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Bluebell Girls: scrapbook of newspaper clippings and photographs


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1939 to 1960


From the Margaret Kelly Collection on the Bluebell Girls, MS-00604. The scrapbook includes newspaper clippings about the Bluebell Girls, Folies-Bergère, and dancer Catherine Dunne's experiences in Milan, Italy at the start of World War II.

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sod2022-010. Margaret Kelly Collection on the Bluebell Girls, 1935-1997. MS-00604. Special Collections and Archives, University Libraries, University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Las Vegas, Nevada.


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Universal Scrap & Newscutting Book

(made in England)

No. 50.

160 Pages


John Walker & Co. Ltd. Farringdon House Warwick Lane, E.C. 4.



SCRAP & NEWSCUTTING BOOKS Inches. Millimetres.

No. 30 » 40 » 50

9-4-X 7l 247x187 J2 X gj 305x241 14IX10 368 X 254



(Established 1855.)





UREGISTERED AT THE GEN L post office as a newspa



■ w

s Prisoner

QA THERINE CECILIA DUNNE’S suitcases speak for their owner. I hey bear labels of dozens of hotels all

over France, Switzerland, and—Italy. •

Now these suitcases are lying in a Glasgow flat. And Catherine is staying put in the city, too. To her, Glasgow is heaven, though she is out of work as a result of “ Show Boat ” coming off after its second week at the Alhambra Theatre.

This slim, blonde dancer wanted adventure. She’s had it—and how!

Dublin-Torn daughter of a Customs official now living at Whitstable, Kent, she went on the stage when she was 14. On her 16th birthday she sailed with a Sherman Fisher dancing troupe for

South America, where she spent six months.

On her return she went to France and danced for two winter seasons in the famous Foiies Bergere, spending each summer appearing in theatres through­ out Italy. A pleasant, colourful life—

with background of gay .music and •f <

But, with the outbreak of war, it changed suddenly. Catherii adventures began—with back explo'ding bombs and

shouted Fascist orders.

By a Folies Bergere Dancer

WHEN the ” Show Boat ” tied up for the last time and I, along with a lot of others, found myself without work and with little chance of getting another engage­ ment soon—thanks to Hit, Muss, arid Co.—

I personally didn’t give one tiny damn. I’ve had to put up with so much—again thanks to Hit, Muss, and Co.—that being

out of a job seems a very small matter.

delighted when our contract was extended The orchestra in the casino where we had

for another month. danced were already in military uniforms And, of course, I had an extra reason for and packing up their instruments. We

being happy. Aldo and I had fallen in gathered our things and went back to the

I keep saying to myself those magic words—“ I’m back in Britain!”—and I’m happy, even though the Fascists have ■s collared most of my savings and my ■ jewellery, and the Huns have captured a trunkful of lovely clothes I had to leave behind in Paris. Awful to think of some

stodgy frauleins wearing them.

It would have been fairly easy for me to ■ have got back to Britain if I hadn’t fallen

in love.
It was in August, last year, in Zurich,

that I met Aldo for the first time, intro­ duced at an after-the-show party. I was captain of the Folies Bergere troupe of dancers appearing in the theatre of the

love at first sight. Sounds a bit sentimental, maybe, but there it was.

And although the newspapers—British and Swiss—were screaming “ WAR!” my sweetheart and I scarcely gave it a thought. We dined, danced, swam, and went boat­ ing together. We were terribly happy.


Then the first blow fell. Our romance was to take a few heavy blows in the months

that followed.

The Swiss Government ordered general mobilisation. Our agent phoned me at my hotel. “ They’ll close the exhibi­ tion,” he said. “ They’ve notified me your contract is cancelled. Better get your stuff out right away.”

I took the girls—twelve of us altogether —down to the exhibition at once. It was the foreno' on August 30. The-place,


I was responsible for the girls and my one idea was to take them back to Paris. I was very unhappy at the thought of part­ irig from Aldo. But I had only time to think of the immediate future—-getting a train out of Switzerland.

Two days passed before we got a mid­ night train to Basle. “ It’ll be all right.

We’ll meet again soon,” said Aldo when he saw me off. “ The Italians won’t fight against the British.”

At Basle we had to abandon our heavy luggage and change into another train. Pretty awful journey it was~4rain packed, semi-black-out. Late on Saturday, September 2, we arrived in Paris.

The place was in confusion. No taxis; no porters. I was in a bit of a pickle. Then I spied a gendarme and told him a little white lie, that I was in charge of an English school that was trying to get back home. He managed to get hold of a police patrol van and the girls wheeled their baggage to it on trucks.

(Continued on Paste Eight)

■ ■

Swiss National Exhibition. from Italy on business.

Aldo had come It was an honour for us girls to be chosen

which b

,n so gay the night before, was like a morgue when

b grounds.

E for the exhibition show and u 1. 1®

^.-.C .


T HMeMuX7’®'t Cath«"«

selves but to Mr. and7 Mile .happ,ness to them-

want thei" fc'/the'TMaJ°‘


thMC wh°

'th» *

daughter Christine, now7n

a,"d their


Th?"1 cuppld »-iu, Td ig





a Catholic,”

Murray told the South London

busband and wife wr^act^hay

Everybody expected

b°u'bt me a


Mr. and Mrs. McMurray b ^

Mrs McMurray h „ Bergere troupe and^

u cnmes trials‘ Bluebell’ -^P n'°

of a Fol,es

Part of the war sheB wls intern^-'"8 th®. ear,y

g.r .miled-«„d’ thought

What a crowd of lickspittles.” enc°u»ter with another member of

Ihe show was just about over when one washeadTnHS Caille tO nJ%and said the'-e

a geuHeman wanted to see me

Tell him to come in,” I said. A youne

exquisite in Fascist uniform opened the

door as soon as I said this and bowed to

me. He asked me if I would like to go to a party.

DTa'V.n,ed cheek.;” I thought to mvself.

But J dldl? t it- After all he locked

somebody high up. Instead I told him I

was sorry but I couldn’t accept his in­ vitation.

The fashion plate Fascist smiled Then he revealed that it was Bruno Mussolini who was giving the party.

“ Signor Bruno is waiting in the passageway outside this room,” he said impressively. “ He wishes the entire dancing troupe to give a show at a concert he is interested in—and after that, the party!”

I like the ordinary Italian men and women, the non-fascists who ambled through life as happy as children before Mussolini put the screw on them. So I was quite willing to do a charity show.

“ What’s the show for?” I asked Bruno’s batman or aide-de-camp or whatever he was.

“ Signor Bruno has arranged this con­ cert in aid of our army funds,” said Bruno’s man.

Army funds! Weli, that was too much of a good thing. Great how patriotic you become once you set foot in a foreign country. The idea of helping the Italian army appalled me.

“ Oh, I’m sorry,” I told my visitor, “ we are so busy we can’t . . .”

. After Christine
■n a deep coma in hospital

at rema"iage.

—nt and ,ay*n,s'?g anyone,

Chb- r in


rouse her

he hosp,tal

SqUU)8 beside

«««m.. Now

and hopes to be

home by ChrkJL Christmas.

The Duce’s Son

Five made happy by this remarria

I saw the girls on to the boat train, then I went off to a girl friend’s flat in the Rue Blanche. I had decided to wait on in

Paris for news of my young sisters, twins Chrissie and Maureen, and their girl friend, who, I knew, had been on a tour of Italian theatres.

After getting my luggage to my friend’s place, I dashed round all the stations meeting dozens of trains in the hope that off one would come Chrissie and Maureen and Margaret Steele Smith.

There was no sign of them. Next day I heard both Mr Chamberlain and M. Daladier announce war with Germany. That night I heard my first air-raid siren. My friend and I hurried down to the shelter with gas masks (I’d bought one) .

The French judged you had 20 minutes to get into a shelter after the sirens sounded. As we scrambled down into the shelter one woman exclaimed—“ Gaz!” That was enough. We all put on our gas masks—and sat with them on for 40 minutes.

Of course there was no gas, only some distant A.A. fire. But we were in that confounded shelter from shortly after midnight

until seven in the morning.

Paris was packed and very noisy.
Goering’s horrible hordes would be over any moment. My girl friend and I decided to have a quiet night’s rest in the country. So we went to a little hotel on the outskirts.

The woman who owned the place smilingly assured us we’d have a good night’s sleep—" You wouldn’t know there was a war on here.” That’s what SHE thought!

I was tired and went to bed at nine o’clock. An hour and a half later came the sirens and madame yelling her old head off_ “ Le Boche! Le Boche! Il vient!”

a rather cool one at that—1 was amused at he way artistes came off and excitedly told how they d seen Countess Edda smi! mg or applauding. ,1!l


■■■ as ■■ ■■ MB ■■bbbbbbbb ■ I waited on for news of

b my young sisters, Chrissie

Convinced that the invasion b (top) and Maureen had started, I jumped out of bed, ■ (centre), who, with their

got hold of my girl friend, and, with the whole village—men, women, children, dogs, and cats— we trekked up to the hills.

girl friend, Margaret Steele Smith (bottom), had been

After an hour’s trudge we settled down
in a field. It was a lovely moonlit night ■ ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ BB Bo

but bitterly cold. We heard distant A.A. fire for a little, then silence broken only by a babel of excited voices and the barking of dogs.




At 4 a.m. I couldn’t stick it any longer.

The Fascist was aghast. He threw out his hands and he almost screeched

■ on a tour of Italian

b theatres. .

APi P11- tiine the idea of getting
“ I’m frozen. I’m going back to the to Aldo m Italy. I studied every speech The revue in which I was appearing—a “ But it’s for Signor Bruno Musso­

hotel,” I said. And back we went with Mussolini- made, read all there was to beautiful show glorifying the modern girl the whole village plodding on behind. read about Italy in the newspapers to see —opened at the Mercadante Theatre,

“ I am very sorry,” I said again,

“ but tell Signor Bruno that it is impossible. We have too many rehearsals.”

The man kept on protesting. I showed him politely to the door. When I looked past him I saw Bruno standing, feet planted apart and head thrown back—just

like his old man. BRUNO—RUTHLESS


Bruno must have heard some of our con­ versation. He must, have known that his henchman had failed in his errand. But he disdained to look at me I wished the

mij “ fflorioi,s moment.” 1

A simple incident, over in less than 10

did all they’d told me to do. Edda dres^d m white and with her chin sticking out just like her dad s, took the gardenia and gave a little smile and bow of thanks



t h ^ v

she was interned in an Italian prison when her danrin. ♦ ,nterned ,n an Italian

Italy. ancing troupe was stranded in Brixton-rd^aZMr and M ?ame hoUse at 251

a guest at that first weddhi/” ^’ MrS* Sca,es Was a«o and she and her husb±8 1" °e1Tany 12 years

X THtYMARRY Dave was gHivirg?i sShows But the?

They were able to tell me that Hilda My parents weren’t too keen, but I’d fever of excitement—and Italians can be

married again at the was ca. 2da“ncer i’n t"he F~o“lies Maureen yes

week-end—to the woman he Bergere in Paris.

has been married to for 12 They had a

years. oflfice wedding,.

They were both TOO

U n m o { n f. home, in JJ

register S.W.:

either German sub. or plane.
I was glad to get back. But then convoy. I was terribly happy—if I’d be able to go on. The “ honour ” aide-de-camp good night but he hai y

for tmhe troops. f®11s wife snag.

A - - Brixton sr

{S ahu2* of

On December 17, 1939—in a cold, raw dawn—I sailed for France in a

Some of the Italian stars were so nervous that I thought they wouldn’t

BUSY for a church wed­ baby they thought‘ a-*b--o-u-t* rC’a+th.honlilv'l ?-•

ding in Germany in 1946.

a church wedding, .


3. religi

permission to go abroad from the Foreign

daughter, was to be present.

We slept till about 8 a.m. then went how things were going to turn out.

back to Paris. I was exasperated when I

found my twin sisters had called at the No doubt it was wishful thinking,

Naples. A very fashionable audience it was with a great many uniforms, Italian and German, in the stalls. And although

flat not long after I had left for that but I felt Italy was going to be these people out front knew we were

“quiet night ” in the country. They left sensible and stay out of the war. So,

British they gave us a big hand.
From the Mercadante the show moved to the Four Fountains Theatre in Rome. And it was there I met two of Benito’s

One night I went along to work and

a message to say they were waiting for me at Boulogne. T packed like lightning and followed them there.

I asked them if they had heard anything: about Hilda, our eldest sister, who was, I knew, also on the Continent somewhere.

when I received a letter from the Folies Bergere people in Paris offer­ ing me a six months’ contract in Italy, it seemed as if Fate and little Dan Cupid were on my side after all.

found everybody behind the stage in a


I |

was helping to produce theatrical shows made up my mind. I dashed up from excitable. Cause of all this was the fact

for a French company in Milan, and was, as far as they knew, still there.

Our boat home zig-zagged all the way •across the Channel, but we never saw

Whitstable to London and got visas and that Countess Edda Ciano, Mussolini’s

And _
And after their second Scotland

“ Dave

known what I was to go through I’d have “ hared ” it home to Whit­

came weeks of yvaiting for word from my
sweetheart. Eventually I got a letter.
Aldo wrote, that he was unhappy without
me, had tried to get a visa to come to stable at Spitfire speed.
Britain and had been refused it. I was the only woman aboard the ship.

It seemed that letters took a long time: The captain—an old dear—kept a fatherly to get from Italy to Britain. Several Aldo eye on me, saw I didn’t move without

didn’t worry us any.

But I was caught up in the excitement too—all because, at one part of the show, I went down into the stalls and gave gardenias to people in the audience.

The manager of the theatre came hurry­ ing round to the dressing room to im­ press upon me that the first gardenia MUST go to the Countess Edda. The

heard me. He turned with an apologetic air and a sweeping salute to his young


As I closed the door I heard him starting to explain. And I g°t a lightning glimpse of Bruno. His rather fat face had a scowl on it. His underlip jutted out in a pout. He looked as if someone had run oft with his ice-cream barrow.

I thought I’d hear more of the incident, After all I had snubbed the Duce s som And from what I’d .heard all over Italy, Bruno is not used to being spurned by the ladies to whom he extends his

sent me went missing. So instead of my lifejacket.

letters he sent me telegrams. A queer and expensive way of paying court. Aldo even tried to phone me from Italy but wasn’t allowed to do so.

The Channel trip was quite uneventful. stage manager was summoned to this In Paris I met the other dancers, ail frenzied conference. He "was instructed English girls, and we had a pleasant nor­ to make certain that the gardenia destined mal trip to Rome.

Next Week

gaged. played the Italian National Anthem and He wanted to get married right away. the Fascist Anthem. The audience stood I wanted to wait. Still wasn’t sure which as Edda, accompanied by a drove of ele­

A ruthless Romeo, I understand.
I couldn’t help comparing Bruno with

Aldo. What a difference—Aldo so sin­

cere, generous and loyal. I saw much of

my fiance. He was usually lucky enough

to get away from business to be with me

during the day. He used to travel mites

to see me. ,. . , Our hopes that Italy would remain out

of the war were beginning to soar as .he

friends had been killed by Germans and Austrians 20 years before. —


V Sa

I -——- ■



way Mussolini would jump.

“ I’d hate to marry you then find you were coming in against us,” I told Aldo.

I remember how his face clouded and he said—“ Oh, damn Hitler and this war, too! These Germans. . .”

It was in a cafe and I shush-shushed him in terror. Rome was full of German officers strutting about as if they already owned the place.

gant men and women, took her seat. Ciano himself was absent.

The show began. Being a Briton—and



for the Countess Edda should be the “ best .We saw very few signs of war, and the in Rome.” I was told how to approach train was well up to time. At Rome, Aldo Edda, how to curtsey and how to back

■was waiting. It was wonderful seeing him away from her again.
again. A few days later we became en­ Edda arrived. The perspiring orchestra patronage. He has tons of girl fnends.

months passed.

assured me their country would nevei fight mine. Most of them loathed the Germans. Their fathers, brotheis and


Yet those same Germans and Austrians were being feted and fawned upon by the Fascisti. Not only that, but the Germans were insinuating themselves into jobs in shops, restaurants and hotels all over Italy. I was amazed to find a big per­ centage of even the cloakroom girls were frauleins.

I know what “ peaceful infiltra­ tion ” means. No wonder German propaganda was strong in Italy with all these people about to spread the Nazi gospel. "

But, in spite of that, the Germans are not liked in Italy. I used to hear the way the Italians spoke about the British Navy, They respected and feared it. And they were genuinely fond of our tars when they paid countesy visits to Italian ports.

to the orchestra conductor to play the Fascist anthem and the students sang the chorus. Although the audience stood, few sang. I peered out from the wings.

There was dead silence when the anthem was finished. The leading man stepped to the front of the stage. “ Now play the Italian national anthem,” he told the orchestra conductor.

This time the audience did sing and when they finished there was wild ap- plause. The students, still shouting,

To the Police Station

Then be said suddenly, “ I want to see your passport.”

I was flabbergasted and just stood gaping at the man. When I recovered a bit from the shock of this sudden appear­ ance I asked him: “ What on earth do you want with my passport?”

“ There are some questions you have to answer,” he said. “ I think you’d better come down to the police station.” :

“ I’m not going—I’ve someone to sec. I’ve an appointment,” I protested.

He put his hand on my arm. I twisted away, but he caught hold of me. Just then another man obviously one of his mates, came in.
“ You had better come along,” said | this chap, “ it will not help you if | you make a fuss.”

So I walked out with the two mon.l There was a police car standing outsider the hotel. For a moment I thought off making a bolt for it. The men seemed to| read what was in my mind for they! caught hold of my arms and hustled meJ into the car.

I was furious at having my lunch date! mucked up. But I never thought as wa rolled along to the police station that! days would pass — days of heart-achea misery and utter despair-before I sail

BRUNO-—I turned down his party my fiance again.
Catherine Dunne continues her adven-J


marched out and the show went on.
I was nervous and sent round word to the chief of police. I wanted an escort About May of this year, when my con­ home for myself and the girls. This was tract was coming to an end, Aldo and I readily granted. The Italians, rabid

figured that, although Mussolini had to play up to Hitler and do a bit of anti-

Allied ranting now and then, it wouldn’t come to anything.

So I agreed that my fiance should go ahead and get the documents ready for our marriage. I began to buy my trous- seau. 1 was never happier in my life.

Fascists excepted, can be very polite.

My happiness didn’t last long.
Aldo came to my hotel in Rome one
day looking very worried. He had
found that Mussolini had made a
new law prohibiting marriages man. a friend of one of the girls. He between Italians and “ foreigners ” didn’t say much, seemed shy. No one paid without special permission. any particular attention to him.


After Genoa we toured the Italian cities. With the anti-British feeling that was being inflamed all the time things changed. I was never a great believer in a woman’s intuition. But I had the feeling I was being shadowed.

One instance' came just after the little bit of excitement at Genoa. I was sitting in a cafe with other members of the company when we were joined by a young

All this shadowing was annoying but 1 I Rather brusquely they had told him was walking along the street with Aldo wasn’t afraid. I thought it. was just the !

tures in next week’s issue. 1

that this “ special permission ” might not when we came face face with the be granted for two months if it were stranger in the cafe. He was with an­ granted at all. other man and raised his hat.

Aldo wanted to put in his application for As soon as we were out of earshot Aldo a marriage certificate right away. I whispered to me: “Where did you meet didn’t know what to think. Then, sud­ him?” Fora moment I thought Aldo was denly, on June 1, the Italian press began being jealous, not like him at. all. His its hate campaign against Britain. voice was so urgent. I told him,

Preparations were made for war. My “ Did you speak English when you met heart sank when I saw that private cars him,” my fiance asked anxiously. I told

sort of thing to expect in a Fascist country. But I was anxious to get out of the country and back home. I kept in touch with the passport office, but still

there was no answer to my application. The blow came suddenly.
I spent all one morning shopping and

went back to my hotel shortly before lunch time. I’d just got to my room when Aldo phoned and asked me if I’d come to lunch with him.


were off the roads and that black-out prac­ tice had started. Our hopes were smashed.

Then the show moved on to Milan. I went and routed out my sister Hilda,, and we had a good hour or two’s “ news.”


I confided my fears about war to her, but Hilda did not seem to think there was anything to worry about.

Despite that, I applied next day at the questura — passport office — for a visa to

get home.

“ You cannot leave Italy without special permission from the Italian Government,” an official told me a bit gruffly.

“ This surely something new said.

“ New law, out last night,” the man told me.

“ Well can’t you get me special per­ mission ?” I asked.

“ I’ll take your name—but you will have to wait,” he said.

When I asked him how long I would have to wait he shrugged his shoulders, The man was about as bewildered as I was.

I told Hilda what had happened, She took it philosophically, “ Well, then. we’ll just have to wait,’’ she said.

Hilda’s calm view of things re­ assured me. Poor girl, she’s still in Italy as far as we know.

My father has tried to get news of her without any success.

I don’t wish to give any more details about Hilda as they might react on her. One consolation we have is that she is well able to hold her own.

I left Hilda on receiving another con­ tract—a short one. The agents pooh- poohed my fears of war. “ Don’t be silly,” they said. “ We’ll not fight against Britain, you’ll see.”

I wasn’t so sure of this when, during a show in Genoa a week later students came into the theatre and started a demon­ stration. There were about 300 of them

all shouting their heads off. They ran

down the aisles screaming “ Viva u

Duce.” , ,
The shovv stopped. The leading man

stood in the middle of the stage smiling nervously. One of the students shouted

Continued on Page 13

him I had.

Aldo looked worried. He did not want to scare me and I had rather a job getting him to tell me that he suspected the man of being a member of the Polizia Secrete, the Fascist secret police.

I did not see the man again. But it was obvious he had set the blackshirt watchdogs on my trail. Night after night I was followed from the theatre to my hotel.

Occasionally I could see my shadowers walking up and down the street outside. They were in mufti of course. Sometimes they smoked and chatted together in the street as if they had just met.

It was a pleasant surprise because he had expected to be out of town on busi­ ness. So I said I’d be along to meet him quickly. I put on my newest summer frock (how I was to hate that frock!) and was actually singing for happiness when there was a sharp rat-tat on the door.

Some time later, however, in Milan. I

Rome, Naples, Milan, San Marco—the labels on Catherine Dunne’s cases tell the story of her travels.

“Come in, whoever you are!” I called gaily as I put a hat on before the jnirror.

“Mees Dunay?” I heard a man’s voice say.

“ Yes, I’m Miss Dunne,” I said, and turned to see a thick-set man standing with his hat on in the doorway.

Grilled By Fascist Secret Police

{IMAGINED I was being taken to the Milan police station to be asked some routine questions, the kind the Glasgow police might ask an alien visitor.

And I hadn’t the slightest doubt Fd be able to answer the Italians’ questions satisfactorily. After all, I hadn’t done anything. My one concern was that I wouldn’t be late for my lunch date with Aldo, my Italian fiance.

I got the first shock outside my hotel. Drawn up at the kerbside was a police van—a Black Maria. I stopped suddenly in amazement.

One of the detectives suddenly gripped my arm, and he and his mate bundled me into it. 1 found myself sitting in the back between two armed guards, ordinary police in uniform with revolvers.

“ I’m being arrested!’’ That was the thought that kept hammer­ ing at my brain. I was wild.

“ Listen, what’s all this about?” I asked one of the guards.


The man didn’t look at me. He just stared ahead like one of Milan’s many statues.

“ Look here, what am 1 supposed to have done?’’ I asked again. “ What can you charge me with?”

Head dancer in charge of a troupe on tour in Italy, Catherine Dunne was preparing for her wedding when the Italian press began its hate campaign against Britain.

Her show moved to Milan. Then Aldo Carlo, her fiance, discovered that, under a new law, he would require special permission to marry a “ foreigner.”

Italy made preparations for war. Catherine made preparations for home, only to be told that she could not get out without permission from the Italian Government. She made application.

Still the Italian people she came in contact with assured her Italy would never fight against Britain.

The British girl was not so sure. She discovered she was being shadowed wherever she went. Next step was a visit from two officers of the Fascist Secret Police.


« Catherine was ordered to “ come

a S MM MMMM-MMMMMMMMJUUaLM_H« ■ » SR a R ■■ ■nan 11 ■■ ■■ ■■


This time I managed to rouse the man to speak.


thing different. I knew it wouldn’t help me at all if I gave them any backchat. So, angry as I was. 1 determined to keep my temper under control.

We were in a courtyard in front of a large square greystone building. Guards were closing the big iron gates at the entrance as 1 jumped down.

I couldn’t have been more closely guarded if I’d been a maniac who had tried to assassinate Mussolini. My armed escorts got on each side of me. The detectives led the way into the building, and the driver of the police van, a burly chap, brought up

the rear-

Into the building, along f t ”* ' passageways and up several flights of stone J stairs” we marched. Not a word was

spoken. Then, in a small hall on the i top flat of the building we halted.
■i “ In here.” said one of the detectives 1 opening a door. I went into what was ! evidently a waiting room.

“ You should know better than I,” he snapped. “ It’s nothing to do with me, so you can save your breath.”

“ Thanks very much!” I said, in a temper.

“ Y ou’ll know what you want to know soon now, signorina! ’ muttered the other guard. Just

then the van swung through an entranceway off a quiet street at the back of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, the city’s famous arcade.

As soon as it stopped I was ordered to get down. I’d always found the Italians, in general, to be a courteous people. But these

were Fascist officials. . . Continued on Page 8.


♦ down to the police station.”

ALDO, Catherine’s fiance.

■ ■■■■■«■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■





and disappeared into an inner room. The two guards remained in the waiting room with me, standing stiff and silent by the door. I sat in a corner. I was rather peckish for I’d only had the usual con­ tinental breakfast—rolls and coffee—and

it was now lunch-time.
I'd been sitting in that dismal dump

for about half an hour when a young, well-dressed man, rather good-looking too, came into the room from the hall. The guards paid no attention to him. Another tec, I thought.

But the young man came over to me and smiled down in a friendly way. Then he said with a rich Ameri­ can accent, “ I guess you’re British.”

I was terribly bucked when I heard that Yankee twang. I was more delighted when he revealed he’d been sent to act as interpreter and help me generally when I came before the police chiefs.

My spirits rose. I felt it wouldn’t be long before the police were apologising for a silly mistake and bowing me out of the police station.

The young man seemed to think the same. We chatted away. I told him I was on the stage.

‘‘ What on earth have they brought i OU here for ?” he wanted to know.

« “ J haven't the foggiest notion,” I said, unless they’ve brought oijf some new rule that all foreigners are to be questioned.” We were talking in English and I was rather surprised the guards didn’t butt m and order us to speak in Italian. Only reason thev didn’t, I thought, was that nW .n?w frier)d was probably a consular official, and they’d be chary of trying to

boss him about.

Don’t tell me you’ve been talking about the Duce or politics?” the young man said with a smile. I assured him I’d

done no such thing.

Spadaro,” appeared in a local newspaper.

terpreter when we started out from the THE QUESTIONERS police station. He was most concerned about the whole thing. “ I don’t under­ GET GOING stand why they had to question you,” he said. What made them suspicious? The young man looked puzzled. He was Have you any friends—Greek, American

detectives knocked on another door

nlWQ»W»»*»MX w**rr 1(‘M11<H<H1011M4wji&i*

OHESiTK IMLA.MCIA ME»W ItAE If t#»S•.!.•:(> Hl.EW When Catherine Dunne was appearing at the Rossetti Theatre, Trieste, this cartoon of the show, “ The Revues of

very charming and sympathetic. While or British—they might be suspicious we chatted the door of the inner room about, Miss Dunne ?”
opened, a man put his head out, and my “No, it’s as big a mystery to me as to interpreter excused himself to me and you,” I told him.

went into the room. j

I was much easier in my mind by this time. The American, I felt sure, would be able to establish that I was quite harmless.

We did arrive at my hotel though, but the detectives came, in with me. . “ I’ll come along too, Miss Dunne,” said the interpreter, “ just in case you need me.”

One of the detectives got my room key from the reception desk and we all walked upstairs. I wondered if the de­

About half an hour after the inter­ tectives were going to lock me up and

preter had left me a detective came out of the inner room and said, “Come in.”

I blinked when I got into the room. It was much larger than the waiting room and the sunshine streamed in through two big uncurtained windows.

At a massive desk sat two mon, their backs to the window. Near the desk I stood a man, evidently the boss of the/ show for he was putting on a Mussolini act,, his feet wide apart and his chin jutting out like the nose of a bomber.

The interpreter arid the two detectives stood at one side of the room while right at niv back was another desk at which two other men sat writing. They were all in mufti.

keep me there.
The man with the key opened the door

and stepped in front of me into the room. “ Open your suitcases.”

“ I’ve nothing in them that would



interest you,” I said.

I was ordered to sit down.
“Why did you come to be in Italy?” —were thrown on the.bed. A few novels

came the first question from one of the I had, including “ North-West Passage,” men at the big desk. joined the huge pile of my belongings.

He spoke, in a gentle tone—in Italian. I was almost weeping with rage and I answered in his own language, explained despair when they bundled everything

that I was in a stage show.
“ What proof can you give us that you

have been working in this country?” Was the next question.

“ I am working for a French theatrical company and I transact business through American Express, Rome,” I told them. “ A phone call to American Express will tell you that all my business in .Italy has been above board.”

I said this sort of nippily. The boss, the carbon copy of Musso sneered when

I said my little piece.

“ Don’t worry, signorina,” he said with a smirk that made me want to smack his fat head, “ we’ll do that later. We shall do quite a lot of telephoning about you. All in good i


Then he bent down and whispered to the two men at the desk. The two detectives were called over. The boss was giving orders. When the whispering was over he turned to me and said with a show of exaggerated politeness—“ You will now be taken back to your hotel, signorina.”

For a moment I thought I was being dismissed. But when I saw the smirk on that man’s face, I realised it wasn’t going to be so good for me as all that.

I was relieved when my interpreter friend came with me in the police van. I didn’t feel comfortable with these Polizia Secrete men and the guards.

into my cases.
“ Let me put them back in some kind

of order,” I pleaded.
“ You are coming back with us,” said

one of the detectives.
“Aren’t you finished with me?” I ex­

claimed, “ Surely after that search you realise I’ve done nothing against your

They didn’t even answer.

“ Open



shouted the

“ Better open them, Miss Dunne,’

advised the interpreter.
I took his advice, and in a few

minutes my clothes, money, account books, letters, and photographs were tossed in wild mix-up on the bed.

Wardrobe drawers were pulled out and more clothes—even undies and stockings

“ Well, what, now?” I said to the in-

A Handsome Stool Pigeon Tries to Trap Me


Downstairs we trooped. On the way out of the hotel one Polizia Secrete agent called to the proprietor —padrone they called him—“ If any­ one calls for this girl say she has gone out and you do not know when she

will be back.”

This was said in a particularly menacing tone. The detective seemed to enjoy the look of fear and surprise on the padrone’s face. I can tell you quite frankly I shivered.

The interpreter tried to cheer me up. He’d a hard job, for I was really down in the dumps. In addition, I was weak from lack of food. It was

quite late in the afternoon.

The police van had just passed through the Palazza Duomo when the interpreter leaned forward and tapped the driver The car stopped and the interpreter made to get out.

Excuse me a moment,” he said to me, “ I see a friend in the street I want to have a word with.”

I nodded and sat with my head thrown back and my eyes closed. Suddenly I got a shock that made me open my eyes wide.

The driver had switched- off the engine and I con'd hear him talking to one of the guards, who sat beside him out front. “ Who is he, that fellow?” I heard him ask the guard. “ Is he an American ?”

“ No, Italian.” said the guard. “ But he was in Washington for some years.”

They we-e speaking in Italian, and I got every word perfectly Even when the guard lowered his voice and said—“ Polizia Secrete—Roma.”

So my “ friend ” with the Yankee twang was a stool pigeon. The de­ tectives, perhaps drowsy from the afternoon sun, didn’t seem to realise the boys out front had given the “ nice kind American’s ” contemp­ tible game away.

I thought back feverishly and tried to remember if I’d told the stool pigeon any­ thing that might be twisted against me. I was pretty certain I hadn’t. I decided I’d still let him think I didn’t suspect him. If I continued to protest my innocence to him it might h p me.

As the van got again under way I told him where I had been, how I had to work hard rehearsing and had little time for any­ thing but my work.

The stool pigeon was impressed. I had high hopes he’d relay all this to his boss and I’d be cleaied of all suspicion.

No doubt he had—he was over two hours in the inner room when we got back to the police station. But my biter bit act seemed to have flopped, for 1 was called into the inner office and the grilling began in real earnest.

♦ Catherine feeding the

♦ pigeons outside the

X Church of San Marco, Z Venice.

Continued from Front Page

This time that horrible man, the boss of the secret police, fired the nrst question. Speaking slowly and

distinctly he asked—“ Do you know a man called ----- ?” The name he mentioned was that of a man who had been friendly with one of the girls in our show.

I told my questioner I’d only met the man once—in the street—that he was not a frie < ef mine

A torrent of questions all about this man followed. Most came fiom the two men at the desk.

They wanted to know when I’d met the man, what he had talked about, the name of the girl who’d introduced us. I could not remember exactly when I’d met the

man nor what he had talked about. But I could remember the name of the girl who’d introduced us. And I refused point­ blank to tell it to the Polizia Secrete,

She was at that moment, I knew, well on her way to the Swiss frontier if not actually over it Still. I wasn’t going to take any risks, and I sat mum as the storm of threats

broke about me.

“ You will realise soon low foolish you are being, Miss British Girl!” bellowed the chief.

I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t scared stiff, but I was pleased to note that the beastly one was losing his temper.

At last he waved his stooges to cease fire. There was silence in the room as he wiped his face then put back his handker­ chief. Slowly he strutted up to me.

“ What do you know about gun-running to—Greece ?” he asked almost casually.

That was a startler. I looked up at him amazed. “ Gun-running to Greece!” I repeated. “ I’ve never heard of any such thing, I don’t know anything about it.”

“ Oh, no, of course you don’t,” sneered the Polizia chief. “ You don’t know anything about Ross Rifles either—do you?”

I shook my head, bewildered by all-this talk. It was Greek to me in more ways than one. He paused, and stepping back suddenly, gave me a l'ong, thoughtful scrutiny.

Then he barked suddenly, “ What calibre are those rifles? Are they double- barrelled ? How many were sold from America?”

And all the time I was protesting—“ I don’t know! I’ve no idea! I know nothing about it!”

I was so strung up under this third degree that I began to think I should know something about these rifles. I felt I wanted to answer one of their questions satisfactorily—even con­ demn myself falsely in order that I’d get peace for a second or two from those shouting insistent voices.

The grilling over these rifles must have lasted for almost twenty minutes. I was limp with exhaustion when the lull came, although by now I realised it was just the calm before another storm of questions.

This time the gentle-voiced man opened. “ What do you know concerning the steam­ ship President Washington?”

I shook my head. I must have looked as I felt, completely bewildered, for they did not bother about the answer.

. “ Have you seen any oil dumps in Italy ?” continued the. quiet spoken man.

“ I don’t think I’d know an oil dump if I saw one,” I replied readily enough.

“ But you’d know a certain man if you met him again,” roared the boss with the ■ suddenness of an anti-aircraft gun going off. “ You would at once recognise the spy you were assisting. How’ big a fee did

be pay you for your information?”

I could only shake my head. I was faint from nerves, exhaustion and hunger. It was now after eight at night.

I sat slumped in the chair while the Polizia Secrete went into another conference.

Then the party broke up and I was led .into the courtyard again. Where I was going I didn’t know. At the moment it was enough to get way from the question­

I was put into the police van again and

off we went.
We drew up in the Via Filigeri in front

of a building with a tower.

I didn’t need to> ask the detectives

I hardly knew the man
only met him once—in the street with the other girl. I did know, however, that he had sailed for the United States in the Italian liner, Conti di Savoia

In fact, I’d

where they were taking me. said one with a smile. where you’re to stay.”

“ Yes,” “ This is

Prison! I had to.clench my hands to keep myself from collapsing as I looked up at that grim grey building. I was to undergo ordeals there that made the

grilling seem like a Sunday school picnic.

Catherine Dunne ♦

continues the story
of her adventures ♦

next week.



♦ ♦ ❖

',~wn the stairs and along the corridors. K" parched-. A few men prisoners were b

4ing along—-work parties, I guessed, heir way to start hard labour for the Most of them were carrying show’y .Tfc. wardress pushed me out a side doo/

It me. It was still dark. I judge e between tour and five odeck. -ined to he in some kind of eourt-

£ It was a few minutes before my ot used to the darkness. Then 1 ^^/nazed to see dim shapes huddle?

; tit on benches all over the placed -J ,

j. ■ ■ ■ \


1 9 4 0


ascist Prison

T WAS in a daze when my guards marched me thiough the doorway of the grey prison in Via Filigeri, Milan. My head was going round after the grilling the agents of the Fascist secret

police had given me.
One of my guards opened a door off the

entrance hall, and I was led into a small office. A tight-lipped stout man was seated at a desk—the prison governor, I discovered.

Brusquely he asked my age, nationality, business, and so on, comparing all my answers with the particulars on my passport, which a detective had handed him.

For a few minutes he wrote in a large book I stood waiting—hoping against hope I might be told to go away when these formalities were over.


. The governor put down his pen nngs-all jewellery,” he barked.’

“ Take off your watch and ” Pat them on’the desk ”


The furnishing was delightfully simple— two iron bunks, one on top of the other. A dim light came from one small dirt- encrusted electric globe in the ceiling. Even that light was sufficient to show me the cell was filthy—dust and mud and whatnot over the floor and walls.

But even then I was optimistic.’ I felt sure I’d be out in the morning. 1 even took some kind of pleasure at first in the fact that this was a real prison cell, a filthy one at that.

It would be a great experience to tell the folks back home—I’d spent

one night in prison. A good thing for my sanity that I didn’t foresee how long I’d be in that rat-hole.

The bod was what I’d always imagined a prison to be—one hard mattress and one blanket. But there were some things I hadn’t expected, and they soon began to make their presence felt. Yes, the place was infested with bugs.

I moved into the top bunk in an attempt to get peace, but there was no escape. I got angry—and did some slaughter with one of the rather expensive shoes I was wearing. The elegant shopgirl who had sold me them in an exclusive Florence saloon would have been amazed at the use her wares were being put to.

The wardress must have heard the row I was making, and, no doubt, thought I’d gone crazy.


Through a small iron-barred aperture in the cell door I saw her sulky eyes glower- ing at me. Then she shoved a tin mug towards me.

1 jumped from the top bunk and snatched it joyfully. W ater' It was tepid and bitter, but I gulped it down and was truly grateful for it.

The wardress took back the mug with­ out a word and closed the grille. A few minutes later the light went out. I climbed into the top bunk again and tried to get some sleep. It was pretty hopeless. Those bugs again 1 I prayed for day­ light . . .

Eventually I must have dozed over from 1 sheer exhaustion. I awoke .with a. bang at the door. I started up, thinking it was an explosion I

It was old sourpuss! A trifle more talka­ tive she was, too.

“ Get up and clean out your cellI” she shouted, banging open the door and throw­ ing me a broom.

I scrambled down from the bunk, aching in every limb. My arms and legs were badly bitten arid swollen. I was only half half-conscious as I started sweeping the floor.

My efforts didn’t please the wardress, for she shouted at me—a stream of rapiu Italian I didn’t try to understand.

“ When can I have something to eat,

please?” I called. . “ Not for a long time yet,” she snapped.

t( You have to go down to the garden. Garden I Anywhere out of that awful cell would be paradise, I thought. 1 pictured myself tending a garden—light work for a political prisoner while my case

was being considered. . • i I might have known it was just good, clean Fascist fun-that the “ garden ’’ was as much a garden as the prison was a ho.el. But when the wardress handed me a tin

bowl and wooden spoon and told me to

come along with her, I felt almost jubilan Down the stairs and along the corridors,,

we marched. A few men prisoners were %

shuffling along—work Partl<;s> 1
on their wav to start hard labour for rhe dav. Most of them were carrying shove.

The wardress pushed me out a side dooi and left me. It was still dark. I ja<.gc- it to be between four and five oclock.

I seemed to be in some kind of comt- card. If was a few minutes before rnj eves got used to the darkness. Then 1 S I t o « aTM

about on bench's all ove,

I obeyed. A wardress took charge of my watch, bracelet, rings

and a gold brooch—a present from Aldo my fiance As she did so a young official entered the room.'

nodded to him and he turned to me

6 The governor

Please, signorina,” he said pleasantly enough—and reached for one of my hands.

I thought he was going to handcuff me, and I drew back. Then I found I was to be fingerprinted.

I couldn t help saying, “ You’re making damned sure you 11 be able to identify me, aren’t you ? ”

lhe fingerprint man gave me an apologetic smile but governor exclaimed sharply, “ Please, no talking!” the


Uhen my prints had been taken he gave the order " Take her to cell 133.” The vyords stung me like a bullet. I rushed towards the governor protesting I had done nothing wrong and that he had no right to put me in any cell. I cried that I wanted to get in touch with my friends—and with a lawyer.

“ OI* >’es» you WOULD like very much to get in touch with your friends,” said the governor. “ But I shall not permit that, miss.” Then, with a flip of his hand, he dismissed me from his office.

The wardress took hold of my arm and hustled me along a corridor. &

mY st:ePs dragged, for I’d been on my feet practically all day, and T wnc rlCn,l -----gave my arm a sharp tug

*and I was dead weary. The wardress

make me walk smartly.
She was a horrible woman—like a fat

witch. . I can see her face yet when I have nightmares.

Suddenly she ordered me to stop. We’d arrived at cell 133. She slid back a bolt and opened a heavy door. All this was done without a word. I was beginning to think she was dumb. I stopped at the door and pleaded with her to get me something to eat. I told

HEAD dancer of a troupe touring Italy, Catherine Dunne was making preparations for her wedding when the Italian press began its hate campaign against Britain.
The marriage plans were brought to a halt, as her Italian fiance was told he would require special permission to marry a “ foreigner.” Catherine applied for a permit to travel home. While still wait­ ing, she was visited in her Milan hotel- bv members of t—e secret police, who took her to headquarters.

After seven or eight hours’ grilling, she was hustled off in a police van and lodged in prison.

her I’d had nothing since breakfast. It was after ten o’clock at night.

88 I must have cut rather a pathetic figure. My new summer flowered frock was a bit

crushed from the journeys in the prison 11

van. Ti .. ’ ’
It was hard to keep the tears out

of m.Y eyes. ] didn’t melt the

wardress’s heart, if she
i j---- *—* “ °."e one- She 1 ’ ’

d at me stonily and growled—• “ Food ? Impossible 1”"

I pleaded then for something to drink a little water. She didn’t even reply to that—simply pushed me into the cell, clanged the door and


L around my new abode. Pretty awful it was. It was small, little better 'flan a cubicle, although the ceiling .was lairly high. The door was of steel. The window had bars, and it was bricked up 1Qm the outside, leaving only about six

•nenes of glass-covered space at the top.


Wardress Thought I’d Gone Crazy, Says

Iy cam<i a sound that froze me$to the marrow-a high-pitched

wading cry. I wanted to start running m panic, and had to take a

grip on myself. Then my terror gave way to pity. The cry was that of a small baby in her mother’s arms!

sitting with her*child.h<The motEn”

1 Sat °n 3 bench ai’d

tried to get some much-needed sleep.

Not a chance. No sooner had I

settled down when I heard someone

I opened my eyes and saw the

wardress at the gate of the “ garden.”

i KUlSS0 intro‘,”i^ * Ig?

•a?!”'The S

“ Come with me,” she ordered. She stood up on the top bunk and nni 1* took me to the office. I didn’t dare hope
niat I was about to be liberated.

in tfii. COM
pX“ novAol

p1TM s down and stare at the poor little mite Are you a prisoner here’” I nd- i

1he two detectives of the Polizia St
a, Secrete

mS. »nss came—Italy was at war with Great


A n.oh s.,per»Zs- ,JeS TM

and signed t0 the detec- fives to take me away. e uei;ec


.The chief pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket.

borrowing this property of yours Very interesting indeed.”

Later I found out why she seemed unsociable. The O.V.R.A.-—

their hide-out.

cult. The prospect of being a

prisoner in that foul place indefinitelv overwhelmed me. nuennitely

af^he?Aept nle in my cel1. for two dav8 ♦ *bat’ n°t even allowing me down to the courtyard. I thought I’d go mad with worry and loneliness. g 1

Then, on the evening of the second dav came something that banished the monotony with a vengeance.

• Lat.e ^.at ni'ght- Suddenly— mitnS'TbThe I,gh* in my ceH w>en*

out. 1 here was the steady drone of

Italian equivalent of the Gestapo— pkint disguised agents amongst political prisoners. These agents try to worm out information that will

incriminate suspects still at liberty.

“ Ah“ w S’”


Catherine Dunne

Actually this notebook contained the So the poor woman was afraid I was a I names and addresses of friends and asso-

b K X r001 P'St'0"' I »nWn-t ciates—business and personal-all over

Great Britain and the Continent. But

I got many interested looks from my the secret police regarded it as something

ellow-prisoners from my companions in °f a capture and had been checking un misery, old and young children, and fii* it Ita lan men aild women mentioned

several babies-about one hundred human
beings all told. They wanted to know where and when

What a picture! Those poor things were 1 had met every one of them. I told the



too cowed and miserable to talk much. When they did it was in low voices. Most ot them sat for hours just staring in front

ot them, despair written in their faces Kven the children sat silent.

These women couldn’t ALL be political

pusoners I told myself. The woman with

the baby for instance. I just couldn’t

imagine her as a dangerous enemy of the Italian State.

Yet she had been branded as that by the lascists. No doubt some thoughtless but indiscreet words about the Fascist tegirne had landed her in prison.

I had some bitter thoughts, and forgot tor the moment my own plight as I studied that gathering ot lost souls.

truth—that I had known these Italians tor years

One fear I have now is that I may un­ wittingly have got some of those good triends of mine into trouble by noting

their names, addresses, and phone num­ bers in that perfectly innocent little book. 1Xext came questions about my father., -they told .me he was in a British Govern­ ment post. Could I deny that ? I laughed at this one and said it was ridiculous to suspect me because my father was a Cus­

toms official in Kent.'
I told them that he’d never been in

Italy, did not speak Italian or any other language than his own.

The Polizia Secrete gents didn’t like that packchat at all. The bully-in-chief ordering me to be silent and to confine

Oldy to an“A\ering questions. There was a brief lull in the proceed- Imgs. Then the chief took up an envelope from the desk. Slowly he drew a photo­ graph from it and, with a swift move­ ment, turned it round and thrust it before

my eyes.

“ Who is that man?” he rapped out most dramatically.

I tried my best not to look startled. The photo was one of Aldo which had been in my suitcase. I told them he was “ just a friend.”

Of course that wasn’t good enough for the police chief. He wanted the name, the nationality—all the details. He ranted and threatened in the real Axis manner. It was no go. I was scared._ I knew I wasn’t helping myself by refusing to answer. But I was determined to keep mum about Aldo in case he, too, got into trouble.

Little did I know Aldo was making inquiries all over Italy for me, and that he would risk losing his freedom througn trying to gain me mine. But that part of my story comes later.

It was about four o’clock in the after­ noon when I was put into my cell again. I was given a mug of poor coffee and two rolls—the first food I’d had for two days. You can bet I enjoyed it.

Unfortunately it only took the edge off my appetite, and I was very disconsolate as I sat down on the edge of the lower bunk.

As I sat brooding I became aware of a tense feeling in the prison and outside. From the streets I could hear people shouting. In the prison corridors warders and wardresses were gabbling together. Then it dawned. Mussolini was to make a speech that night.

Anti-aircraft fire,

Porce were raiding

' «• I WAS THERE ♦



About eleven o’clock in the forenoon there was a sudden stir in the crowd. Two wardresses were bringing a wooden tub in. Food! I couldn’t help comparing

the behaviour of those poor folk with that of the penguins in a zoo when the keeper arrives with his bag of fish.

The wardresses dumped the tub down just inside the iron gate. There was a mad rush towards it. One of the wardresses kept shouting to the crowd to “ keep order.”

After a scramble for places a queue was formed. The women jostled one another in their eagerness to get their share. 1 was at the tail-end of the queue, but the rations were served out in double-quick time. As I got nearer the tub I saw it contained soup.

When I got my share and tasted it, my hunger vanished. The soup seemed .to consist mostly of dirty, evil-smelling olive

Not that I’ve oil. I just couldn’t sup it. Not tha_t I ve

> a delicate appetite—but that so-called soup

I put clown my was too much for me. I .

bowl on a bench.
Evidently I’d been watched,

Shyly a middle-aged woman prisoner came over

to me.
“ Signorina, your soup- •

• •

You are

not taking it?” she asked.
Her face lighted up when I handed her

the bowl. In less than a half-minute the woman and her two little boys had finished it up.






toeithem Th e’ and 1 WaS handed -et 1 over




S' »!■« »'

shouting, “ Where is that foreigner?”



«n i I • ! ♦ governor was there, too,

and I tried to make an appeal for food to make an appeal for food.’

Britain and France.

cult Th° keep Calm*

at^hTtAn^Tii back't0 the little room thetpP of the police station, where rhe Pohzia Secrete chief and his staff have

Tt was

Said’ Spring at me. We took the liberty of


BOMBED MILAN. Catherine Dunne Tells



About It

liiat was silly! But I clutched at this straw and planned furiously what I’d do how Id gct to the Swiss’frontier if the prison got a hit.

Meantime a now terror was causing iresh panic amongst the population of the city and the-prison. One of those violent summer storms that are quite common in Btuy broke. It was a beauty too.

But the people of Milan seemed to think something big in the way of blitzkriegs nad started, and there were more yells and

screams from the streets and cells.

The grille in my cell door was nung open and the wardress gave a hurried glance in—possibly to see I wasn t signalling with a smuggled

candle to our airmen! Her eyes were popping with fright. That gave me a certain catty satisfaction.

down ana assuring them they were in no danger.

.lie was answered with a roar of de­ rision. “ Give us .lights. Don’t let us die tike rats’’ screamed a woman’s voice. A man bellowed—” Take us downstairs out of here!’’ His shout was taken up by

many others, and pandemonium drowned the governor’s voice.






MILAN’S high-pitched air-raid sirens were still shrieking

when anti-aircraft guns opened up. I d never heard so much din in my life before. My ears were ringing.


flic row went on all the time the raid

was on. I could hear the distant crump

lhe aeroplanes of Britain can
do Mdan harm,” he shouted, -

they will be driven off. H Duce will protect this city and all our cities! Brave words. But the

prisoners weren’t taken in.
j, “ P®11 1! PU“ to send Us sand­

of bombs, while the Italian gunners were
But, honestly, I hadn’t the throwing up quite a lot of shells. I was bags. yelled someone in the crowd,

slightest fear. I was excited, and, genuinely sorry the crumps didn’t come as I climbed up to peer out the any nearer,

that started the chorus, “ We don’t want promises Sandbags an<{

shelters are what we need. Tell II Duce that!”

Poor souls, they were more likely to be sandbagged, judging from the flush of rage on the governor's face as be turned on his heel and stamped off

That day I didn’t get the bowl of soup and two chunks of dry bread which was all the food the prison allowed us each twenfy-lour hours. I was suffering with

rest of the prisoners merely for being P’'^ent at til(? mutiny.

Next morning at six I was back in the exeicise yard. Ibe rest of the prisoners were there, their usual chastened selves

again. The long starve had quelled the mutiny. What little food the prisoners had privately had been shared out amongst the children.


tiny window of my prison cell, I shouted out, " They’re British!’^

I suppose I in one of the few British people that have been in a city while it has been receiving the attentions of the Royal Air Force. You can’t imagine the panic that swept the

people of Milan, inside and outside the prison.

From the cells came the screams of men and women crazy with fear. They kept banging hke maniacs on the heavy iron doors and crying—“ Let us out!' The British are here! We’ll be killed!’’


ai ders and wardresses rushed to and iro in the corridors shouting to the pri­ soners to put out pieces of candle they had

A queer feeling it was to think of those R.A.F. chaps up there. I couldn t imagine myself being in any real danger from their bombs even though I was surrounded by people who were in terror of their lives.

And when the all-clear came shortly before dawn I envied the R.A.F. men on their way back to France, or even Britain perhaps.

governor was taking an active part

a cry for the governor.
“ Come out and explain!”

m the attempts to quell the panic that had gripped the prison inmates. I could hear him shouting to them to quieten


they yelled

Not a soul in the prison—or Milan itself ' . —- -uz x j l u v a i a c i I b b C l L

tor that matter slept a wink that night

wardress handed in the broom with which j 1 swept out my cell.

I was surprised when I saw her

eyes were red with weeping. I asked

her what was wrong. She started to

. Then the woman I thought had


—“'’’1 At six o clock that morning as usual my

a heart of stone wailed, British have been over! terrible!’’

44 TilC It was

any sympathy.

HVt Clf ---1

Naturally I didn’t feel like expressing

Nobody spoke. The hours dragged. J

any- sympathy. The wardress seemed to
ightea in their cells. Doors clanged. 1 " seemed to walked about aimlessly. became

.1 here, were sounds of scuffles and blows as the prison staff fought with prisoners who wouldn t extinguish their candles.

Whistles blowing, shouts, screams, curses and orders came from the streets. I could hear people running nke mad. A policeman kept yelling,

Put out those lights’” In the w d er °f a11 this I heard

what I took to be several revolver shots.

All this time I had my ear glued to mv cel! window. The Italians’ anti-aircraft iH!* still going strong. I was hoping a bomb would fall on the prison so that I could make a getaway.

have forgotten my nationality, for the n”ext wordjs she_ sobbctj ou£ we]e> “And

two planes have been shot down too!”

That didn’t sound so good to me, and I sort of snapped at her, “ Then what are you upset about?”

But it was OUR planes that were shot down!” she exclaimed, and hurried off bubbling, with her bands over her face.

too hot for walking, and I slumped down on a bench.

Shortly afterwards,
back to take me to the exercise yard, she was her old grumpy self again. I plucked

up courage to ask her bow much damage had been done in the raid. “Quiet!’’ she snapped, lhe R.A.F. had got her down badly


When I joined the other women pri­ soners in the drab courtyard I had an idea" that, being British. I would be for it. I had some vague notion I might be torn to pieces because our bombers had

given Milan a shake-up. I needn’t have had the slighest fear.

lhe prisoners paid little attention to me. But they were furious all right—at the Italian authorities.

All over the big courtyard they were grouped about discussing one grievance-— the lack of air raid shelters in the prison. And, as Italians do very often, they be­ came all worked up about it. There was

up at the prison.
The shouting grew so loud and insistent

that the governor eventually did appear— some distance from the gate.

when she called

My first spell of what I called torture by sunshine was beginning. The sun beat down on that drab courtyard. There wasn’t an inch of shade. Even the Italians ' were finding the heat hard to bear.

Women and girls covered their heads with handkerchiefs and protected children and babies with their clothing.

At eleven o'clock in the forenoon when the wardresses dished out the soup I told them I didn’t think I’d be able to stand much more sunshine.

They stared at me as. if I were out of my mind and said nothing. Apparently they weren’t used to getting such com­ plaints.

By the time three o'clock in the after­ noon came and a wardress shouted to us to. get moving I wasn’t far from being delirious.

I dragged my way upstairs and was thankful to throw myself down in the bug-infested bunk': in my cell. It was sweltering in there certainly, but I was out of the sun.

This torture by sunshine was a daily business.* I got a bit hardened to it in a few days, although there was one extremely hot day when 1 thought I’d die, roasted alive. I was staggering and the wardress had to help me into my cell that after­


In the early morning before that awful sun came out I used to chat with many of my fellow “jailbirds.” Most of them were, like myself, “ suspected persons,” and hadn’t been up for trial.

One woman, the mother of two bonnie little kiddies who were in prison with

her, told me she wasn’t really sure what she was in for. It seems that, she had mentioned Stalin’s name to a friend, and she thought THAT might be the reason the secret police came to her house one night and asked her to come down to the police station. t ,

“ I cannot understand,” whispered tins poor soul in her lazy Neapolitan accent, “ but my husband wears the Fascist badge. I have never said anything against the head of the party. Yet the* tell me I must wait till my case is looked into.” At that time it was three wocxs since she was arrested.

Heavens, I thought, as I’m suspected spy, gun-runner and dear knows what, it’ll be years before my “ case ” is in­ vestigated.



4 Catherine Dunne, head 4 ♦ dancer of a troupe. Was in ♦ ♦ Milan making preparations for ♦ J her wedding to an Italian when 4 ♦ she was arrested by the Fascist ♦ ♦ secret police. ♦

♦ Though, as far as she knew, ♦ ♦ she had not offended against £ 4 any State law, she was given a 4 4 severe grilling. She did not ♦

know, and they would not tell, ♦ X what she was suspected of, and 4 4 at the close of the “third 4 ♦ degree ” she was hustled off to ♦ T prison.

♦ Put in a vermin-infested cell, ♦ 'J she was refused leave to com- i 4 municate with any of her 4 ♦ friends. ♦

4 Two nights later she heard ♦ ♦ the sirens go. The R.A.F. ♦ 5 were paying their first visit to i 4 Milan. 4

I wasn’t long in the prison before I learned that the prison authorities graciously allowed prisoners to buy food from them. I asked the wardress to obtain my money for me from the governor’s office, only to be told, “ You have 10 money. What was your money has been con­ fiscated by the Fascist State.”

You can bet your boots I had some­ thing to say to that. I might as well have argued with the cell door.

Aldo, my fiance, came to my rescue. Ho had traced me to the prison. He risked his liberty in doing so and he risked it again when he came to the prison and demanded that he should be allowed to see me.


The governor, I heard from Aldo him self later, had asked him if he realised what I was in custody for. And rny sweetheart told him, “ Whatever it is, J can prove she is indocent.”

The governor threatened him:— “ You, too, may find yourself in prison one of these days if you do not choose your associates with more

Poor Aldo flew into a temper at

this and pointed out he could not be accused of plotting against Fascism.

This was perfectly true. Aldo was severely non-political. He rarely men­ tioned Mussolini. He was neither pro­ Fascist nor anti-Fascist. One thing he had not wanted—war against Britain.

Eventually be managed to get per­ mission to see me. It was an unhappy meeting. I was summoned to the governor’s office. When I went, Aldo was standing by the desk. I didn’t know what to say.

What have they been doing to you, darling?” Aldo cried, striding towards me.

“ She is quite well treated,” snapped the governor.

Aldo spoke quickly. He told mc he was doing all in his power to get me out of prison and that he would get a message through about me to my sister Hilda who had apparently moved out of Milan not knowing I was in prison.

We had so much to say to one another. But I cut the interview short. For the first time in my life I fainted. I came to, to find Aldo, pale with distress, bending over me and the governor shouting orders to

“ Let Us Out. The British Are Here”



warders to come and carry me back to my ceil.

That was my meeting with Aldo over.


Mention of this alleged spy nettled me.

“ I’ve met the man once when he was along with one of the dancers,” I said, “ I spoke about two or three words to him—‘How do?’ or something. He looked like a silly_a_s_s_t_o .m..e. and I never

But I was much more cheerful when I gave him a second thought,

came round fully in my cell bunk. In The Beast himself wrote all this down. the morning old sourpuss the wardress Then he turned to me and asked, “ You

told me that my fiance had left 500 liras declare this to be true?” I nodded.

(about £7) the maximum allowed, so that I could buy fopd.

I saw to the food right away. I pic­
tured myself sending out for a really good
meal. It was a blow when I found I to the governor. could buy only prison-prepared food.
The meat I purchased that day was
served from a big wooden trough. I
don’t know yet vvhat it was—stewed


One day, after I collapsed under the sunshine torture in the courtyard, 1 was visted in my cell by the prison doctor. He did a bit of whispering to the ward­ ress. Then I received an injection.*

My nerves were in such a state that 1 thought the man was going to drug me and, weak and ill a» I was, I drew, my arm away. He patted my. shoulder m a kindly way and explained it was quue a harmless injection

I think the doctor was genuinely sorry for me and concerned about my health. He visited me several times and 1 had more injections. I hey certainly stopped my faints.

Then things began to move. One fore­ noon I was “ excused ” going to the yard. Instead, my wardress took me down to the governor’s office. two secret service police were in the room. A few minutes later I was in a police van —on my way once again to the head quarters of the Poiiza Secrete.

The local secret police boss—horrible man, was seated in front . of the large­ sized photograph of Mussolini.

“ Does this mean. . . ?” I asked, not daring to hope.

horse or cat. 1‘-
have been as a substitute for rubber.

Anyway, its only use might

One thing I could buy that wasn’t so bad, was milk. My heart went out to those poor little undernourished

prison babies and children. I’m afraid most of Aldo’s 500 liras went in milk for them.


The old fear—that 1 would be kept in that foul place for the duration of the war—took hold of me again, and I couldn’t sleep for worrying. I was hardly eating anything, either.

“ Yes, yes,” said the wardress impatiently, •“ you’re going away. You’re free.”

I’ve read about prisoner’s dramatic re­ actions on hearing the magic words, “You’re free.” But I didn’t feel dramatic. I dived into my handbag for a hankie and had a real good cry.

But I didn’t weep for long. I told my­ self I would never be so unhappy again. Well, I was always an optimist.

♦ * * *

Before I even got out of Italy, I had heartaches of a different kind. And when I did get clear of

Mussolini’s country more adventures followed thick and fast.

(See next week’s issue.)


“ You will make a declaration!” he

announced. , . ,
I hadn’t the faintest idea what the man

was talking about. He plunged right ahead. Asked me what my business was in Italy. Had I indulged in any political activities? Did 1 know the spy they

were looking for?

“ Sign this declaration,” he said, and I signed.

I was taken back to prison. Next fore­ noon, the wardress again took me down

The wardress shoved my handbag into my hands.

18 20

usso Stole My 23,


____ And Money Clothes

. L—cyl,..- ... •- . -._■


J Whipped off to Milan Prison, evidently suspected of spying, > ♦ Catherine Dunne, a British dancer, was there when Italy entered ♦ ♦ the war and when the R.A.F. visit threw the city into a panic. ♦

Then, after being grilled for hours at a time by the Fascist > ♦ secret police, she was called before the governor of the prison ♦

♦ to be told she was free. *


*t 'H E first train out of Italy leaves at one o’clock this afternoon.

* You’re to get on it and get out.”
That was the gruff answer given me by a Fascist police ofticia

when I asked if I might be allowed to get in touch with my fiance,

Aldo and mv sister Hilda. . . , i got another shock when the man told me his Government had

confiscated the money 1 had saved on my Italian

tour, together with the cash I was to have taken back to my employer in Paris—a total of several hundre

P All the money I would be allowed to take out

of Italy would be 150 liras, about thirty bob. t hat was supposed to take me from the Swiss frontier

across France, and home to Britain!

I wasn’t particularly worried about this at the time. What really got my goat was the official s revelation that they had also confiscated all my beautiful clothes.

] had about £175 worth of clothing with me in Italy—two

fur coats (one in Indian lamb), a very snappy and expensive

riding kit, frocks and shoes. .
“ Monev’s one thing, but taking a girl s personal belong­ ings, her clothes . . . it’s petty theft!’’ I burst outJ. absolutely

blazing. I might have been clapped back into pnson for tl is, but I was so mad I didn’t give a damn.


■.. _1_i...-- -

The authorities hadn’t thought or pro­ viding me with a meal. I was starving and very much down in the dumps at the thought of lea/ag without seeing Aldo

and Hilda.

Then the unbelievable happened. I heard a joyous cry and Aldo stepped forward from the crowd and took me in his arms. The detective tried to push him away. The other officer came back at that moment and his eyes just about popped out of his

head with surprise. I had visions oi my fiance being arrested.

But Aldo has resource and tact. He appealed to the detectives to be spot s,

LEAVE HER NOW ” one of my escorts touched his^an^



l n(j wuiapeioJ, Please g anyone at


good-bye to me. . . Aldo 6 I felt numb. TheLPal^."° , n)e ’ Then



Aldo ordered sole meuniere and chicken train now, Signor Carlo. Hany w(j for me. But I was too excited to eat Vallorbe should see you with

yery much, even though I was famishing.

Then we made towards the station. Aldo whispered to one of the detectives. The man looked puzzled, then he shrugged his shoulders. Aldo turned to me, his face alight with happiness. “ I’m coming with you

would. .

Aldo nodded and

» iS

little station.


as far as the frontier, darling!

I walked in silence between thdetec

tives to the police offices in ‘ pag9

told them he’d hung about the station got into different parts of the train. back to the tram. tDP+;ves at the for three days hoping to see me. Had Shortly after leaving Milan, however, J chatted to the ewere genuinely

they never been in love ? And wouldn t they do the same if they were in his

slioes ?
My escorts turned out to be quite good

eorts. And when Aldo pointed out there ■was still time before the tram left to have a meal in a nearby hotel they said they were quite agreeable, bo the foui of u

hurried off.

Aldo came along the corridor and joined carriage , door. war wjth mine

------------- .____----------------- --------------- ------


r uckilv for me, the police official didn’t pay much attention ♦n what 1 said He just nodded to two detectives to remove me,

tO We went to Milan station by taxi. The place was crowded

—soldiers on their way to camp, wives and sweetheaits, many ol

them weeping seeing them off.
I stood in the middle of the entrance hall with one of the

detectives while the other went off to inquire about our train. I gathered they were travelling to the frontier-to see the ••criminal” safely off the premises as it were.


olle of the detectives asked Aldo IO say

was white-faced. He

There I signed papers an ‘ taken He rushed off and got his ticket. We port well scrutinised, then

I sorry their countiy as tbey were, We talked and talked. We were both Fascist employees an J “ t Italians who,

me. ... iu

feeling pretty miserable and tried to ' they were just, hke a d


cheer each other up. .
The journey to the frontier took over five hours. There were frequent stops. But it was all too short for Aldo and me.

As we approached Vallorbe m the dus

' in their hearts, bate policy of the l asclstS^ de

Nazis. Both detec-

The tram began to mo - •
tives shook my hand wan ly^ gfaall ,

(l A happy journey cried one. other, “ mid "c

about a train into France and was told Consulate and joined a big queue.

much less than half that number.

there wouldn’t be one till morning. I went into a small hotel for the night. I couldn’t. sleep. Not that I wasn’t tired But, believe it or not, the bed seemed too soft after my prison bunk I

Then I heard a warm Scotch voice.

At dusk the ship began to move. The Nazis had another crack at us. They i didn’t harm us. Not a casualty although

the swine had been attacking ue all day.

There weren’t enough lifebelts to go round. The sailors had given up theirs to women and children. What grand fellows they were.

“ We’ll get you home, don’t you worry,” they kept telling frightened folk. I admit I was scared.

We were four days in the ship. Peoplfe were sleeping everywhere. Older women and children got the cabins and crew’s quarters. I found quite a nice corner up

1 was out of the hotel very early and
off to see the British Consul. I wanted a
loan of money. The poor Consul was
very busy. I wasn’t the only one anxious
to get back to Britain. My train was at France, had given in. I suppose I must 9.30 a.m. I was told I’d have to wait till have been in a fainting condition with the banks opened before I could get any mental and physical exhaustion. I remem­ money. I decided not to wait. ber only dimly getting some tickets and

The Consul advised me to make for directions from a Consular official and

Lyons and the British Consul there would help me.

following the crowd to the station. Eventually I was in a train that drew


“ Is that no’ a pity!” The owner of


I’ll never forget that awful trip
across France. Men, women and , there was a tremendous explosion (hat

children were packed like Sardines in

1 made the carriage windows rattle. The "SOME DAY I’LL

The entry in Miss Dunne’s

passport which enabled her to quit Italy. It reads—“ We declare this person is per­ mitted to leave the country over the Domodossola frontier

Milan.” It is signed by the commissioner of police, and the police stamp is at bottom left.


Vallorbe Station slipped away. 1 looked frantically for Aldo. I got a last brief glimpse of him—seated at a table in the little station cafe, his head bowed. . . .



One of the Nazi planes copped it fair

and square. Down it went, roaring into

the sea. It was the plane that had tried

I wandered about for a time with my
I entered Switzerland at Brigue and suitcase—sort of dazed, not knowing where there were over 2000 men, women and

went on to Lausanne. There I inquired I was going. Eventually I got to the children aboard. The ship usually carried

the voice was a middle-aged man. He pointed to the headline in his paper “ Paris est Rendu,” it screamed. Paris had surrendered!

I could hardly get it into my head that

into Vernon, a small port near Bordeaux, in the deck. A bit chilly it was, but I about midnight. As the train stopped managed to get some sleep.

third class carriages. On the way

we were held up by numerous air

raids. At one place a big Nazi

bomber swooped low and I saw

machine-gun bullets kicking up the

earth in a field at the side of the line.

We picked up some wounded French soldiers .They were dispirited, poor chaps, and sat silent and glum as the train jolted on. The journey took three days

Some lucky thought had made, me buy a loaf of broad in Lausanne. This had to do me for the journey, washed down by water. I got to Lyons more dead than alive.

The Consul there was acting father and dawn came we were taken to the quay­ And did we put some zip into it?
mother to dozens of people—and doing it side. I was amongst the first batch of What a thrill it was to reach a British splendidly, too. I’d like to give thanks to hundreds taken by fug to a British liner port and to wire Mum and Dad— him here for what he did for me. Had it a little way out.

not been for him I might be stuck in I was thankful for the sight of the France yet, Hitler’s prisoner for a change.

Nazis were giving the refugees a send- off.


For the four days everybody lived on bread and apricot jam and tea. We queued up for it twice a day and presented our

Anti-aircraft guns replied and soon

.there was a deafening din. I expected

. a panic on the train, but my fellow­

refugees were remarkably calm and

courageous, even when a German plane
came down and spattered the train with food, ticket. I’d had so little food in the

machine-gun bullets.
I learned later there had been 100 Nazi

raiders over that night.



previous weeks that I enjoyed those meals, looked forward to them, in fact. Now, I’m not quite so partial to apricot jam.

In the Bay of Biscay we were joined by a destroyer. It was a most comforting thought to see that greyhound circling round the liner as we zig-zagged home.


It was early morning when the home­ land was sighted. The crew and most of We stayed in the train all night. • When the passengers sang “ Rule Britannia.”

didn’t want ever to travel again. But I The Consul told me I’d have to get cheery, efficient British sailors. wasn’t keen on being idle so went to home via Bordeaux, but it would be im­ Everybody seemed to cheer up. London to see if there was anything doing possible for me to get a train there that Then my heart went into my mouth on the stage. I was delighted when I got

day. I’d have to hang on for a bit. He when the drone of planes came sud­ the chance to join “ Show Boat.”

found a room for me, a bit of a feat con­ denly, and German raiders, quite a

It was a bit of a blow when, owing to war conditions, the production had to come off in Glasgow. But I’ve been very pleased to stay on in Scotland, and I’ve been

sidering the utter confusion that reigned bunch of in the packed city. Vernon.

I haunted the Consul’s office to make

sure I would hear about the first avail­

able train. On my second night in Lyons one plane swoop towards the tug and It is unsigned and simply says, “Safe.

he told me:—“ There’s a train at 6.25 launch a bomb. Anxious about you?’

to-morrow morning for Bordeaux. It d The tug was filled with people, many The wire was sent by Aldo.


appeared over

A cry of rage went up when we saw made most happy by a wire from Madrid.

probably be the last out of here, for some women and children amongst them. I It has given me new heart. Some day,

time. I’d advise you not to miss it.” I thanked God when the bomb missed. It I feel cure, I’ll go back and be with Aldo

didn’t. , didn’t seem so bad when the blighters for always.

After another terrible two-days journey tried to bomb the liner. The gunners on we got to Bordeaux. It was in a terrible board let go at once with their gun. state. People were sleeping everywhere What a racket it kicked upI I thought in the streets, shops and railway station. my ear-drums would burst.
There seemed to be little food in the Then a cheer from the hundreds on place. I couldn’t find a restaurant that board.

was open.

to wipe up the tug. I __

see it shot down, I can assure you.
We took on people all day. By nightfall

“ Coming home.”
I rested for a few weeks,. feeling I

I wasn’t sorry to

el avant de prendre part a la feerie profane d’une grande revue

A' jf'Vct 11 gs 0 i

Ann mud

(nee of ouiv ) fighting I Germany)

le where t set horn


prison. Panic-stricken, they beat on

the iron doors and yelled to be let

out. ,, Miss Catherine Dunne, safely

“We were given two hours to pack, but could get none of our belongings from the theatre.


Men cut out theit\

oiiortage threatens

AVANSPETTACOLO AL ROSSETTI -------------------------------------------IIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIII ---------------------------------------------


English girls heard
R.A.F. raid from cell fumery industry. “Nearly every

II piu fine, argute e IciTante at-

There were 500 convicts in that was offered.

On their
~ efforts may depend

whether or not British women go short of perfume for the duration. In peace-time about 15,000 tons of

French lavender blossom is distilled each year to produce 150 tons of essential oil.

As our home production is not The whole town much more than a ton, we import a

large part of the French output. But not now. What used to cost 16s. a pound is now being doled out

from existing stocks at 45s. a pound.

“We learned that the R.A.F. had home with her parents at Clare- caught the Italians quite un­

road, Whitstable, after a flight across prepared for raids. France, told the Sunday Express of was in a panic.

this prison adventure.
For five months Miss Dunne had

Detectives went to their hotel, on a train, still escorted by detec­

As far as Miss Dunne could Miss Dunne described how the ounce, has trebled in price.

make out, they were accused of party reached Lausanne and were Supplies of labdanum, an extract

been touring Italy. She was leader
of a troupe of dancers from the “With only about 30s, each—all Folies-Bergere. the money we were allowed—we got

“Our cell Wc verminous,” she
said. “We were imjaipfor nine days hours, instead of twelve. And they


“ On June*10, ab</ut 6 p.m., we
heard cheering. could hear
Ciano speaking ozkr the radio port. And later we coul ^j lear Mussp- The

ying gland was

4w lw *

No food

So it is with orange blossom essence, which has jumped from arrested her and two other girls, and tives, and eventually reached the 15s. an ounce to 70s., and with confiscated their money. Swiss frontier.” oil of jasmine which, at £10 an

being concerned with gun-run- - ning to Greece.

Heard cheering

—and the food made; me ill.

quickly sent to Lyons by the British of rock rose, have been cut off. They consul. There they joined other used to come from Syria.


British refugees. They were advised to get to Bordeaux as soon as they could.

No cats either

Australia steps to spes the numbed

I sniffed. “Not at all bad,” I said. “ What is it? ”

QWIN^ dei gum, st­ are bein

the tro. short; ' l

Sales h million 1 creasing of tobacc


pur shortage, which v expensh/

cental wom.yv exhaty'A all the:-, export n



It was extract of oak lichen. It forms the basis of the modern per­

nale, che gode nella nostra cit‘ta infi- , nite simpatie ed ha una innumerevole 1 schiera di ammiratori presenters, que- ■ sta volta la sua Compognia «Sincopa-

3 ti 1938», un complesso artistico che -. e quanto di piu vivace e moderno cal.


chi attuahnente le nosttpe scene. Pan-

no parte di esso attori notissimi come I Ugo Pozzo Nino Bianchi e Antonio I Fellini e ne e prima attrice Lud Dos- jsew, una affascinante e deliziosa crea.

tura, che ha incontratp le simpatie cordialifisime di Huttl i pubblici ita- liani per la sua slngolare bellezza e

.squisita eleganza che le conferiscono ,un tono di grande leggiadria. Ma Spa- dato e riuscito ad accaparrarsi per quests sua compagnia il piu grazioso e seducente corpo di ballo che vi sia in Europa: le 12 Swing Ladies, un com plesso di ballerine veramente eccezio. nale, guidato da Katherine Dunn, ca- Va conoscenza del pubblico napole-

woman you meet,” said Mr. Field, “has got some of that stuff on her.”

The extract normally comes from the south of France and Jugo-Slavia. Both these sources are now cut off.

In the search for a substitute, tests


and Girl Guides searching the woods.

The French island of Reunion, increased ral The train journey took forty-five near Madagascar,, used to send us

could get no food. oil of geranium, for perfuming soap, From Bordeaux — packed with and oil of ylang, a sort of magnolia

refugees—they went to a small sea- flower, which goes into all modern scents.

But it is as difficult to get these today as it is to get the essential


sirens were • arrhtu,-

warplanes heavily bombed the wh&fV

parts of I At last the party got aboard a there.

ship. It was meant to carry about Mr. Fiet

t that the 160 people, but it took 1,600, andthe scent me : air raids food had to be pooled. Abyssirr

i tore del van-eta Italiano e intemazio-


We cannot get ingredients


SHORTAGE of all forms of perfumery and cosmetics is


The British perfumery industry, in which millions of capital is invested, is unable now to get ingredients essential to perfume because of the German overrunning of Europe.

Last week I went to see Mr. Sidney Field, who has spent the last seventeen years in de­ veloping more than fifty new perfumes, some

of which are now known all over the world.


This piec in as scrap of Oban-sti

It is parti

in which V then a wA captured rf South Afriif

Mr. Wrig of metal a the train blown up.

show piec drive for




He dabbed a spot of brown oily- ilooking liquid on my hand. “Smell that,” he said.

ra da quests sera la solerte impresa di ’ quec'to simpaticissimo ritrovo, uno > spettacolo che incontrera senza dubbio ■,il piu vivo favore del grande pubblieo . napoletano. Debutta Odoardo Spadaro.


Questa sera debutto di Spadaro Uno spettacolo eccezionale presente.


SPADARO - Una mia soubrette, una volfa, rien- trarido una notte all’albergo, dopo aver fatto saltare il banco a Monte Carlo, sent! appetite e ordind una

Il portiere notturno riceve la telefonata e rispondc:

— Impossible accontentarvi signorina: la cucina e chiusa e i cuochi sono tutti a dormire.
— Non importa. Fatemi la bistecca, insiste la si­


— Impossibile, — replica rigidissimo e corretto il portiere.

— Allora mettetemi in comunicazione con la camera del proprietario. — E ottenuta la comunicazione: — Pronto? Siete. voi il proprietario dell’albergo?...,

Scusate se vi ho svegliato... Quanto costa il vostro! albergo? Venti milioni di franchi? Benissimo: lo compero io. I venti milioni sono qui a vostra di-

— Portiere? Portiere? Fatemi la bistecca!

Le donne, decisamente, non solo sanno divertirsi, ma saimo anche divertire.

ENGLISH girl dancers, thrown here, but I thoroughly enjoyed that

into an Italian jail as poli­ tical suspects, heard from their cell the wail of sirens. Then came the sound of bombs— R.A.F. bombs.

one! The din in the prison was terrific.

“On June 12 we were taken to the police station and told we should be repatriated; and some sort of apology

are being made with native oak moss. s-------

Soon we may see gangs of BoyScouts

r-— »—•* •’ ••

1 I





She is Dublin-born Catherine Dunne, who with her two sisters gives an at- tractive dancing act, . T, .

Miss Dunne was on the stage m Italy when war was declared on this country. She was in prison when the R.A.F. made their first bombing raid on Italy.

one of the artists in this week’s show at the Tivoli Theatre.

' days she was released, and managed to get into France. On the way to Bordeaux, the train in which she

was travelling was machine-gunned. She arrived in Bordeaux to learn that Paris had fallen. On her way across the Channel, the ship on which she was travelling was at­ tacked unsuccessfully by a Nazi ’plane.

She lost her job, her money and most of her wardrobe. And she was about to be married to an Italian when she was thrown into prison.

Miss Dunne, a tall, charming young lady, can now laugh over most of her Continental adventures, but when she

recalls how she was cross-examined by
the secret police and thrown into prison i- I a sombre light appears in her eyes..........

nTTWi’ FR”?VT*





A really big variety show is being pre­ sented at the Gaiety Theatre this week. Mario Lorenzi, the noted B.B.C. harpist, strikes a popular string when he puts over several swing numbers on his harp. Besides being a wonderful exponent of this instrument, Lorenzi knows what the public wants, and he gives them it. The Montreal Trio, a team of French-Canadian trick cyclists, give a humorous and slick per­

formance .of acrobatics, in. which the art of balancing is revealed to a high degree. Funny impressions of famous people are given by that versatile caricaturist, Leslie Strange. In a most convincing fashion he brings Stan Laurel, Mr Lloyd George, Mr Ernest Bevin, and many other celebrities on to the stage. An atmosphere of tense ex­ citement is introduced into the programme by the Sensational Carsons, two Indians from the wild and woolly west, to whom knife-throwing is child’s play. The big chief of this team in one of his acts takes a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his lady partner with .the, crack of his huge whip. The personality star is Elsie Bower, who. in addition to singing, gives

a fine account of herself at the piano. The funny man of the show is Maurice Colleano, who is ably supported by. a. clever acrobatic trio. Colleano’s dancing bur­ lesque in the guise of a maiden of ancient Greece causes a whirlwind of merriment. Completing the programme is the Catherine Dunne Trio, whose interpretations of the terpsichorean art are both original and

accQinplished. Harry Broad, with the Giiety orchestra, is the connecting link in this 100-per-cent. variety programme.


HELD by the Italian secret police, -tA«grined,” thrown into prison in Milan on suspicion of being a spy, and


EMPIRE.—Harry Roy and His Band.
j THEATRE ROYAL. — Variety — Teddy Brown,'

Catherine Dunne Trio, Betty Driver, Walter

Jackson Clark and Murray, &c.
| LYCEUM.—Women Aren’t Angels (Robertson Hare

Alfred Drayton).
KING’S. — Fri., 20th, Panto., Robinson Crusoe

(Elsie Bower, Evelyn Dall, Maurice Colleano) J

finally escorted out of the country to land in France and have to flee to this country when our Allies surrendered—


No lack of thrills. Miss Catherine Dunne, of the Dunne Trio appearing at the Empire Theatre this week, was in Italy when Mussolini declared war. .After being detained by the Fascist Secret Police for several

: These are some of the adventures of |

My next-seat neighbour in the Empire f Theatre last night commented: “Pretty" daring, but not offensive.” Let’s»leave it’

I at that (writes J. C. R.). Whatever your ; views on strip-tease, you will have to admit ; that Eve Clare does her act in attractive : fashion. Incidentally, she is something , more than a mere “take-off-your clothes” ; sensation—she can dance, and dance well.

Hal Monte, who accompanies Eve, does a strip-tease act of his own—not nearly so i

I artistic, but what it lacks in this respect is compensated for by the uproarious fooling ; he gets out of it.

Eve made a. second appearance in the cabaret scene which closes the show. Her statuesque poses (representative of famous pictures) are aided by discreetly subdued lighting—advisedly subdued.

I have left myself with little space to

say much of the other items on the bill,

I best of which were Scottish veterans of

variety (who brought back to us a breath

of the old-time music hall) and the Dunne

Trio, three very pulchritudinous girl dancers.

Others on the bill—Charlie Kemble, Pat Tayloi' (accordionist), Doris Devine (singer1), Johnny Gay (parodist), and the

Regal Girls.

me ingredients

ters are

it off


all forms of ( cosmetics is

imery industry, )ital is invested,

p t ingredients because of the

f Europe.

Mr. Sidney Field, teen years in de­ perfumes, some







ry d,

English dancer tells

■' f

of raid she enjoyed

Tp NGLISH girl dancers, thrown into an Italian jail as poli­ tical suspects, heard from their cell the wail of sirens. Then came the sound of bombs—

been touring Italy. She was leader of a troupe of dancers from the Folies-Bergere.

Detectives went to -their hotel, arrested her and two other girls, and confiscated their money.

s R.A.F. bombs.

There were 500 convicts in that/ prison. Panic-stricken, they beat on

As far as Miss Dunne could make out, they were accused of the iron doors and yelled to be let being concerned with gun-run­

Miss Catherine, Dunne, , safely

home with her parents at Clare- road, Whitstable, after a flight across France, told the Sunday Express of this prison adventure.

ning to Greece.

said. “We were in jail for nine days For five months Miss Dunne had —and the food made me ill.


“ On June 10, about 6 p.m., we heard cheering. I could hear Cianb speaking over the radio. And later we could hear Musso­ lini’s voice shouting.

“ Then I heard the Duce saying they were at war with England and France. His voice was drowned by cheering.

“ It was on the next night that the air raid came. I don’t like air raids here, but- I thoroughly enjoyed that one! The din in the prison was terrific.

“On June 12 we were taken to the police station and told we should be repatriated; and some sort of apology was offered.

“ We were given two hours to pack, but could get none of our' belongings from the theatre.

“We learned that the R.A.F. had caught the Italians quite un­ prepared for raids. The whole town was in a panic.

Miss Dunne described how the party reached Lausanne and were quickly sent to Lyons by the British consul. There they joined other British refugees. ,

Heard cheering

“Our cell was verminous,” she

mah Wllft ItlP SClHCt gWl ruvtuw TM nkle it on the roadway where the traffic policemen

Please turn to next page


wfoljhc po

» J


Pantomime art is who live in caravans c

anb ^Ccrds^fkrcurji


OLtl burr

of E< Cotnr • Dewr fiel^ Sat, per6 sef j



nd as


nd en Ue ns she

of >m- uel be >ns ed

of on ae re re


In the comfort of her caravan home, Mrs. Dave McMurray sews a giant rat trap in her husband's pantomime dress. Also in this ‘‘Yorkshire Post” picture is Mrs. McMurray’s three-year-old daughter, Theresa.

By a “ Yorkshire Post ” Reporter

glamour here !

:’s B.B.C. Programmes on pages 22 and 23

Five members of the pantomime Evan Williams, and Arthur Sumner, company presenting “ Cinderella ” at the Melomaniacs; Hylda Baker, who the Empire Theatre, Dewsbury, are takes the part of the Baroness, and living in caravans parked in the Florence Whiteley, the “ mother ” of

theatre car park.
“ It is the fashion nowadays in the

the Zio Angels chorus, are the other members of the caravan community.

show business,” Mrs. Dave McMurray
told me yesterday as she sewed a
giant rat-trap on to. her husband’s
costume—he is one of the ugly and Evan Williams’s contains such linedI sisters. “ Before the war you could refinements as running hot and cold Leeds! get wonderful lodgings for 30s. a week. water, a coal fire, airing cupboard, BrigaJ

Now, if you can find any, they are convertible sink, and gas cooking and peop'i

three or four guineas, and a lot of lighting.
the landladies are very ‘ nattery.’ We Reg Bolton, leading star of the
take our caravan with us wherever show, is living in lodgings. “ But I off r we go, and find, it ideal. This trip have an idea I shall finish up in a
we have Theresa with us for the first
time She’s three and loves it.”

Luxurious By

AU five caravans are luxury models,


caravan,” he told me. “It’s definitely the best yay.”

of ai

Far Lee CD



| 15, '!)3!>.


Adm. 1/3, 2/6 Car Park • 1/-

Three pairs »f

Daisy" and" Rose Robinson, of Oldham; Chris and Mauden Dunne, of Tankerton, Kent; and Claire and Jean Hilbron. of South Shields.

N f v





c a

t d


b E s

rs Oi

W3 •I.




,, , „ are m the 100-girl chorus of the revue half of Winter Cavalcade ” are (r. to I.) the

Robinson Twins from Oldham, the Dunne Twins from Cork, and the Heilbron Twins from South Shields


> o:


i r. e t-



imba ». 1>. w. °at O’ 1.50, 2. aira a rtita ». giorna-

iraina- (Bernie. L Gra- i<I de-

3re 14: I Una : Marta

di Bo- rpreta- s Jean

giorno: l», bril- ,T . Po- irenze». pparec­ argan. ’» con

o. «La Metro Stone.

lard » e

stibile» i-ogr.

« Ultl- > Lotus 1.10. con >tglas.

» con niglas. ipida »

Noris 1. con comp

•nifico \len e

:ne ». a. II

t Eli-

lores alba

Po . Se- Har-

) 14: inch iren-

del 0. S. :ree. to):

ico. »e er».

con Un

Daphne Anderson

Catherine Dunne

Felicity Sands


Denise Richardson

Betty Machpherson

Jean Cramer

Beryl Coleman

Merle Rae

Betty Mann

Maisi© Farrell

1 1


H owey

E’ fissata per questa sera la andata in scena della nuova grande compagnia di varieta jormata da Edoardo Spadaro, al Cinema Qdeon, con uno spet- tacolo nuorissimo pci" I’Ita-lia, della piu grande originalitd, e

tes^e pubblico d’oggigiorno, smahsiato dad filmi d'i Holly, wood. Gli skaktches Spadaro- Dossen non sarann0 facilmente dimenticati. Con essi. fan parte del programma varld, attraente sotto ogni riguardo, altri attori

nome, come Ugo Pozzo — che promene dalla scena drammatica

co. fantasioso,


danzatrici di cui diamo qui i ri-

preparato con la cura che gU 6 abituale.

Oltre alle proprie nuove can- zoni, Spadaro offrird al suo pub- blico fedele assolute primizie. Ansitutto la bella e strana can- tante-attrice Lud Dossen, il cui successo d prevedibile per la tquisitezza dell’arte sua, come per il gusto infallibile deTie sue

tratti, le quali non hanno nulla da invidiare. per arte, bellezza e grazia, alle pift famose di Hol­ lywood, celebrate in tante re­ vues.

2?’ uno spettacolo d’eccezione, questo che I’Odeon offre ai mila- nesi, cui non potrd mancare il piii largo entusiastico consenso.


del piu assoluto buon gusto. Il
celebre comico torna in Italia
con un programma inedito, ric- e dall’operetta - e k dodici

interpretasioni. Ella eseguira, Da questa sera « Sincopati tra altro, numeri comici, duetti 1938 » appariranno sulle scene

romantici con Spadaro, che ri- spondono alle piu esigenti pre-

del grande cinema milanese, in. sieme all’atteso film;

4®, MB s

‘ » a ••tsftW A'dAii. ••nrt.vna. mer


“ Dreamin’ of Thee,” the title of the new Charles L. Tucker Enterprises road show, is, of course, taken from the amusing recitation with which Cyril Fletcher achieved some of his earliest popularity as a broad­ caster. Mr. Fletcher fills one of the headline places on the bill and introduces the full poem in the course of his own entertaining act towards the end of the programme. He offers other amusing, things en route. Leading positions are also occupied by two clever, couples—Nat Mills and Bobbie, who provide two energetic acts in burlesque vein to an accom­ paniment of laughter, and Nat Jackley and Jack Clifford, who

find themselves in various comi­ cal situations and add a good deal of fun to the proceedings.

IBetty Astell sings pleasantly at the microphone and joins Mr. Fletcher in a sketch; Gay and Gay impress favourably with some acrobatics; Peggy Stamula puts in some effective vocal work; Violette Young performs with credit, and Dick Beamish makes the most of his chances. There is* some good dancing in the show by the

Catherine Dunne Trio, Brenda, Susan and Mandy, and the “ Dreamin’ of Thee ” Girls, and it is a delightful interlude which these ladies jointly pro­ vide to open the second half. Charles Henry has produced. Barry Storri is house manager

and Alex. director.

Lerner musical

ine r.^press this week presents Variety UvmVvengeance from Sea-lions to singers,

from crooners to cowboys.
Back again is Tom F. Moss heading a

strong bill, including Dawn Davis and Bill Pedersen and his performing sea­ lion “ Buddy.” This almost human creature even “ carries his own applause " and flaps his flippers indignantly when he thinks his audience is inclined to lag.

An act that must also be mentioned is the Catherine Dunne Trio, an excellent song .and dance combination

Panto Points
Jack Anthony and G. H. Elliott, Elsie

Percival, and Bertha Ricardo continue to {sparkle in ‘‘The Forty Thiewa® paste*





On the STAGE—MONDAY, 25th, to THURSDAY, 2§th—


7.30—ONCE NIGHTLY—7.30

also NORTH OF SHANGHAI, with Janies Craig.


........ ■■■ i ................ . .............. .

... ______



I ©aztttWXnaB AM13 -—

FYuioE news (Efanesr * wovertiser. No. 7358.

' ------------

Society’s Forces Comforts Fund.

-..m- inn I * " ® ”---------

Some of the famous stage artists who took part in the comedy cricket match on the Co-op. Employees’ sports ground, in aid of the Prisoners of War and the


like tfing.

the palace theatre

A Good All-Round Variety Bill

OADIO’S romantic singer, Monte Hey, heads a most entertaining mil at the Palace Theatre this week. Monte needs little introducing, for he is to be heard almost every time

Oscar Rabin’s famous dance band broadcasts from the studios and from Hammersmith Palais de Danse. His repertory consists of popular senti­ mental songs and ballads, including the favourite “ Donkey Serenade.” Al Kendall is at the piano.

Tubby Turner, assisted by Florence, pays a further visit to Huddersfield with his unorthodox fire-fighting equipment and two songs written by himself. This delightful comedian, whose popularity has never waned despite his many years on the boards, can always be relied on to give a first- rate humorous turn.

Fisher and Marian are an accom­ plished couple—one a clever violinist and the other a capable pianist with a most pleasing voice. Their act is made all the more acceptable by a polished accompaniment from the

i Palace Orchestra, under the conduc­ torship of Atkin Baker.

Jay Morris and Kay provide an I effervescent blend of comedy cross- I talk, singing and dancing, and the

Catherine Dunne Trio are three clever and personable young ladies who are to be seen in unusual dance numbers. Hal and Laurel work hard in their comedy acrobatic scene, and Joe Hast­ ings and Miss Shirley provide an amusing piece of ventriloquism. The

bill is concluded by the Three Oxfords, who entertain with a fast-moving

game of football on bicycles.
Part of this week’s bill is to be

broadcast bn the Forces wavelength at 8-30 to 9 o’clock on Wednesday night. «


Continuous dancincdaily

2. P.M. TO 8 P.M.
Monday to Friday 1/6; Saturday 2/6; Royal Tier 3d.; after 6 p,m. 6d.

And Her CLAMOUR GIRLS BAND, i Special Attraction at 4 and 6.30 p.m.

I “ CATHERINE DUNNE TRIO’ I Rhapsody in Dance Time.



artist of: lhe''car}oH <• I" charge of lhi*

h ““ h 1’?"’ VVDiiams. youngest

y Land verve.
M The exuberance of youth was

2 J Teflected by the Tiny Tappas, ■ capable, confident youngsters | whose impersonations, dancing ! tricks and acrobatics gave no end ' of pleasure.

I It was all good fun, just the kind of show required at the sea- ! side these days, and once again ' Parkin’s Entertainments showed

i that they know what their pat- rons want. This capital variety ■ entertainment continues to-night

(Friday) and to-morrow nignt

with a matinee to-morrow after­ noon.




If you like your music classical, with a swing, or with soft lights—in fact, music of every kind except the raucous, it’s all yours at the New


Ilfracombe Chronicle

■iiid Rortb Deoon Rews

holiday fun

Breezy Show at the Pavilion

nl„L g0Pd fu?’ S°°d singing, plenty of variety, and a slick pro­ gramme^ are the ingredients of the right kind of show, then the

Theatre. Northampton this week, where Troise and his Mandoliers top the bill.

Radio fans axe well-acauainted with the entertaining qualities oi Troise and his band and the high standard of their music. Troise himself plays the mandoline as Well

as he directs the band.
Vcfcalist Ivor Adams is always,

popular with Northampton audi­ ences. and lasft night he was right on top of his form with his lovely rendering of Tou are mv heart's delight.'' with which he “stopped' the show/’ Close upon him as regards popularity was sweet-voiced Jean Askew. Both the pianists, too. are polished performers.



artistes at the Victoria Pavilion this week surely fill the bill. Harold Ramsay, and -Cherrie Cooper and their versatile col­ leagues, paying a return visit to Ilfracombe, played to crowded

houses this week, and the warmth of the reception accorded to them indicated the appreciation felt by holiday-makers, many of whom

were at the seaside for the first I time since war broke out. It was good cheer all the time, with no I

end of amusement provided by artistes who know their job and some first-rate singing, dancing and acrobatic feats. A show in­ deed, which enables visitors to

cast away dull care and to enjoy leisure hours so richly earned.

Dick Henderson, the Yorkshire comedian, is back again to show what a fine old trouper he is. He stepped on to the stage with a non­ chalant air. Plus bowler hat several sizes too small, and cigar which ever­ needs “ refuelling.” and told his stories in his own inimitable style

y nr°wn, heads an ex-

Then there were the Grafton Sisters and Jacques, with their won­ derful acrobatic thrills in the air. One of the women artists was par­ ticularly successfur with an astound­ ing display of strength and grace.

Brown introduroc usual harmonv tn

The Agar Young Duo. besides giv­ ing a whirlwind acrobatic display, showed how clever they can be with their slow-motion antics: and Ha] Miller got plenty of laughs in his guise of a cheery parson and later as

;J\The Catherine Dunne Trio. always, pleased with their dancing, p m which they displayed some goodIb team work. One of the trio an-*Vi neared to balance as easily upon one to leg as most people do upon two! >C1 A..............................................................A

] ana art crauerr

■ ~

~ i


r si“ i

cks me

_. ..... aflv. ^.schoolmaster.

whose one wheelI fully hunSUSTa S i®


_____IW . fallen into line UhS"” “ aWkwar<l

The Catherine Dunne Trio.

Those versatile girls, and real sisters, too, the Catherine Dunne Trio, were in particularly good form last week .at the Empire, Newcastle-on-

Tyne, their appealing “ Rhapsody In Dance Time ” being voted one of the best items in a strong bill. The girls, currently scoring at the Empire, Liverpool, are due back in London

Next- week at the Pavilion Patrick Ludlow, who will be remembered for his “ Michael and Mary ” and “ There’s Always Juliet, presents H. M. Harwood’s


For Films. T Clioo

Len Childs is an able teller of tales, | and with Molly, puts over some hilari­ ous cross talk and a catchy song. ' Jack Grieve specialises in topical tra­ vesties of popular songs, which show

distinct originality. The Katherine Dunne Trio present a pleasing dance series in which acrobatic, tap or roller skating dances are mingled with close harmony. The acrobatic parts are most capably, executed with intriguing novelty. The Windsor Sisters are an

attractive pair of smart steppers.

After a serious beginning the Play bedomes one of the most scintillating pieces of sensible

nonsense ever achieved of the English stage, but however riotous. thrilling or frankly

| naughty the situations become,

Mr. Harwood never loses his "b literary quality.

•>»». »e Bristol

'i cellent
Iwring SavoyUnTS”:m Ket-

with his excen'ti onsi
instrument pt ” J enius on his

tuneful, Teddy musicaHy un-

mo, three dancer®? fun of charming neo-%

flX naJju




Harold Ramsay, breezy person­ ality, and of infinite variety, needs no introduction, for he is a well-known B.B.C. artiste. He is composer, conductor and organist


Bears’” wifch Norman




all rolled into one big piece of on entertainment, and, assisted by the vivacious Cherrie Cooper, he very soon had his audience com­ pletely happy. It was quite like

old t^ges to hear rollicking com­ munity songs, with the house entering with zest into the spirit

IT of competition. These two were k the piece de resistance in a pro­ gramme which gave real pleasure

E o ^ » .. -el s^ff

bats the girl partner of whom is as


S u S an

Sne t1S Strong' Smtely

Next wpav 1 ntar variety Programme. and the T?;PfantOmime' “G°I<TMocks

> comedy aerm




ir io

No. lack of thrills. Miss Cath^in* Dunne, of the Dunne Trio appear!?? ?t the Empire Theatre this wUft 4"?

m Italy when Musselmi declared war. After being detained by the Fascist Secret Police for several

f days she was released, and managed to get into France. On the way to (Bordeaux, the train in which she



j was travelling. was machine-gunned tShe arrived in Bordeaux to learn that Pans had fallen. On Hr wav ■across the Channel, the ship on

from start to finish.

Amusing sidelights on army life came from Bex and Bex, two Servicemen who only recently

s. left the theatre of war for the e stage, and they quickly estab­

lished themselves as firm favour­ ites.

e is s

d ^graceful.

J Acrobatic feats came from the popular Juvels, and there was a y twist in everything they did. It was all clever, and much of it

n^L There was delightful dancing ;s rby , the . ______ ______

Catherine Dunne Trio, it ; They danced their way into d ' everybody’s affection, whether on .- \ roller skates or by other tricky s | feats. Here were artistes of charm

most brilliant comedy “The Man in Possession.”


whtM she was travelling r a a" ’pTaL ' unsTCCe3sfuI1.v by a Nad

/ Jxyman Zah1’ who is presenting for K.P. Vande- / k ills iiTthe °f AV blggeS r ,indepcndent Variety

harmony. The acrobatic parts aje




hulls in the country, has this week, at the Lido

most .capably executed, with intrirnino Te Tnd“r'«««■ - «

atticctiye pair of smart steppers.


1. 1946



nighl.e -Lld° Va~‘ety con’P‘"’y caught in

R/tUav, —1—a i
Bolton, what looks like

being a record—at least lor salary. It includes Issy Bonn Forsythe, Seamon and

Farrell tho caii
Orde ’iSu C°llean<> Faimiy, Elsie Bonar, Beryl

S S'J?tnenCln8r Monday next, Gilbert Ouddioy presents "Spice of Life ” a

nnd th /p Daly Milton Woodward and the Catharine Dunne Trio.


;-Ma r Radl° StV c°medians;

■» 9

and with MdHiS an aWe teller of ^tales


and with Mo
and with Molly, puts over some hilar!

ous cross talk and a catTM h Jack Grieve specialises in topical Ira

S n St °f P.°?ui" son«s


> which show

Dunne T °rlp;ina lty- The Katherine unne Trio present a pleasing dance

eries in which acrobatic, tao or roller katinar dances are mingled with close

RrnnJ Eealh’ funnV and lovely; Th- Broadway Two, two ladies with a sense'


°omeS":H C How"d-
i, McA T ba,t’ n°veky juggler;

K-ith McAndrews, the pocket James

a’d T,;oT"
and the Six Spicelettes.


g BrU,"““ “ d ’ Blonde'


'■Y mood by our phc
hotographer last


/)*© .


guide to the


5-50 — TWICE NIGHTLY — 8-0 HYMAN ZAHL presents

Bring on the stars

The Greatest Array Talent Ere, S«n in the North.



Z5o/V .

11X3 IZXXXxU J.KJ __ before him.

The Catherine Dunne Trio are three smart girls whose routine is F out of the ordinary. They sing, s tap-dance, they dance on skates,

e and their exjt is unusual, too.
A full house welcomed this show e at the first house on Monday —ni-Og*ht. Here’s a word of praise,

; tOO,
, to Len Dodson and his

a orchestra. Never have they b sounded better. Safely can I J recommend this show to all variety

lovers this week.

. ,E".

Bihv Cotton and Ins band are featur at the NOTTINGHAM EMPIRE this wee and although they occupy the stage ■' nearly the whole of the second half of ti show, it. is with the happiest results, judge.

i1}? recePtlon they received last' night Whether working as a team or performing solo items, this hard-working combination of sixteen instrumentalists are refreshingly

different. There is an appealing vocalist ! '-titfA nn BI 3 Ze and E1!is Jackson dances skilfully. Other talented artists in a well- baianced bill include Fred Lovelle, ven­ triloquist, who proves his partner George

is not as dumb as'he looks; Bobby Wright CravMaf!m ’ t0 -ood effect; Dorothy

rm ik 1 her< versatile aerialists; Cillas football Dogs, who do not reed a

referee to tell them what to do; the Catherine Dunne Trio, dancing delight »i^SeC0Piey’ te',in«”-

knows,yis suffici^nMubject for^nyClimber

of plays, and it is not surprising to
that one episode in the life of this undis puted monarch in the realms of gore and passion provides plenty of dramatic oppor

uttlI com),any at i-iiiLt THEATRE, who are this week

P^senting Clifford Bar's •• The Rose With out a Thorn. Outstanding as Henry.

C E’



From Radio’s mOci o,.
Prnoo-J Popular Forces-


who inti-oduce^ .?^PDON



CLIFFORD & MARJON13 ’ •May DEVl^r°iJ r^^ans

»,-n^sie Bower- Woodward & Co with PRICE? 9°APer’ CatheriDe Dun’ne Trio. PRICES: 2/6, 3/6, 4/6. BOOK NOW!

~°x Offiee Open Daily from 10-30 a m to 8 p.rn. No Telephone Booking

The Ceiebr?ted J°SEpH LOCKE

RETD twin*? Operatic Stars . kathruvf Ar, doreen


alf scottE Trio I

PerformTnees^18 Available To-night’s ---------------------------- ----------------------------3v

B “ ° f f l " “ «P-M ...

> “ ° Km “ p A O V » O ? I

.... -


Len Child,

le •t. ;o

d Holiday Fare at Arcadia t

is Another variety bill provides the S' at holiday week fare at Arcadia, a ir io very acceptable programme being b

embodied in the title. 'Over the g< br Air.” Music is a prominent feature ct

of the dshow, and a deservedly flattering reception is accorded the pi Geddes Brothers, who come with a th B.B.C. reputation to sustain, and put cv over an act combining music and w comedy with obviously suited the


a palate of the capacity house on Bank to Holiday. Clever novelty musical

th ar



THE three Chevasse brothers from Castletownshend, Cork, went to London to see the King.

They went to Buckingham Palace ' each to receive an award for

bravery, and the King was so im­ pressed that he asked for them to be specially photographed.


5-50 — TWICE NIGHTLY — 8-0 HYMAN ZAHL presents


The Greatest Array of Talent Ever Seen in the North.





Elsie Bower. Woodward & Co., with Millicent Cooper. Catherine Dunne Trio.

PRICES: 2/6, 3/6. 4/6. BOOK NOW!

Box Office Open Daily from 10-30 a.m. to 8 pan. No Telephone Bookings.

A Few Seats Available for To-night's Performances. 3v

features consist of pitching metai I e- discs of varying tones on to a glass surface, and extracting music from

tankards and all manner of other I unlikely articles.

Those who believe in the signs of- ant


Another famous broadcasting turn, is the Vincent Raff Trio, should be heard by all lovers of first-class

Later the King remarked that never before had three brothers ' been decorated at the Palace

The brothers, Commander Edelyn

Chevasse received the D.S.O., Com-

t. music. L'he trio comprises a violin, vi
a ’cello and a piano. 1he performers se on which contribute collectively and m as . soloists to a rich m usical‘ treat Several phases of the dancing art are of skilfully demonstrated by the an Katherine Dunn Trio, one member of ou which exhibits some remarkably high qu> Kicking and clever balancing on one (M leg. Further acceptable dance turns come from the V indsor Sisters hat

mander Paul Chevasse received the . D.S.C., and Colonel Kendal Chevasse i received the D.S.O. and bar.

AU the brothers were in regular Navy or Army service before the war,, and come from a family famous for service with forces.

If any member of the family lives to reach the age of retirement they return to die and be buried in their native West County Cork.

. The Katherine Dunne Trio present a pleasing dance series in which acrobatic, tap or roller skating' "dances are mingled with close harmony. The acrobatic parts are

the Zodiac as affecting their lives
and careers should make a point of consulting that renowned seer. Jimmy Lyons, who keeps nis audi­ cap;

ence in roars with his humorous F- "information” and comments on the

signs displayed on a huge chart. Len wa Childs and Molly put over an enter­ stan taining cross-talk and wisecracking food act; Jack Grieve combines a good singing voice with some capital song

patri (Continued at foot of column 3.) while



Jack Hylton’s variety company at the New Theatre this week specialises in the apparently impossible. Nonie Page, a new comedienne who has assuredly come to stay, does incredible things on roller skates’, the Two- Cromwells perform aerial feats

which baffle description, Leslie e Lester does things with cards'

and cigarettes- which few would believe without seeing them, th„ Catherine Dunne Trio’s dancing reaches a speed which would

;h appear to be beyond the capa-^s .city of human feet, and Leslie m’Strange defies nature by trans­ forming himself into various

e well-known characters.
£■ The top of the bill, however,

is taken by Billy Cotton and- his d Band, a combination as gifted as humorists as they are as >n musicians—which is saying a very great deal. All their num­ bers go with the swing we ex­ 1 pect from them, and the singing 1 and dancing, in which Billy .1 Cotton himself shows us some excellent fooling, are features of

D a first-class show.
The variety at the New

Theatre next week is headed by

Flanagan and Allen, who will .oe be making their first appear­ ance as an independent act at ■on Oxford for three years. Others

ize in the bill are Percy and Mari Henri and Nerda Nervard and sei. Dorice Mann, Nor Kiddie, Harry ,.F. Seltzer, Artemus, Dudley and on. his Midgets. ” The Dernps” and


Prospective engagements at , the New Theatre, Oxford, up to || the middle of October have now fe been announced. H

Carroll Levis with his B.B.C. w show visits the Theatre in the week beginning 10 September, ary and “ Sweeter and Lower.” with Phyllis Monkman and George

Lacy, on 17 September.
6th On 24 September there will be

“The Quaker Girl,” with Celia l,F. Lipton and Billy Milton. f

In the following week Arthur Askey will be seen in “ Follow' the Girls,” a musical comedy to

in­ be seen here prior to production in London,

Johann Strauss’s “ Meldoy of . Love ” opens on 9 October, ahd George Formby comes for a

' week on 15 October,

most capably executed with intriguing h' ’ 'rrY-.-. i ___ on

iry Cingalee and Co.

wel ing


C 5

! success* Their seiec
especially noveny by


y. ~


are well chosen a BiUV Cotton, talented perfoim eets a fine re- in laurel

droll little

Uglit ’
S B bully deserve their

g“vS is
Arthur musical director.

and Louis


g e wife and

i hjauana«piay





i ?

w— ____—____ .._...

Ex-Internee M arried

On December 29th, at the Roman Catholic Church, Tanker­ ton, the marriage was solemnized by the Very Reverend Father Cassells, between Miss Hilda Ellen Dunne, eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. E. J. Dunne, of “ St. Finbarr,” Clare Road, Tankerton, and James Haldane, only son of Mr. and Mrs. J. Haldane, of Alloa, Scotland.

The bride was given away by her father, ex-Customs and Excise Officer, Whitstable. Mr. J. J. Dunne, brother, was best man. The chief bridesmaid was Miss Catherine Dunne, sister of the bride. Miss Marie Howell, at the organ, played the Wedding March and “ Ave Maria.”

A reception was afterwards held at the bride’s home. Various gifts were received by the happy couple including a number of cheques. The newly weds left for the North of England to spend their honeymoon.

It is interesting to note that; the bride was interned in Italy for over three years and after many hardships and several unsuccess- ful attempts to escape was finally released by the Eighth Army in the battle of Potenza, wnere she was interned. On her arrival back in Naples she was iffi- mediately employed by the Minis­ try of War Transport for confi­ dential work at the Port of Naples. It was during this period that she met the bridegroom, who whs serving abroad in the R:A.F.

. •?.


., uevCw

But we won’t hnd:d’BIUebei'w“ t giris,s,„:e ? : a X i TM r ofFreTOh


^ .'


after, <' BfveVJr doctc P

import the longer f poss,b,e to variety. In 194«8ffJ °° er English the Lido sent trt ? management of wouldrecreateth?B£b:£orrthShe

ha:S„XXOUe,d;Shed'd a->d"e hrated Miss Bluebell^ThCe,e‘

name in Paris Not « i t household one of the wodd’ * haS she bee"

career women, but Blt^bell h a s T ^

ven mcV.f

tha, chic

oe a two


not never there jwers

now. pro Lido

PbceX i'Said-

been BluebellXso °f S/r,s who have well, some badly X X marr'ed


iets for champagne,

all along the arc of ’ when she shook her Quailed. That’s the

y Par-ee before the

;re men and chorus ig else again.
•s sfle never met, -al given name is

was adopted in ss than 60 years nstve family that >on afterwards to

,e said, over the of a rehearsal in ught-club, ‘Liver-

al of Ireland.’ ‘trace of Lancashire

especially when she : w«ich even after all

ghsh °f Speakj"g ghsh mflection. Bluebell

r -n ,hh"d’ a‘leaSt in fran'e

J n"v^fmusthavesho'vna

.y of Purpose. Like the

bX n OWr She’S called

■ Bluebell puts down roots

■myers the field. One of the n>s Liverpool, perhaps the a-ho gave her the adhesive

“ Rested that Mrs Kellv Lgdaughter to - y

forty years oflissom long-legged lovelies by the

motherofthem all

By Irma Kurtz

cettd 1. „
excise and toughen°herTMp f ^ e


geres was Colour the Folies-Ber-

forcedefiap^.. W M ’S mos‘ envied

KefiyXith rea"y WaS’’

eheSy "^‘^nb where her gir" ? shXL^iX'^

^altoam anandaliag'"TM -

sinuous housewife’s lif^ o?; the 4lly to have bL^ hX ,OU8h'

pin future. her Llver’

FPeci,’ said Bluebell, and then UfatallXTinate °n the gyra’

an girl m practice tights I s that my mother -Fveahb'

At 12 Bluebell was in

pantomime and at 14
she joined a tonring compan,^"

,n Scotland where he

^er my mother ays ’rustrated X ?rem d‘

he sem ineatre> dancing rfromT‘Oba'letc'a«es

said Bluebefi

'rom the time 1 was six ell was only |2 her

o a small group of tomime in Torquay •ool holidays and

8 CO

m e.
,ne <>f the chosen

t e rem°re‘

missionary- thev’ S rumoured, is a Mtss Blu^eynX a,'rermber



Was a good the bluest eyes in


Jo the pantomime

re was absolutely

one as far as I was olutely decided I

wh.ehintboXdayseX '^ T „ - hose days the Folies-Bergeres

sentimental warmth Miss Bluebell k o^

figure, not the kind

much with Wltb respect.



true bluebelt,


wa"ted‘ogoonthestage.' '


Wa"‘S- Binebell


four children and raised th b°rne alone after the death o f t £ qUlte



^l ofnostaIg,^XTh^

- fikX ^thfuUo^XnXp;^^^-

some lost, some s
famous and one it .c ’ few are

^2~ girls" adtUlhe°F^ the cap,ai" of the

was nosXXmgXeTXXX own group. Bluebell

cudd,e but a tinfoil kingdom 7 gns over

boldly into the captain

by 11 long-ste English girls, the first

SheSteppedj tole followed icked


dressed bodies, a fantasy
onlysheand thescene shdfo Cekwhere


,n the meantime, Bluebell ned for love Marcel LLS



P'anist, a composer a
Was Pregnant with ’ hV chdd^ h

war broke out Fnr " d when failed to move fast °'1Ce B,uebell it was her stubbornness that’ a'tbough

slow to leave Paris in * made ber caught by the armv nf hme’ Sbe was

Bordeaux, having mi^The"? ln

tram to the safetvtr D d the last w asshipp^^'^andshe

camp on the Swiss borde ° to a ^^^son^sh^ hefP^^ncy6

people laugh used to make ■numrnyand^lXelX ‘

tration camp ” p .tbe c°ncen- Not at all. No I’m fnghtened? No.

times, but not of th r‘gbtened s°me-

Vou have to fight hTM °f thing> ■hat kind of sfiua io„ X y°U’re

go into that.’ ba^XwXWwi.

in a motor X acaden, X tateternal New


thekindtoserve Fm
backstageat thXdXfe'reiX5"’0''


eboviCl’ a


la nouvelle revue


Above centre: in pre-war Paris Bluebell Kelly became captain of the girls at the Folies-Bergere. Below, front row extreme right: Bluebell in German, 1929

control of anything heavier than a cake of Max Factor.

‘Hi, Miss Bluebell,' said the cap­ tain of the chorous boys, six feet tall, blonde as butter, wary of 35 and terrified of 40, dressed in nothing but

gleaming eyes and six inches of silver lame. He made idle chatter in an Australian accent as he stood in her doorway, dwarfing her who became a Bluebell - the Bluebell - before the minimum height for Bluebells was five feet eight or nine.

‘He’s a good boy,’ she said when he’d gone, a boy who under any other conditions by this time would certainly be called a man.

‘Everything’s fine, Miss Bluebell," said the captain of the girls, undress­ ing in the dressing room where strings of rhinestone hung like Spanish moss, she leaned forward to give her eyes in the mirror the icy, loving scrutiny that artists bring to the canvas.

‘Just fine, really, Miss Bluebell,’ said another girl, naked but with such a perfect body that she seemed to be dressed in it. She spoke in accents of purest Mayfair.

Miss Bluebell glanced at herself in

the dressing-room mirror, no make­ up, clipped greying hair, except for theexquisiteFrencheveningdress,she looked like the practising Catholic she still is and ready to go to mass. Working from early afternoon until about three in the morning, she

doesn’t get to mass so much as she

would like.
The lighting man had a problem

and brought it to ‘Mees Bloobal’ to solve, while outside - in the black sea that laps at every stage - 20 Japanese worth 40 francs a head before they’d

k W-

even ordered their cht^ oagne squeezed into the few re ining






,tu the ■] ueue was forming already for the second show. But no longer to these hails

seats. It was only a Tuesday place was mobbed; outside, tl

come the celebrated tout-Paris for now they prefer their music canned and lots of lights and mirrors so they can look at each other, see who's who and who’s with whom and whc shouldn’t be and whois at home in bed in whose home. The chic people are their own entertainment now and the Lido is not chic, not the way th

Folies used to be; in fact, it is closest thing in Paris to funk kitsch and if tout-Paris realises that they will immediately make it chic again.

‘At the Folies there used to be a man who came to the show every two weeks or so,’ Miss Bluebell said. ‘For years, he sent me flowers and a note saying he was out front, but I never met him. Oh yes, in those days there were stagedoor Johnnies with flowers and gifts, but that’s all finished now.

It’s a shame.' Amexco-bred, or pro­ vincial but well-dressed, the Lido



onoscete nostro
4 donra

he sono spc altre, c. I comi; fflh|ncono lo s] aBiAfinisce m Im na rappaci: HR to, un’altr liRh delle du<

Aar!/ dell’es

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71 onoscete quella esilarante commedia uu 1 nostro Goldoni: Le donne gelose? Sono

T 4 donne e tutt’e 4 gelose: le prime due, le sono sposate, sono gelose dei loro mariti, le altre, che sono nubili, del proprio fidan- to. I comici episodi si svolgono rapid! e av- ncono lo spettatore o il lettore, e la comme- v|finisce nel miglior modo possibile. Pensate: w rappacificazione generale, una vincita al , jo, un’altra al tavolo da gioco e il matrimo-

& delle due coppie fidanzate.
-r desiderabile che, nella realta quoti-

tutte le commedie che im- onn<J »°lose finissero sempre cosi purtr°hpo non ci si Limita

Viveva ad Atene una bellissin etera di h.0”ll me Lais. Pausania 1’amava ardepmente. Ma ill baci e le carezze di Pausania an desiderate| anche da altre donne. E allor costoro, inge-l losite della bella Lais sino al fibre, un giornolj 1’assalirono presso il tempio diVenere e 1’uc-1 cisero battendola a sangue cor i loro sandali.|

- ‘Jr i.orito giardino delramore non c e verxiie della vanita offesa. E, difatti, se la, gelosia delle

lesto come il venne della gelosia. Esso dei nostri figliuoli? No, di certo; e] jure noi I a tutte le sorgenti della gioia, versa il non siamo gelosi che altri li amino, Not tre- I e in pgni stilla d’acqua, in ogni bocco- miamo al solo pensiero di perdere i nostri fi- I iane, trasforma la donna in un carabi-

rmato sempre, con I’.orecchio teso e 1’oc-

e spia. E la donna gelosa spia sempre, L semn’’?; indaga il passato, il pre-

■ -'•'favvenire. Inezie lievi come Faria

'erti medici tedeschi vogliono studiare la psiche jemminile ecco qua un logico metodo di indagine.

sono per lei torn conrerme, una*ecie di e'|| stimon: nza della Sacra Scrittun ; II Se le cronache quotidiane d’ogfiempo e d’o-||

gni paese son strapiene di casi 4?elosia
minile individuale, la storia ne gjstra anche|9 qualcuno collettivo. II

Dicono le donne che sono gelose che la ge-1 losia e un segno d’amore. Cefto, Jse per gelosia I intendiamo 11 dolore di non vedersi ricambiati nell’affetto o di vedersi tijaditi, una donnaI che ama non pud non esserf gelosa, ma ha la- sciato scritto Kant che la donna e gelosa, senza che ami. E allora? Allora che cos’e questa ge­ losia femminile? E’ piu amor proprio che yero

’ntn - f ’
° a,fare s^avaganze: non di rado ven. amdre, e il colmo dell’egoismo, e 1’irritazione


una donna ammalata.

... due espenmenti tedeschi

La gelosia e una malattia dell’anima. Come tale, si e sempre creduto fino a oggi che fosse difficilmente guaribile. Ma forse e ora il caso di cambiar pa­ pere.

Tutti conoscono il vecchio detto: mente sana in corpo sano. Alcuni scien- ziati tedeschi hanno allora voluto vede- re se anche la gelosia, come tante al­ tre malattie della psiche, fosse conse­ guenza di anormali condizioni fisiche dell’organismo. Gli esperimenti sono stati eseguiti in una clinica di Berlino e ci sembrano abbastanza probatori.

In un giorno del mese scorso, due- cento donne berlinesi di tutte 1’eta ven- nero invitate a presentarsi alia clinica della Carita e richieste se volessero ac- consentire a farsi ipnotizzare, allo sco­ pe di mettere in grado alcuni scienziati di procedere a un interessante esperi- mento. Le duecento donne non trovaro- no nessuna difficolta, e allora venne ad esse cavato un po’ di sangue, dopodiche 1’inoptizzazione ebbe inizio. Una volta

\ ne le frasi che seguono: «Il vo­ stro amante (o fidanzato o marito, a seconda dei casi) vi tradisce. L’ho visto poco

?. a braccetto con un’altra. E aando si sono lasciati si so­

no scambiati un bacio sulla bocca». Straordinario, vera-

Ma, naturalmente, al momenta no, cioe nel colmo dell’accesso di' g essi non avevano mancato di pro all’estrazione d’un altro po’ di sans

Nei giorni che seguirono all’espen. to, questo sangue veniva analizzato ogni cura e messo a confronto con# che, prima dell’ipnotizzazione, era sottratto alle rnedesime persone. ERi quest’analisi ha dimostrato che la sia non e solo una malattia dell’a, ma anche e sopratutto una malattr corpo. Ossia, sarebbero gelose saL quelle donne che hanno nel sangu4$L troppo di iodio. Cosi che gli access^ losia sarebbero conseguenza d’u n ® di iodio nel sangue.

Gli esperimenti berlinesi sono
ste ripetuti in una clinica di DiisH Ebbene, la conclusion? e stata ugujMi le donne che si sono lasciate and^H eccessi di gelosia si e trovata cflO| nel sangue una quantita di lodio||M mente doppia di quella che circo^ft donna non gelosa.

Ecco, dunque, perche le doniO'

gelose. Ce ne displace per tuttejjp

tuzzg di questo rnondo che contil^P

conclamare che la loro gelosia .agb



esatto del loro amore. Invece la toro gli scienziati suggerire alle don- sia non e che una banale quesMbr

ittembre 1932

La donna gelosa vorrebbe guardare dietro robuste sbarre I’uomo del suo cuore.


gliuoli, ma questa nostra paura non mente, 1’effetto che queste frasi < | e mica rabbia d’inquisitori; e, poi, consimili ebbero a produrre su me I diffidiamo noi dei nostri figliuoli? zienti. In alcune, anzi, la reazicne i Invece la donna gelosa eccola qua
I che diffida sempre.
t Conclusione: la donna geloffa e

messe nello stato ipnotico, ecco

si violenta che i medici si sospendere il sonno ipnotico.

Inutile avverMre che cid vale aSeg..

la gelosia maschile. Ed ora restWijfc

re in attesa della venuta al nljSff qualche specific© contro la gelostws®;

grazie alia scienza, il giardino 1’amore non avra piu triboli © 1

Gino vJ8|r





II massimo campionato di calcic, qu'esto grandiose... carossello

lorose, st:a per dar inizio alia sua serie di partite combattute e
vibranti. y—

incasso di 100.000 lire. Ora, nelle partite di « cartello », vi sono
Stadi capaci di 40 e anche 50.000 persone, che debbono chiudere ^g||||

i loro battenti quando ancora fuori dal recinto migliaia di tifosi
si accalcano nella vana speranza di giungere alia conquista <h
un biglietto d’ingresso, e le cifre di mezzo milione d’incasso Igg sono molte volte raggiunte e spesse volte superate.

Le “ diciotto „ in lizza

Il tifoso simpatico, rumoroso ed esuberante, sta gia affi- nando 1’ugola e temprahdo il cuore alle immancabili emozioni: e °ia sogna le certe soddisfazioni che la sua squadra gli sapra donare (alle amarezze che la stessa squadra gii sapra poi pro­

curare, per intanto, non vuole o non sa pensare).
’ Dare un’occhiata, sia pur superficiale, alle diciotto attrici

di questo drammone in 34 atti, e quanto mai interessante. Aedremo subito che gli... interpret! principal! dello scorso campionato hanno ancora tutte le migliori intenzioni di assumersi nuovamente i ruoh principal!. Ma sara bene subito chiarire che se qualcuna tra le diciotto

accettare quello di comparsa.
sembra fin d’ora rassegnata al posto di generica, nessuna e disposta ad

Iniziamo la rassegna dall’attuale... prima attrice: la Juventus.

Un solo acquisto degno di passare alia... storia ha fatto la Societa torinese: Sernagiotto: ma pur con quadri pressoche immutati la So- cieta bianco-nera sara sempre temibilissima e rappresentera ancora

he quadre scefydono

campo. Rico;■. Incia le­ passione del tife-

st. Saluti, incitamenti, richiami, esclaniazioni ansiase, wla, rug- giti, di tutto questo e composta Id gran voce della generosa folia


“hi non ha potato assistere alia Irtita si contenta di conoscere

u p<iu presto i risultati per tele- ono, a costo di... cinquanta cen-

I giuocatori sud ameri
cant devono persuaders J che cnche i giuocatoi J italiani non scherzar OMi®

moderno che

per pifi di nove mesi riemtJira di folle stra- bocchevoli ed appassionate le arene calcistiche di tutta la Penisola, che per piii di nove mesi offrira a migliaia e migliaia di person innumerevoli argomenti di discussion! animate e ca-

ad un incontro preenziavano 20.000 spettatori e si xaceva un

25 settembre 1932

‘?ir1a3?Wv- vvo quaxlUU

3~le cronache calclstlche che ma equadra d, adanzalrza core,te»
ii wJs a 3 ma squadra maschile. Ecco le undzcz gzuocatnez le qualz hauno Chi ghermira qu&sfanno, I’ambito scudettoft

X m calcic al luogo eoznune che qualified dehole ,1 bel sesso. ,


Dui-ing his three-months tour

ow»/England, Eamonn Andrews s a y that at every single per­

the stage to the parterre thp formance he had at least one ofvrnnS1® SgrintsP al°ng Ih|

native of Dublin coming on the s. Age tor the “ Twenty Questions ”

Is M , the commencement of his

g^ek s sta7 & Coventry, Andrews

Olympia corridors would do credit


to Fanny Blankers-Koen

d *

jmad to ask the way three times,

y - each occasion he found he

/was being directed by an Irish /person.

I Inquiry Agent

FOR EAMONN it has been e ,a busy as well as an '

^liilarating week at the Olympia. ■//This is his home town, and he

Ms felt a certain sense of /

/bilitv advising his fellow-/ n/u?- / x some of whom are in

way station, and put on a train going to Switzerland,

Last From Bordeaux

* SHE hAD lost all her

<vni«nP0?eSSiOns Before having Milan she was given 30/- by the


soXky“ S 'V a not tn«:iy “«?•ff«^dwsrxr

Qr. bls • week Kathleen has been

an<j acrobatic 'S t& KathlTM0'”8 &?eUerOf“he^S^"2 '

Yjffilg. ago ._T_£vx‘g,uu qv

‘ £2?L7 f(f

time- where/

whe /e to shop.

to dine,

Ox s 7.y’



All ^problems are brought

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Show Talk

charge of

22/6 for an after­ supper for two,’ the meal

consisted of portions of chicken and ham, coffee two glasses of beer.


GLADYS HAY, one of the I4g“ orance is BHss” stars, is definitely no lightweight. But

her energy is tremendous.
. J-h °ne hectic scene she has to

m in a matter of seconds from

theatre r"~

Dancer's Storv


kJ. T°Uld write a book about hat bPAntUreS' Many be“-«llers

fatefulWadavs ^Mn during the &XwTaTdg

about to enter the war V WaS


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^ntry-of ItaT/'Inta ,the/ KSnSX?rthIS

After three XkS „ fllCt / £tV®#

visited her werehS~nuns who e
securing her ti£?rumental I
taken by ease’ she was \ / Cork Premiere

'he streets erf Miia^S
-------_. ian' «> the rail-

cold and

vJ?ni^afMu£ra^s have a three-

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jk dell’es itiscono 1c igramente ianto a f 1‘ Q.TAOY’fi

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Organisers :

HIS WORSHIP THE MAYOR (Aiderman E. A. Brackley, j.P.)

B lg ^ iA S A N
a. e. Perkins, j.p. A. J. H. GODDARD CHARLES W. BELL

Artistes :






and his Mad Hatters CLIFFORD GREENWOOD and members of the Palladium


Stage Director, London Palladium


P'tease reply to :—



worthing hospital



at the Connaught

Sunday, May |9th, 1940 at 7.30 p.m.

18jCanterbury Road Brixton,
London, S.W. 9.

May 17th.1940


|jn onoscete InostroCi p 4 donne ■e sono spo: lie altre, ch Ito I comic; Ikcono lo sp

flnisce ne Ina rappacifi un’altra

Welle due

\ ?T. i^de; it, dellesx,

tiscono le


Dear Dave & Maureen
Mr.Flanagan phoned me from

nto a fa O Y, .Q.YAOT'f3 -

hfiorito unesto

ma tuti tele in ! pane,

armatc die spi! sempi avvei



very good train leaves Victoria on Sunday after noon at 3-25 through to Worthing,arriving
Ii you will kindly get two monthly return tickets the money will,of course,be refunded to you at

tne other end. A special train has been engaged for the return? journey,leaving Worthing at

11 o’clock on Sunday evening
yours sincerely,

Bud Flanagan

the coast
with the arrangements for the above

last'night asking me to acquaint you

There is a band rehearsal at the theatre at 5-30,and a

onoscete nostro 1 r 4 donne

ie sono spc he altre, cl to. I comic kcono lo st Iflnisce nt ia rappacii

ft)., un’altn t/Aelle due

ul. dell’es. itiscono le gramente Into a f: F' .anarfi-.

1. ficrito uriesto ma tut .ele in

pane, arm at che| spi



J;'. , dr'.>'


A/ •

#.Bud Flanagan.

p onoscete nostro

4 donn e sono sp<| e altre, c,| o. I com!,;

cono lo s j

‘.Ha finisce n na rappaci , un’altr

delle dw

. dell et itiscono k kramente ianto a f

ele I m pane,

ch.e sp

> semi h, I’avvi

Inquiry Agent

way station. and p..u.t.o.n. a...train going to Switzerland.

Last From Bordeaux

* SHE HAD ’ lost all h

possessions. Before leaving

Milan she was given 30/- by the

Italian police to see her through to England. Eventually Kathleen reached Lyons, in France.




To-night (Saturday) continuous from 6.30










Dublin's favourite Quiz-Mastei



variety wila

Peter Brough

^FTER two month’s ‘‘holiday’ from variety, Croydon Empire reverts to a traditional music-hall bill this week and scores nearjv

show.; ;
durst1Peter Brough pays a return visit with his famous “doll” Archie, who seems more ■and more to become a living entity, The material of the act is familiar but cannot fail to attract,, and Mr. Brough’s welcome at the first house on Monday was adequate tribute to his work.

A comedian wno is essentially comic is. Ossie Noible. Be does not say an intelligible word during. the whole of his act, but has the audience rocking with laughter in seconds. Far removed from the “patter” type of funny man, Ossie has an act which is unusual (a

tribute in itself these days), clever, and of high entertainment value.

Card tricks always have a fascina­ tion, and added to the dexterity of Lester Sharpe is the attractiveness of his partner, Iris, who keeps all eyes on herself while she “helps” Lester with his conjuring.

A thrilling roller-skating turn is provided by Ravio and Renee, who also provide a laughter-raising end to the performance. Ronald Chesney,

: expert on the harmonica,, performs his .favourite piece, Offenbach's ‘"Oi'pheiis in. the Underworld,” as well ais a selection of up-to-date numbers, and 'the singing newsboy, Roy

WaHrer, eiihanees his radio reputa-

charge of 22/6 for an after­ theatre supper for two: the meal consisted of portions of cold chicken and ham, coffee, and

two glasses of beer.


jl. GLADYS HAY, one of the “Ignorance is Bliss” stars, is definitely no lightweight. But

her energy is tremendous.
In one hectic scene she has to run in a matter of seconds from

the stage to the parterre. The way she sprints along the Olympia corridors would do credit to Fanny Blankers-Koen.

.KATHLEEN MacMURRAY should write a book about her adventures. Many best-sellers have been spun out of less ex-

citing personal experiences.

Bs is his home town, and Eli girl, called Kathleen by her

II Over the Place

JLINERS are everywhere.

iBuring his three-months to|r

‘ Ignorance Is Bliss ” sil

ngland, Eamonn Andrews

hat at every single pe-

c„e„ h__e _h_a_d „a„t l_e_a_s_t oj:ie

of Dublin coming on tje _ Urr.TTnvxi-TT rinacdirmi*’

sn.i; '.for the “ Twenty Question feature.

Av the commencement of fcs . week's stay in Coventry, Andrei

. Sad to ask the way three time, IIMEWch occasion he found ,Ja ling directed by an Irisa

'J r

Born Catherine Dunne in Co. Cork, she rem em bers the KKbusy as well as as “Troubles” and the ’*Tans.”

||OR EAMONN it has bek
pirating week at the Olympic In the nineteen-twenties her

.'.felt a certain sense oi- England, the Continent and South S&nsibility advising his fellow-

M^tes. some of whom are in America.

family went to live in Kent. The

friends, became a dancer, toured,

jiblin 'for the first time, whop? She was in Milan during the
gt to! stay, where to dine. an<j fateful days of 1940 when Refugees were everywhere. With

so lucky; she was held prisoner -X. ARRESTED by the Italian in Italy until the war was over.

Dunne, the brilliM Un soprano, who leal

next tor Italy, wh&

learnt that Mussolini was referred to as “Mr. Smith” by foreigners in Italy, to avoid trouble.

No evidence was found, but the girl was put into prison, where on loudspeakers she heard “ Mr. Smith’s” voice announcing the entry of Italy into the conflict.

After three weeks, nuns who visited her were instrumental in securing her release, she was taken by armed guard through the streets of Milan, to the rail-

Dave’s father was the first half

of an act known as “ Loch and Lomond ” that toured Ireland 30 years ago

The MacMurrays have a three- year-old daughter, Teresa. Their ambition for her: that she should be a “straight” actress and act at the Abbtsy.

nd a year.


France was tottering under the them she made her way to

fere to shop. German blows and Italy was Bordeaux, where she caught the 1/

riroblems are brought tj about to enter the war. fa. One of them concerned '

last boat tfeat sailed for England. Another sister, Hilda, was not


Gun-Running Charge

police, she found herself accused of helping to run guns to Greece.

This week Kathleen has been appearing at the Olympia—her first appearance on an Irish stage —with her Glasgow-born husband. Dave MacMurray, and her younger sister, Chris, in a dancing

The charge had no foundation,
out Kathleen was closely ques­
tioned for hours every day by and acrobatic act. Kathleen is relays of special detectives. She the taller of the two girls and is


’ ■ AERO WORKER IN VARIETY SHOW.—Mr. Bert Francis, standing behind, right, the Aero Works singer, seen with some of the young artists with whom he will appear in the Carroll Levis Carries On show

at the Bristol Hippodrome to-day and to-morrow. ______ _______ -- ----

Vi. ’


Maureen, hilled as “fali- ” have-:i tirs't-clask acro-

"urn. They do every- —. <^cb other’s; necks.

with a skill wfiichjCA ..


competent teuln;, jcomiiiete the

bill. .i.-si I
Next week the Empire has a special

double attraction with “the prince of wide boys”—Arthur English—and Monsewer EkSdie Gray! W R V




^7^7’“•. “

■5 onoscete nostro

4 donn e sono sp< le altre, c to. I coxnii

acono lo s a finisce n ia rappaci:

to un’altr Ldelle din

,iL dell’esl itiscono le |gcamente anto a f

l ' .a.narfi / 1 fierito' une: to ma tin

.ele i in I pane, arniat chef sp ■> semEj

« Tavvt

• “ Shout for Joy ” company rehearsing a striking fencing scene in Newcastle for the


presentation of the show.

MR. JACK TAYLOR, the well-known revue produce chorus girls in a novelty skating number at the Empire ! castle, to-day, for a new summer season show which Mr.



‘Easier for a

COSS “’ 1 hen ^ s0TherCehseea‘‘Not°soa many

FI’ W-

since," ?’»?„" the'Snei child' Edward is in the ,n®he Lion, ren’s TV serial, ^ard-

pi-rles eld’s


of nd

parents wint th«ir sons o | be actors, but every thfi

SaV^n^ N°el

..^rw hoseface^

sonality has a g pretty r-Wn”=

difficult t0 c'an’t com- But she certain y c t con1.

glSed aTccessVul run in the

- Billy Liar.”



c t

Bi ke

boy’ says 1 Therese


home °s »" XO"1- ’”

u°|tOrTtarted actingtp Pn°says

sionally when I Par- Therese who was w j iq.”

B °,hT?9

n,,S -

kin of “ Em®r81®Pt^ slower at Edward was a ’B boards. “ He getting on the b fessionally started acting Pr And

M* X r V e n •< «"rk

the Witch and me robe.”


and EDWARD —chose acting­

open at the 13.



% ”?sna


weekend shows

from page 5


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C. S. Lewis wrote about in his famous children’s classic, The Lion, the Witch and the

Wardrobe—now adapted as a TV serial which starts on Sunday.

It is the story of four chil­ dren, Lucy, Susan, Edmund and Peter, who discover the wardrobe while staying with an aged professor in his grand old house deep in the country.

The wardrobe leads to Narnia, where the children meet a strange gathering of people and animals ruled by the cruel White Witch, who personifies Evil. Alsan, the

Lion befriends the youngsters and the five share some in­ credible adventures in the weird world beyond the ward­

robe, where it is always

C. S. Lewis wrote The Lion,

the Witch and the Wardrobe,

as the first of seven chronicles about Narnia. He wrote them to please himself . . . the sort

of books he would like to have

read as a child.
Producer Pamela Lonsdale

had the difficult task of finding four children who would be

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe — Zuleika Robson, left, as Susan, and

Elizabeth Crowther as Lucy

right for the parts. She searched juvenile acting schools and auditioned many young­ sters before deciding on Eliza­

beth Crowther 12 (Lucy), Zuleika Robson, 14 (|usan), Edward McMurray, 13 (Ed­

mund), and Paul Waller, 15 (Peter).

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The White Witch is ployed by ^liobeth Wallace and Edmund by Edward McMurray


>ye and Maureen McMurray, partners in real life <is well as destination on the stage.

each :is when they told friends,

from Theresa how she Her brother is also a candi­

Jill Summers, who comes from a famous music-hall family and is married to a doctor, likes to return to the stage for a

week now and then to keep my hand in.

TAAVE AND MAUREEN McMURRAY U found romance on the Golden Arrow, the “ crack train which carries people from London to the Continent.


Being typically British, they buried their faces in

Nuremburg, where they were


to entertain diplomats, lawyers newspapers and maga­ and others who were forced to

zines as the train left

spend many weary weeks away Victoria (London) and from home in the calse of did not speak until it was justice at the Nurarnburg


Before the lunch ended, Dave and Maureen became engaged and whirlwind courtship


Maureen was in a dancing Theresa tolff me th that

50 miles from the Metro­ polis.

act with her sisters, known as “ during the Holidays she the Katherine Dunn Trio. is going round with her

pleansantries with the condi­ Bv this time they had two

ments, and it was not long children, and the youngster

the circle at the Con­ “ I think acting pays off tinental, and learned better,” she said.

before they discovered that the caused much consternation


Page Five




. and daddy have just


He was so impressed that he branch of the theatre he will soubrette. gold Oscar at Madison Square

ve McMurray was * TV ROLES

SUMMERS cOnilies from this dreaded disease. from a famous musiic- She says, I like to work just hall family. Her mother a week now and then, to keep

was Masie Santoi, who in my hand in."


PLEASING custom at the Continental is spot­ lighting people cele­

lomg knockabout :omed,y act with a rer w!hen he was dis- red by the late George


ter service with the F, Dave was asked n the same act at the



the early part ot the 1900’s toured the country with her family in a Japanese act, taking their scenery with them.

This was something of

an achievement in those days, reserved only for tai­ line stars.


A FORMER “ Hello ” girl with a well-known shipping line, Louise

Anderson became a pro­ fessional singer three years ago following an accident

brating anniversaries, when, led by the orchestra, the audience joins in the singing of a tune appro­ priate to the occasion.

This week saw the re­

turn of popular Johnny Downes, who celebrated his

birthday here.

mise to send her to drama sck<¥>l.

They followed his advice and sent Theresa to the famous


lready this 13-year-

old has started to make

a name for herself on TV, having been seen in two plays and also the Dave King Show and the Billy Cotton Band Show.


hampton, is married to a doctor who specialises in polio cases, and she has given much time to the entertainment of sufferers


Italia Conti drama winch she still attends.

children in

came to be interested in date for the Italia Conti School the theatre, apart from

made Dave and Maureen pro­ go in for.

Jill, who lives in Wolver­ Gardens,


In fact, it was not until lunch ended with a register office 1 was served that they looked up wedding.

Their most severe critics are parents and is making a daughter Theresa, aged 13, and study of the different dialects

and their eyes met.
Then they e x c h a n g e d Catholic church.


being born into show *****1!, = business.

4% At one theatre where she was in her parents’ dressing-room, she met Vic Oliver, who asked her to read some ShaKespeare to


Nine years later there was another ceremony at a Roman

six-year-old Eddie.

which she is surfc will prove useful in her stake career.

_I __as_ked__T_h_e_re? why, after ballet for five y4ars, she had given it up for legitimate stage.


But Mane Santel never Ernie Tomasso, the male By BOB NORMAN neglected her familly. Where- part of the Tomasso and Jean ever the act was booked the act, has recently returned from family moved in. New York, where he was Jill’s sisters include Mary picked out as one of the out­ Fuller, comedienne, and Queen standing instrumentalists of but does not know yet, which Pickford, accordionist and the year and presented with a


can imagine how the a zebra crossing at rafters rang with all the lusty

Tootnn g Broadway, in South-■West London.

then, Louise

worked at the switch­

board during the day and ng at concerts in the even­


at the age of 14 she sang with a dance band in Mitcham, Surrey, and followed this up by appearing in troop shows and in concert parties put on by the LCC in London’s parks.


TAL JACKS has had a lifelong experience of circus and variety.

For some time he ap­

peared in the sawdust ring as "jacko the Juggling Man Monkey," then his wife Marie, who assists him in the act, decided she liked him better working as a human being.

voices singing “ Happy Birth­ day. Dear Johnny,” and I am sorry I had to miss this party.


theresa McMurray