they'd have walked out of the panto. Your loyalty does you credit," she said admiringly, "but there's a limit to what any man can take."
"I'm very close to that limit," admitted Frank.
"The tragedy is that you'd make a far better Dame than Norman."
"Thank you, Rose."
"I mean it. Cecil Pellow must be turning in his grave."
"He was a lovely man. It was a pleasure to act with him."
"You can't say that about Norman."
"He's a menace!"
"And he seems to have turned Maggie against you as well."
"I don't mind her gibes so much," said Frank. "I just hate being blamed by Norman for everything that goes wrong at a rehearsal. He's sadistic."
"This part has gone to his head. And it can only get worse."
"What do you mean?"
"If Norman plays me Dame this time," said Rose, "there'll be no holding him. We're doing Jack and the Beanstalk next year, so you can guess who'll be Jack's mother. It isn't just Mother Goose we have to worry about. Unless something drastic happens, we'll be stuck with Norman Rollins forever."
It was a grim thought and it made Frank redouble his efforts to disable his rival. But the man was completely beyond reach. Every accident that Frank devised somehow misfired. As the first dress rehearsal approached, he became resigned to the fact that Norman Rollins would survive to play the Dame.

It was just after dawn that Maggie Rollins rang him up. Frank could tell from her voice that something dramatic had happened. He sat up in bed and shook himself fully awake.
"I'm sorry to ring so early, Frank," she said, her tone conciliatory, "but we have an emergency. You're the one person who might be able to come to our rescue."
"What seems to be the trouble, Maggie?"
"It's Norman. He's dropping out."
"Is he ill?" asked Frank, his hopes rising. "Has he been injured in some way? Has he been rushed to hospital or something?"
"No, nothing like that."
"We're so close to the first performance. He can't drop out now."
"Well, he has," she confessed. "I've been up all night, pleading with him."
"About what?"
There was a long pause. Maggie was deeply embarrassed at having to admit the truth about her second husband. When the words finally came out, they did so in a hoarse whisper. "Norman's got stage fright," she said.
"Everybody has that."
"Not like this. He's terrified, Frank. He's forgotten all of his lines and refuses to go anywhere near the village hall. I was wrong to think he could take the lead when he'd never been on a stage before. It was too much for him." There was another long pause. "I owe you an apology, Frank."
"Go on."
"You would have been a more sensible choice as the Dame." It was music to his ears. "I know that I've been unduly critical of you at rehearsals and I probably have no right to ask you this but...." Frank knew that she was biting her lip at the other end of the line. "I don't suppose that you could help us out of this mess?"
"With only two days to go?"
"It's too late to postpone the panto now. All the seats have been sold."
"You're asking a lot, Maggie," he said, determined to make her grovel.
"I know, Frank. I've been unkind to you. Norman has been even worse."
"That's certainly true."
"It was Rose who tipped me off at the start of rehearsals," she went on. "She told me that you'd learned the part of the Dame just in case. It's uncanny. How could you possibly have known that you'd be called on to take over the lead?"
"I didn't—and I'm not sure that I can help you."
"But you must, Frank. Please. I beg you. If you don't play Mother Goose, we'll have to cancel the play and give people their money back. Our reputation will be ruined."
"You've more or less ruined mine already."
"I know," she said. "I know, and I regret all those hurtful things I said to you. I'll do anything you ask, Frank. I apologize unreservedly. More to the point, I'll get Norman to apologize as well. He's behaved atrociously towards you. I'll never forgive him for landing me in this pickle. He's pathetic."
Frank smiled. "Did you say you'd do anything for me, Maggie?"
"You only have to ask."
"Then I'll help you out on one condition."
"What is it?"
"From now on, I'll play the Dame in every panto. Is it a deal?"
"Yes, Frank," she cried with gratitude, "it's a deal."

Work was abandoned for the day. Instead of practicing his trade, Frank Forster went to the village hall for a private rehearsal with his former wife. There was no time for recriminations. The two of them stuck to the task at hand. With only two days together, the replacement Dame had to be licked into shape. Frank was a revelation. He had not only mastered the lines and the songs, but he knew all the movements as well. Maggie could not believe how well he slotted into the part. In full costume Frank swaggered around the stage as if he owned it, giving a performance that was far superior to that of Norman Rollins. The new Dame needed very little direction. Maggie was soon running out of superlatives to describe him. Franks comic dance on the trap door had her laughing hysterically. When it was over, she clapped her hands together.
"That was fantastic, Frank!"
"Thanks. What next?"
"The scene in the Palace of Plenty."
"Give me a moment while I set it up."
As there were only two of them there, Frank had to be the stagehand as well as the star. He did not mind. Having built the scenery, he took pride in moving it into position. Within minutes, the stage of the village hall had been transformed into a fairytale palace. He adjusted his skirts and got ready to make his entrance. Given a cue by Maggie, he came in to look at his surroundings with awe, bumping into pieces of furniture and sending them tumbling. Hanging down one wall was a golden rope. Mother Goose decided to pull it so that she could summon a servant to bring her champagne. But it was no bell rope. At the moment she tugged on it, the Dame took up a specific position so that a cage could descend from above to imprison her on the spot. In earlier rehearsals, even Norman Rollins had gotten a laugh as he had tried, in vain, to escape the cage. Frank resolved to make this scene one of the comic high points of the evening.
But his chance never came. When he pulled on the rope, it was not a wooden cage that came down but the heavy scenery that was supposed to be flown in for the finale. Frank was knocked flying by a stout beam. After doing several somersaults, he landed on the trap door, which promptly gave way, sending him hurtling headfirst into the darkness. When he hit the stone floor, there was a resounding thud.

It was several days before he came out of his coma. When his eyes finally opened, he saw the diminutive figure of Rose Littlehurst perched beside his bed. Her face was a study in anguish. She reached out to grasp his arm.
"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "You're alive."
"What happened?"
"You had an accident on stage, Frank."
"Yes," he said as memories slowly trickled back. "I was playing the Dame. I was fulfilling my ambition, after all. Quick! he added frantically. "I must get to the village hall to rehearse."
"You can't move in that state."
Frank suddenly realized that one of his arms was in plaster and that both of his broken legs were held in separate slings. His head was enmeshed in bandages. He was in considerable pain.
"How long have I been here, Rose?"
"Too long," she replied. "The panto finished last night."
"Oh, no! I'd set my heart on playing the Dame."
"I know, Frank. That's why I did my best to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes," she said, twitching with guilt. "It was meant for Norman, you see. I couldn't bear the way that he rode roughshod over you. Since you were far too decent a man to disable him yourself, I tried to do it for you. I switched the ropes over."
Frank blinked in amazement. "What!"
"I sneaked into the hall when nobody was about and changed the rope holding the cage for the one that lowered the scenery for the finale. I figured that when Norman pulled it at the dress rehearsal, he'd have been knocked for six."
"Why didn't you warn me?"
"Because I had no idea that you'd taken over as the Dame," she explained. "Maggie was so keen to rehearse you in the part that she held off telling the rest of us about the change. The first time I even knew that you'd been in the village hall was when I saw you being carried out on a stretcher. Oh, Frank!" she wailed. "On your behalf, I acted out of desperation. Will you ever forgive me?"
"Wait a moment," he said. "You told me the panto is over now.
"Yes. We gave the final performance last night."
"Then who was the Dame?" he asked. "Please don't tell me it was Norman."
"Oh, no. He was too frightened even to sit in the audience. The director did the only thing that she could do under the circumstances. She took the role herself."
Frank gaped. "Maggie was Mother Goose?"
"Yes," said Rose, "and she was extremely good. After all those rehearsals, she knew every line. I have to agree with what she said at the cast party. When the chips are down, there's nothing like a dame for playing one."