I must take you back thirty years for you to understand how our somewhat strange situation came about. Even then you may not fully understand the nature of the relationship which developed over years of intimacy.
Andre and I met in the spring of nineteen-sixty-three. Had it not been a dank and dismal start to the season, I might have lain forgotten in that dusty cupboard for many more. I can’t tell you why, or when, I was abandoned, but I had apparently suffered a few knocks and bruises in my previous life.
It was Andre’s first year in show business, a rather glamorous description for a children’s entertainer at a holiday camp on the windswept East Anglian coast. He was eighteen, I was considerably older. In fact, when Andre enquired as to my origin, nobody could provide a definitive answer. The manager of the camp thought I might have been bought as part of job lot, acquired when a local theatre closed. He told Andre, if he wanted me, I was his. That’s how we became a couple. Not immediately of course, Andre had to learn the art of ventriloquism first; not an easy task.
There was also a dark blue beret in that same cupboard where I had been loitering, and as soon as Andre popped it on my head, I became René, Andre’s French cousin from Alsace. I insisted on calling him Andre of course, and he frequently corrected me, asserting that his name was Andrew. It became one of signature ripostes.
Andre had a certain boyish charm about him, he was popular with the campers, but extremely shy for someone who had opted for a career in hospitality. But when we made our first public appearance, we were a sensation. Of course, that wasn’t to be for some weeks.
Andre practised in his room when he could, but only when alone, which wasn’t very often as he shared accommodation with three other members of the entertainment team. He kept me in his duffel bag, hidden from his acquaintances, and carried me almost everywhere he went. We were inseparable.
He stumbled over some words at first. The original name he gave me, Pierre, was problematical, so he changed it to René; much easier for him to pronounce. I think he was fond of me from the very start, so I feel some guilt over how things turned out. But life is complicated, n’est-ce pas.
On sunny mornings, when Andre wasn’t on duty, he took me to a secluded grassy knoll above the tennis courts, where we practiced conversation. One day, a voice piped up from behind us. Neither of us had heard the girl approach. Andre had been engrossed in his efforts to pronounce explosive consonants, and my ears are carved from wood, so he couldn’t expect me to warn him.
“Who is your friend?” She asked.
We both turned around and Andre’s mouth dropped open. Mine did too, but only because his finger slipped on my jaw lever. I am sadly incapable of independent emotion.
“I’m sorry,” Andre said, “I didn’t realise anyone else was here.”
“I was only asking his name.”
The girl was maybe a couple of years younger than Andre. I am a bad judge of such things, having always been the same age. Andre had noticed her over the last few days, but most of his time was spent with younger children or adults. Teenagers at the holiday camp made their own entertainment, and it was frowned upon by management for the staff to pursue any romantic relationships with guests.
The girl smiled at him. She had short, straw-blonde hair and was dressed in pink cotton shorts and a white shirt. Andre thought she was prettier than any girl he had ever met.
He introduced me as René and apologised for my accent and lack of fluency in English.
“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance René. And what is your friend’s name?
I had to speak for Andre as he was too embarrassed to speak for himself. After Andre found his own voice, he corrected my pronunciation of his name.
The girl’s name was Annie, and she was at the camp for a fortnight, along with her parents and family friends.
“Are you enjoying your holiday?” Andre asked, kicking himself for sounding so formal and dull.
“Not especially, at least, not until now. Do you play tennis?”
Andre was trying to remember the rules which governed his employment. The instructions they had received at the beginning of the season hadn’t covered playing tennis with guests. They did have a professional tennis coach on the staff, and Andre wondered whether he should point Annie in his direction. But from the rumours which circulated about Brian, he suspected the tennis coach to be a lecherous drunk.
“I’m not very good. Played a little at school.”
“That’s okay. I can teach you.”
“And I suppose I just get to watch?” I added.
Annie giggled and they agreed to meet that afternoon at two o’clock.
Andre said he would book the court, and Annie gave him a little wave as she wandered off down the grassy slope. I pointed out to Andre that he might want to clear the arrangement with the actual tennis coach.
As it turned out, Brian wasn’t concerned or put out.
“As long as you’re not after my job,” he laughed.
He even supplied Andre with a racquet and bag of balls. And at two o’clock precisely, I was propped up on a chair at the end of the net, like a diminutive umpire. Every now and then I would chip in with the score, but they didn’t really need me.
Six days later I witnessed their tearful goodbyes. Addresses were exchanged, promises made, and then we were alone again, just the two of us. Andre and I continued our conversations whenever we could find a quiet place, and by the end of the summer we were appearing in the end of week variety show. Andre was more confident than he had been at the start of the season, but I was, of course, the real star of our double act.
Andre would prompt me over certain words, which I was still finding difficult to pronounce, and the audience loved us. Unlike other comedians of that time, and particularly the resident host of the entertainment team, we didn’t rely on a stream of tired one-liners. Mostly, I spent my time ridiculing Andre, and he spent his time apologising for my rudeness and occasional French swear words. The tennis coach, it turned out, had a French girlfriend who assisted him in his duties. She rather liked me and taught me phrases she thought I could get away with.
At the end of the season, when the camp was hosting its last week of visitors, the manager summoned Andre to his office. I tagged along. We were, by then, inseparable. We feared that Annie’s parents might have made a belated complaint about our relationship. But far from the dressing down we were expecting, the manager offered us a contract for the following season.
That was the moment when everything changed for Andre, but he didn’t realise at that time. That summer, and me, had not only provided him with a career, but also introduced him to the girl he was going to marry.
Andre and Annie exchanged letters, Christmas cards and I, René, received my first Valentine’s Day card. But the young lovers didn’t meet again until the summer of the following year. By then, Andre had almost perfected my voice, had had several phrases in French, which I used whenever exasperated by him, and our act was featured every Friday night on the camp stage.
Annie turned seventeen that year and, on their annual visit to the camp, she introduced Andre and me to her parents. We all got on rather well.
That was twenty years ago. Andre, eventually relenting to pressure from myself and Annie to officially change his name, is now known for his television appearances and regularly features in pantomime. We have a reputation for being one of the most popular ‘Buttons’ in the theatre world. Any show featuring us is a guaranteed full house.
However, life has not always been so simple on the domestic front. I was his best man when he and Annie were married, and I have, on occasions, enjoyed sharing their marital bed. This was at Annie’s insistence, claiming she had married me as well as Andre, and was in love with both of us. She meant our personalities of course; nobody falls in love with an inanimate assembly of wood and cloth – do they?
Annie and Andre never had children. A medical explanation was offered, but blame was laid squarely on Andre’s doorstep by Annie. It was a little unfair, but she could hardly blame me.
Fame and fortune, both in abundance, never made up for the lack of a family. Adoption was briefly contemplated, but our peripatetic lifestyle was not looked on favourably by the agencies who consider such things. C’est la vie.
I would like to point out that I am blameless in regard of what followed. I have no real voice of my own, no ability other than to follow the lead of Andre. So, when Annie decided that separate beds would allow her a better night’s sleep, and that I should sleep with her, words failed both Andre and me.
But separate beds did not mean separate rooms. How would Annie and I have managed to converse if Andre was not close by. It was a tense time and, as you might imagine, could not endure for very long.
It was Andre who chose to confront the arrangement. He left me with Annie, and he moved to a nearby rented house. I was left speechless. Annie refused to talk to Andre, and it was only when I telephoned her, that she agreed to address the conundrum of our three-way relationship.
I reasoned with Annie, tactfully broaching the reality that Andre and I were inseparable. She claimed that I was more passionate, more considerate, warmer, more understanding, even more entertaining than Andre. It was an awkward problem. One which required considerable skill and ingenuity to overcome.
Annie released me to Andre’s custody when necessary. We had performances, appearances and filming schedules which had to be honoured. Our livelihood relied on fulfilling our contractual arrangements.
It was during an arduous week, rehearsing a television variety show, that a possible solution occurred to Andre. After negotiating with our agent, and a rather hastily prepared private audition with the producer, the scene was set. Special effects had to be arranged at short notice, and it was on live television that the dramatic event would be enacted.
I telephoned Annie beforehand to ensure she would watch our performance. She was at first reluctant but promised me that she would watch at the scheduled time, a little after eight o’clock that evening.
Just before our appearance, a magic act was scheduled. The Great Electro, as he was called, was an old friend of Andre’s. They had met in those early days in the holiday camps and remained in touch throughout their careers.
As a finale, the Great Electro had two cabinets on stage. Andre placed me in one, and a curtain was drawn across, shielding me from the view of the cameras. Andre stood in other cabinet and was similarly obscured from view.
Two large metallic balls, one on top of each cabinet, were slowly moved towards each other. Sparks flew between them, symbols clashed, and thunder rolled ominously over the stage.
During the procedure, Andre and I remained conversing, confessing both our nervousness at what was happening, and strange sensations running through our bodies.
As the special effects faded away, both curtains were drawn back to reveal that we were both still in the same cabinets. Laughter erupted throughout the auditorium, but not as much as when we next spoke. Andre had my voice and he mine. Annie would be able to live with one she loved and I, well, there is probably another props cupboard somewhere with a shelf large enough for me to rest my head.