How I Became a VIP by Mary Mae Lewis
It was a dark, depressing December. The winter storms had come early, and a dose of the flu had left me weak and tearful. I hadn’t seen my two young grandchildren since the July as their mother (my common law daughter-in-law) forbade it and my son, the children’s father, was too cowardly to object.
I poured my heart out to a friend’s eighty-year-old mother, who I had met coincidentally at an organ recital at the Victoria Hall, Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent. Classical music had become my solace after being sidelined as a grandmother. “You don’t feed them right. You upset them with your fairy tales. You let them stay up late. You let them loose in the garden. You don’t button up their coats when they go out.” My daughter-in-law had said.
Retired teacher Winnifred, it turned out, was now a school governor at the primary school, which our ten-year-old and five-year-old attended. I learned Damien, the eldest, was due to appear in the school’s Xmas show and was practising his singing and dancing with gusto. A cheerful chappie, he was already proficient in flute and by all accounts ‘a shining star’.
“I’ll be going to the opening night of the concert next week,” Winnie told me. “You can come with me. If you like. I’ll get you a ticket. You can come as my carer.” She winked. “You know I am not too good on my legs these days!”
That evening arrived; I was due to pick Winnie up in my car so we could drive to the school together. But after knocking on she said she was too full of flu herself to go out and I must go to the event on my own. Concerned that I might not be let in, Winnie assured me that she had explained to the headmistress, on the phone, that very afternoon that she was too unwell to attend, and she was sending me as her replacement; I was guaranteed a seat on the front row. My stomach churned; no doubt my daughter-in-law would be in the audience and what would she think (or even do!) when she saw me sitting with the governors?
I reached the doors to the school hall, where the show was about to commence, within a whisper of the curtains going up.
“Wait. VIP arriving!” my usher shouted out into the auditorium. I felt her arm propel me through those swing doors and into semi-darkness. Clumping across the floor, I headed for the only empty seat at the front, feeling as if all eyes were on me. Then, as I manoeuvred my backside onto the chair and lowered my weight, the stage curtains went up to a burst of bright lights and a cacophony of big band music.
“Who are you?” mouthed the lady to my right.
“Well, er, nobody,” I spluttered. The elegant lady stifled a gasp. I smiled meekly before breaking out into a grin. Our Damien was leading a group of lads, skipping and chanting, across the stage. Dressed in cloth caps, baggy trousers, white shirts and braces, they sang, We are the Jolley Potters. The backdrop to this number being a stage set showing belching bottle kills and an ancient pot bank.
My heart leapt to see my darling grandson belting out lyrics showing love and affection for his city, often called The Potteries.
“Oh, what a beautiful boy!” the lady at my elbow couldn’t contain her emotion.
“That’s my grandson.” I swelled with pride. “I haven’t seen him since before the school summer holidays.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
At the interval, over tea and biscuits, I explained, briefly, to my new acquaintance, the circumstances of my not being allowed access to my grandchildren. She was most sympathetic; she patted my hand when I had explained that Damien was born when my son was only eighteen and his relationship with the mother (five years older) had always been rocky; “It happens,” she said, but then concentrated more on telling me that Damien had that special something and would certainly do well in life. “And I can see he owes a lot to you for that,” she added, with another pat of the hand. “Be assured. Your grandson will rise above all this. He’s got it. That special it. Mark my words.”
I never forgot the kind words of this lady, who it turned out was wife of the director of the local theatre. Rosemary had been an actress herself once in the West End, before turning to teaching in the city.
“Well, if anyone can spot a winner, she can,” I thought to myself and in time Damien proved her right.
Although he went on to appear in other school plays and productions put on by local drama groups, including Pantomimes at the Queen’s Theatre in Burslem, he finally chose to study medicine at University College London. After qualifying he worked for a few months at the Royal Free in London (on the front line of the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020) then worked in Brighton hospital where he won accolades for best doctor of his rank for the year, and repeated the excellence in Margate before becoming a practitioner at King’s Hospital London, while at the same time passing the exams to become a member of the Royal College of Physicians. He emigrated to the Gold Coast, Australia, in January 2024.
It looks like his acting skills are proving to be useful after all!
