Dancers in Mourning by Margery Allingham

Dancers in Mourning by Margery Allingham

published 1937

 

This is one of the few Allingham books that I have only read once, a long time ago. I remembered a lot about it, and it was so interesting to come back to it after more than 30 years. And – it was marvellous.

I recently reread Police at the Funeral, and slightly downgraded that – though it’s still an excellent book – while this one has moved up.  And I mentioned in that post a connection with this book.

A character from Police appears in Dancers, so is thus neither the murderer nor a victim. But this would only be a

 

SLIGHT SPOILER

 

if you were in the middle of reading Police at the Funeral.

 

 

If you are not: this is William Faraday – a character whom Allingham plainly softened to over time: he is not attractive at all when he first appears in the earlier book, but he turns into an amiable old buffer during the course of it, and that is definitely his role here.

Uncle William has written his memoirs, and they have proved wildly popular: the book has become a bestseller, and has been turned into a sellout West End musical. The book opens with Albert Campion being pulled, via Uncle W, into a problem at the theatre: the star lead, Jimmy Sutane, is being subjected to a campaign of harassment and Campion is going to look into this – mostly at Jimmy’s big house in the country. Other theatrical people are forever in and out of the house, there are tensions and problems, culminating in the death of a woman from the show, and then endless carnage and trouble...

Uncle William discusses matters with Campion:

‘We’ve landed ourselves among a funny crowd, my boy, haven’t we? A damned curious bandarloggy lot.’

‘Bandarloggy?’ he inquired.

‘Indian,’ explained Uncle William. ‘Means the “monkey people.” Got it out of the Jungle Book,’ he added modestly. ‘Got all my India for my memoirs out of the Jungle Book and Round the World in Eighty Days. Tried Kim but couldn’t get along with it. Funny things about those memoirs, Campion. If I’d done the decent thing and stuck to the truth no one would have read ’em. As it was, they laughed at me and I made a small fortune. I’m not a chump, you know. I can see how that happened. Better be a clown than a pompous old fool. Mother wouldn’t have realised that, though, and she was a clever woman, God rest her soul. I stumbled on it and it made me.’

I mentioned that my favourite passage in all Allingham appears in this book, and that is it. I included banderloggy into my own vocabulary after I first read it… (Rudyard Kipling has featured on the blog, see tag below)

William’s mother is the hideous Great Aunt Caroline - ‘Poor mother! No sense of comfort as we know it today’ – whom Allingham tries to present as eccentric and having a certain charm, though I am very firm in the previous post, and the comments, that I think she has sociopathic tendencies.

Something very important happens in this book: Albert Campion falls in love with Linda Sutane, Jimmy’s wife. For whatever reason, anyone who reads the series knows that he will not end up with her: Amanda Fitton hasn’t turned up yet. Let’s say Linda opens the way for Amanda…

This pic is a page of fashions of exactly the era: late on in the book Linda wears a yellow linen dress which will feature in Campion’s memory & pocket (a button falls off it & he keeps it) – I thought it might be second from the right, but all of them are the kinds of things Linda might have worn.

She was a small gold girl trimmed with brown, not very beautiful and not a vivid personality, but young and gentle and, above all, genuine...

Her gold skin was warm against the dark satin of her dress and her small face was alive and intelligent…

Her black suit with the pleated white collar was a Lelong, and the hat perched on her sleek hair gave her a new air of sophistication which he liked and found somehow comforting.

 

There aren’t many scenes in the theatre, but the musical The Buffer permeates the book, we get glimpses of numbers called The Little White Petticoats and The Leg o’Mutton Escapade. It sounds awful, the worst kind of fake Music Hall show.

There are some great bits of writing:

he was just about to walk out of his refuge when a light wind sprang up in the trees, swinging the shadows like clothes on a line.

Arch, inviting X was dead indeed. It was like the drawer closing on a last year’s hat.

 

And an absolutely wonderful scene following on from the inquest, where random people are at the house having terrible conversations, dropping bricks,  and being cringey with each other –

‘Oh, of course, you’re a relative, aren’t you?’ she said, turning round upon the other woman. ‘An aunt?’

‘Sister-in-law,’ snapped Mrs Pole, a dangerous light in her blue eyes. ‘More like a sister,’ she added defiantly.

and a description of a mourning outft – a subject we love on the blog.

There is a hint that one character, a young male dancer, is gay.

Campion’s excellent manservant Lugg appears late but is an absolute delight as he helps out in the theatrical household:.

‘There’s somethin’ chick about the stage,’ he added unexpectedly. ‘I don’t mind what I do so long as it’s not common.’

He is at his best here, every appearance a delight. Like this passing reference in a policeman’s report:

The man being discussed left ‘his other clothes strewn about for someone else to pack – your man, Mr Lugg, was very chatty on that question, by the way’

There is a tremendous atmosphere of the 1930s: the importance of theatre, the unimaginable fame of musical theatre stars, the fact that news is slow getting out on a Sunday.

The cycling club is of some importance – such clubs were very much a feature of the time.

There is a character whose first name is Squire, which has a most weird effect when the elegant upper-class  Linda says ‘You’ll be back tonight then, Squire?’, which one automatically hears in a certain, most un-Linda-ish, accent.

[Non-UK readers may not be aware that ‘squire’ is used as a mate-y nickname by Cockneys – perhaps like ‘pal’ or ‘chief’]

I had one question at the end: What about the inscription on the watch then?

I would now put this book in my top five of Allingham’s: it’s  compelling and excellent, a very good mystery, and gives a marvellous picture of its era and milieu.

Poster from Transport for London.

The black suit is by Lelong, from the Bergdorf Goodman collection at the NY Met.

Cycling cigarette card NYPL.

The dressing room photo is from the Library of NSW via Flickr, and worth reading the caption:

Notes: Unable to verify if these women are from one of the three Ballets Russes tours, or a JC Williamson musical.