Chapter Two

The cruise was an around the world affair, and was successful, on a professional basis. And professional we were. We were making good money from our shows and the cash injection of having a top ten record was enough to let us splash out a bit. We now had a manager, Jerry, another friend of Candice’s father. We had our own collection of good equipment, me with at least six guitars.

Unfortunately, the cruise highlighted the differences between us. By that time, we were playing the music that was known as ‘glam rock’. The girls were truly vamps out front, I had graduated to frilly pink outfits and had gained a collection of rings. My dad laughed every time he saw me but never complained when I paid for something he wanted. Steve had remained much like he started, having a stage persona wasn’t too important for a drummer in those days, seeing how hard he worked. Quentin had insisted that he wasn’t cut out to look like a poof and had his own collection of snappy suits. He was, I think, trying to emulate Brian Ferry.

We were booked for the whole four months of the cruise, playing every few nights. The audience changed with every port, so we didn’t get on their nerves. It was us that got on each other’s nerves, being in constant proximity. Us guys were in a three-berth cabin, and the girls shared a cabin. They seemed more than happy with that. They went ashore everywhere they could and spent freely. I often went with them, and we became a happy trio, me not being a problem for them.

It was Steve and Quentin who became the problems. Now knowing that the girls had no use for them, they started getting overfriendly with female passengers, to the point where they were warned by the captain. They were also drinking too much, and it all came to a head two months into the cruise. They were caught, humping teenage passengers in adjoining lifeboats. It was the setting the lifeboats slightly rocking on a calm night that was their downfall.

Before the captain gave his final decision, he called the three of us into his cabin and laid it all out. The guys had gone too far and had put the shipping line at risk. It would only take an unwanted baby, or an unwanted disease, and there would be hell to pay. We had all signed contracts with the shipping line and had not realised that, as we did that, we were considered crew for the duration and subject to the captains’ orders.

He told us that if he kicked the guys off the ship, there would be a couple of girls in the ships’ band who would be happy to stand in for the rest of the cruise. Our gigs would be pared back a bit so we would get an easier time if we agreed. What could we do but agree. The guys were told to pack their bags and were flown home from Madras escorted to the airport by a couple of burly seamen.

We let Jerry know the details and he said that he would hold off getting us bookings until we had worked out a new line-up. That happened over the next month, not something we could have expected. The two girls who turned up to help had been to almost every show we had done and knew our stuff inside-out. They had their own sparkly outfits, fitted right in after a couple of sessions, and the passengers hardly knew the difference.

That time was when another change occurred. I could tell that I stood out like the proverbial dogs, there on stage, even with my frills. At Mombasa, I went ashore with Anne and Megan, our two new arrivals, and we shopped for kaftans. All three of us bought three outfits, in different colours, so we could mix and match. With my usual long hair styled in the ships’ salon, it didn’t feel much different from my usual stage gear, just a bit breezier between the legs. The pictures that I saw on the notice board showed a five-piece girl band, not a single cane now showing in the Candicanes.

That last leg of the voyage was a stand-out, for me. I now was alone in the cabin and could stretch out. All five of us would get together when Anne and Megan weren’t on duty, and we talked about other songs we could play, now we were a girl centric band. We added some that the other guys hadn’t been happy with and changed some of the dynamics. Megan was a good singer, so we altered the stage line-up, with her and Nicola either side of Candice, and me next to Anne on the drums. While I had done some of the singing in the previous line-up, I now stepped back and just played the guitar.

As we made our way up the west coast of Africa and home, we developed a new style, less ‘glam rock’ and more ‘glamour rock’. While the three of us had our kaftans, the other two went with longer dresses. At Cape Town we all went ashore and bought two outfits each, both shorter dresses. We then went and bought shoes to match.

In the ships’ salon I was instructed to remain still as my body hair, what little there was, was removed. My hair was made into a much more feminine look and my nails attended to. In the ships’ lingerie shop I was helped to buy stockings and garter belts, along with bras and fillers. Our last weeks was us as an all-girl band, nobody could say otherwise.

Before the shows Candice would come into my cabin and help me dress and then would make me up. We all wore long earrings, lots of make-up, and the dresses were very sparkly and risqué. For me, going back to my male look became a chore, so I generally wore one of my kaftans in between shows. After our last show, the captain invited us to his dinner table, and congratulated us for a job well done. The two girls from the crew still had another voyage they were contracted for, a six-week cruise of the Mediterranean. Before we arrived back in England, the five of us sat down for a serious discussion, one that would eventually create the person I am today.

When Candice, Nicola and I disembarked, me back in my guy gear, we had agreed that Anne and Megan would join us in the Autumn and that we would relaunch the band as an all-girl line-up. I had to go along with it, as I was having fun, enjoyed their companionship, and had become seriously interested in the music we could play. We also agreed that Candicanes was no longer correct. We would now be called Glitterbugs. We would be glittering all the way.

At Southampton, Jerry met us and got Anne and Megans’ signatures on contracts. He was brought up to speed on what we had decided, and he told us that he knew a songwriter who specialised in songs for women. He also showed us a clipping from a recent newspaper.

It was a letter to the music editor, sent by a fan who had been on the last part of the voyage. It read that the writer had seen the Candicanes in the UK before, but was amazed to now see them, on the cruise, as an all-girl group, with only Candice and Nicola from the original band, but sounding better than he remembered.

I had to smile when he said that the three new girls were as good, if not better, than the three guys they had replaced. There was a picture of us, in the kaftan era. Jerry told us that he had been contacted by a couple of tour organisers who wanted us to tour the new band in the Spring of next year. He wanted to know what we would be called, and what my name would be on the advertising. I chose to be Harriette Arthur.

Jerry had come in a minibus and the three of us loaded our bags and guitars. The organ, drums and amps had all been supplied from the ships’ store. We hugged our two new friends, wished them a good trip, and they waved us off before going back on board.

Back in the old town, it seemed as if we’d never been away. I was dropped off at my place with a hug and a kiss from both girls. They were more than just a peck on the cheek, and I started to wonder what they were cooking up now. Dad gave me a hug. Now, that was out of the box. He professed at being lonely while I had been away. Perhaps he had missed my cooking! I put my things away, wondering what Dad would say if he saw my dresses and kaftans, let alone my collection of shoes and naughty undies.

I wound down for a few days and then took Dad for a meal at the pub. When the first act came on, it was the old opener, now much better after recovering from his close encounter with the bus. The next act took my breath away. Steve and Quentin were there, on stage, along with a couple of other guys. They were all dressed in punk gear and were doing Sex Pistols and Clash covers. They weren’t bad, as far as that went, but they weren’t good. After they had finished, they just packed up and left. The manager came over to our table and asked me if I could fill in for a while. He had a spare guitar in his office.

I wasn’t sure but Dad told me that he had never heard me and that he wanted to know what everyone was talking about. So, I went and got the guitar, tuned it, and went up on the stage. The manager stood up and called out.

“Let’s give a warm welcome back to Hitman Harry. He’s been in the charts and just spent four months on a cruise with those lovely girls, Candi and Nicola, the lucky sod!”

It was an effort of will playing rhythm and singing, after just playing lead for so long, but I started to fit in lead notes into the backing as I sung a lot of the old playlist. At the end of my set, the late band were waiting to set up, so I bowed and thanked the audience, who were enthusiastically applauding. Back at the table, Dad gave me a hug and told me that he was prouder of me, now he could see how good I was. That, I could take every day.

The next day, Jerry rang to tell me that we had an appointment with the songwriter and that Nicola would pick me up after lunch. She arrived, with Candice in the car, and we went off to a place that she had been told how to find. It was a good job she remembered, or else we would have been traipsing all over the countryside. The trick was to take a certain trackway, off a very minor road, and find a gap in the hedges. The vista as we entered the driveway was not all that encouraging.

The thatched cottage was nestled in a flower garden and looked like a picture on a biscuit tin. The lady who welcomed us when we stopped looked like someone’s grannie. I wasn’t getting the cutting-edge, top-of-the-pops vibe that I expected. When the woman introduced herself, it all stood on its head. Joan was someone that my mother had loved listening to, and I expect that if I looked, I would find a few of her old albums at home. She sat us at her dining table and gave us tea and biscuits as we talked.

We talked about our hopes and dreams for a while. Finally, she put on a serious face.

“Jerry told me that you were worth talking to. I wasn’t sure about you, because so many groups want to sing about death and disaster. I can see that you two girls are passionate about the type of music you want to play, and I think that there could be a niche in the market for ‘glamour rock’ which may lead to a hit, or two.”

She then turned her attention on me.

“Harry, or should I say Harri with an ‘I’. I was most concerned about you. Jerry sent me a couple of pictures of you in your new persona. You looked all right, but would you cut it with being a girl in an all-girl band? You know that to fool the punters, you will have to be Harriette all the time, until you can buy a little hide-away like this place, where you can be yourself. One of the things you are going to have to learn is how to read music, the others all have that ability, or so I’ve been told.”

I agreed that it may help and asked how we would work through the two different levels of training.

“That’s easy. I live her, alone, and now have plenty of time on my hands. To be honest, I’m getting a bit bored. If you come back in a couple of days, I will have organised the spare room for you. Bring all your female things. I will teach you to be a girl who reads music. The best way to be proficient is to learn the piano. What do you say?”

I agreed. Well, you don’t get to live with a pop star often, and she appeared very nice. The girls promised to get me more usual clothing for daytime wear, so that’s what we did on the way home. It cost me a bit, but I was laden with a lot of bags when I was dropped off to tell Dad that I would be away for a while on a course to study music. He took it with a sigh. That evening I told him about the plan for me to live as a woman while the band was going, to keep up the all-girl fiction. He took that with a sigh and a laugh.

I then told him who was going to teach me music and we cranked up the old radiogram and played some of the songs my mother had loved. That brought tears to his eyes.

“I’m sorry about this, Harry, but your mother and I had these as the soundtrack to our best years. I will miss you, again, but I suppose that I must be grateful for the times we spend together. So many of my old friends are totally alone, their children have gone off to all corners of the globe.”

The next day, I put on my feminine underwear, a colourful top, and slim-leg jeans I had bought on the way home. Adding some two-inch boots and a bit of make-up I had learned on the cruise; I went downstairs to see if I could give my father a heart attack.

I almost did just that, the blood drained from his face, and he had to sit down. I got him a glass of water and sat beside him until he was back to normal.

“By God, Harri, you’re the spitting image of your mother at the time I met her. When you walked int the room I thought I had died, and she was coming to take me home with her. It’s uncanny, but I now know why you and I have a bond that isn’t just through liking the same sports. You’ve always been a gentle and well-behaved boy, so much more like a daughter than a son. I just never really saw it before.”

I hugged him and thanked him for being such a wonderful father. We then went out for lunch, not at the usual pub, but a restaurant a bit further away. The waiter called me dear and asked Dad if I was his daughter. He replied that I was the best daughter in the world. I tried to speak quietly, and we had a lovely lunch, a few drinks and took our time, talking about the time to come.

When Nicola picked me up, I had two cases of my new outfits and a range of the other things that I was trying to come to grips with. We both hugged Dad and I gave him a kiss on the cheek and promised him that I would keep in touch. On the way, we stopped at a salon that Nicola had pre-booked, and I had a full manicure and pedicure, the fingernails just long enough to change the look of my hands, but not too long to upset my playing.

When we arrived at our destination, we unloaded my things and Joan stood at the door while Nicola said she would be back in a couple of months. She gave me a solid kiss on my lips and then got back in the car and left.

We watched her go and I picked up my bags. I turned and Joan was looking at me with an odd expression on her face.

“That was some kiss, Harriette, are you two a couple?”

“No,” I laughed, “She and Candi are a couple. They only kiss me for two reasons. The first is when they want me to go along with some scheme of theirs, the second is when they have me moving in the direction that they have planned.”

“You truly are a cynic, young lady. However, since you were here, I’ve listened to everything that you have recorded and watched that video several times. I will tell you, here and now, that they need you more than you need them. You could have made a career for yourself as a solo singer, but chose to help a couple of talented, but spoilt, girls. Now, let me show you your room and then I’ll show you where we will be working. After that, we will both change, and I’ll take you to my local for dinner.”

My room was a light, airy, and totally pink and girly. There was a teddy bear sitting in front of the pillows and I had a sudden desire to hug it. A desire I held back for when I was alone. She helped me unpack and put my things away, draping one of my new nighties on the pillow. She also laid a blouse and skirt on the bed. We then went to where I would be spending a lot of my time. I was staggered that the back of the cottage had been modernised and there was a music room, complete with a baby grand. I had brought my old acoustic so took it out of its case and rested it on a guitar stand.

“We’ll start tomorrow, after breakfast. Before you start asking questions, I’m doing this for you and Jerry. His father was my manager and I’m his godmother. I’ve been promised proper recognition and payment should anything I write becomes a hit. Now, let’s see if you have any skills.”

She sat at the piano. There was a page of music on the stand, about a minute’s worth, I thought. She told me to watch her fingers on the first playing, then the music on the second. I was right about the timing. I did as she instructed and then was sat at the piano. As a person who plays by ear, and having so much time on the guitar, I was well versed in scales, keys, and chords. I found that the finger positions were logical.

She didn’t push and waited until I played each key, slowly, savouring the note and trying to place it on a fretboard. I then constructed a few chords, with some mistakes, and then played the piece from memory. She got me to repeat it a couple of times. Then she put a light board resting on each end of the keyboard, so I couldn’t see the keys. I was then told to play the piece from the sheet of music. When I got it right, she put another sheet over it. I could see that it was the same notes, but in a totally different pattern. It took me a few goes before I was able to play this new piece to her satisfaction.

She made no comment, other than a thoughtful “mmmmm”. I was told that it was time to get ready to go out for dinner, even though I could see a clock that showed it to be only just after three. She said that I should shower, make sure I was shaved all over, put on my sexiest underwear and make up as if I was going on a date. Not so far as stage looks, but as if I was trying to attract a guy. I supposed that it was all part of my training.

I went back to my room, hugged Teddy, stripped off and went into the shower. I saw a note, in a waterproof bag, with all the things I should do. I’d never shampooed and conditioned three times in the one shower before, but it seemed to make a difference. The body wash had scents that almost gave me a hard-on, but I thought about the piano playing and it went away.

By the time I was dried, powdered, and dressed, it was after four. Another hour passed before I was happy with how my hair looked, and how my fourth attempt at make-up went. Putting on a new necklace, some bangles, and a pair of hoops in my ears was the straw that finally broke the camels’ back. When I left my room, I had turned a corner. I wasn’t just a guy trying to look like a girl, I felt like a girl, trying to look her best.

Joan was dressed nicely and waiting patiently for me.

“Very nice, Harriette. You’re going to break some guys’ hearts when you get it into your head.”

“I nearly gave my dad a heart attack the other day. He swears that I look like my mum at a similar age. It took a while to calm him down, and I was only in jeans then.”

“Now, lesson number one. What have you forgotten?”

I had to stop and work through everything. Bra – check, fillers – check, panties, and stockings - check, skirt, and blouse - check. She waited for a few moments.

“Harriette, you are not going on the stage, you’re going out into the big wild world for several hours. What is it that every girl needs while she’s out and about?”

“A handbag?”

“Correct. I didn’t see one in your purchases, so we’ll go and see if I’ve got one that will go with that outfit. Then we will have to fill it with all the things you need to carry. Don’t worry, I thought we may get to this point and bought a bunch of new things for you.”

We found one, from her big collection, and I was shown everything that went in, with accompanying explanation. I had no idea why I was carrying tampons and condoms. She locked up and we got into her Jaguar. She was a good driver and obviously loved driving her car. We went somewhere that was not quite local but had a big dining area and a stage. She had been gauging my performance on the way – the way I sat, the way I talked.

She was known here, and we were welcomed like royalty. The manager showed us to our table, right in the middle of the room and asked Joan about me.

“This is Harriette Arthur, Jules, she is going to be the name on everyone’s lips this time next year.”

When we had placed our order, I looked around to see the other diners having sly peeks at us.

“Why here, Joan, and why in the middle of the room?”

“That’s simple, young Harriette. The manager puts me here every time I book. It allows him to advertise that I’m someone famous. Anyone under forty wouldn’t recognise me but I’m certain they’re all wondering who you are. Jules will be moving around the room, and, if asked, will tell them your name. Your first question has an even simpler answer, tonight is open-mic night and I put your guitar in the car before we left. Your task, tonight, is to go up there, on the stage, and show us how it’s done, but now with a feminine look and a voice that goes with it. I was going to do this in the fourth week, but you’re so good now, I wanted to see if you’ve got enough courage. It’s something you will need when you become a famous female singer.”

“You are so wicked,” I grinned.

Marianne Gregory © 2023