A Club For Chorus Girls

Towards the end of the nineteenth century the number of theatres operating in the West End of London boomed. This, and the growing popularity of musical comedy among the fare of those many theatres, led to a huge demand for chorus girls in the capital. Consequently, pretty young girls from all over England flocked in to London in the hope of enjoying a glamourous career on the stage. The reality, however, was somewhat different from what the majority of them expected. They were worked hard, poorly paid, and as the numbers of them swelled, eventually, by the opening years of the twentieth century, the demand was saturated and engagements then became increasingly hard to come by.

Even when work was plentiful they were commonly subjected to many privations. The dead hours between daytime rehearsals (when they might be in and out of the theatre at varying times) and evening performances were particularly difficult times for many of them. Often, their lodgings might be too far from the theatre for them to easily return there, especially since the cost of the journey was an all-important consideration - but what else to do? With little money to spend, many passed those empty hours aimlessly wandering the streets or, especially in inclement weather, nursing a cup of tea in some seedy cafe.

In 1892, largely due to the efforts of Lady Louisa Magenis who discovered the privations these girls were forced to endure and enlisted the aid of several other influential persons in their cause, a club was established for them at St. Martin's Court in the heart of the theatre district and only a short walk from many of the theatres - later moving to larger and better equiped premises at 29 Leicester Square. Open from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., it was the first club of it's type to exist in London - offering a home-like centre to a particular class of working individuals (it's equivalent in New York did not open until July of 1913!). The club was designed and intended as a place where girls involved in the theatrical profession could go to rest, or to socialise, or enjoy an inexpensive meal. It offered a cheerful sitting room where means for writing letters were provided (many of these girls were far from their families) as well as books, papers, magazines and games. A kitchen provided cups of tea or cocoa at a halfpenny, and chops, steaks and other simple foodstuffs could be had at cost price. The girls were asked to pay a modest subscription for the benefit of the club's services but it was run, in effect, as a charity and largely funded by philanthropic donations from theatrical patrons and by organised fund-raising events. The Duchess of Teck was it's first President, later superceded by Her Royal Highness Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein (3rd daughter of Queen Victoria) who graciously consented to take over in that capacity. It's major patronesses in those early years were the Marchioness of Salisbury (wife of the prime minister), the Duchess of Rutland, the Marchioness of Grundy and Lady Gray. Such theatrical luminaries as The Kendals, Beerbohm Tree, John Hare, Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, Forbes Robertson and others also lent their considerable weight to it's cause.

Reproduced below are some period articles pertaining to the club.

(The Westminster Budget [Weekly, UK] - 19th May, 1893)
A CLUB FOR BALLET GIRLS

Everybody has a club nowadays, and to no one is it a greater boon than to the girls employed in theatres and music-halls, who often live very far from their work, and are in much need of a convenient place in which to spend the time between rehearsals or matinees and the evening performance.

A Good Rest

The happy thought of forming such a club is due to Mrs. Carson, the promoter of the Ladies Theatrical Guild, who, with her usual energy and tact, has already set the Rehearsal Club upon its legs. Its popularity among the girls can be doubted by no one who has been privileged to drop in between five and seven o'clock in an afternoon and seen the groups of girls arrive, some gay and laughing, ready to tell and hear all the theatrical news going; some tired and glad to sink into a comfortable chair and rest. All are hungry, and keep the good-natured housekeeper in a state of bustle and hurry, which does not the least disturb her equanimity or the excellence of her cuisine.

Saturday is the field-day at the club, of course, and "between the shows" the girls flock in from the Empire, Palace, Alhambra, Gaiety, Drury, Royal, &c., those who are not "on" in the afternoon having generally been "in front" at some other house. Poor Jo comes in from the Empire, a jolly little lass with bright, long-lashed eyes, and a funny little laugh, half shy, half provoking.

"What are your favourite parts, Miss Collins?"

"Cheeky boys, that's what I like playing best," says Miss Cleo Collins, looking rather like a cheeky little girl as she speaks.

"The public seem to like to see you in them. You are having something of a success, are you not?"

"Pretty well. I do a Catherine-wheel now, that was rather hard to learn. I didn't know how it was done, so I asked one of the acrobats, and he showed me."

"I suppose everybody behind the scenes is very kind to you."

"I should think they were. They just spoil you, I think."

"These boys' parts don't give you much chance of pretty dresses, though, do they?"

Miss Collins gives one of her quick laughs.

"No. My dress at the Empire is all rags and patches. Such ragged trousers!"

"Have you been long on the stage?"

Playing halma

"I played Sailor Jack when I was ten. But I intend to get on, I do. I went to the manager of the Royal and asked him to let me do a turn there, and he did, and now I'm engaged, and I do a turn every evening there, and then I hurry up and get to the Empire in time to come in the procession."

"It's pretty hard work."

Jo laughs again. I like to make her laugh; she looks such a little rogue.

"I don't mind that."

"Hollo, Jo." Our conversation is cut short by two handsome girls from the Alhambra, and the talk becomes general. I catch scraps as they fly round.

"That girl at our show! Which d'you mean? Miss Seymour? Handsome-dark. Oh, she's clever, she is. Can do 'hunch-en-cutter' all down the stage in heeled shoes. That's clever! It's nothing in dancing shoes; but very few can do it in heels."

I break in, wishing to develop my technical knowledge. "Do tell me what that is?"

I receive ocular demonstration at once.

"Why is it called by that extraordinary name?"

"We don't know. It's one of Madam's (Madame Katti Lanner) words. We just pick up from her."

I speculate as to what "hunch-en-cutter" is in native garb, and entirely fail to guess.

"Where are you on?" The question is asked of two quiet, rather delicate-looking girls, new members, who have come in and sat down in a corner.

Poor Jo

"We were at the Gaiety in 'Faust Up to Date'. Now we're out; we want to get on in a sketch at a music-hall."

"Have you anything in view?"

"We're rehearsing a new sketch at Gatti's. It's an American school, that's what they call it. We don't know where it's to come out. We all wear sun-bonnets and pinafores. It's very funny. The chief lady is called Polly Hopkins. That's her stage name and her real name, too."

"You all seem anxious to come out in sketches."

"Yes, we are. It gives a girl a chance."

There is a cheerful, independent spirit abroad in the club. Opinions are freely given on all subjects, and good-natured chaff rattles about like hail. The ears of some young mashers who fancy themselves behind the scenes must tingle now and then. The little girls they are so kind to are such an irreverent little crew, and here, among their friends, whatever they think they say out in the simplest and clearest language.

"They like theatre ladies very much," said a pretty, smiling young lady.

"And do theatre ladies like them?"

"That depends, sometimes, when they are nice."

(The Daily Mail [London, UK] - 19th March, 1897)
THE REHEARSAL CLUB - TROUBLES OF THE BALLET GIRL

"The other evening," said Mrs. Beerbohm Tree at a meeting yesterday at Londonderry House, in aid of the Rehearsal Club, "I was taken down to dinner by a very smart young gentleman, who said, "Aw, I suppose you have awf'ly jolly times at rehearsals, don't you?" Mrs. Tree thought not, and other actresses, major and minor, agree with her. It was, indeed, to counteract the effects of the exuberant jollity of rehearsals that the Rehearsal Club was formed.

This is a club in St. Martin's court, Charing Cross road, where minor actresses and superior ballet girls while away an hour or two between rehearsals and the serious business of the night. They can read there, or play tiddley-winks, or lie on the sofa and go to sleep. They may reflect, on their own sins, or those of dramatic authors and theatrical managers. They may devise new "business"," or perfect themselves in the mysteries of the old. They may indulge in dreams of successes and bouquets of the future, the pleasures of the principal boy or the intoxicating delights, when Parnassus has been scaled, of a command to appear before Royalty. Or they may speculate on what would be nice for tea.

True, the cuisine of the establishment confines itself to afternoon tea with the usual concomitants, but there are frying pans and grid-irons in the kitchen and any delicacies they care to take in can be cooked for a small consideration. So the budding Bernhardts and Cavalazzis enjoy the comforts of a home as well as those of a club, and go to theatres in the evening as fresh as if rehearsals were unknown troubles in life.

It was not always thus. Chorus girls with an hour or two to spare have as much difficulty in finding a place for their weary feet as the country cousin on a day trip, and a good deal less than the country cousin's zest for wandering about the streets. "I know precisely what happens," said Mrs. Tree. "They leave the theatre weary, depressed, and a trifle cross. Being too far away from home they go to an A.B.C. shop for tea, and make it last as long as possible by eating the cake crumb by crumb and allowing the tea to cool. But there are still a couple of hours left and nothing for it but to stroll aimlessly through the streets. The Embankment palls, and then there are only the shops and the crowded jostling Strand. So they gaze in shop windows they have seen before till they have tried on, in imagination, every garment marked 'very stylish' in London, and know every photograph in the Stereoscopic windows to the topmost row. These are the discomforts of the system. Of its grave dangers I prefer not to speak. The advantages of the club must be obvious to everybody. It serves an excellent purpose in more ways than one."

But it is not supported by manna from the skies, and funds are urgently needed to keep it afloat. The members pay the purely nominal subscription of 6d. per month. That is when they are in town. When in the country - and theatrical companies are always on tour - their subscriptions are suspended. For the purpose of appealing for help yesterday's drawing room meeting was held. Mr. George Alexander presided, and among the speakers were the Duchess of Teck, Mr. Arthur Pinero, Mrs. Beerbohm Tree, and Mr. Edmund Routledge. There was a large attendance, chiefly of ladies. Mr. Alexander explained the constitution and working of the club. Other speakers pressed its claims on theatre-goers, and Mrs. Tree appealed to everybody to see that they have an awf'ly jolly time the rehearsal club!